Having your boat hauled out of the water usually is done by a crane with two giant slings that wrap around the hull, and it is gently lifted from the water. The giant crane then moves off with your boat to settle her in a cradle in the boat yard. That’s what you see in all the pictures and videos where a large sailboat is moved onto dry land. With much smaller craft you may see a four by four, or even a car edge a trailer into the water, usually down a concrete slope. The craft is teased forward until she can be hooked onto the trailer and pulled clear of the water.
At Marina tropical in Luperon they have a giant version of the latter. It’s a long way from new, and if we hadn’t seen them haul boats out with it we’d be hard pressed to say that it worked at all. This grey rusting hulk is pulled or pushed by an off rust coloured tractor, with all its secret working parts exposed, for ease of maintenance, I suppose, and it helps with airflow around the engine in the tropical heat of the Republica Dominicana.
There are four big metal pads covered in old carpet that sit at the end of chunky arms that can be manoeuvred by hydraulics all worked by a bank of eight or ten levers sat on the front end. The hydraulic pumps are pressurised by an engine that looks about the size of an outboard, and like an outboard it has to be started with a pull string. When it kicks into action it’s loud, very loud, and doesn’t sound healthy. I think they forgot to buy the silencer when they bought it.
The guy that works the levers, the crucial controls, has one ear about a foot away from this formula one engine. This means that communication is rendered almost impossible. He stops and starts it frequently whilst they are edging the boat into position. And how do they know it’s in the right position. Well that’s where the divers come into the frame.
As the hulk is slowly backed down the concrete ramp into the water there are two Dominican workers from the boat yard who sit, one on each side of the haul out machine who gradually are immersed as the hulk disappears below the surface. The water surrounding them has a rainbow sheen of oil on it as the hulk descends beneath Picaroon. They wear only shorts, no mask, no snorkels, no aqua lung, nada. They eventually dive off the machine and swim to the rear of the boat.
The boss at the controls shouts whilst the divers gesticulate, and repeatedly disappear below Picaroons hull. They have the job of manipulating the big pads into the right position so that the man with the levers can edge them into the exact spot. Meanwhile on the dockside our aft end is being pushed into position with a wobbly plank of wood that is manned by two workers and our septuagenarian friend Raymondo, from a much earlier blog entry of 2009. He lives in Luperon, is a seasoned sailor/engineer, who has agreed to help oversee our haul out.
Jackie and I have been left stranded on board, not the plan, but there we are surrounded by Dominican chaos, as ropes are heaved and tractors revved. Suddenly Picaroon shudders and keels, ever so slightly to port as the hulk grips the hull. We’re both a bit un-nerved by this and the boss man kills the hydraulic pump engine. The guy who’s manning the tractor, Alan, is an American engineer, who is running operations here. He calls me up to the bowsprit, the nearest point to the tractor and tells me that one of the hydraulic lines has punctured and they are going to abort the haul out today. They push Picaroon back into the water, that she never really came out of, and we are hauled back to the quay.
We had psyched ourselves up for this moment, all day, no perhaps all week and now we were back tied up to the quay to haul another day, tomorrow, maybe next day. We had had our reservations about the facilities here at the Marina Tropical, but had finally taken the plunge only to have this happen. Still better safe than sorry, they’ll get the line fixed and we’re scheduled for another try tomorrow at 7am, which is high tide, all two feet of it. And so we have to go through the whole charade again, all the nail biting, the trepidation, the drama, the shouting, and the hulk immersed below Picaroons hull.
Christmas is but a week away and we’re so removed from the build-up, even though the lights are up in the town square, and everywhere there are signs of the coming celebrations. But all we can focus on is getting our beloved Picaroon out of the water, safely, to begin painting and antifouling her bottom, and hopefully not finding too many blisters. That would be the best Christmas present for us, but until she’s high and dry we won’t know.
Cont.
Next morning at 7am we’re back at Tropical Marina for the promised haul out, and there’s not a soul around except the security guard. But by about eight o’clock the hulk is fired up, the swimmers in the water, ropes are manned, and slowly and a little unsurely Picaroon emerges from the water. We’ve both got our hearts in our mouths, and raised heartbeats but they manage to get her onto dry land and wheel her into a waiting space. After a quick scrape and a wash down the verdict is that she looks in good condition. We won’t actually know the true picture until they sand off the old paint but so far she looks good. She also looks big, with two thirds of Picaroon that we’ve never seen, the part that keeps her upright when the wind blows hard.
Hauling out is not for the faint hearted when your life savings and your home are balanced on four big metal plates, covered with carpets, all 21 tons, in the hands of a team who shout instructions in Spanish to each other. We’re so far from fluent that we can simply gaze and pray that yours is not the boat where they get it wrong. Thankfully it all went without a hitch, and Picaroon sits quietly drying out, ready to get her brand new bottom job, starting Monday. Phew!