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The three-sided garage

Clearly, I may have overthought this.

Winter and hurry up and wait freelance employment give the earthbound sailor time to mull and to ponder various infinities, and many sailors do have philosophical bents. A sailor's boat, however, is a finite space: no matter how large or small, most skippers would prefer more space in which to put more things. The list of tools and spares is long: there's never enough money or space to carry every damn needful thing.  So it's important to plan not only which spares, consumables and tools are brought along, but where they may best be kept and how.
Bloody luxury

The thing is, boats move. I know, I know, this is not readily apparent if one walks the docks of many a Great Lakes yacht club, but it's true. Not to tell anyone how to use their boats, but fair-weather sailors can pack a plastic tool box in the lazarette. This sort of post is not for you.

And this sort of workshop is a bit precious for me, if very, very pretty. Photo (c)

Tools, the extensive ones I wish to bring because of delusions of competency and a desire for self-sufficiency, do not move if you stow them in foam insert in lockable drawers in chests throughbolted the steel collision bulkhead, but still, there are considerations. In the photo above, I do not see fiddles nor enough of an overhang to apply clamps, two things I would miss at even a modest heel.
This is more like it: the workshop on a steel Brewer 50 for sale here.
Note how some onboard workshops incorporate clever ideas. The usual sliding door cabinets are pretty standard, but in the photo above, open shelving is angled downward at the rear so that loose objects within, including awkwardly shaped things like what appears to be an assembled Henderson pump, can stay put but accessible unless the boat's heeled so far over that the crew have other pressing concerns than crashing noises coming from forward.
A characteristically Spartan workspace, but not wildly different from what I want, save for the headspace.

Sailing veterans Larry and Lin Pardey were, over the last few decade, about the ultimate in self-sufficiency. Having met them, I can say they are also compact enough that I suspect the modest if incredibly tough boats they lived aboard did not present an issue, but Larry's ingenuity allowed his tools to be stowed both safely and without corrosion.
Caddy-type bags and tool racks are best considered temporary storage. A screwdriver would fret through that quickly at sea.

I've seen this and various "pegboards" on boats, but they don't inspire confidence as a tool chest does.
Fine for a four-sided garage, but for a forepeak? Not so much.

You do have the typical tool caddy or plastic rank thingies on some boats (see above), but that's just to keep them handy while working. When the job is done, the workbench must be completely clear unless you are clamping something; then the clamps themselves must be lashed down. move.
The workbench on Morgan's Cloud: If you want a good tool space to emulate, this is a great picture to mull over.
Above is the workbench area of Morgan's Cloud, a McCurdy and Rhodes 56 foot cutter in aluminum. John and Phyllis Harries, her owners, are fans of high-latitude passagemaking: access to tools and spares is critical aboard a boat that at any given point might be a thousand miles from the nearest SAR facilities, never mind a well-stocked chandlery.

Things I find of note in the picture are the aforementioned heavy fiddle. Not only should this catch most tools and fasteners should the boat give a lurch, it's also a handhold for the person doing the work. Note also the mounted plastic fastener organizers and the toolboxes lashed into place by webbing for storage AND held with eyes screwed into the bench top. That vise is nice, too, and right-sized for repairs...I think at least one of the skippers is left-handed. Jammed into the corner, there is a "ditty bag" of assorted tools suitable for a grab-and-go job and for taking up the mast securely from a lanyard from the bosun's chair. Lastly, there is what appears to be a snap-down cover to keep ongoing projects from taking flight. A nice bench in a tight space that appears to have seen a lot of action.
I think this sort of thing exceeds my skill set, but it's a beautiful piece of kit. (c) Sailing MeVoy
Some sailors, of course, bring woodworking skills to bear. This toolbox above is indeed beautiful and wonderfully well-made, but it's "too beautiful" for me. I prefer metal or plastic boxes for tools, because if I can't keep them coated in CRC or Boeshield or some similar rust-inhibitor, they won't last long or work properly at sea. This implies the possibility of tools staining or marking the trays in which they live, and that would damage a wood tool box.

