Deb and I have owned our Laura Lynn for something like a quarter century now. Living up here in the Northeast we, as do all hopeful sailors, look forward to the annual spring launch with the patience of children the week before Christmas. As the weather turns promising and we finish our boat chores or promise to once we’re in the water, the anticipation becomes next to unbearable.
I doubt our boatyard is much different than others in these parts. It winters like a hibernating bear, with little evidence of life, quiet but for the slapping of halyards on breezy days. But when spring arrives and one stares at a perfect wind on the bay, or a still day that would be perfect for launching boats languishing on jack stands, nothing moves fast enough. Were an actual bear involved, I think most boaters would be willing to stomp on the sleeping creature’s den to get it the hell up and at ‘em.
Instead we inform the boatyard of our readiness, we pay outlandish bills long before the expenses can be appreciated, we wring our hands, busy ourselves with things we’d rather not be doing, and we wait. And wait.
But this year something marvelous happened, and I haven’t a clue why. We were in the water close to two months before we usually are, so early in fact that were one to view the expanse of Manhasset Bay, a not insignificant volume of water, we were for weeks the only moored vessel to be seen. What elation! What delight!
What a mess. For while boaters were virtually nowhere to be seen on the water, the year-round occupants of these parts had never left. I refer specifically to seagulls and osprey. These two avian forms deliver a one-two punch to any boater crazy enough to be first out on the water. They live to eat and shit, and naturally visa versa. Their only concern seems to be to find a convenient rest stop to complete their mission. As our boat was the only perch available, that’s where they went, and went. They fouled the boom, the dodger, the coamings, the winches, the decks, though remarkably I never caught them in the act. Had I, perhaps I could've formulated an effective strategy.
I strung small stuff like spider web all over the boat, at first strategically, then willy-nilly, trying to see if I could divine what would deter them. They scoffed at my deterrents. I began to think they might be appreciating my janitorial services.
I also mentioned osprey, and it has dawned on me that back in 2009 I did a number on them in a post titled “Look Out Below.” I guess I should be happy it’s taken the osprey over a decade to return with a vengeance. I won’t then waste your time describing what slobs they are when they set a table on one of our spreaders in order to enjoy a seafood meal.
Besides hunger, love does appear to be in the air, and Deb and I witnessed two pair of newlyweds making homes for themselves on separate newly launched power boats nearby. I must admit that I thought more than once about not contacting our boatyard to inform them that a couple of yacht-clubbers are going to have to contest ownership of their boats if they don’t get out to theirs soon. My first thought was, better them than us, but I also noticed one of those boats was listing some to starboard, and it would be shameful of me to turn a blind eye to potential disaster. In any event, the bay is finally beginning to get populated with other options for our foul friends. In the meantime I’ve invested in devices looking like NASA rover antennae, said to ward of flying IFO’s. We shall see soon enough.
