buying your first sailboat

The Right Hands : An Update on My First Boat

by EmilyBoat People, Boat shopping September 13, 2019September 11, 2019Comments are Disabled

The dude who bought my boat didn’t appreciate my glassed in through hulls.

I’ve always said fixing boats is a thankless fucking job, but nothing quite says that like the kid you sold your boat to abandoning it at the dock after you just finished a nine month refit.

Luckily, not all boats I’ve sold have ended up with the same destiny as my last one. I recently got an email from the current owner of my first boat, a Bristol 24 named Anam Cara. He bought the boat from the person I sold it to and has made many improvements! He even specifically praised some of the work I’d done restoring her, although he did forget to mention those proper reef points I put in.

At least I can say with certainty that Anam Cara fell into the right hands!

Hi Emily,

I’m current owner of Anam Cara, when i researched the boat before buying I found your website and have been checking it from time to since. My hats off to you. I am so happy to see people taking a path like you. In this increasingly expensive world it seems like such a challenge to live the dream. Love that you have the next boat.When I moved to Vermont in the late 70s land was very cheap, in very rural places zoning was non existent and it was possible to build a cabin with little resources and live an alternative lifestyle with other kindred spirits. Lost Nation in East Haven VT was our refuge. I still have my cabin and see Anam Cara as its water counterpart. In my youth I took the travel path of hitch hiking and riding trains with a cabin with no electricity to go back to. Now at 60 after years of wanting to go back to boats I found Anam Cara. The man you sold it to had big dreams but no time to repair the boat, in fact it went backwards. Large deck hole were created with two stantions torn out. I bought Anam Cara last fall, repaired the deck finally fixed the mast step with new oak beams and reinforced floor. It doesn’t budge. Smaller 6hp motor, solar power and she is comfortable and sails well. Slow in light airs but what a boat when it blows. Im anchored over at sloop cove on Valcour island and I thought I should email you with an update on her. Your work on her brought her forward. The bow roller and whale gusher are great. I was going to name my boat Lost Nation after my spiritual home but who could change Anam Cara.I will include some pictures, the very best to you. Keep living your authentic life, its so important to not let the machine roll over everything. I will follow the new boats rehab, i loved the bronze chainplate work.

Finally, proper mast compression support for Anam Cara!

Pirate Yacht Club

by EmilyLiving Aboard, Solo sailor girl September 7, 2016One Comment

What happens late at night inside the cabins of our boats is crew business. It never leaves the saloon. Just hangs there like a sort of poltergeist, the kind that inhabit boats. The good kind. The kind that keep you safe at sea, and pinch your bum when you’re being reckless. The kind that are your toughest critics, but biggest allies.

I can’t tell if I’m talking about the friends that have frequented my modest little yacht, or the soul that is modest little yacht. Maybe that’s all it is–the good sailors that come by. They fill my bilges with an invisible light that keep me afloat.

All I know is that when I find myself leaning into the mast at night watching the sunset, I feel something hugging me back. That I have one foot on land, one foot on the boat–and when I start to doubt myself, thinking I’ll never get my boat off this goddamn beautiful lake, a voice says to me, “Chin up, fuck that.”

Home

by EmilyLiving Aboard, Sailing on a budget, Solo sailor girl June 22, 2016June 22, 2016Comments are Disabled

Back on the New York side, Vermont and everything that happened there seems like a world away.

Monty’s Bay is home. Home to this boat, but I took the letters off her stern because we no longer have a home port. She’s is most definitely at home, though, sitting quietly in the perfect calm and nearly full moon, with a thin layer of shadowed cloud wisps stretching across the moonlight.

Sailed south from North Hero Island. Coming through the Isle la Mott and Point au Roche pass the west wind funneled through and I had a hell of a time tacking to meet my friend, Tanya, at one o’clock. I tried to pick up a mooring ball but circled it three times, missed, gave up and dropped anchor nearly a mile away from the dock.

Long row against the wind with two of us in the dink, wind already gusting up to 15 knots. Pulled the anchor up and half the bottom came with it. I should have known to reef the main before we set out. I knew in theory that anything around or above 15 knots warrants a reef aboard my little 24-footer, and that was confirmed when one particular gust put the rails in the water as we screamed along under far too much canvas. Pretty hairy, but the boat is officially christened now.

