Relocation to Permanent Moorage
This morning we finally relocated Aurora to her permanent moorage. The bulk of the work has been completed (mast, rigging, flybridge structure, hydraunic heat system installation, bimini enclosures for flybridge and aft salon, etc...), though there are some details that still need to be taken care of. These will be completed at her new home. Aurora was originally only supposed to be at Granville Island for one month, so after four more weeks went by, I think the Harbour Authority was getting anxious for us to vacate the spot.
As mentioned in a previous post (Burrard Street Bridge Clearance Test), the air draft on our boat (height of the top of the mast above the water) is 4" taller than the clearance under the Burrard St. Bridge at high tide (we have about a 16' tide). To add to the height issues, there is bird netting hanging down underneath the bridge, in uneven "swoops", the highest of these being a good 10' below the bridge. So the only way to safely bring the boat under the bridge would be at an extremely low tide. The tides at this time of year are not cooperating fully, and especially not during daylight hours. All the lowest tides have been in the middle of the night, or in the past few days, very early in the morning. This morning's low tide was 3.93 feet, at 5:15am.
To make this tide, we got up at 3:30am, and were picked up by our broker at 4:30am. We met the owner of the yacht sales company, plus their most experienced skipper, at the boat. In the dark, cold, wet gloom of the city, we untied from the dock, disconnected the shore power, and fired up the engines. Slowly and carefully we crept out of the slip and inched our way toward the bridge. The skipper grabbed a hockey stick that had been brought along, installed himself into the boson chair, and was winched up via the man halyard to the very top of the mast (remember, 90' above sea level, or 9 stories!). Slowly, slowly we inched under the bridge, A shining his spotlight at the base of the bridge, and the bird netting hanging underneath. The skipper (who was not skippering, the yacht sales owner was at the helm at this time) raised the hockey stick, to see if he needed to poke at or lift the netting with it. The netting cleared the mast, but only by the length of the stick! Phew, close, but we made it.
The next adventure came directly after passing underneath the bridge. We had to drop off our broker, as he had to drive to Kelowna, and had only joined to be another hand on deck for getting under the bridge. A and I are pretty much totally incapable at this point, so better to have professionals taking care of this! There is a boat ramp with a short dock right near the bridge, where we were going to pull up and the broker was going to hop off. The yacht sales owner, at the helm, was having not a particular smooth go of it, and there were some tense moments as the boat looked in danger of colliding with the dock or grinding on the boat launch. The broker and A jumped onto the dock, and frantically started pushing Aurora away from the dock. The broker, whose is the epitome of calm and casual, yelled at A to jump back on the boat before it was too late. That little adventure over, it was time for the next...
Shortly after this our navigation lights quit. (The red, green and white lights that are legally required between sunset and sunrise, and we were no where near sunrise!) We don't need the lights to see by, they are there so that other boats can see us. Fortunately we had extremely good visibility from the flybridge, being so high up and all the city lights reflecting on the water, but it's unnerving knowing that we could be missed, despite our massive girth. We tried to get creative to come up with a solution, A did have a flashlight that had both a red and green light on it, but that would only be good for one side. None of us are overly familiar with the electronics yet (the man who is was still in bed!), but a small panel was discovered at the navigation station in the cockpit that controls the lights. Not sure how they were switched off in the first place...
We rounded Stanley Park and made our way under Lions Gate Bridge and through Burrard Inlet. The water was calm and we were averaging 7-10 knots. The stability on this boat is amazing, she really feels like a safe, solid ship. We bobbed slightly as we passed over the Sea Bus wake, and began approaching the Iron Workers Memorial Bridge. Just on the other side of this bridge is a train bridge, which lies very low over the water, but the mid span can be raised to let ships pass. Months ago I had put quite a bit of research into determining a contact phone number for the train bridge operator, or a VHF channel or simply a protocol for going about having it raised. I was able to find all sorts of information online about the bridge, but not anything even remotely related to raising it. I assumed our skippers would have this information at their fingertips, and would know the protocol. Um, no. The yacht sales owner and A were at the helm on the flybridge, while the skipper and I were in the cockpit. As we began approaching the bridge, he casually took out his cell phone and started Googling for a phone number!!! I knew very well that he wouldn't find it, as I'd tried so hard in September. I suggested we call over the VHF, but I wasn't sure what channel they would be on. The skipper did know the channel (12), but he was still determined to find a phone number. I took hold of the VHF radio, turned it on, but then the squelch came blasting on. The skipper found the volume control, but neither of us could find the squelch control, so digging for the manual I went! Remember, we're still motoring forward at this point, approaching the bridge! I finally found the manual (while the skipper is still looking for the phone number!), figured out how to adjust the squelch and frequency (to switch between local and distance), which were not labeled or intuitive, and finally the skipper took the receiver, switched the channel and hailed the train bridge. The operator who answered it was unfortunately very difficult to understand, as he spoke fast with a strong accent, but I was able to make out "bridge is going up" - and the bridge began to rise.