This is better than the foam inserts because of the better use of space and because you usually want more than one wrench.
This sort of organization appeals to me as a good way to store tools in "ranges", as this is more or less the way I sort them currently.

The idea of a bike seat in the workshop is a pretty obvious one, I think: it's cheap, it pivots, it is easy to mount to the sole and it keeps my legs well-braced. Best of all, I can move it and stow it if I need to stand or to maneuver inside this space.

Decent lighting in a workshop is important: While I have a 21 inch square steel hatch I can fling open, I would be cautious about doing so in anything but a benign sea. This hatch, which needs a different method of sealing I will discuss in a future post, has a 5 x 12 inch opening port for some light and ventilation, but there are both 12 VDC and 120 VAC runs from the electrical panels to provide "ship's power" lights and enough power to a conventional AC power bar from shore or inverter to run strong lights, and items such as a small vacuum, drills or grinders. The least obvious item in the drawing at the start of this entry is "the chain trug"...more on this later in the year when the windlass is installed! The hatch into the salon is still a "perhaps", but I would love in bad conditions not to have to climb onto deck from this workshop to get back below. Another advantage would be in communicating with the rest of the crew while forward, and to pass items (boom ends? whisker poles?) into the workshop So that's still a question mark, as discussing anything that would put a big square hole into a collision bulkhead should be.


Unforced mating

As a kid, I built 1/72 scale models of this historic bomber. If you'd told me then that in 2015 I would own a steel sailboat and one of these would have flown over it, I would have laughed. Screencap (c) CBC
I was alerted by a fellow YC member that an episode of the Rick Mercer Report, a CBC comedy show, featured a flight in one of the world's last two flying Lancaster bombers. This World War II stalwart was made here and in Britain in the thousands for the purposes of German urban renewal. Now, I was potty enough about "warbirds" in my callow youth that I recognize the distinctive sound of the four Merlin engines (the same engine that powered the Spitfire) that drag this pristinely restored 100,000 rivets flying in formation through the sky, and as they do their fund-raising flights over my house and my boat, I usually don't miss a chance to look up. This shot captures the moment the Lancaster flew over National Yacht Club in fall of 2015, and yes, I've helpfully pointed to S/V Alchemy, just as metallic, if storied.

Batteries were out on the camera, otherwise I would have zoomed in on the waves splashing the runway. About 25-28 knots, I think.
Back in the bleak midwinter of 2016, the wind was up and a reason to tie off the ladder was clearly evident. The tarp over the pilothouse roof will need replacement, as is the case at least twice each winter, as the wind and the snow tend to shred it. I was aboard because, despite the wind, it was about 4C out, almost balmy for late January, and I wanted to charge the battery and take some measurements. I actually use my electronic calipers (which I bought during a 70% off sale) quite frequently, because of the multiplicity of fasteners and holes and mast measurements I have to take. By the way, the mast slide system from Tides Marine has been ordered and should arrive at the sailmaker's next week.

The aft cabin is not just a radio room, but this is a good start.
Firstly, however, was dealing with my Christmas presents. Mrs. Alchemy finally heeded my long-standing request for a "24 hour clock" and threw in a tide clock as well. They fit nicely and are easily seen from the pilothouse and from the aft cabin. The tide clock, which is admittedly not so useful on the Great Lakes, can nonetheless show "ship's time" or that of the local time zone in which we are sailing, whereas the "ZULUTIME" clock stays on UTC time...all the time. Simple, really! Also, if I ever form a cruiser-based pickup band in the tropics, we're going to be called "ZULUTIME".

