The moment a boat comes out of the water it becomes something else. The hoist lifts her slowly, the hull meets air for the first time, the water runs off first in streams and then in drops. The colour of the underside tells a summer's story: the surface that was clean in spring is now covered in weed, in salt, here and there a mussel shell. Turn the pressure washer on it and a sharp smell spreads — sea, paint, and a little weed. On the cradle, for the first time, the boat stands bare.
Most guests think the season ends with the last anchoring. For sailors, the season ends when the boat is out of the water and covered.
Stripping the Salt
The first job is to get the salt off. All summer a fine layer of it settles on the deck, the rigging, every stainless surface; you can't see it, but it stays on your finger when you touch it. It comes off with fresh water and patience. The stainless is polished, the lines are unrove and rinsed in fresh water — a line left salty stiffens through winter and cuts your hand in spring. On a sailing boat the sails come down, are dried, folded and stored somewhere cool and dry; a sail folded damp comes out in spring smelling of mould.
The Engine and the Seacock
The engine is the season's hardest-working and least-discussed part. Before winter its oil and filter are changed, the cooling circuit is flushed with fresh water, antifreeze run through if needed. The fuel tank is usually left full; an empty tank lets moisture condense inside, and that's spring's first problem. The seacocks — those small but vital valves through the hull — are closed and checked one by one. The old captains give this its own attention; because the quietest accident that can happen to a boat comes from a seacock left open when no one is aboard.
Then the boat is covered, but not sealed. A good cover keeps the rain out and lets the air through; if the air doesn't move inside, damp settles, the wood sulks, the cabin smells. So a few points are left open to breathe. The bilge is kept dry, the fridge is emptied and its door propped ajar, the cushions are stood on end. Small things; but these small things decide how the boat will wake in spring.
For an owner the meaning is this: a boat needs care in the months it isn't used as much as in the months it is. A winter well spent makes the first day of the coming season easy. A winter badly spent shows itself in March, in the least expected place.
When the work is done, the yard goes quiet. The boats stand side by side under their covers, waiting for spring. Walking among them you think of how each one is carrying a summer, and is now resting it. Then the lights go out.
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