Underneath the train bridge there are fantastically strong currents that run as fast as a river during peak high and low tides. With an outgoing tide we have seen massive standing waves, but having always been in a very small Zodiac-style RIB (with a tunnel hull), we were always easily able to avoid them, and use high speed to overcome the currents and whirlpools. A and I have quite a lot of experience in this location, and were fully expecting strong currents with the low tide changing to flood. The yacht sales owner, at the helm, was taken a bit by surprise, and Aurora began to veer hard toward port, making for the shallow mud flats! A and I know you have to navigate straight ahead here, and I almost went running up to the flybridge to yell at them, but I knew A was up there and that he'd be just as aware as I of the situation. Sure enough, he told me after that there had been a "slight loss of control" by the individual at the helm, but managed to regain it in time. A bit of a tense experience (what, only the third one in less than an hour?!), but interesting to know how the boat handles under these conditions.
Daylight finally starting breaking as we rounded Cates Park and made our way up the forested inlet. Despite the cold and damp, it was a magical sight. And what a sight for A and I to see, to be on this vessel we've dreamed of for decades, on waters we know as well as the back of our hands. Truly one of those moments of a lifetime. We approached our new home marina, a spot we were extremely fortunate to have found as moorage for any boat over 35' is virtually impossible to find anywhere within hours of the city. And this only minutes from our coastal residence. Sure, it's not the most well maintained of marinas (serious understatement here!), but we're not about to get picky! A slip is better than no slip.
The spot "reserved" for us was plenty long, a good 25' longer than the boat, but pulling a boat this side up dockside (as opposed to stern to, as we have rear facing cameras making this the preferred docking side), is always a little unnerving the first time, especially when there are boats tied forward and aft of us. Tiny iddy biddy boats at that! Yikes. They handled it beautifully though, basically "parallel parked" by bringing the stern in first, then someone anchoring it to the dock while the bow thrusters bring the bow in. Tying up to that rickety dock proved a bit challenging, but in the end it was all done to perfection!
Mission Complete!
There is a forecast of beautiful sunny weather coming for the next five or so days, so we'll be taking her out for some training sessions with three experienced captains. Stay tuned for more adventures...
I just realized - A and I seem to never lack for adventures, so perhaps a better name for this blog would have been, "Adventures with Aurora", or "Aurora's Adventures"!?
As mentioned in a previous post (Burrard Street Bridge Clearance Test), the air draft on our boat (height of the top of the mast above the water) is 4" taller than the clearance under the Burrard St. Bridge at high tide (we have about a 16' tide). To add to the height issues, there is bird netting hanging down underneath the bridge, in uneven "swoops", the highest of these being a good 10' below the bridge. So the only way to safely bring the boat under the bridge would be at an extremely low tide. The tides at this time of year are not cooperating fully, and especially not during daylight hours. All the lowest tides have been in the middle of the night, or in the past few days, very early in the morning. This morning's low tide was 3.93 feet, at 5:15am.
To make this tide, we got up at 3:30am, and were picked up by our broker at 4:30am. We met the owner of the yacht sales company, plus their most experienced skipper, at the boat. In the dark, cold, wet gloom of the city, we untied from the dock, disconnected the shore power, and fired up the engines. Slowly and carefully we crept out of the slip and inched our way toward the bridge. The skipper grabbed a hockey stick that had been brought along, installed himself into the boson chair, and was winched up via the man halyard to the very top of the mast (remember, 90' above sea level, or 9 stories!). Slowly, slowly we inched under the bridge, A shining his spotlight at the base of the bridge, and the bird netting hanging underneath. The skipper (who was not skippering, the yacht sales owner was at the helm at this time) raised the hockey stick, to see if he needed to poke at or lift the netting with it. The netting cleared the mast, but only by the length of the stick! Phew, close, but we made it.
The next adventure came directly after passing underneath the bridge. We had to drop off our broker, as he had to drive to Kelowna, and had only joined to be another hand on deck for getting under the bridge. A and I are pretty much totally incapable at this point, so better to have professionals taking care of this! There is a boat ramp with a short dock right near the bridge, where we were going to pull up and the broker was going to hop off. The yacht sales owner, at the helm, was having not a particular smooth go of it, and there were some tense moments as the boat looked in danger of colliding with the dock or grinding on the boat launch. The broker and A jumped onto the dock, and frantically started pushing Aurora away from the dock. The broker, whose is the epitome of calm and casual, yelled at A to jump back on the boat before it was too late. That little adventure over, it was time for the next...