Needs a touch-up, definitely.
Now that the engine is (one hopes) reliably situated, I can bolt down the aluminum pilothouse roof to the steel inward flange of the pilothouse itself. The problem is one of dissimilar metals, exacerbated by imperfect painting and the completion of the "circuit". Another reason to do this, of course, is that this roof has a fair number of electrical leads going thorough it of the power and signal variety: fluxgate compass, GPS, overhead lighting, and so on, and while this will be carefully handled, an alu roof electrified and in contact with the steel hull would be A Bad Thing, galvanically speaking. Now, while it's true that the mild steel of the pilothouse and the aluminum are pretty close on the galvanic series, the stainless steel of the fasteners used to hold one to the other are very definitely farther away in said series, and are therefore more likely to trouble the mated metals. So, unmating them is key.

Ignore at your peril if you own a metal boat sailing in a weak electrolyte, such as the ocean is.
I'm doing this mainly through keeping them mechanically separated. One metal will not  touch the other. It starts in the spring with removing the pilothouse roof; now that the mast will be back in place, lifting the pilothouse roof straight up using the boom and the topping lift and a harness should be simple. It's in fact one of the reasons I rigged a Dyneema topping lift: to hoist stuff in and out of the boat easier. The other reason was to use it as an aid, when combined with a tackle, in getting crew overboard back on deck.

The "roof remediation" starts with roof removal. Then the various bolt holes are cleaned out, primed and the whole flange is painted, above and below, with two-part Endura, the current touch-up paint aboard. This takes us to the zero point: there is now paint separating flat steel and aluminum plate. But there's irregularities: the join must be sealed. So here's my idea: Glue three-inch wide strips of quite thin HDPE sheeting (a good insulator) in place over the steel flange. Drill holes from beneath. Insert unthreaded soulder spacers with flanges in the holes; these are also called bushings. Lay down a bead of sealant on the innermost edge of the flange, and lay our old friend butyl tape on the outside. Both sealant and butyl will stand proud of the plastic stand-off strip. Restore the aluminum roof and replace properly sized bolts, nylon washers and nuts through the mated holes and tighten. For those holes tapped directly into the aluminum framing, use Tef-gel or Duralac to isolate the dissimilar metal. Dog down bolts (there's 40 of them) and trim any overflow. None of the stainless steel fasteners should, if I do my work well, be in contact with either the steel or the aluminum, and yet they will all be compressed firmly and will keep everything snugged down. Yesterday was the day I measured all the holes and the (slightly variable) thicknesses of the un-mating surfaces in order to order the proper bushings. It's a glamourous life I lead.
The front of the "lid" has a sturdy flange of plate aluminum underneath into which I expect to rivet or bolt some "eyeline" armatures for screens that can be lowered as needed.
Once the bolting together and sealing part is finished, we can restore the electrical runs, the closed-cell insulation and the rather handsome cherrywood battens and stretches of white masonite that make the restored pilothouse a pleasant place from which to run the boat. So I will remast as soon as I can to get this done before it gets stonking hot in the spring.

Lastly, Valiente's is now on Maybe she's got a future in the States. She's priced to appeal to that particular currency's wielders and it is now, as foretold, in the hands of the broker. I've been asked to elaborate on my painful and boring journey of discovery as it relates to the failure to privately vend a discounted boat; I will consider it after she's sold.


The winter of some content

Ready, aye, ready. Yes, only 5.5 hours on the meter. It is a sailboat, after all.
 A brief update to prove I haven't been lost in a blizzard or in a salesman's spiel at the almost miserable Toronto International Boat Show. Almost because I attended some interesting lectures conducted by the Shards, Andy Schell and Mia Karlsson, and Lee Chesneau, the 500 mb Guy. I didn't bother to even board the scanty collection of production boats available to see and complain about this year. Usually, I'm up for that, but as I've been watching the build of Robert Perry's latest carbon fibre classic done (in my opinion) correctly on Facebook, I really don't have the time for what an accountant considers fit for purpose and/or seaworthy beyond a sheltered dock.