Tanya was great crew. She stayed out of the way when maneuvering, had fun, trusted me, helped when asked and determined to get some sun (even though it was actually quite cloudy, windy, and cold), wore her bikini the entire sail. Now that’s dedication!

Being alone on the water makes me appreciate land and company that much more. Back at her house that evening she and her partner, John (who helped me install my bilge pump when I was still in the boatyard), stuffed me full of bratwurst and beer. John gave me a solar trickle charger and a volt meter. Two important items on my list that I planned to purchase next time I was near civilization. They sent me back to my boat with a stash of beer for those nights on anchor.

I met John’s father, Bob, who is 85. He’s sailed miles and miles, been to New Zealand six times, and to both the North and South poles. He’s full of stories. He told me I have a good life program. That I’m doing well. When I left he said, “keep your eyes open.”

Once again, I’ll say it. Monty’s Bay Marina and Boatyard, and all the people who I’ve met there— pure fucking magic.

It takes a village

by EmilyBristol 24, Buying your first sailboat, Sailing on a budget May 29, 20163 Comments

“Coraggio,” my Italian friend said to me as he left. “Courage.”

My launch has been postponed as I wait for a part to arrive for my outboard engine that I’m not sure I know how to install. It’s my fault. I waited until the last minute to do an engine checkup because I have absolutely zero interest in that part of my boat. It’s beyond my realm of consciousness. Now it’s a holiday weekend and the part I need won’t be shipped until Tuesday, my scheduled launch date.

Sometimes I feel like I’m at camp or somewhere else magical you go as a kid. Running around at sunset from boat to boat celebrating the projects completed, and commiserating those that went wrong. Showing face at campfires. I know everyone. I’m starting to understand French. I sat on a friend’s boat with the best view in the yard, of all the masts and white hulls lined up in perfect order, and he taught me how to smoke a cigar.

When my engine actually started I was elated, but right away I noticed it wasn’t spitting water. Something was wrong with the intake (or is it the outtake)? Regardless, the cooling system on the engine was not working. A few minutes later I had a crowd of all my boatyard friends around the engine as we tried to diagnose the problem. We cheered in unison when it would start, and sighed together when it failed to expel water.

It takes a village to raise a sailor.

When I learned my engine would need a repair, and my launch would probably be postponed, my heart broke a little. I sat in a friend’s cockpit and cried my first tears of this journey. I felt like I’d put in so much work and that the boat and I were ready to launch, only to come face to face with a problem that my skills are too limited to fix.

The engine needs a new impeller. I’ve ordered the kit and spent a long time talking to my friend who is an airplane mechanic about how to make the installation myself when it arrives. He helped me to order the exact part online and gave me the formula for annual engine maintenance that I can do myself.

It will be mid-week when the part arrives, with few people around to help me–so I’m scared, but I think I might be starting to understand the iron beast that resides in my cockpit.

Battens battens whose got the battens?

by EmilyBristol 24, Sailing on a budget, Solo sailor girl May 25, 2016Comments are Disabled

Ah, battens. What the hell are battens anyway? That’s the question I asked when a boatyard neighbor helped me to rig up my mainsail over a week ago. I’ve since learned what they are. Some type of rigid material, usually fiberglass but traditionally wood, that goes into little pockets on your sail that keep the leech of your sail (i.e. the outside part of the triangle) supported. It makes the sail stiff (er) rather than all floppy. They make for better performance. They’re imperative, apparently.

I didn’t have any and I wasn’t so convinced I needed them, even though my neighbor insisted. I wasn’t sure if had them somewhere on the boat, or if maybe I’d thrown them away in my heap of cleaning when I first arrived, not knowing what they were. I found one stowed away in a locker after that, and it turns out the previous owner only ever had the one batten, despite the sail being designed for four.

My list of stuff to do to the boat was growing, I didn’t want to have to find these elusive battens in addition to everything else. I needed a second opinion.

So I have this friend, we’ve never met, but he’s kind of my sailing pen pal. He’s a sailing instructor, competitive racer, and has over 3,000 blue water miles. You know what they say, ask two different sailors the same question and get two different answers–but not this time.

He also said I needed them, and even told me how to make them if I couldn’t buy them somewhere. When I argued against it all he said, “Sail without battens and you’ll look like a hack.”

I don’t need any help looking like an idiot considering my remedial status as a sailor. I was going to find some battens.

