Ivy’s Escape By Lanise Edwards We were well overdue to haul Easter Rose out of the water for antifouling and maintenance. The last time this expensive chore was completed we stayed in a holiday house for three days. This time, with three weeks of hard work ahead of us, we decided to stay onboard. Fortunately, the boatyard in Bundaberg had actual steps rather than a ladder, which made access to the boat possible. A ladder was not going cut it for myself or Ivy our old Labrador. The steps were steep and initially Ivy refused to climb them as she could see the ground beneath, this unnerved her. After some consideration we tied shade cloth underneath the steps. Ivy was happy to walk up and down with us following and holding her lead. With that hurdle overcome we began a daily routine of sanding and grinding to prepare the hull for a thorough paint and overhaul. Ivy spent most of her days on a lead sleeping in the cool shade of the boat or on deck as we worked on Easter Rose. After 10 days on the hardstand Ivy had a good routine and waited for us to escort her down the steps for her morning walk. I guess I became comfortable and secure in the knowledge that Ivy would not attempt the steps alone. l should have known her better.
In hindsight it was very likely she had been scheming her ‘great escape’ for several days! This is Ivy’s style, and I underestimated her tenacity and cunning.
One morning I woke early, let Ivy off her lead in the cockpit and ventured back below decks to prepare a well-earned coffee. Still in my mismatched PJs I eventually came back on deck with coffee in hand, noticing Ivy was not in the cockpit. Aching all over from the previous day’s hard work and noticing last night’s shower had not removed residue paint from my hands and feet, I glanced around. Still no sign of Ivy. Surely, she was not brave enough to go down the steps alone? I was mistaken. As my foggy morning-brain stepped up a gear, I knew I had to act quickly. Our old Labrador was more than capable of sneaking off once my guard was down. And it was. Ivy could not have chosen a worse time! My antifoul splattered body and odd pyjamas looked a sight, not to mention my knotted hair also sprinkled with primer and other paint residue. There was no time to waste, with a busy road out the front and miles of river and esplanade, not to mention trucks and workmen with forklifts. Ivy could be in danger and oblivious to it. I bolted down the Women Who Sail Australia 38