I did speak to tank fabricators, electronics sellers,  and guys who could make me a companionway door to my design for $2,000-$3,000. So I think I'll try it myself for about a tenth of that. McMaster-Carr, here I come. They also make the nylon bushings I want to reattach my pilothouse roof without dissimilar metal contact. I've also decided on batteries. My goodness, I think I've sussed why I haven't posted much...too busy!
A welcome sight in winter's icy clutches: a fully charged starter battery
Anyway, after yet more excitable, if fruitless, boat showings, I've listed Valiente with a broker. Expect a higher priced listing to emerge shortly, as I've completed the requested paperwork. Is it possible to be distressed emotionally and bored at the same time? So it has proven in this wretched process of selling a beloved first boat.

I've had to take a series of measurements (and I just learned I forgot to take "internal round sail track diameter"....argh...) for the Tides Marine sailtrack project. No pictures; it was too cold and fiddly trying to measure things on a mast rack, but I'm nearly there. The gear will be trans-shipped to Triton Sails in the hopes I can hoist a new, ocean-grade main right after launch.

It turns out that when contemplating Canada's current currency woes, the best thing I could have done in the past was to bank a small pile of U.S. dollars when the Canadian dollar was last worth more. That U.S. dollar Visa will shortly get a workout. Most things to do with boats cost a lot, but a 30% depreciation would sting overmuch. More to come shortly.


The hard sell



Beautiful, fast and sea-kindly, even in freshwater seas. Photo (c) 2011 Jeff Cooper
This is an unusual post, because it's an edited repeat of my first and apparently ineffectual attempt to sell Valiente, my 1973 Ontario Yachts Viking 33, and is linked to my ongoing Kijiji sales ad, which may not be giving the fullest picture of the boat's qualities and therefore I'm going to repost the Kijiji ad for a few more days until I fling this at a broker at a higher price. So act now and get sailing in the spring! I will help launch the buyer in the spring and will give basic instruction in how to sail her, because she's a very good boat that I wish to see go to a good home, or dock.

Photo (C) 2006 Matt Phillips.
It's been a good run, but it's time to simplify our situation regarding the "one boat surplus".
Centrally located slip, as well. Talk to me, people.

1973 VIKING 33 Hull #32 FOR SALE

1973 Viking 33 in middle blue. I have owned her since 1999.
Atomic 4 engine rebuilt in 2006. Some 150 hours run time since then.
Stock 35 amp alternator. Coil replaced in 2012. A4 crank included.
Fuel system replaced in 2006. Water-fuel separator and raw basket filter.
Vetus waterlock with 2007 exhaust hose.
10 U.S. gallon Tempo fuel tank with 5/8” vent line, new in 2007.
Whale Gusher manual bilge pump with handle.
Whale Sub 650 electric bilge pump…needs servicing.
Guest 10 amp battery charger; 30 amp shore power circuit.
Traditional stuffing box, repacked 2013.
All original gate valve seacocks replaced with ballcock valves.
30 Imperial gallon holding tank.

And excellent light-air performance.
Custom-built anchor roller adds about 15 inches to length overall (LOA).

A very useful addition.
Slip at Marina Quay West, Toronto is potentially available with the boat. 
2015 cost: About $3,100 for the season.
Gori two-bladed folding prop 11.5 x 8.
I gained about a 1/2 knot when I installed this.
ICOM M-45 VHF radio.
Seafarer III depthfinder (from the '70s, but quite functional!)
Most deck gear backed with custom-installed, quarter-inch aluminum plates.
Custom teak-mounted amidship cleats.
New wiring to batteries, new main battery switch and terminal blocks (2013).
2011 Garhauer triple-block mainsheet, newish 7/16th inch jib sheets and traveller control lines.
Teak and holly floor, and, alas, original upholstery...sorry, "vintage".

Double berth and all of my stuff is out of there now.
Bright, airy V-berth and hanging locker.

The engine is under this companionway....easy access.
Full navigation station and chart storage area.
Full set of dock lines, plus “away” dock lines.
Danforth 22 lb. anchor and chain and rope rode (approx. 13 feet of chain and 150 feet of line). Hawsepipe opening with SS hinged lid. Barlow 26 primaries and Barlow 20 secondaries, well maintained.

