"Hey Rich," I says to my friend Rich. "Let's go look at a boat."
Now let's be clear. I don't need a boat. I own a boat. Sure she's small and almost 40 years old, but we get along well. Over the years that I've owned her we've kind of worn together, like your foot and a blown out tennis shoe. So I don't need a boat. But I've seen pictures of this one…
So we drive to Port Ludlow, a sleepy little place on Hood Canal to meet the broker. The broker's not there, but the guy that runs the marina says "Head on down, the keycode is …" Down we walk, and there she is.
The bow sprit. The clipper bow. The cutter rig. The heart-shaped transom. The transom-hung rudder. Just like the pictures. Better than the pictures.
Then the broker shows up and we go on board. Beautiful woodwork. An Origo stove -- I've always wanted an Origo stove! A propane cabin heater! Simrad instruments! Raymarine radar!! A steering wheel!! A binnacle!! A little diesel motor tucked under the cabin steps!!! Everything that I'm looking at is making another star in my eye. I'm about to go blind and not see any of the boat's faults. But that's OK, that's why I brought Rich. He's my voice of reason. "I'm finding it hard to be reasonable about this boat," I hear him say. Uh oh.
So I sleep on it. I think about standing at the steering wheel back here and looking at the bow waaay up there. I think about trying to dock 11,400 pounds by myself and shake my head. I think about all of the new things that I have to learn. I need to be a diesel mechanic, an electrician, a rigger, a contortionist. The thought of this much boat terrifies me.
And yet. And yet. She's still on a close reach in my mind, all her sails flying.
There's a YouTube video that shows how to dock a boat single-handed using a midship cleat. There's another one that shows a single-handed sailor using an after spring to get off the dock. And it turns out the there's a Web site where people who like Ericson sailboats get together to swap help, encouragement, and stories. It turns out that there are other people out there just like me. Suddenly it's not so crazy to think that I could own this boat.
It's time to call in the professionals. Captain Richard, the delivery captain, to bring her from Port Ludlow to Port Townsend for the survey. Captain Jim, the surveyor. Notice how all these people are "Captain?" I don't know why either.
Cap'n Jim crawls around the boat. He pulls things. He prods things. He opens hatches that I don't event know are there. Turns out that back in the day Cap'n Jim sold these boats. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? In any case he spends the day with her and comes up with 12 work items, none of them critical and six of them are generic items that would get called out on any boat.
Then we take her out for her sea trial. They let me drive. We put the sails up to check them out. They let me sail. I don't want to give her back when we're done.
Back into the harbor. Up on the slings and out of the water. She's huge hanging there in the slings. Cap'n Jim gets out his little hammer and starts whacking her hull. Tap, tap, tap. I'm waiting for the "thunk." It never comes. Brand new paint. The price tags are still stuck to the zincs on the prop shaft. No soft spots. No blisters. No problems.
Plunk in the water. Cap'n Richard comes to take her home. The last I see her she's off of Port Townsend banging into the wind and waves. I stand in the rain and watch her go. It's a miserable day out on the water. I want to be out there, not here.
Just to be clear, I didn't need a boat. But I want to own "Far Out," a 1982 Squadron Liberty 31, hull #72.
And now I do.
Chuck
Now let's be clear. I don't need a boat. I own a boat. Sure she's small and almost 40 years old, but we get along well. Over the years that I've owned her we've kind of worn together, like your foot and a blown out tennis shoe. So I don't need a boat. But I've seen pictures of this one…
So we drive to Port Ludlow, a sleepy little place on Hood Canal to meet the broker. The broker's not there, but the guy that runs the marina says "Head on down, the keycode is …" Down we walk, and there she is.
The bow sprit. The clipper bow. The cutter rig. The heart-shaped transom. The transom-hung rudder. Just like the pictures. Better than the pictures.
Then the broker shows up and we go on board. Beautiful woodwork. An Origo stove -- I've always wanted an Origo stove! A propane cabin heater! Simrad instruments! Raymarine radar!! A steering wheel!! A binnacle!! A little diesel motor tucked under the cabin steps!!! Everything that I'm looking at is making another star in my eye. I'm about to go blind and not see any of the boat's faults. But that's OK, that's why I brought Rich. He's my voice of reason. "I'm finding it hard to be reasonable about this boat," I hear him say. Uh oh.
So I sleep on it. I think about standing at the steering wheel back here and looking at the bow waaay up there. I think about trying to dock 11,400 pounds by myself and shake my head. I think about all of the new things that I have to learn. I need to be a diesel mechanic, an electrician, a rigger, a contortionist. The thought of this much boat terrifies me.
And yet. And yet. She's still on a close reach in my mind, all her sails flying.
There's a YouTube video that shows how to dock a boat single-handed using a midship cleat. There's another one that shows a single-handed sailor using an after spring to get off the dock. And it turns out the there's a Web site where people who like Ericson sailboats get together to swap help, encouragement, and stories. It turns out that there are other people out there just like me. Suddenly it's not so crazy to think that I could own this boat.
It's time to call in the professionals. Captain Richard, the delivery captain, to bring her from Port Ludlow to Port Townsend for the survey. Captain Jim, the surveyor. Notice how all these people are "Captain?" I don't know why either.
Cap'n Jim crawls around the boat. He pulls things. He prods things. He opens hatches that I don't event know are there. Turns out that back in the day Cap'n Jim sold these boats. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? In any case he spends the day with her and comes up with 12 work items, none of them critical and six of them are generic items that would get called out on any boat.
Then we take her out for her sea trial. They let me drive. We put the sails up to check them out. They let me sail. I don't want to give her back when we're done.
Back into the harbor. Up on the slings and out of the water. She's huge hanging there in the slings. Cap'n Jim gets out his little hammer and starts whacking her hull. Tap, tap, tap. I'm waiting for the "thunk." It never comes. Brand new paint. The price tags are still stuck to the zincs on the prop shaft. No soft spots. No blisters. No problems.
Plunk in the water. Cap'n Richard comes to take her home. The last I see her she's off of Port Townsend banging into the wind and waves. I stand in the rain and watch her go. It's a miserable day out on the water. I want to be out there, not here.
Just to be clear, I didn't need a boat. But I want to own "Far Out," a 1982 Squadron Liberty 31, hull #72.
And now I do.
Chuck
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