Saturday: twenty metres
On Monday, Sandpiper was due to be lifted out of Port St Mary harbour to spend the winter on land. That meant first moving her from her inner harbour berth to the wall. The move is no more than 20 metres, but it is a tight tidal harbour, and to say I am still entirely inexperienced would be an understatement. My confidence is improving, though, to the stage where I felt we could do it.
The weather for Sunday was looking bad, and additional complications were the last thing we needed, so we went down on Saturday. I took my girlfriend and a friend who had no boating experience whatsoever. The move went surprisingly smoothly, and she was remarkably easy to line up against the wall, with my girlfriend on the harbour side catching and securing the lines. On the way from her berth to the wall we only hit one other boat, several times and from several directions, so that was a success.
The good thing about getting into boats on the Isle of Man is the instant sense of community. As we were about to head off, we saw an elderly chap, clearly more salty than I am, looking down and inspecting the boat. I took it as an opportunity to ask whether he felt we had enough slack on the lines to account for the tide. He agreed we did, whilst casually observing that he had owned Sandpiper for 12 years, and had fitted her cabin out with the fittings she still has today. He also said I should come back at low tide and make sure the lines were not too tight, just in case.
I dropped everyone back home and returned at low tide. Sandpiper was already sitting on her keels, and the lines were perfection. I sat on her and had a Co-op meal deal in the sun. The entirely disproportionate sense of accomplishment pleased me a great deal.
Saturday evening: the Black Swan
Back in Douglas, and feeling slightly elated by my boating mastery, I headed down to the Black Swan. Not for any stressful manoeuvre, but to sit on her deck and enjoy a beer, again in the last rays of the day.
I was joined by seagulls, ducks, some beautiful swans and, to my utter delight, a kingfisher, which perched briefly on a neighbouring boat. As the birds started to retire, my helpers from earlier joined me and we saw off the sun. Then a quick curry with my girlfriend at Naadu, and I called it a night.
Sunday: Castletown and Scarlett
The next day brought a car boot sale in Castletown. I love a car boot, and the first stand was an instant success, with a treasure trove of coins. I did quite well on some, and less so on others.
The sale was at Morton Hall, home of the Castletown and District Over 60’s Club. It was built in 1969 by volunteer tradesmen, funded by public donations and a gift from Mr and Mrs Morton of Cronkbourne House, and opened in July 1970. It is a charming time capsule of the 1970s. That in itself was a small treasure, never mind the coins.
Feeling motivated by treasure, we then headed to Scarlett, for the third time in very short succession, as it is now our favourite spot. By now we had learned a lot more about it and knew what to look for. The metal detectors were still out, but the highlight had undoubtedly shifted to fossil hunting (some good porcelain finds, mind you).
The abundance of fossils, once you know what you are looking for, is unbelievable. Most are old coral, firmly embedded in huge, immovable slabs of limestone from a warm tropical sea some 330 million years ago.
Some fossils are loose, though, and can be found with a careful eye. I came away with what I deemed an excellent haul.
I also found a cool creature under a rock. I got the impression it did not enjoy the sun, so I swiftly rebuilt its house, whilst trying not to crush it in the process.
It is quite an amazing place. One part of the foreshore is scattered with fossils, the next with porcelain, much of it possibly from shipwrecks, and there are fun metal detector finds throughout.
My girlfriend made it an early one after that, ready and fit for work the next morning. I, somewhat petrified of what Monday morning held, finished the day with friends at the Woodbourne, where I was rather pleased to win the meat raffle, in the form of a voucher for the local butcher’s.
Monday: the lift
Monday morning arrived, and there was no avoiding it. Down to Sandpiper by myself, with no idea of what to do. I donned my hard hat and hi-vis and stood near the crane, which was lifting out another boat. Then they came to me, with many, many questions. How much does she weigh? Which straps do you usually use? I knew the answer to none of this.
Fortunately the boating community came to my aid again, this time in the form of another gentleman, who volunteered his help and expertise, considerably greater than mine. He led the way down the ladder and we got Sandpiper strapped up. She was raised out without an issue, the kind gentleman leading her by the bow line whilst I held the stern line. One of the crane operators swiftly relieved me of the stern line and took control of it himself, I am sure for good reason.
They navigated my Newbridge Navigator into her winter resting spot, where she was set down safe and sound. Weeks of mental anguish and panic, and there she was, exactly where she was meant to be, thanks in very large part to the help of friends and strangers.