Elbow grease brings back the gelcoat in spring.
I like labels.
New folding boarding ladder 2013.
Run for the boarder.
Electro Systems propane/gas sniffer.
Legal complement of flares and extinguishers.
Two lifesaving rings.
Heaving rope, elderly LifeSling.

Standing rigging (1/4 inch 7 x 19 SS wire) fully replaced in 2013 via Genco Marine, Toronto.
Yes, she's fast.
Extensive sailing and engine spares inventory.
Many spares available. Thorough maintenance logs available.
Force 10 rail barbeque.
Custom light blue fitted cockpit cushions.
Six-pad Marine Cradle Shop cradle. Custom-made Quinte Canvas tarp frame...needs replacement tarp.
Rudder repair, 2012:
This needed a touch of fairing forward of the strut. There was no structural issue or misalignment.
There is a saloon table aboard and a new table support base, but as we don’t use the table, I haven't installed it.
Sails: the main is relatively new Dacron and there are a wide variety of "less old" sails that will come with it. Quite frankly, I've got a lot of sails "in reserve" hanging in my garage. I have things like lightly used Mylar No. 1 and 2s in the garage off a C&C 34 (Aristo out of NYC) that can be converted to hank-on for about $150/sail. I've done this with the Kevlar/Mylar No. 1 and a previous main, but the current composite No. 1 is getting a bit tatty. We carry a No. 1, 2 and 3.
And we like serious gear: This is Garhauer.
Keel fairing repair, 2010:
Items not included in the sale: Triton asymmetrical chute, foredeck whisker pole, Fortress FX-23 anchor and rode, 10 foot Portabote, and the sailing repair box, the “crash box”, the camp stove and all tools and personal effects. The customary big bag of "make us legal" keyhole foam life vests remain. They make good headrests.
I would also throw in some Atomic 4 spares as I wouldn't be needing them anymore, including extensive documentation, some gaskets, various pumps and belts, the stock alternator and so on.
If the interested party is in Toronto, it may be possible to "inherit" my 30-foot slip at Marina Quay West, which I would think is a big incentive, unless they really want to be in a yacht club.

Price: An exceptionally good $7,000 Canadian.

Add caption
The main downsides are the original upholstery, which looks worn and is plaid, and the fact that Valiente needs a redo of the ITT Brydon head, because we essentially just day sail her. So while there's not a lot in the way of amenities...she just sails really well.
Frankly, if I could bag this boat and retrieve it when we return, I would, because I believe it's a really good, fast, strong and capable boat for sailing around the Great Lakes.

Interested parties are welcome to search my blog for posts on "Valiente"; there are records of the many fixes I've made in the last few years, because I've done them on Valiente first before doing them on Alchemy.


Time and tide

The tender's come adrift!
Interesting start to what promises to be an active year on the boating front. Having arisen rested and refreshed from the festivities of the last day of  2015, I checked my e-mail only to see that my only inbox entry was from the manager of my boat club:
"I wanted to let you know that when I arrived at the club this morning I noticed something that’s been stored on your deck has come adrift and is about to fall off your port side.  You may want to come have a look at your earliest opportunity to avoid any damage."
Auld line snagged?

No, just a knot flogged loose. The Portabote in question, The Permanent Crimson Assurance, had slid its lifting body-shaped self from the pilothouse roof, but was constrained at one end to a rail. Looked worse than it was, really. A few pokes with a ladder and a few fresh lashings later and it was returned to non-alarming status.
The hatch view, 2016: Boom and Bote back. Note the El Niño effect in the absence of ice in the basin.
I took the unscheduled visit to bring down some coveted Yuletide sailor-type presents I received from Mrs. Alchemy and the increasingly taller Cabin Boy: a pair of ship's clocks (battery type) I have asked "Sailor Santa" for many a time. The left-hand clock is a regular clock with a tide arm: you figure out when high tide is at the location you are, move the red arm to the middle of it, and then you know as long as you stay in the same spot when the tides are. In much of the world, this is not particularly dramatic an event or even critical knowledge to possess, but if you are, say, getting in a tender in Brittany or Nova Scotia, to return to the boat, you very much want to know the hours when the tides are at their lowest ebb. Saves on rowing, screaming.

