Ok, so before the boat work could commence, Polaris Jack needed to be hauled out of the water.
Of course, we do things differently downeast. In normal places, a sailboat is hauled out of the water at a boatyard or marina with a crane-like machine called a travel lift. Large straps run beneath the keel, and the boat is lifted clear of the water and set on stands. From there, a crane hoists the mast off of the boat and sets it on a storage rack. Quick and easy.
We don't have that sort of infrastructure here. Instead, we have friends and what, in the good moments, could be called ingenuity. Or simple stubbornness.
I set out at dawn with my buddy Tim. We left Eastern Harbor, rounded the Cape Split pitch, and motored a few miles upriver to Caler Cove. Caler Cove was once a thriving granite town named Dalotville--it had a school, opera house, bunk houses, and more. But Dalotville is gone now; some of the houses were taken by boat to Eastern Harbor, where they still stand. All that remains are slabs of granite and the tallest pier around. Tall enough that, at low tide, the heist that lobstermen use to lift their traps off of their boats can be used to unstep the mast.
Polaris Jack's mast hadn't been taken off for decades, and since it's keel-stepped (meaning the mast goes through the deck and down to the keel), corrosion was a problem. Basically, the aluminum mast corrodes to the stainless steel plate that it sits on. The rope on the winch broke on the first try and nearly killed Tim, which would've been a bummer for multiple reasons.
I had to climb the mast a few times to retie and reposition the rope. With the tide changing at two feet per hour, there's only a brief window of time that the water is low enough to provide the height necessary to lift the mast free of the boat, so as the mishaps added up, so did the tension. It's a stressful thing, pulling the mast with rudimentary equipment and a team that'd never done it before. The mast has to stay totally straight as it's lifted seven feet vertically--this is so the base of the mast can come up from the keel of the boat and pass through the boat deck. Only then can the mast be swung horizontally, and laid back down on top of the boat. A 40 foot long piece of aluminum is a big thing to be swinging around.
Once the mast was out and the boat on dry land, I was able to remove the mast step base. It was in worse shape than I'd imagined. That'll happen if you spend 40 years in the bilge of a sailboat, I suppose.
It'll be good as new by the time Polaris sees the water again, though.
Adam drives the boat hauler truck. He'd hauled and launched my last boat a few times, but never Polaris Jack.
The truck works like this: the trailer is essentially split into two halves along the long axis--fore and aft. A set of 8x8 wooden beams can be slid in and out, side to side. These are removed, and Adam backs the trailer into the water. We pull the boat atop it. With a remote control, Adam operates large hydraulic pads that are affixed to mechanical arms on the trailer. The arms, and pads, rise up and hold the boat in place as the truck and trailer move forward.
Once out of the water, we slide the wooden beams, or bunks, back across the width of the trailer. Adam then lowers the hydraulic pads that hold the boat until the keel--and all of the weight of the boat (12,000 lbs)--sits on the bunks. The pads are then used as stabilizers.
