The Wet Season
By Augusto Gerbasi
Early in the morning, I stand looking at CEIBA’s frames, reminiscent of the ribs of some immense beast from bygone days. Behind it, the sky is still dark, but the waters of the gulf of Nicoya have already began wearing the mangrove’s reflection along their uncertain edge.
Someone is starting a fire in the wood stove, whilst the yard a dog sleeps soundly, oblivious to the howler monkeys’ call, the yard’s first alarm.
Dawn is around the corner. The ever-light blue hue in the sky indicates that 6am is fast approaching and soon the kitchen will be bustling with activity as we have our first breakfast - a selection of fruit, banana pancakes, the occasional home-baked bread and black coffee.
I have been at the boatyard for just over 100 days, long enough to see the wet season come, but not quite long enough to see it go. There are hints that the seasons are changing, empty cocoons mark the spot where once long lines of caterpillars, looking for higher ground, marched in single file; and behind the metal-shop, one tree has already began shedding its yellowing leaves. Time, and a black pelican, seem to fly around here.
I arrived on a hot day in mid-June, carrying my bags and a few tools. I remember setting eyes on CEIBA’s skeleton against the green tropical backdrop, dominated by aerial roots and dueling crabs at the water’s edge, and thinking that building a ship of this scale, here, was nothing short of a heroic task.
Undertaking the aforementioned, a multicultural group of people from all walks of life who carefully foster an atmosphere of creative solutions, employing the resources and expertise available to surmount any and all obstacles that stand between the dolphin striker and the eventual first wave. The most talented band of optimists I have ever had the honour to meet, work with and learn from.
Aboard, groups of two to four people work on different sections of the ship alongside a team leader. Currently, there are teams working on the waterway, the galley, the interior planking and the accommodation deck’s lodging knees. Team leaders share their knowledge and liaise with different departments in order to organise the logistics of workflow and resources required to complete current tasks. Steel fastenings and bespoke tools required for certain jobs are made inhouse at the metal shop, more often than not, to the sound of The Arctic Monkeys’ early work.
Curved bodies pace below deck, carrying drills, spanners, spikes and trunnels in order to fix yesterday’s plank, whilst tar-stained hands spile tomorrow’s. The air is thick with steam,another plank is cooking. Outside, behind the transom, two new cedar planks are being shaped. The sound of electric planers chasing pencil lines drown out the speakers, whilst wood shavings drown the steel toe-cap boots that venture into this hamster’s paradise. The last few months have seen all the guayaquil and pillón lodging knees cut and installed on the weather deck, along with the guapinol portside stanchions. The cedar galley walls lie stacked on the lofting floor whilst the roof and coaming are finished. Once completed and installed, both galley and stanchions will dramatically alter CEIBA’s profile, providing onlookers with a welcome, visible manifestation of all the hard work poured into this ship.
Milestones are celebrated here. Pina coladas were raised at the end of knee-making, lubricating a Friday evening, whilst a barbecue on Saturday marked the completion of the first section of inner planking, from keel to bilge-rider. These events are often particularly special and memorable. A phrase from a fifth-generation boat-builder from Portsmouth springs to mind. “The collective term for a group of boatbuilders is ‘an argument’, as there are many ways to skin a cat, but one man can’t build a ship”. The well-oiled teamwork required to undertake such an endeavour is paramount to its success. These events held by those who live together, eat together, work together and get drenched together provide an opportunity to celebrate milestones achieved in unison, bringing a sense of pride and accomplishment to those that took part and thus increasing team cohesion and morale.
A usual weekend is normally spent in a convoy of pacific-bound motorbikes, dancing at the foot of volcanos, bodysurfing under the cover of Sámara sunsets or venturing further afield, to the Caribbean, in search of dryer weather.
As Sunday evening approaches, an air of peacefulness descends upon the yard, it feels good to be back. The howler monkeys announce the departure of the last ray of sun, giving centre stage to the rain and the talking clams at the tidal line. The raccoons will, without fail, try to break into the stores tonight. The dog is unfortunately distracted, the cats don’t care. Fridges and cabinets are locked.
Tomorrow brings the beginning of new week… The work continues.
Augusto Gerbasi
