The hydraulic lines to the crane have been replaced and the ceiling panels reinstalled in the salon. With much effort, we cleaned the hydraulic fluid from the walls, floor and lower cabinetry, and even managed to save the upholstery fabric. Unfortunately, due to Covid-related shortages, the world is apparently fresh out of upholstery foam, so we wrapped the oil-soaked foam inserts tightly in black plastic bags and completely sealed the seams with sturdy tape, then stuffed them back in the cushions. It’s reminiscent of sitting on your grandparents’ sofa – a bit firm and plastic crunchy. But, hey, it looks good. And once the world returns to foam production, we will have the settee restuffed with something other than hazardous waste.

Matt and Laurie are fellow cruisers, much more experienced, who are also having work done at the Zimmerman Yard. Matt introduced us to goat cheese and olive tapenade at a great docktail evening!

Airlie Gardens, Wilmington NC

Stanley Rehder Carnivorous Plant Garden

The Stanley Rehder Carnivorous Plant Garden, dedicated to Wilmington’s “Flytrap Man,” occupies three-quarters of an acre in one of the world’s few microclimates permitting year-round outdoor growth of pitcher plants, sundews, Venus flytraps, and other insectivorous species. Flytraps growing wild. Native to Wilmington, NC. Who knew??

Just because we are currently sitting it out by ourselves in a dusty service yard, doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the Kentucky Derby, right? At least that’s what we thought. So, the day before, I washed/oiled the galley and salon walls and cabinetry, put out what few small Triple Crown decorations we kept, and prepped for a decadent meal of Kentucky Hot Brown Sandwiches with a Tex Mex Potato Salad (which has nothing whatsoever to do with Kentucky or the Derby but sounded good), and homemade chocolate nut fudge for dessert.

Derby day dawned bright and sunny in Holden Beach, NC. After spending a few hours scrubbing the hull, we decided to take the dinghy for a ride before getting cleaned up to watch the 147th Run for the Roses and devour our tasty dinner (along with some bourbon, of course). When we extended the crane from the flybridge, we heard POP hiss-s-s-s-s-s… and the dinghy slowly lowered itself into the water. Uh-oh, who’s driving this thing? No more crane. Hmmm. After taking a look around and not spotting any hair-on-fire crisis items, we decided to take our joy ride before tackling this new problem of a busted crane. The dinghy was, after all, now in the water with no way of returning it aboard. We spent an hour or so and used the dinghy to zip down and explore the ICW in the sunshine. Nice. All good things must come to an end though, and the time came to clean up and get ready for the race. With the crane out of commission, we found a place to temporarily dock the dinghy where it would be sheltered from most of the wakes from passing boats. (Zimmerman Holden Beach is right ON the ICW, and a great number of boaters seem to have no idea what that “No Wake” sign at the nearby Fuel Dock means.) The boom was still extended with the cable and hook dangling precariously in the wind along the port side, however, so while I headed to the shower, Todd tried to raise the cable and bring the boom back to the boat to safely secure it until we could pursue the repair to the crane. Oh no! There goes another hydraulic line. He threw down shop towels, rags, and all the absorbent pads we owned, and then heard me turn off the shower. As I emerged, clean, happy, and unsuspecting, he met me with a terrible, stricken look and said, “This is bad.” When I asked how bad, he replied, “Very bad.” Given the look on his face, I asked if we were sinking. His responding look seemed to indicate that would have been preferable. Say what?? Worse than sinking?

Okay, it was bad. There are seven lines that run from the crane through a cabinet under a built-in seat on the flybridge – a nice, large, empty, fiberglass cabinet. Nothing in there but hydraulic lines. Well, you know how stuff runs downhill? Turns out the lines didn’t burst at the upper end of their runs in the aforementioned nice, large, empty fiberglass cabinet and thus contain the hydraulic fluid. No-o. They burst at the lower end of the lines, which is… wait for it… in the salon ceiling! Hydraulic fluid was raining out along the seams of the ceiling panels in a waterfall directly over the newly upholstered settee!

The resulting not-so-funny comedy of slip-sliding in hydraulic fluid on teak floors while trying to simultaneously unscrew oily staves and ceiling panels, save what could be saved in the salon, and contain the spillage is another story. Worst. Derby. Day. Ever.

On the bright side:

1. No one was hurt
2. The line burst while the heavy dinghy was safely hanging over the side, rather than half-on and half-off the deck
3. We were at a service yard and not anchored out somewhere
4. The yard had a spare boat lift to store our dinghy out of the water until the hydraulic lines could be replaced
5. And, finally, there was plenty of bourbon on board (which we got to around midnight…)