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April 16, 2007

August 24, 2006

August 10, 2006

July 27, 2006
Easy to Please

July 13, 2006
Silence is Golden

June 29
Lots of Locks

June 15, 2006

June 1, 2006

May 19, 2006
The Perfect Boat

May 4, 2006
In the Eye of the Beholder

April 20, 2006
Making Mistakes

April 6, 2006
Doris Does George Town

March 23, 2006
Getting Organized

March 9, 2006
Bridge Over troubled Waters

February 23, 2006
Birthdays on Board

February 9, 2006
Wild Horses & Wooden Ships

January 26, 2006
Packaging Paradise

January 12, 2006
Bored Games

Click here for 2005, 2004, 2003, 2002 & 2001 Logs

It's a Hard Life on the Hard -

 August 1, 2002 

John Hornby uses a spirit level to ensure Little Gidding is blocked properly at the Coan River marina

Sun and salt take their toll
On the boat and me,
She needs a coat of bottom paint
And a little TLC,
Ain't no way around it
Got to haul out on the hard,
It's time to go cruising
In the working yard...

(E. Quinn, The Hard)

Yes, it's that time of the year again. Time for the crew of Little Gidding to get hot, grimy and grumpy. Time to regret we had put off all those "minor" boat maintenance items over the past few months. Time for us to spend money on stuff we never planned to spend money on. Time to wish we had a smaller boat. In other words, it's annual haul-out time.

Last summer, we sweated and toiled in a boatyard in Trinidad. This year, we're in a yard near the mouth of the Potomac River, just off Chesapeake Bay. The list of boat projects is depressingly similar. Lots of scrubbing and sanding and spreading of toxic substances. The temperature isn't that much different either. The heat wave in the Chesapeake Bay area which we wrote about last week is persisting. When we were in Washington, DC, however, we could seek refuge in any of a number of air conditioned public institutions. The only air conditioned equivalent here in the Coan River marina is the yard's restroom. There's a limit to how long you can linger in a restroom before people start getting suspicious.

Being on the hard anywhere isn't fun. Despite the heat, life on the hard at the Coan River marina is less miserable than most places we've been. It's a true do-it-yourself yard, something that's becoming rare these days. Many yards require you to hire their workers and charge you extra if you bring in outside contractors. Often you must buy all your materials through them. Some yards prohibit you from working on your own boat or assess a daily fee if you do. Now that's got to be the ultimate irony - paying someone else so you can inflict pain and suffering on yourself.

John and Linda Hornby at the Coan River marina not only tolerate do-it-yourself boat masochists, they encourage them. The first time we visited their yard, John gave us a tour of his work shop. John is a power tool junkie. He's got gizmos we've never seen before. We couldn't believe our ears when he told us we were welcome to use anything we wanted. "Just put everything back where you found it and try not to break anything." In most yards we've been, you risk a fate worse than death if you go anywhere near their tool shop.

When we asked about access to a hardware store or supermarket, John pointed to his somewhat battered pickup truck and said, "No problem - there's the truck if you need it." (We later discovered there are few idiosyncrasies you must master to drive John's truck, but that's another story).

John and Linda's easygoing approach doesn't manifest itself in poor yard practices or any neglect of their facilities. In fact, it's just the opposite. The yard is kept scrupulously clean and tidy. John personally oversees the blocking of every boat that's hauled. He's so meticulous, he uses a spirit level to ensure everything is perfectly aligned.

But the best thing about the Coan River marina is the people. It's a small operation and within a few days we knew all of the staff and most of the other clients. We're best buddies with Barny, the yard dog. It's the kind of place where people help each other out. At the end of the day, you get off your boat, have a shower and head for the communal picnic table and barbecue grill. Over a drink or two, you compare notes with your neighbours, and life on the hard seems almost bearable. Almost.

Cheers, David & Eileen