In a twenty mile radius from our house there are three yacht clubs serving a population of 100,000. That's one club per 33,333 residents and probably some sort of notable North American ratio.
Somehow though it still took us two months and what felt like hundreds of phone calls to get our little boat in the water. One club had lift facilities (to get the boat in), no permanent spaces and expensive day-to-day rates. The second also had lift facilities and no permanent spaces but more affordable daily spaces. Or they thought they had some daily spaces but it turned out on the day we planned to launch that they only had waiting lists for daily spaces. The third club had a space - a permanent space - but no lift facilities so no way to get our boat to the space. In the end we had to join two clubs, one with the permanent space and one to get The Indy put in the water.
So often I felt like I was asking people for a favour and had to be on my very best behaviour, holding my breath and hoping that they'd hear my case and take pity. This is despite the fact that we were trying to hand them a whole bunch of money. Near the end, Rob took to reminding me to be nice and to be patient and I took to reminding him that I am nice and patient except when it comes to paying a whole bunch of money in exchange for meh service from people who don't seem to know what they are talking about.
Disclaimer: I completely get the ridiculousness of complaining about which yacht club you'll dock your sailboat at.
Not ours, but placed in such a pretty way against the sea and sky.
Heave ho.
The maiden voyage from the Northern Yacht Club to the Royal Cape Breton Yacht Club. The Royal is only three blocks from where we live almost making these last few months of incredulity worthwhile.
