So often, the process of making one boat repair leads to the discovery of two other jobs that must be done. But that turned out not to be the case with Robin’s leaky port hole. (Read More…)

The setting sun’s reflection
rides ashore
on the backs of gently
lapping waves, (Read More…)

It was some time before 8 a.m. Wednesday morning when I got the word that Robin would be hauled. It was two days later than I had planned, but having lived in a working boatyard for three months now, I accept the delay as normal. Things happen with boats. Boatyards and schedules are like oil and water. (Read More…)

As I was waiting to be hauled out Stephen, a member of the yard crew, arrived beside Robin and announced he was here to remove my port and rebed it. Somehow, the message had been garbled. He was here, I explained, simply to remove the port. There was some carpentry to be accomplished before the circular bronze port could be replaced. (Read More…)

Today was supposed to be haul-out day, but Robin is still in the slip. I suspected this might happen when, on Thursday, I left town and a rather large sailboat was occupying the Travelift bay. It remained there this morning, which did not surprise me. (Read More…)

Robin is being hauled Monday, and I have to make a list of things to have on hand. There will be a gallon of bottom paint from the marine store, a solvent-resistant roller, a metal paint pan, and a Tyvek suit. (Read More…)

On one of my visits out to the end of the dock, I noticed a quite beautiful and long yawl anchored in the middle of Town Creek. It had a small doghouse forward of the cockpit, but otherwise the deck was clear. (Read More…)

One of the daily pleasures of living in the boatyard here in Oxford is the opportunity to run across Richard Griffiths, who has a story for every occasion. Delivered in his decidedly British inflections and choice of vocabulary, even the most mundane topic is elevated to the status of entertainment. (Read More…)

Raise the white flag. When it comes to stripping Robin’s caprails — those 4-inch-wide teak planks on top of the bulwarks — the capitulation is complete. (Read More…)

Monica was in the pool at the marina next door, the temperature was over 90 degrees, and I was in the shade of a wooden canopy between the pool and the fuel dock when the massive, white motoryacht passed. I noticed the boat — a mix between a convertible and what used to be called a cabin cruiser. (Read More…)