—Continued from previous page

Next, rough-cut, inverted U-shaped blocks were
nailed to the topsides on one side of the hull — ouch
again! Light posts, about four inches in diameter, were
placed with one end buried in the sand and the top
end lodged in the U of the block.

But before “cutting down” began, certain formalities
had to be completed. The priest gathered his church
choir around the bow, then clambered up onto
Tradition's foredeck and gave her his blessing.

I arranged for Benny McLaren to be godfather of the
boat. Benny went to sea at an early age, at the time
when Urbin “Robbie” Roberts (Norman’s father) was
building Tradition. Robbie had previously owned the
larger and beautiful Yankee Girl. Tradition was to be a
smaller version. Robbie was an unusually particular
and thorough man, a proper seaman; he had a serious
reputation for keeping his vessels like yachts, even if
they were hauling cargo. So Benny had the best train-
ing available. He has been a good godfather to Tradition
and takes his role seriously.

I had been warned about the necessity of spilling
chicken blood on the samson post as a sacrifice — and
there on the foredeck was a suspiciously stirring sack. By
now a great crowd had surrounded the boat and it had
to be done. I grabbed a knife, put the poor chicken’s neck
on a wooden pad and hacked away. Island style, the
knife handle broke off. Someone quickly gave me another
knife. Blood was sprinkled, the crowd had another beer.

Those of us on deck clambered down. The crowd
assembled on the side of the boat opposite to the
cutting-down poles and pushed Tradition over until she
was lightly resting on the poles. Then four guys, each

with a sharp machete, began hacking away at the bot-
toms of the poles, which of course got shorter and
shorter and the boat heeled over more and more and
they hacked faster and faster until eventually, with a
brutal bump, she fell over, with the two previously

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The church choir graces the launching with song

JG

      
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
   

Above:
_ The poor chicken

Once the jumbie
chicken’ was dis-
posed of, Tradition
slid more easily into
the sea

nailed-on bilge boards resting on the rollers.

All hands (except the ones who just came for the food
and booze) gathered around Tradition and started push-
ing. Norman had laid a heavy anchor offshore and to
this was attached a four-fold block and tackle attached

Eon]

More power - less noise

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to the automatic pitch contro
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to a rope going right around Tradition’s hull. About 20
people lay onto the fall of the block and tackle and
started heaving. Tradition started to move, an emotional
moment. Then she stuck and the anchor pulled out.
The anchor was reset; more rum was consumed.

Some began pulling on the tackle again, others were
on the bow, others were pulling down on the bowsprit.
The bowsprit bent, the covering board creaked. It was
brutal. Should I stop it or let them do it their way? An
old guy tapped me on the shoulder. “Dat fowl be jumbie;
that why she no move.” He really, really meant it. I
reached up onto the foredeck and tossed the chicken’s
carcass into the scrub. Sure enough, the boat started to
move again, bit by bit, roller by roller. She entered the
water, got some buoyancy, moved a bit more, and then
Norman backed in his workboat. We attached a line to
Tradition’s bow and, with everyone up to their waists in
water, she was swung around, eventually to glide into
deeper water. She was afloat.

The next day, Norman towed Tradition, with the mast
floating behind, from Windward to Tyrell Bay Yacht
Haulout. There had been some repairs needed to the
underside of the keel prior to launching and now a bit
more scuffing where she'd ground on the rollers. Tim
Sudell and his crew lifted Tradition and blocked her,
and then laid the mast where we could dress it. The
engine was there, too, ready to be lifted in. Bernard set

 

vy Aire Big

After sailing to Antigua, we enlarged the rudder

 

about cutting out the damaged wood on the base of the
keel and scarfing in a length of purpleheart.

The yard crane (a vintage 22RB) does not reach out
over the water, and so after the mast was fitted with the
standing and running rigging it was necessary to first lift
it with the crane, then position Tradition under the mast
in the travel hoist, and then lower the mast into the boat.
The same process was done for the engine. Tradition was
then re-launched and taken to a mooring. I found it
amazing that she didn’t leak, even after the brutal beach
launching. Well, I exaggerate — but half a bucketful a
week is not bad for a 30-year-old working wooden boat.

The standing rigging was then seized to the deadeyes
Bernard had made out of a log of grape wood, beauti-
fully fashioned and coated with linseed oil. Then the
lanyards were set up and the mainsail was bent on.

For ballast I had bought a length of lead, about 16 feet
long and six inches on each side. This Nero cut into man-
ageable lengths using a chainsaw. But we needed more.

—Continued on page 37

   
 

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