The sharper-eyed will note that the Zulu clock is not, in fact, set to GMT. I want to "rate" the clocks to see if they run fast or slow compared to a trusted source (a radio time signal) and I'll adjust the Zulu clock later.
The second clock on the right is called by a number of names: "Zulu" clock (from the old terminology of calling 0000h Greenwich Mean Time (GMT or "Zulu" or "Z"), a "radio room" clock or a 24-hour clock. Even though the Greenwich time as a "standard" has been eclipsed by "Coordinated Universal Time", an internationally standardized measurement that involves atomic clocks and virtual longitudes and not things that tick in perfidious Albion, a lot of sailors still use the phrase "Greenwich" or "Zulu" for the nautical associations, as the whole point of agreed-upon time standards was driven by that need to determine location at sea. Indeed, it's still called nautical time, and involves some radio usage conventions I will discuss once I've fired up the SSB aboard..

A product of the British Empire, minus the sunset.
For the purposes of using a sextant or a radio, convention states that there's two types of time, "ship time", which is just the time on the boat reflecting local noon and which will be advanced or rolled backed based on longitude east or west of Greenwich's longitude, and the time it happens to be in Greenwich, now inside London, but once an observatory with a sideline in longitude. The story of the painful ascertation of longitude in the 18th century has been told elsewhere, but the upshot is that if you know local noon (discoverable via sextant aboard one's vessel) and you know the time in London at zero degrees of longitude (an arbitrary distinction that is nonetheless essential), you can figure out where you are on the surface of the oblate spheroid we call home. Particularly the damper parts in which we are interested. 
Looking over the deck of a Whitby 45 to the west to reveal the under-snowed New Year's Day.
Anyway, the installation of radio room clocks suggests the installation of a radio, in this case, an ICOM M-802. While it makes more sense to do that with the mast in and the weather warmer, the prep for that will precede it in the form of a house battery bank and all sorts of special wiring and installation provisions to keep our "rig" fully functional and, naturally, bone dry.

The year 2016 will likely be the last one in which we live in our house, either because we'll move aboard or sell it for a smaller house which we will rent out entire, instead of having two pairs of tenants (more money, but also more headaches). Despite my recent run of silence, I expect the pace of change and improvement to continue this year, as well as the actual adventure of sailing our passagemaker. With intent.


Mainly, over the winter

Drooping fenders Photoshopped out to avoid bruising the eyes of the (c) Jeff Cooper

When I last discussed the topic of Alchemy's main, we had yet to actually sail with it. Well, now we have, and we and our sailmaker (Ron Fernandes of Triton Sails) have judged it's worthy to keep as a spare. In the meantime, as previously mentioned, it's been taken to Mississauga to act as a template for a new, 9.5 ounce, roachier, heavier-built new main.
It's only laid out on a floor that the curve of the luff and the "belly" of the sail are apparent.
I have the Tides Marine measuring kit and will order that gear shortly with American dollars put aside for such things. Ron concurs that it's a good choice for offshore, combined, of course, with mainsail lazyjacks to "tame" the now-reliably plummeting main. The combination of a main designed to be loose-footed, but with full battens (chafe-resistant patches in the right places) and tripled, UV-resistant stitching and reinforced grommets seems to be the way to go.
The little bits of line are called "reefing points" and allow an orderly capture of the unused folds, or "bunt" of a reefed-down sail.
The actual location of the reef points, which can be thought of as "gears on a sail" as they act to reduce sail area and therefore the ability of the wind to drive the boat, is still to be discussed. I favour a deep first and second reef for Alchemy, based on the her rather high S/AD ratio, i.e. she likes a good breeze to get going, although she will move in the light stuff, and this attitude is premised on a full hoist into the low 20-knots apparent wind range, but a deep first reef in order to take gusts to 30. The second reef could leave as little as 40% of the main's area still in play, or as John Harries puts it "the third reef". The question whether or not to use a storm trysail is still an open one, as of yet. I want to deliberately sail Alchemy in crappy, if transient, heavy weather here on Lake Ontario (if I can find it, and I seem to have that knack, alas) to see if even a fully reefed new main is too much when we intend to keep actively sailing, instead of hoving to. So more research and opinion-culling is called for, and I will be discussing in January my conclusions with our sailmaker, who is a genial fellow and seems quite pleased to be doing a relatively rare for him (given our inland locale) "offshore" mainsail.