Finding them was easy. I had my headsail repaired by the local sailmaker and he threw in some batten material for free. I just had to measure the batten pockets, cut the battens to size, sand the edges so they wouldn’t rip the sail, insert them and go sailing. Easy.

Except somehow I measured the batten pockets wrong and my battens wound up being a few inches too short. Rendering them, “useless,” according to my friend.

I don’t have enough material to cut new battens, the sailmaker is too far to reach and I’m running out of time. My launch is scheduled for Tuesday morning with a list of things to do between now and then, as well as a 3-day forecast of rain.

Even though my sailor friend was literally appalled that I managed to cut them wrong (frankly I’m appalled, too), we’ve come up with a solution. Apparently the battens will still work, they just need to be secured with a little sewing. He even drew me a diagram. What could possibly go wrong, right? I have written instructions from a sailing instructor…

Log book : Day 1

by EmilyBristol 24, Living Aboard May 4, 2016May 4, 201616 Comments

It’s a dog gone mess! The boat hasn’t been washed in years. She’s grown lichens everywhere. I’m like a gravedigger, resurrecting her from the dead.

The boatyard is quiet but not desolate. The yard manager showed me the way to the bathrooms, showers, electricity, water. I don’t know if the water is good to drink but I drank it, and feel fine. I give him a bottle of wine to ensure future favors. I need to adjust the jack stands. She’s leaning down at the bow and water pools on the side decks, making deep cleaning impossible. My socks are wet.

The boat smells like the inside of a tent. Neoprene or fabric, rubbery. She’s so tired and forgotten over the years. I’ll scrub her harder but I think she may always looks gritty, and I’ll love her still in all her faded and stained gelcoat glory.

She’s not perfect. She’s not a Bristol Channel Cutter, or some custom sloop with fine wood work. She’s just your run of the mill production boat from 1976. And she’s mine.

To think she’ll be floating one day soon. Just to think of it! Magic.

Riding in boats with dogs

by EmilyJourney to minimalism, Solo sailor girl April 27, 2016May 1, 20167 Comments

When I was two years old my parents went on vacation and left me with my aunt and uncle who had a white fluffy dog named Duffy. When they returned I had morphed into a dog. I crawled around on four legs, ate out of a bowl on the floor, and barked when someone knocked on the door. This went on until I was in kindergarten when my teacher called my mom saying I tried to eat my lunch on the floor. It was time to start acting like a human.

Since then I’ve been obsessed with dogs, to the point where I’ll straddle a mean looking rottwieler I just met on the street and encourage it to slobber on my face. My main goal in life is and always has been, to have a dog of my own, perhaps even a pack, but now is not the time.

One of my most shameful secrets is that junior year of college I rescued an abandoned kitten and made promises to keep him for the next 20 years, or however long he lived. I broke those promises. I didn’t leave him in a cardboard box along the side of the road, but I might as well have. During college breaks he was bounced around from place to place, friend to friend. When I graduated I couldn’t bring him where I was going . I found him a nice house with a nice family, where he’d have an entire mountain property to roam and hunt. The day I left he jumped out a second story window, never to be seen again. I have little doubt that he survived the fall and took to the wild, or found a new family, but I vowed that day to never get an animal again until I was in a stable enough situation to give it a home forever.

I’ve taken care of and lived with a lot of dogs in the years following that fateful decision. There was Koda the misunderstood chocolate lab on the farm. Chloe, the aging spaniel on a 22-foot cutter. Cleo and Jasper, dogs that needed walking and feeding when their owners were away. Each canine I encounter reminds me how much I love the loyalty, companionship, and extreme excitement they exude upon my arrival.

There’s something really special about a girl and her dog, especially on a boat. When I used to row Chloe to shore it felt like she and I were the only two beings in the world. When I would take Koda on hikes in the mountains it was like we were the only ones the other would ever need. I know the challenges sailors with dogs face, and I know the rewards of having a best friend onboard.

As far as my live aboard lifestyle goes, I need to have a job while living on my boat and that would mean leaving a dog onboard alone for hours at a time. Being in the northeast until at least next year, I’ll have to move off the boat in the winter and who knows where I’ll end up working or traveling. I have dreams of tramping through South America when the seasons begin to change. Maybe I’m selfish, but until I find a way to sustain my lifestyle through freelance writing, or something that won’t force me to bed down on land every once in a while, a canine first mate isn’t in the cards. Until then I’ll continue to accost dogs on the street, and crawl around on all fours barking at noises I hear…when no one else is around.

