When committing your boat to a do or die situation such as this (if you miss the cradle you risk limbs, lives and your boat) the focus is on getting it right the First � The Only � time.
I committed.
Faith's bow penetrated the maidenhood of the cradle.
Passionate shouts arose as the forward lines were tossed by Brian.
Great heaving and laboring ensued as the long, sleek prow slid intimately between the wet walls of our receptacle.
Lines went taut, a lover's limbs straining to hold a mate.
Brawny sinews stood out as she was drawn upward from undulating sea into sky's arc.
And climax was reached.
Dripping hull extracted, the parting of essentials was complete; Faith rested ashore, her undersides gleaming in post-Neptunic rapture.
In a word, it was sexy.
And when, four minutes later, I stepped off the boat onto the girdered planks I had a view of Faith's sensual, curvaceous hull and ragged, lacerated rudder.
Assuming the role of Shipwright, I descended to the paved terrain. The rudder showed no sign of further rot or damage than when we'd discovered the contingency. The crew and I conferred on what to do. Brian washed the waterline, scrubbing away the slime that had accumulated during our stay in the Caribbean. Eric was suffering from a bout of someone's (or some drink's) Revenge. He'd managed to withhold any material explanation of his condition until we'd mounted the haul-out, then proceeded directly to the bathrooms. He wouldn�t be found ten steps from them for several hours.
That was fortunate given that we had a birthday party to arrange to be part of. Since we had no guarantee of time or place for the meeting-up we figured that having a mate stationed at the crossroads could prove strategic. In the meantime, I went to work on the rudder.
I approached it as a medical problem. The infected areas, rife with saline induced swelling and adjacent tissue necrosis, would have to be effectively removed. Out came the wood saws � the tool kit was put together using a basic guide of necessary implements for surgery during the American Civil War. Amputation being our forte. I hacked the diseased area away.
"We can rebuild it," I thought, "better, stronger, faster . I have the tools, I have the technology." And I set to work: to build the world's first bionic rudder. I failed utterly. I'd procured that chunk of mahogany which I cut to match the absent portion of the steering device. When I placed it in the slot it matched perfectly, stabilizing the patient....but it was far too thin. A gap of at least a quarter inch displayed itself between the wide, keel-side portion of the rudder and the narrower, stern-side portion. "Fine," I ameliorated, "we will have to adapt our adaptation. How can I cover this up?" I went to Brian. "Well, you know, in Hollywood we're constantly trying to cheat angles," he suggested. Cheat angles? Ahh, fill in the necessary spaces.... Viva fiberglass!! Several coats of mesh and resin later the patient had been moved from Stable to Recovering condition. It is sad but necessary to note that several screws were implemented to reinforce the injured appendage. In addition, an aluminum plate was installed to insure the integrity of the repair. Bionic indeed. Poor pity, solid success. If not aesthetically beneficent, the patch would stand up to Inquisition, be it Spanish or otherwise...... Probably otherwise, given the rumors we'd heard concerning the Pacific...Whist we awaited the curing of the cure, we anesthetized our anxieties in a celebration of achievement and anniversary. Brian's birthday was upon us. Lest confusion set its arbitrary teeth into the idea, Brian wouldn't be Our Brian, but Brian of the Taking Off. And before anything else gets confused, we began at the patio bar of the defunct BYC.
Eric, Brian and I arrived well before the guest of honor. This proved lucky, as Erin and Nedra arrived shortly after we did. We celebrated and celebrated, upholding the ceremonial festivities for our in absentia amigo. After about two hours, he made his appearance. Huzzah!!
"We don't have a hotel," we had to caution Brian of the Taking Off, "but we do have use of the entire haul-out and repair shop facility." The party descended to new levels � those in and around the Faith as she lay Lilliputian-like in a land of giant journeys and colossal characters.
The tide being out, a strand of beach opened up at the foot of the haul-out tracks. Erin and I took advantage of it, dancing barefooted in the sand. It was perfect. Stars, surf, city lights, smoldering eyes. Suffice to say that smooches were exchanged. Hehehe.
Morning broke over the bay to find Erin and I searching for her sandals (remember the part about dancing barefoot?) We'd been lucky enough to find one washing about in an aggregate of flotsam/jetsam as the tide had come back in. With the daylight we discovered its mate floating on the opposite side of the expansive concrete foundation that had served as our patio the evening prior. We parted with many a backward look and wave, she for her ship, me for mine. With plans for a date that evening, of course.
I made preparations for the fiberglass patch that would reinforce and smooth the repair to the rudder, then fell benignly to sleep as Brian and Eric roused themselves. A few hours later I could be found laboring at Faith's stern once again, whistling happily and futilely attempting to keep the fiberglass resin off my hands as I layered on the last of the patch. Eric, still suffering from a sad case of Montezuma's Revenge, spent the greater portion of the afternoon on the restaurant patio, a few feet from the bathroom door. Brian absorbed himself in The Source (easily James Mitchner's best work). It was about three-thirty when I screwed on the aluminum brace to complete the fix. By no means was it an aesthetic masterpiece, but the repair would serve (I felt confident) under the worst strain the rudder could be subjected to. I even gave it a few test kicks just to be sure.