Hauling glass and metal...

I like full keels and I cannot lie.
Haulout 2015 is done, somewhat wistfully. In the case of Alchemy, hauled October 24th at National Yacht Club, it's the mixed emotions that we got two months with the stick in, the sails pulling and the fuel filter system complete and (so far) without flaw...and that we got just two months. Still, a lot was done and my cheerfulness has increased thereby.
Stand back, everyone...

Alchemy went up and down without much fuss, although despite a few launches and haulouts without tow assist now, I still get the odd club member (most are) expressing surprise at seeing her self-propelled. I've known for some time that as a boat restorer, I'm a bit of a club joke, having taken years to show progress visible to anyone not actually doing the work, but I feel waving goodbye is more than enough by way of seeing honour satisfied. Speaking of which, we are discussing, prepartory to leaving, downsizing our house; more on this over the winter. Down went the boat, and I'll winterize tomorrow as, after a chilly and gratifyingly breezy October, we are in a days-long warm stretch conducive to such tasks.
Angles like these really show her volume.

Valiente was put on Kijiji last week at what might charitably be called an "incentivizing" price. I got over 350 views and a few phone inquiries; she's been shown (on Sunday, in the water) once and will be shown on Thursday in her cradle, as today was her haulout day. Haulout at Pier 35 off Cherry Street is dirty, because the place is dirty and is abaft a very dusty recycling plant, so the boat is no longer as pristine externally as she was a few weeks ago. Still, a bargain. Felt sad, but then I felt sadder still when I wrote the cheque for winter storage. Sentiment is dangerous to a sailor. Dangerous to the wallet.
The view forward to the east end of Toronto's Inner Harbour. The bike is to get home from Cherry Street.
I have to admit, however, that I couldn't devise a better day to haul: full sunlight, about 5 knots of SW wind to ripple the waters, and temperatures in the teens that required that I shed my sweater by 1000h. Not bad for November 3rd.
Middle right is Marina Quay West, which, despite liking the place and having been treated very well, I hope not to see again soon. Time and salesmanship will tell.
The usual ill-tempered staff (they are competent enough, but the seamanlike language predominates) threw the slings to the marks and up the relatively compact Viking 33 went. Note the placid waters. Much nicer than years in which 20 knots made for exciting crane operations.
While Valiente's hull is flat enough not to require sling cinch belts, I've never seen them in use here, even when a full keeler (see below) is getting hauled.

Just before I arrived, the booze cruiser behind my stern was having its 75-person liferafts removed for a May 2016 recertification. Some actual commercial marine work at Toronto is not often seen.
I deem the VC-17's antifouling performance this year "meh". Let's hope the next owner switches it up.

The slings landed on the pads, leading to more profane pantomime.
After some wobbly repositioning of cradle and slings, Valiente was down and off to her cat-beset winter sootery. Let's keep collective fingers crossed that this Very Good Old Boat is sold the next time I write about her.
Bye for now! And yes, I will winterize the engine and remove the main later this week. Frankly, I want the boat to look like a boat for as long as I'm showing her to potential buyers.