January 01, 2008 By Tania Aebi
Life On The Hard
When it was discovered hundreds of years ago, the island of Curacao was covered by thick jungle. Then, it became another shipbuilding casualty. All the cooling, moisture-cloud-attracting trees became spars and hulls, and now the forests are made of cacti, and the dry earth absorbs, retains, and radiates the heat. Curacao is the most populated of the ABC islands – namely Aruba, Bonaire, and Curacao -- and it now belongs to the Netherlands Antilles. The capital is Willemstad.
It’s much more difficult to get anything done when the mercury is hanging out between 80 and 90 degrees for most of the sun-drenched day, when the smallest exertion produces rivulets of streaming sweat, and drenched t-shirts. If you’re not accustomed to such temperatures, you need to learn how to relax, to accept an altered pace, to trust everything will get done with time. You learn you need to do so for your own well-being. It’s just too hot to get worked up over anything, especially when you’re on the hard in a yard.
Intellectually, you might know this, but arriving from the colder northern climes with heavy bags that need to be hauled up a ladder from the melting asphalt, then unpacked and stowed, the tyrannical heat can be a bit of a physical shock. When I arrived back to Shangri La in a loaded rental car, after five months of efficient living and preparation in much cooler Vermont, it was early afternoon. The sun already had been baking the entire exposed hull for hours, and there was paltry relief from
 Shangri La on the hard. |
After my first night of sweaty and troubled sleep, I awoke at dawn to find the damp pillow speckled with little spots of blood and itchy raised bumps all over my arms and shoulders — anywhere that had escaped the sheet’s protection and exposed me to the whining formations of thirsty, dive-bombing antagonists. I stumbled out on deck and saw that others about me were already stirring in their lofty cockpits. In a tropical boatyard, where a lot will be attempted as quickly as possible because much nicer places beckon and boats are meant to be in the water, the most fruitful hours are during the early morning between the gloaming and about 9:00, when the sun has climbed high enough to begin its job of scorching the planet. I looked at the piles of stuff waiting to be moved off the galley counters, chart table, and salon table, and stowed. I stared at the ailing wind generator that had been tied off by an annoyed neighbor
 My duffels from home, filled with parts and gear; took up the cockpit on my first night aboard. |
Now, however, after nine days, things are coming together. I’ve done a lot, beginning with rallying by the end of the first day and buckling down to the chores, and befriending Tom, the guy on the boat next door, who offered me the use of his 220-outlet when he found out the only other available plugs for me would have been several extension cords distant. When the appropriate connectors to the outlet were located and wired, an ordeal that involved miles of driving and lots of questions before eventually plugging in and finding that the inverter and batteries were still functioning just fine, my plight began to seem less dire and more like just a bunch of manual labor, organization, and things to learn that I could handle, one perspiring step at a time.
In St. Maarten, when I first got the boat, I’d felt snowed under by this project I’d taken on. Shangri La was a used boat, a good one, but used nevertheless. Tony, the broker, had done a ton of work, as per our
 Up and down Shangri La'sladder - a ritual I repeated countless times a day. |
As far as yards go, Curacao Marine is pretty nice, with clean showers and toilets, wireless access at a table just outside the main office, an onsite, well-equipped chandlery, and mechanics, painters, and welders available for most jobs. Being a Dutch island, and despite the heat, many of the guys even wear the ubiquitous blue coveralls of the European tradesman that I find reassuring, like they
 Installing a new freshwater filter. |
The ongoing yard conversations are all about parts, steering, refrigeration and electrical systems and repairs, imports, time frames, and the lists that everyone is attacking in their own ways. For entertainment, I’ve invited neighbors over for things like a viewing of the wires behind the instrument panel, or the newly installed charcoal filter in the freshwater line that makes the most awful
 Fixing the wind generator. |
Then, there’s Tom next door. Most times when I climb up into my cockpit, from the cabin or the ladder, and look over, he’s there, reading a manual, pondering another project, and trying to find the energy and method to do any of it. The stuff and parts piled up underneath his awning makes me think he has the makings to be a yard lifer. He won’t, though. He dreams of the South Pacific and the Indonesian archipelago where was born. He wants to sail back, so he’ll escape the yard eventually, but I still feel for him. He’s seventy years old, and alone, and needs some help, but all I can do is have coffee chats with him, invite him for dinners, and offer rides in my air-conditioned rental every time I go out to run another errand.
I know there are so many tasks that become almost impossible to do on one’s own—tracing a wire or a hose
 Rigging the new Monitor self-steering vane. |
I’ve also been spending a lot of time admiring the new self-steering rig hanging off the stern. Over time, I proclaimed so many times that the self-steering gear aboard the boat
 Fixing the watermaker; with help. |
So, I’d traded the Renault with a local shipwright in return for him installing the Monitor while I was home for the summer, and he’d just about finished before I got back. A busy guy, he’s always off taking care of other projects and hard to pin down. I keep trying because I want to show him the new blocks and shock cords I’ve installed, get his expert approval, and also ask if he would
 Fixing the fridge; with help. |
More than once, it has occurred to me that since I bought her, I’ve spent more time with my boat out of the water than in. I am very familiar with Shangri La’s underbody, which isn’t a bad thing. It’ll be a long time before she gets hauled again. Barring unpleasant possibilities, this won’t happen until the other side of the world, if even, and there is plenty to do that is easier when a boat is on the hard.
To refresh the six-month-old paint job, a guy from the yard has just applied another coat of antifouling, liquid gold that costs $250 a gallon on this island. While he rolled, I figured out how to dismount and disconnect the wind
 The guys from the yard, all in various stages of completion on their own boats. We cheered each other on, and helped each other whenever we could. |
In the meantime, a board was measured, cut and lashed to the stanchions to which I’ll be able to attach jerry cans for extra fuel and water. I’ve ordered, measured, marked, and hauled aboard 200 feet of new anchor chain and spliced onto it another 150 feet of thick rode, the cheapest and best form of insurance in the absence of a written policy, I think. I’ve installed and wired a new compass with compensators that’ll hopefully give us
 Perpetually shopping for parts for my various projects in progress. |
Now, I look at my stack of spent lists compiled over the past week and a half that I just can’t throw away. I like to be reminded of everything that had to happen to get here. They’re documents, a record of telephone numbers and email addresses for everyone called or consulted along the way. Reviewing all the checked-off items makes me feel productive, even though the last item on every list says: start new list. And so, I sit here typing and counting the minutes until the boys arrive. Then, we can get this whole show back in the water and on the road with another kind of list, the one with places we’ve been, people we’ve met, things we’ve seen that will make this latest round of work and preparation pay off.
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Shangri La's interior when I first arrived, left, and finally, when I had most of the projects done, just before the boys' arrive from Vermont.
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