Our third day at the boatyard in Baye, Wild Goose came out of the water, and living on a boat out of the water is so different from living on one in it that I felt the experience deserved its own post.
Coming out of the water was an operation in and of itself. Michel, the owner of the boatyard, fired up his monster sized crane and rolled it over to the key where Wild Goose was waiting. On the arm of the crane was a one ton steal frame from which two long straps were hung in a U-shape and then lowered into the water. The tricky part from there was maneuvering the boat into the sling, a feat managed by no fewer than three men: Maurice driving and two of the boatyard employees doing astonishing things with ropes. The positioning of the sling had to be tested and adjusted multiple times to make sure the boat wouldn’t slip out before it could finally be brought back out of the water, Wild Goose in tow.
With the boat suspended in mid-air I realized I hadn’t a clue where it was going to go. As it turned out, the crane just rolled back a few feet before the dock workers rushed forward to start setting up the supports. One man propped the rudder of the keel on stacks of wooden blocks as a second circled the hull, washing six distinct spots at even intervals, three on each side. These spots were where the supports wound up, three steal contraptions that reminded me of nothing so much as music stands. Everyone worked together like a well oiled machine though, you could tell they’d done this before, and just a few minutes later there was the boat, nice and sturdy and six feet off the ground.
From that height we needed a ladder to get in and out, but we also had a lovely view of the lake across the canal. It was amazing to think I was standing inside seven tons of solid vessel supported by what amounts to merely six metal polls, but also hard to forget, because suspended on shore like that everything in the boat became slightly different.
The first noticeable difference was the angles. In the water, for whatever reason, the bow always floated higher than the stern. Without water, the boat was level, and all of a sudden hinges started working like they were supposed to. I started running into the narrow living room door because it swung instead of standing perpetually open. Spaces appeared between the drawers and cupboards of the cabinetry. Most pleasantly, I could finally close my cabin door without forcing it, and the latch didn’t even make that loud obnoxious click.
Then there was the issue of the plumbing. I’d been warned about this, of course, but the warning is never quite as authentic as the real thing. Since all water and refuse on the boat usually drains out through the hull and into the canal, out of water those drains end on public concrete. Toilet usage is out of the question; all the other drains are frowned upon.
Maurice put bowls in all the sinks and left a large bucket on the engine compartment to be filled and dumped accordingly. Michel gave us free access to the boatyard toilets, but those are only open from eight-thirty in the morning until seven o’clock at night. We can shower in the boatyard too, but it costs two euros and we only get seven minutes of hot water. Both of us being cheap, we usually showered on the boat anyway and then just drained the shower after dark when no one's around. It's always dry by morning, so I really doubt there's any harm.
Toilet usage, on the other hand, was not so harmless. I tried to stop drinking water around four or five o'clock so that I wouldn't have to use the facilities until they opened the next morning. My strategy sort of worked? I still ended up peeing into buckets and bowls a couple times in the middle of the night though, my apologies if that's more information than you wanted, but over all it wasn't so bad.
The last major change was the view. From up in the air we had a lovely view over the lake, one that got even lovelier at sunset. I had more than one occasion to look up from my evening reading in bed only to glance out the window and be entirely captivated. Maurice, I think, enjoyed the view more so because it gave him the perfect opportunity to get into everyone else's business. He spent half the week stationed at the windows with his binoculars reporting back to me about who was coming and going on what bikes or boats or cars. He's really too nosy for his own good, and it got old quickly, but I spent as much time as I could well away from the boat.
Even with me gone so often, plenty of work ended up getting done. The undercarriage was power-washed and repainted black. The bilge pump was repaired. The anodes were replaced. On our final morning Ian, the boat surveyor, showed his face bright and early; early enough to wake me up with his tapping on the hull even. He was a very kind, old Englishman and I made him coffee while he worked, though I'm not entirely sure what his report said in the end. Once Ian was finished, we were all clear for Michel and his crew to reattach the straps to the crane and lower Wild Goose back into the water, a fact Maurice made sure any and everyone knew until the deed was actually done. My first order of business was washing the dishes.