Shortly after this our navigation lights quit. (The red, green and white lights that are legally required between sunset and sunrise, and we were no where near sunrise!) We don't need the lights to see by, they are there so that other boats can see us. Fortunately we had extremely good visibility from the flybridge, being so high up and all the city lights reflecting on the water, but it's unnerving knowing that we could be missed, despite our massive girth. We tried to get creative to come up with a solution, A did have a flashlight that had both a red and green light on it, but that would only be good for one side. None of us are overly familiar with the electronics yet (the man who is was still in bed!), but a small panel was discovered at the navigation station in the cockpit that controls the lights. Not sure how they were switched off in the first place...
We rounded Stanley Park and made our way under Lions Gate Bridge and through Burrard Inlet. The water was calm and we were averaging 7-10 knots. The stability on this boat is amazing, she really feels like a safe, solid ship. We bobbed slightly as we passed over the Sea Bus wake, and began approaching the Iron Workers Memorial Bridge. Just on the other side of this bridge is a train bridge, which lies very low over the water, but the mid span can be raised to let ships pass. Months ago I had put quite a bit of research into determining a contact phone number for the train bridge operator, or a VHF channel or simply a protocol for going about having it raised. I was able to find all sorts of information online about the bridge, but not anything even remotely related to raising it. I assumed our skippers would have this information at their fingertips, and would know the protocol. Um, no. The yacht sales owner and A were at the helm on the flybridge, while the skipper and I were in the cockpit. As we began approaching the bridge, he casually took out his cell phone and started Googling for a phone number!!! I knew very well that he wouldn't find it, as I'd tried so hard in September. I suggested we call over the VHF, but I wasn't sure what channel they would be on. The skipper did know the channel (12), but he was still determined to find a phone number. I took hold of the VHF radio, turned it on, but then the squelch came blasting on. The skipper found the volume control, but neither of us could find the squelch control, so digging for the manual I went! Remember, we're still motoring forward at this point, approaching the bridge! I finally found the manual (while the skipper is still looking for the phone number!), figured out how to adjust the squelch and frequency (to switch between local and distance), which were not labeled or intuitive, and finally the skipper took the receiver, switched the channel and hailed the train bridge. The operator who answered it was unfortunately very difficult to understand, as he spoke fast with a strong accent, but I was able to make out "bridge is going up" - and the bridge began to rise.
Underneath the train bridge there are fantastically strong currents that run as fast as a river during peak high and low tides. With an outgoing tide we have seen massive standing waves, but having always been in a very small Zodiac-style RIB (with a tunnel hull), we were always easily able to avoid them, and use high speed to overcome the currents and whirlpools. A and I have quite a lot of experience in this location, and were fully expecting strong currents with the low tide changing to flood. The yacht sales owner, at the helm, was taken a bit by surprise, and Aurora began to veer hard toward port, making for the shallow mud flats! A and I know you have to navigate straight ahead here, and I almost went running up to the flybridge to yell at them, but I knew A was up there and that he'd be just as aware as I of the situation. Sure enough, he told me after that there had been a "slight loss of control" by the individual at the helm, but managed to regain it in time. A bit of a tense experience (what, only the third one in less than an hour?!), but interesting to know how the boat handles under these conditions.
Daylight finally starting breaking as we rounded Cates Park and made our way up the forested inlet. Despite the cold and damp, it was a magical sight. And what a sight for A and I to see, to be on this vessel we've dreamed of for decades, on waters we know as well as the back of our hands. Truly one of those moments of a lifetime. We approached our new home marina, a spot we were extremely fortunate to have found as moorage for any boat over 35' is virtually impossible to find anywhere within hours of the city. And this only minutes from our coastal residence. Sure, it's not the most well maintained of marinas (serious understatement here!), but we're not about to get picky! A slip is better than no slip.
The spot "reserved" for us was plenty long, a good 25' longer than the boat, but pulling a boat this side up dockside (as opposed to stern to, as we have rear facing cameras making this the preferred docking side), is always a little unnerving the first time, especially when there are boats tied forward and aft of us. Tiny iddy biddy boats at that! Yikes. They handled it beautifully though, basically "parallel parked" by bringing the stern in first, then someone anchoring it to the dock while the bow thrusters bring the bow in. Tying up to that rickety dock proved a bit challenging, but in the end it was all done to perfection!
Mission Complete!
There is a forecast of beautiful sunny weather coming for the next five or so days, so we'll be taking her out for some training sessions with three experienced captains. Stay tuned for more adventures...
I just realized - A and I seem to never lack for adventures, so perhaps a better name for this blog would have been, "Adventures with Aurora", or "Aurora's Adventures"!?
A looking out over our magical home waters
Skipper at the helm on the flybridge
Approaching our slip at the marina
Tying her to the dock
Home sweet home!
(funny - at Granville Island Aurora seemed to look absolutely massive, but here she just looks like a fat sailboat. Perfectly fine by us, we'd rather have her blend in as much as possible. There are some other larger sailboats here, they're just further down the dock.)
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