Out with the old...

The realisation sets in

Where do you start when you have a million things to do? I had made a plan of how the refit was going to go, and had carefully allocated time frames to the various things that I needed to get done. And then I got onboard.

The issue with making plans, when 200miles north west of the vessel, is that you are obviously not onboard to see the true state of the yacht. You aren't there to fully gauge what condition she is truly in. I got down the boat, with a mixed feeling of trepidation and excitement. Having refitted an older yacht before I was well aware of the ability of boats to throw curve balls at you, and was also well versed in how I was going to react. This time it would be different, this I time I would do it properly!!

Getting onboard her was the first issue to be overcome. I had bought my trusty pair of stepladders along with me but discovered they were about a foot too short to be able to get on and off easily. Getting onboard was easy enough but disembarking was a perilous task, of having to slowly lower yourself over the side onto the top bar and then pray it didn't fold underneath you as you shimmied down the shrouds. Fortunately for me, my neighbour on the yacht next door saw this acrobatic display and very generously lent me a spare ladder that was absolutely perfect......... Problem 1 had been overcome, onto the next issue.

Problem 2 came alarmingly quickly. The old padlock on her companionway hatch was seized solid, and no matter how much I swore at it, it stubbornly refused to budge. Back down the ladder then and over to the chandlers. For those of you not acquainted with a chandlers, they are dangerous places, where if you are not careful, a sailor's wallet goes to die. Having introduced myself to the bloke behind the counter and told him that I was planning on doing a large refit and that he would get to know me, I could see the lights sparkle in his eyes as he looked me over as a wolf would its prey. Rather worried now, I cautiously backed away from the man, who was no doubt messaging his significant other and telling them to book a holiday and found the tool selection. Having got the cheapest hacksaw and replacement blades that I could find, and a new padlock to replace the knackered old one, I went to pay. The smile of the man-wolf behind the counter soon fell when he saw my measly shopping basket and I scurried out of there before he could try to sell me anything that would break the budget. Well done Louis, you faced the peril and survived.

The lock was cut off with remarkable ease, and then as I slip the hatch back to survey my new domain, the smell of mould, damp and diesel came charging out the hatch. Ventilation rose up the to-do list significantly. Once below, I was greeted with a scene of chaos. Sails were stacked in the forward berth, running rigging was scattered here and there over the floors, two vodka bottle lay in the sink, beer cans were laid in the water that was once again above the sole boards, and a layer of dirt was on every single conceivable surface. Bugger. The original plans sobbed as they were thrown out of the window and a new one quickly formed in my head. Before anything could happen, she needed to be totally emptied, cleaned down and then and only then could work commence. Back down the ladder, once again finding myself in the man-wolfs lair, this time heavy duty bin bags, disposable gloves and sugar soap were on the menu and after having backed my way out of there, clinging on to my wallet and holding it tightly shut, it was time to get cracking.

The air was oppressive in the cabin, and after having opened the forehatch to try and let something of a through draft in, I once again surveyed the scene. Where the f*** do I start? My wet feet told me the best place was pumping the bilges. The only pump on board was the manual Whale in the cockpit but she made short work of it until....... thump. The pump suddenly went rock solid. "Oh Antares you little minx" I cooed as I went to see what had happened. As it turned out, the plastic ball that once sat on top of the manual started handle on the ancient Sabb engine had chosen that moment to detach itself from its long term resting place, jump down into the bilges, get sucked up the pipe and then wedge itself tightly in the pipe, somewhere underneath the engine. I do love the curve balls boats throw at you!! Not to worry, the water level was at least below the sole boards and with trench foot now less of an concern, I started to sort through nearly 50 years worth of detritus that had come with her. The sails were lowered over the side, the running rigging and assortment of fittings that were scattered here and there were collected and kept. Every locker was opened, emptied and its contents sorted into either the bin it or the keep it pile. If I wasn't sure what it was that I was looking at then it was kept. No point in throwing something away only to discover 6 months later it is a vital bit of kit - ask me how I know!! The port side of the hull became the bin pile and the Starboard side was for everything I planned to keep. Depressingly, the Port side grew at a much faster rate than starboard, in no small part due to the storage bins in the saloon, which contained a near endless supply of rusty Fray Bentos pies and another that I think once contained tools, however they were mostly just large distorted lumps of rust and could have been the holy grail for all I could tell. In the end 22 full sized bags of rubbish were taken out of her, and I swear she felt happier as she was being emptied.

One of the lads who work in the yard, quietly came over to me to ask what I was planning to do with the small landfill that was encroaching ever closer to the lovely looking yacht besides me. It was politely pointed out that the waste disposal points provided weren't going to be able to keep up with the mountain forming besides her and that a skip was going to be needed. In the end, the skip was one of the best decisions I made in the early days of the stripping out process, however at £140, I wasn't best pleased at the time.

Antares with the skip alongside her

The previous owner had installed a solid wood stove, just next to the galley, on the bulkhead heading forward to the heads, but the sharp corners of the stove top were perfectly at kneecap height. On about the 6 thousandth time that my knee made contact with it, I could take no more, and brandishing nothing more than my trusty hacksaw, two screwdrivers and a good dose of internal rage, ripped the metal bastard out. I had always planned to do this, as i'm not a fan of fires on plastic boats as there just seems too much to go wrong, but it was a very satisfying job, and freed up a huge amount of space in the saloon walk way. The other large item to be removed form the saloon was the gas stove. I plan to convert her over to having a paraffin stove but i'll put that in another post later on.....