In only a month long trip it's strange to think there can be enough monotony for a week out of water to break that up, but break that up it did. All in all it was a learning experience, and one I'm glad I had.
Coming out of the water was an operation in and of itself. Michel, the owner of the boatyard, fired up his monster sized crane and rolled it over to the key where Wild Goose was waiting. On the arm of the crane was a one ton steal frame from which two long straps were hung in a U-shape and then lowered into the water. The tricky part from there was maneuvering the boat into the sling, a feat managed by no fewer than three men: Maurice driving and two of the boatyard employees doing astonishing things with ropes. The positioning of the sling had to be tested and adjusted multiple times to make sure the boat wouldn’t slip out before it could finally be brought back out of the water, Wild Goose in tow.
With the boat suspended in mid-air I realized I hadn’t a clue where it was going to go. As it turned out, the crane just rolled back a few feet before the dock workers rushed forward to start setting up the supports. One man propped the rudder of the keel on stacks of wooden blocks as a second circled the hull, washing six distinct spots at even intervals, three on each side. These spots were where the supports wound up, three steal contraptions that reminded me of nothing so much as music stands. Everyone worked together like a well oiled machine though, you could tell they’d done this before, and just a few minutes later there was the boat, nice and sturdy and six feet off the ground.
From that height we needed a ladder to get in and out, but we also had a lovely view of the lake across the canal. It was amazing to think I was standing inside seven tons of solid vessel supported by what amounts to merely six metal polls, but also hard to forget, because suspended on shore like that everything in the boat became slightly different.
The first noticeable difference was the angles. In the water, for whatever reason, the bow always floated higher than the stern. Without water, the boat was level, and all of a sudden hinges started working like they were supposed to. I started running into the narrow living room door because it swung instead of standing perpetually open. Spaces appeared between the drawers and cupboards of the cabinetry. Most pleasantly, I could finally close my cabin door without forcing it, and the latch didn’t even make that loud obnoxious click.
Then there was the issue of the plumbing. I’d been warned about this, of course, but the warning is never quite as authentic as the real thing. Since all water and refuse on the boat usually drains out through the hull and into the canal, out of water those drains end on public concrete. Toilet usage is out of the question; all the other drains are frowned upon.
Maurice put bowls in all the sinks and left a large bucket on the engine compartment to be filled and dumped accordingly. Michel gave us free access to the boatyard toilets, but those are only open from eight-thirty in the morning until seven o’clock at night. We can shower in the boatyard too, but it costs two euros and we only get seven minutes of hot water. Both of us being cheap, we usually showered on the boat anyway and then just drained the shower after dark when no one's around. It's always dry by morning, so I really doubt there's any harm.
Toilet usage, on the other hand, was not so harmless. I tried to stop drinking water around four or five o'clock so that I wouldn't have to use the facilities until they opened the next morning. My strategy sort of worked? I still ended up peeing into buckets and bowls a couple times in the middle of the night though, my apologies if that's more information than you wanted, but over all it wasn't so bad.
The last major change was the view. From up in the air we had a lovely view over the lake, one that got even lovelier at sunset. I had more than one occasion to look up from my evening reading in bed only to glance out the window and be entirely captivated. Maurice, I think, enjoyed the view more so because it gave him the perfect opportunity to get into everyone else's business. He spent half the week stationed at the windows with his binoculars reporting back to me about who was coming and going on what bikes or boats or cars. He's really too nosy for his own good, and it got old quickly, but I spent as much time as I could well away from the boat.
Even with me gone so often, plenty of work ended up getting done. The undercarriage was power-washed and repainted black. The bilge pump was repaired. The anodes were replaced. On our final morning Ian, the boat surveyor, showed his face bright and early; early enough to wake me up with his tapping on the hull even. He was a very kind, old Englishman and I made him coffee while he worked, though I'm not entirely sure what his report said in the end. Once Ian was finished, we were all clear for Michel and his crew to reattach the straps to the crane and lower Wild Goose back into the water, a fact Maurice made sure any and everyone knew until the deed was actually done. My first order of business was washing the dishes.
In only a month long trip it's strange to think there can be enough monotony for a week out of water to break that up, but break that up it did. All in all it was a learning experience, and one I'm glad I had.
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