Sometimes I can get so full of the tale I want to tell that I forget to pay attention to the level of interest of my victim, err, I mean audience. This time, it's two months since my last cruise and I still have an overwhelming urge; suppressed thus far; to grab any passing stranger by the throat & force my story on them.
As cruising experience goes, ours is on the modest side of modest, but even by these standards this was such a short hop that it hardly qualified as a day cruise. A five mile trip down the river from Waterford to dry out at Cheek Point so my prospective buyer and his Surveyor could examine the bottom of our 26' Westerly Griffon.
I hadn't been in to Cheek Point before, so I scouted it out in advance. We are bilge keeled, so taking the ground is easy once it's reasonably flat. There is a concrete slipway in the harbour, but rather than risk upsetting the locals by blocking it for the day, I chose to dry out in the mud where I was sure we wouldn't be in anyone's way. A mistake!
Accompanied by my crew, Catherine; who doubles as my spouse in real life; we set off at high water from Waterford at 7 a.m. on the 3rd February under a clear sky. Without the slightest suggestion of wind, and being slack water, the river Suir was like a mirror. Dawn was getting ready to break in front of us and a full moon hung over the city behind us. A little down the river the city lights melted away; leaving us alone with the engine's unceasing thump thump thump, the rippling splash of our bow wave in the still water, and the pre-dawn silence. Behind us the yellow moonlight undulated across our wake and in front the gradual brightening blue sky morphed into red along clouds rimming the horizon. Anytime at all the river trip to and from Waterford is magical, but this morning it was absolutely spine chilling.
Having taken our time we arrived at Cheek Point just after 8 a.m. I was pretty sure we could have just gone straight in over the mud banks, but as it was my first time I played safe and followed the buoys. This meant going past the harbour and then coming back via the channel. I knew it was a big spring tide but I was still surprised by the strength of the current just one hour after high water when we turned, we ended up crabbing in until we got to shallow water.
By 10 a.m. the water had receded enough to do my own mini survey, prior to the arrival of my would be buyer. I donned my wellies and my old oilies and stepped off the transom ladder into knee-deep mud. I do not exaggerate, the mud was above the tops of my wellies. Needless to say, Lara's Bilge keels were so well sank in that there was barely a gap between the mud and her belly. I jury-rigged some snowshoes from Lara's “For Sale” signs, which enabled me to complete my inspection. Everything looked good except that my anode was missing. The propeller seemed none the worse for wear so I crossed my fingers and rang the Surveyor.
Now here I must pause to give credit where it is due. The Surveyor, Robert McConnell of Prolines Naval Architects, Waterford, could not have been more helpful. Bear in mind that he was hired not by me, but by my prospective buyer, yet he detoured to the chandlers and picked up a new anode for me, he even left me his screw driver so that I could put it on when he was done.
So the survey went well; as subsequently did the boat sale I am pleased to say, and then came the fun part!
Let me remind you that Lara had sank to her oxsters in the mud, that there was an anode to attach and that it was early February, and consequently freezing. I put on my bravest face crawled through the mud, and set to the task under Lara. Alas, courtesy of a motor bike injury in my youth I was unable to hold my finger on the nut while screwing on the anode. After 20 minutes of lying in freezing wet mud I abandoned the task.
However, all was not yet lost. I am blessed with positively the best, the bravest, the most willing and most able crew there is going. Nothing would do but for Catherine to have a go. In truth, she had volunteered to do it before I ever lay down in the mud, but whether chivalry or macho pride, I had insisted on making the first attempt. Now I could not refuse her. Time was against us. The tide was rising and flooding in over the mud banks. With the water lapping at her feet she got the anode on, tightened up, and scrambled back up the transom ladder.
We had a few more moments of anxiety as the water level rose, and rose, and kept rising well above Lara's waterline as her bilge keels remained firmly planted in the mud, but eventually, with a lazy slurp, Lara hauled herself out and we were afloat.
A trip back up the river with the last of the flood, this time before the moon had risen, but with the setting sun in front of us, and back to our berth on the marina.
Yes barely a day cruise, but still, one to remember.
Copyright © Pat Egan 2007
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