Splashed!

A great word … “splash”. It's a figure of speech called onomatopoeia … when a word mimics the sound it actually makes. There's always a little trepidation when we hear the TraveLift rumble up and get into position to lift Cups for her trip back to the water. They hitched up the straps, lifted her a little and then removed the stands. David snuck underneath to paint the small patches at the bottom of the keel that we hadn't been able to paint.

Will those straps hold our 20-ton girl? Of course, they will, but there's always a hitch in our breaths as they pull the stands away.

We followed her down the dirt road to the haul-out/launch bay. The TraveLift moves about 2 miles/hour and Cups swayed ever so slightly as they rolled along. It wasn't hard to keep up.

The driver aligned the TraveLift wheels with the narrow tracks and they moved Cups over the water. Slowly, slowly, slowly they lowered her and then in slow-mo, her keel touched the water. There's no actual loud splash … at least there shouldn't be. It's a gentle reunion with the water and she was once again floating, the straps still in place till we boarded her and made ready to go.

We clambered aboard, a long step from the TraveLift track onto the port side deck. David checked the new seacock and thru-hull for leaks and made sure the engine seacock was open. He started the engine and burped the new shaft seal. We checked there was water coming out the exhaust. He gave forward and reverse gears a try to make sure we were ready. We'd already rigged lines and the dock guys were holding the lines as the TraveLift lowered and released the straps and Cups was on her own. We backed slowly out of the launch slip into the waters of Chaguaramas Harbour.

As luck would have it, Zephyr, a sister ship to Nine of Cups, had been hauled the day before. Bill stopped by just before we splashed to ask if we were interested in the mooring they'd just left which was all paid up for another week. How sweet is that? David maneuvered us to the mooring field, I hauled in the docklines and prepared to pick up the mooring. Two tries before I lassoed the sucker … I'm out of practice. But we're back in the water and making plans for finally putting some miles under the keel in 2016.

Dash & Cash Before We Splash

Even though we reserve our splash date and time just a couple days in advance, the last minute dash to get everything done just before we splash is always hectic. There always seems so much to do and so little time to accomplish it even though it's a planned event. Because the antifouling is always done at the last minute, we applied the last coat the day before we splashed which meant removing the masking tape and doing several other odd chores like replacing the hull zinc on splash morning. We were up with the sun. I waited till the very end to get the laundry done (just one more load) in hopes of limiting the amount of sweaty old t-shirts and painting clothes we'd have aboard before I had the chance to do laundry again. Our bunk had clean sheets. David filled the water tanks to capacity. He washed down the decks which were filthy with soot and bushfire debris along with gravel and boatyard grime. Since we have no refrigeration for this trip, the last minute provisioning of freshies would have to wait till we were in the water and ready to head out.

I cleaned and vacuumed below while we had fresh water and power available and stowed anything that might jar loose with the move and the splash. We disposed of last minute trash while a trash bin was handy. David had downloaded all of our Yahoo emails into a new folder, so that we could sync with SailMail and get shadow mail up and running again for our upcoming passage. He'd also renewed our BuoyWeather subscription. We had plugged in every possible electronic device and battery to charge them up while we still had land AC power. We'd sent as many blogs and pix to Gentry as we could in advance because the odds of having wifi aboard while out in the mooring field were pretty slim. I paid our boatyard bill (No cash … no splash). Ouch … that hurt the old bank account!

We removed the covers from the windscreens and instruments and rigged docklines. A forklift drove up ...they removed the A/C unit from the coach roof hatch. All the scaffolding was cleared away. A last minute cuppa before the ladder was taken away … the last thing to go as soon as the TraveLift arrived.

We're ready … let the splash begin.

Growing old-er...aren't we all?

One of the first things we did when we arrived in Las Vegas last January was to visit David's mum. She's 98 years old, lives in a pleasant, assisted living complex and remains very, very independent. She's got it all together and has a wonderful sense of humor. I wonder how I'll be doing at age 98 … if I'm still around. Though her age amazes me, it's really her attitude that astounds. She's feisty, persistent and strong, but in the nicest possible way. Everyone loves her. She recently began teaching an art class to other folks where she lives. She was elected Vice President of the Residents' Committee and has all sorts of ideas that she's hoping to implement that will allow residents more control of their lives … everything from menus to meal hours to entertainment.

What brought up this topic is that we've recently noticed that some people tend to treat us differently than in the past. I look in the mirror and, yeah, there are always a few more lines and wrinkles. If it weren't for Miss Clairol, I'd be gray. Gravity has taken its toll on my body … some parts sag instead of being perky. David looks the same to me as he did 30+ years ago, although I guess his hair is white now and a bit sparse on top. But still I wonder exactly when we started looking like we were feeble and stupid? How come some folks insist on calling us “hon” and “sweetie”? I really hate that familiarity from strangers. It should be reserved for family and children. Did we treat older people this way when we were younger? Did we automatically assume that anyone over age 60 was senile and incapable of intelligent thought or decisions or providing sound advice from years of experience?

Living full-time with my mum a couple of years ago was a real eye opener. She struggled to maintain her independence in subtle ways and I failed to recognize it. I thought it was sheer stubbornness (that seems to run in the family). She knew she couldn't drive, but refused to sell her car. She preferred to do things herself although it took her forever. She'd chastise me when I automatically helped her without being asked. “I can do this myself!”, she'd shout. She insisted that she manage her own finances although she frequently made errors or forgot to pay bills. She decided which clothes she'd wear even if I thought they were unsuitable for the occasion (and trust me, sometime they were). No matter, she was scrappy and spunky to the very end.

As David and I grow older, I hope we are able to maintain our independence and personal dignity as Rebecca has. We don't want someone else making all our decisions for us. We certainly don't want to be dependent on others. If we live long enough, our bodies will fail us to a certain extent and that we must accept. Yes, we'll need help with day-to-day stuff perhaps, but I hope we can maintain our sense of humor and adventure and our desire to learn.

We were listening to the local cruisers' radio net the other morning. It's quite an active community here and the local cruisers all listen at 0800. Cruisers take turns being the controller (aka host). The net provides weather forecasts, news of interest, local happenings and activities, "treasures of the bilge", etc. Anyhow, one fellow got on the radio and asked if anyone could help him move his dinghy. David offered to help and we walked down to his boat, Jolly Friends, after the net to see what he needed.

Down the ladder came a fellow who was obviously a few years older than we are. He looked a bit frail and weathered, but maneuvered the ladder quite well. Vern, we found out, is 91! He lives on his boat and still sails. He has a younger fellow aboard, Ken (in his 40s), who helps him out sometime. He thinks it's the sailing and staying active that accounts for his longevity. “If I sat at home and watched television like some of my friends, I'd be dead in a month!”

Not sure what it is, but Vern is an inspiration to us all. He proves that there's hope for us sexagenerians. We've got at least another 25 years left to sail. Whoopee!

Watch out you young whippersnappers, we're sticking around. And don't call me hon!