I walked behind the Travelift with the dregs of the paint can in my
hand, waiting for the guys to stop and allow me to patch the six
unpainted spots where the boat sat on the jacks all winter.
I felt as if I were walking in a funeral procession, taking slow,
measured steps, making sure not to get in the way of the huge
blue frame that cradled my ship, rolling slowly toward the point
at which she would be lowered into her final resting place.
The few random people that were in the yard stopped and
watched in reverence, as the behemoth crept the last few feet
past the boatyard dog, who was wandering aimlessly close to
the rear wheel of the marina owner's pickup truck.
No worries, he was leased.
Far from a funeral, it was a rebirth a mere five months after the ship
was untimely ripped from the Bay's womb, having fallen short of
fulfilling her Captain's dreams of sailing those waters well into the
winter months. That quest has begun again, today, with goals set anew.