I’ve been wanting to get below the waterline and scrape the barnacles and scum off of Olivias’ submerged portions for some time now.

The other day after David came by and told me he had gone into the harbor and found his prop completely encrusted prompted me to finally bite the bullet and do the same. I have been hoping to be able to put it on the hook over on the west side in the gin clear water about four to five feet deep and tackle the job in relative comfort, but last evening, I was finally overcome with guilt and took the plunge.

The slip is only a little over three feet deep at even the highest water, and on really low tides, Olivia is planted in the soft muddy bottom. We have been having some exceptionally high water in the bay for some reason, with good clarity and lots of exchange, so I reasoned that most of the caca balls, oil and other debris would be flushed out of the fingers, and donning a skin suit, mask and snorkel I slipped off of the swim platform and into the tepid water.

Of course, I had forgotten my gloves, but being brave (read: stupid), I gingerly felt underneath the stern for the prop, immediately slicing my right index finger on a razor sharp barnacle…

Determined to make the guilty sucker pay I scraped as much off of the hull as I could with the plastic scraper. The prop, although far short of becoming a reef still contained quite a few of the big stubborn ceripids, and I could soon tell that the plastic scraper was no match for them, so I hollered topside: “Hey…couldja go get me a metal scraper, I need to apply the full force of  Methuselah here….”

I waited around in the water for awhile scraping all of the crud off of the hull beneath the waterline, sinking in the oozing mud and Lord knows what else, and when I was satisfied with the work I decided to get out till she returned from Wally-Mart-inez, but alas, the swim platform is about a foot higher than the surface of the water, and try as I might, I was unable to hoist myself up there. I grabbed for the stern, tried to hook onto the mizzen sheets, but finally gave up in frustration and paddled over to the dingy tied alongside Jupiter, hauled myself aboard, then stepped up on the dock. Note to self: hang a rope ladder, or another step or two off of the swim platform before attempting a water exit again.

Finally D returned with the scraper, a real nice 10 dollar one too, and I went back off of the stern platform into the water. Working for about an hour as the sun receded from the sky, I scraped each blade. David told me he was able to access his prop by floating on his back and reaching underneath, but on Olivia, it’s a different beast all together, and I had to repeatedly dive under, scraping the blade, holding my breath until I could hold it no more, coming to the surface to pant like a winded manatee, then agonizingly repeat the process again and again. Finally, I was satisfied that the prop was reasonably clean, and I backpaddled over to Jupiters dingy again and hoisted myself out of the water for the final time.

D went aboard Olivia to get my clothes and a towel, and as she was picking up the new ten dollar scraper to clean and stow it, the thing shot out of her hand like a greased mullet and into the harbor with a hollow plop. Chalk another one up to Poseidon’s kingdom. I’ll be d#%@ed if I’m gonna go back in there after it tonight. Let the thing lie with the leatherman that got snagged on the aft shroud and ended up in the drink about a month ago

I showered there at Anchor, scrubbing again and again with soap. Later, when we arrived home, I took a couple of antibiotics, just in case the seawater I swallowed contained any nasty stuff, and rinsed the cut(s) on my hand(s) with hydrogen peroxide.

I had several rum drinks last night to celebrate the fact that I finally got off of my lazy you-know-what and tackled a nasty job.