This was the morning for our second attempt at the Big Chute rail lift. We were both out of the berth by 0600, each of us uneasy about trying it again while trying to hid it from the other. But when you have been together for better than 50 years, basically two halves of the same person, it was pretty obvious we wanted this thing over no matter how it was going to turn out. But even up early we couldn't move to the blue until after the marina mechanic came to look at the boat I bounced off of yesterday. It turns out I did bend things a bit. Nothing too major but I'll bet it will cost me a boat buck or two. Lesson learned. Bail out early, think it over, then try again or make a different plan. The sad thing is, I thought I knew that already. Oh well.
We motored up to the blue line with the same enthusiasm of a person reporting in for a jail term. Going into a lift that had nearly trashed the boat would have been pure silly except, there was no other choice. I really don't like it when things get narrowed down to where there is no other choice.
They did two lifts before it was our turn and, when it was, they called us into the lift all by our little lonesome. We slid in and adjusted fore and aft a couple of feet while they set the slings. The lift guru asked if our tanks were empty. I assured him they were near bone dry. He smiled and allowed that all would be well. I allowed that I would be closing my eyes for the passage. He laughed. I wasn't smiling. I kept it to myself that I had heard something similar the day before, just minutes before the boat was nearly on its side and I was trying not to slide off the bow. As we got ready to move, I sat in the fly bridge and glanced at my heart rate monitor. (It kind of comes with the pacemaker.) Dead still, sitting, 100+ BPM. Not too bad considering.
It all went well. The view at the top of the hill was both interesting and daunting at the same time. A brake or cable failure on the way down was a thought on which not to dwell. When we came to rest at the bottom, boat floating agin, Deb mentioned to the lift guru that, after yesterday, we were both more than a little nervous about trying it again. The lift guru smiled, “So were we.” Damn. Glad I didn't know that before we started.
We didn't go too far after clearing the lift, stopping at a much nicer (yet noticeably cheaper) marina than was the one at Big Chute. Here we topped off the fuel, emptied the holding tank, and filled up with water. All with the aid of the friendliest and most helpful dock hands we have run across since Delaware City. After fuel and the pump out, we moved to our overnight space on the face dock, bow to bow with a boat that watched the debacle of yesterday. I was backing in, didn't like what I was seeing, pulled out, and made another run at it that looked (if I do say so myself) near textbook. Once we were tied up, the guy on that boat came by to say they were happy to see that we made it through.
Tomorrow we will pretend the last couple of days never happened and head off to the edge of Georgian Bay.
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