Written October 2023, Tahiti, French Polynesia
The whole reason I took a job on a sailboat, despite knowing absolutely nothing about it, was to become a more hands-on person. I wanted to be someone who could pick up a hammer and actually fix things. And if it meant spending less time in front of a screen and more time outside? Even better.
Turns out, I’m no Bob the Builder. This much I’ve learned over the past few months in French Polynesia. There have been plenty of moments onboard when I’ve felt completely useless. But recently, when our boat needed a full makeover at the shipyard, it was time to get my hands dirty and put my (newly acquired?) skills to the test. Turns out, I might have actually learned a thing or two.
Alexa, play “Work Bitch” by Britney Spears.
Day One: Tahiti Time
You know how every country has its own version of “time”? Like “island time” when things never happen on schedule? Well, “Tahiti time” is the Bermuda Triangle of schedules — time just disappears into thin air. Case in point: today’s so-called “tight” work schedule.
The shipyard told us they’d be ready to lift us out of the water at 9 AM. Three hours later, we were still circling in donuts, waiting. In the meantime, the wind picked up. We knew this maneuver would be tricky, so we tried communicating with the shipyard over VHF radio, but the signal was garbage. Naturally, we ended up approaching with the wrong side of the boat.
Then came the ropes. Our skipper had one job for us: Do. Not. Miss. The. Ropes.
So, of course, the three of us on deck missed. Every single one. We were about as coordinated as a herd of drunk penguins on roller skates. Eventually, we made it.
As a bonus, we got to stay onboard while the boat was lifted out of the water — something that would’ve been absolutely unheard of back in Denmark. The Tahitian shipyard crew even had a guy in swim shorts whose entire job was to jump into the water and make sure the lifting slings were positioned properly. Not your typical 9-to-5 gig.
If we weren’t delayed enough already, the shipyard crew then took a lunch break before pressure-washing the boat. We used the downtime to run around town collecting supplies: full-body suits, gloves, protective glasses, primer, anti-fouling paint, sandpaper — the works. We meant business.
Back at the yard, we got started on the rough stuff. The boat was in worse shape than we expected, so we spent hours grinding and sanding away layers of wear and tear. New tool unlocked: the dremel, perfect for reaching the tricky spots. We also discovered osmosis damage, which meant even more work in the coming days. By the end of the day, despite my cap, glasses, and mask, I looked like an extra in a post-apocalyptic movie.
Day Two: Epoxy Hell
Bright and early, we took the dinghy back to the shipyard at 7 AM, ready for another day of boat TLC. The osmosis holes had to be sanded, dried with some kind of acetone-like liquid, then filled with epoxy.
Have you ever worked with epoxy? If not, don’t put it on your bucket list. It’s toxic as hell and hardens ridiculously fast. Imagine trying to wrestle a snake while wearing oven mitts — that’s what working with epoxy feels like.
Once the epoxy shenanigans were done, I moved on to deconstructing the swim platform since we were getting a new one built. There I was, ten meters up in the air, prying off wood planks while clinging to the metal skeleton of the boat. Would this have been an OSHA-approved method back in Denmark? Definitely not. But hey, when in Tahiti.
In the afternoon, I returned to the boat to do laundry and grab more tools. Then, something absolutely insane happened, preventing me from getting back to the shipyard that day — but that ridiculous story is for another time.
Day Three: Sanding Sucks
Rise and shine. Back at the shipyard at dawn. If we weren’t exhausted already, this day pushed us to our limits.
First up: sanding the boat again after the previous day’s epoxy work. The sun was relentless, and the process never-ending. We mixed paint for the waterline, but in a classic rookie move, we painted too soon, forcing us into an unexpected break while it dried. Not the worst mistake in the world.
By sunset, we were painting the boat in silver primer, standing there in the dark with our phone flashlights. She needed two coats, so we worked late into the night. At 8 PM, we dragged ourselves home, showered in silence, and passed out.
Day Four: Black Magic
7 AM. Back at it. Today was the big one: anti-fouling paint day.
Except… surprise! We found a few more osmosis holes. More epoxy. More delays. But eventually, we got to the fun part: painting.
Watching the boat transform from a weathered wreck into a sleek, black beauty was deeply satisfying. The difference was night and day. We wolfed down massive baguette sandwiches and guzzled cola before applying the second coat. By then, we were almost out of paint, so we saved the last bit for the spots hidden under the support structures.
To celebrate, we cracked open some Hinano beers — the go-to around here — then called it a night.
Day Five: The Race Against Time
On the final day, it was a mad dash to the finish line. New guests were arriving in four hours, and we still had work to do.
The boat was lifted into the slings at 7:30 AM, and we scrambled to touch up the last details. The entire boat was still covered in dust, but at least the bottom looked incredible. By 9 AM, she was back in the water, and we set sail for Papeete Marina — a journey that, of course, came with its own set of challenges.
Who would’ve thought that this non-DIYer could actually get shit done? Somewhere in the chaos of these five grueling days, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I’m not the world’s worst handywoman after all.
Sanding machine? No problem — I even built a cockpit table back in December, so me and that tool are old friends. Epoxy? Been there, done that, would prefer never to do again. Removing or applying Sika? Dude, that’s my thing now. Lost count of how many times I’ve messed around with that onboard.
In the end, our shipyard adventure was a crash course in patience, resilience, and the magic of a fresh coat of paint. Turns out, it can do wonders — for a ship, and for the soul.
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