Launch Day...

We have been through a lot of launch days; Nomad, then Kintala, and now, First Light. Each has come with a certain amount of trepidation, which I find odd. I flew airplanes for a living, still do once in a while. Literally thousands of launches were made into stormy, or ice filled, or minimums weather skies. There were maintenance flights and first flights on just built or heavily modified airplanes, some of which limped home with engines shut down or other abnormalities. (Probably why they are called “test flights”.) There were delivery flights in neglected airplanes that had been sitting on the ground for years and were no longer “serviceable”. Those flights required special permission from the Federal Aviation Agency and came with strict limits as to when, where, how high, in what weather conditions the plane could be moved, and who was allowed on board, always minimum crew only. A mechanic (me) had to certify that the aircraft would (likely) make the flight in more or less one piece. Then the pilot (me again) would jump in and go. As might be expected a lot of those flights involved a certain amount of...shall we say, “adventure”? Then there were the flights into some of the busiest airports on the planet: Chicago, Denver, LA, DC. And flights to and from dirt runways with questionable lighting deep in the Rocky Mountains. Yet never, in all of those thousands of “launches” into a possibly hostile sky in sometimes questionable equipment, did I experience the kind of butterflies that come with launching a boat.

Of course the lift time was delayed. Though we were first on the day's schedule another boat pulled into the pit late last night. It was suffering some kind of a failure that required it be lifted first thing in the morning. By the time it was out of the water, bottom scraped and pressure blasted, and sitting on stands, most of the morning was gone. We had been up since 0600 getting First Light ready to splash. All we could do was take walks around the yard and try to ignore the butterflies.

 

Eventually it was our turn. First Light was eased off of the stands, moved, then lowered gently into the water. Except for the sea trial it was the first time the boat had been floating in nearly 4 years. She has been on the hard nearly as long as we have.

 

Then came the fun part. I got to drive the boat through a very crowded marina and back it into our temporary slip-for-the-day (or two). It was a chance to warm the engines and transmissions as we had an engine expert standing by to change all the fluids and filters once tied to the dock. It was also the very first time for your's truly to helm a twin-engined trawler. Caution was the word of the day, but the minute we cleared the lift pit something became wonderfully obvious. One has far more control over where this boat is going when slow and in tight spots than was ever available on Kintala. It was a 180° turn out of the lift pit. Then it was a run down a narrow fairway lined with boats to be followed by another 90° turn to port. After that it was time for a 90° swing, bow to starboard, while backing into the slip, this in a fairway only slightly wider than First Light is long. And it was no problem at all. Mind you, the wind was less than 5 knots so no “big boy” points were accrued. But...DAMN!

 

We were both a little buzzed after tying off in the slip. The engine expert took over. It was near the end of the mechanical work when the first problem reared is head. There is something wrong with the ship's generator starting circuit. Though the gen-set worked just fine during the sea trial, it is now an inert lump sitting at the back of the engine room. After a bit of poking and prodding deep in the tangle of wiring taking up space in the control unit, our expert engine guy allowed that he was getting out of his depth. (The mark of a true expert is someone who knows what he doesn't know, and is willing to admit it!) But he happens to know an expert generator guy. But it all came out even as our expert engine guy is also an air-con expert. He cleared a simple airlock and showed me how to properly power up the system. Shazam! Cold air. (Not that we plan on using it much. But it is nice to have.) 

Our engine expert, Darrel from Foster's Mobile Marine

 

The next problem to peak over the transom was a recurring glitch with the Raymarine plotter at the upper helm. In this day of smart phones and iPads, such is not much of an issue insofar as navigation goes. But it is also the screen for the onboard radar. RADAR! How cool it that? Turns out the engine guy also knows a Raymarine guy. If we can't figure it out, someone will. 

So, at this very moment of typing, I am sitting in the covered Fly Bridge, enjoying a cold one, feeling the boat move gently, and listening to the wildlife playing in the sea grass. Around me is a venue of pure joy, afloat in a marina once again, surrounded by water, and boats, and trees. I walk a dock to get to the boat, step on board without climbing a ladder. It is hard to explain just how perfect it all feels.

 

  

In the next day or two we will head down to Oriental where First Light will stay until Spring. In between, St. Louis still calls (though at least two trips to the boat are planned). There is family I am already missing a little. There is also an income that will help cover those last few items I would like to have working before we head off once again. But, at least for now, it feels like we have made it back. And it feels good.

 

 

The painter's dog seemed a little nonplussed at the removal of his shade boat