A four letter word

by EmilySolo sailor girl April 21, 2016May 1, 20163 Comments

The concept of home is something I’ve tried to avoid. I always thought home meant settling. Home meant staying in one place. Home meant arriving somewhere and never leaving. But I’ve changed my mind.

Home is where the girls at the coffee shop know your voice when you call them on the telephone to ask what time open mic starts. Home is where a new friend acquires a piece of wood from their work that you desperately need for a boat project. Home is where your best mate works at the local brewery and refuses to let you pay for a single beer. Home is where the people you serve at the restaurant turn into allies. Home is where someone you bought a dinghy from off craigslist turns into your sailing buddy. Home is where your co-worker’s brother lets you use his West Marine discount. Home is a text asking if you can walk someone’s dog. Home is riding your bike through a part of town you’ve been through thousands of times, and seeing it with new eyes. Home is a community of people, near and far. Home is family.

Home is familiar, stable—but it’s a paradox. It’s something I’ve always yearned for while away, yet tried to escape.

I’ve been scared of it, but I’ve learned that a sense of home will never soften my urge to wander, because it’ll always be there when I return. That’s why they call it home.

Never trust a sailor on land

by EmilyBristol 24, Buying your first sailboat April 5, 20164 Comments

I just spent the last hour finally finishing up fixing a cataclysmic error. Okay, it wasn’t that bad. I was trying to coil my anchor line after having gotten a bit tangled up earlier today, and I got frustrated. Ultimately throwing the clean, unkinked line in a heap on the floor along with the mess already there, and making the mess even bigger. My morning was spent learning to splice. I’ve settled on a pretty standard rope to chain back splice but man am I scared I’m doing it wrong! Youtube video after youtube video, photo after photo, diagram after diagram and I think I finally got it. Although at this point my spliced strands are so frayed and unraveled that I’m just going to start over. It’s a good thing I have 200 feet of line to work with.

It’s hard to imagine that my entire life is essentially going to be hanging by a thread pretty soon. A thread that I childishly tossed onto the floor in a heap because I was tired of studying the splice and not getting it right.

Tomorrow I’ll get it right.

Get a GRiP

by EmilyBristol 24, Buying your first sailboat, Solo sailor girl March 23, 2016March 23, 2016One Comment

I’m not going to let some fiberglass, wood, and metal push me around any longer. The past few days have been intense. Filled with what if’s and what the eff’s, but I’ve finally reached the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m no longer consumed by fear of the unknown, I’m embracing it.

Ah, glass reinforced plastic. It’s messy, requires care and attention to detail, but with the right amount of both it will last forever. I’ve read enough books and forums, and talked to enough sailors to know that whatever needs to be done, I can do it. I may make lots of mistakes, and botch a few jobs, but all that will eventually lead to getting the work done the right way. It’s not rocket science. It just takes some basic, do-it-yourself know how–and the ability to realize when you need to ask for help, whether from a more experienced boat owner or a professional in the yard. I can’t believe I was letting 24-feet of frozen snot work me up into a frenzy.

This blog has been a bit of a sounding board for me to voice my anxieties about my new found boat ownership, but I am in no way a damsel in distress. I’m a dame, yes, and I’m stressed, but I don’t need to be rescued or convinced not to quit.

Every single thing I’ve done in the past four years, from the yacht delivery from Tonga to New Zealand, to working at a posh marina tying up boats for minimum wage, to living aboard a small cutter with my then boyfriend, have lead me here. I’m exactly where I want to be. Sure I’m scared, but I don’t know anyone who isn’t. A little fear keeps you alive, it’s too much of it that can paralyze you.

From now on I’m keeping my fear in check, but certainly never going to ignore it. It’s like what my uncle said when we were talking about navigational hazards on my boat’s journey back to salt water;

“In my experience, the biggest enemy? Complacency. Never get too comfortable. You should always have a few beads of sweat, somewhere, when in unfamiliar territory.”

I know that there are going to be frustrating days, financial hardship, and a fair bit of misery ahead, but it will all be worth it–when my new anchor roller is installed with a Rocna ready to be deployed, the bottom is painted, the varnish is sparkling, her hull is waxed, standing rigging strong, her interior cozy–and I hoist the sails for the first time.

“You see all those people out there on the street, walking around with a bunch of tattoos? They’re not any tougher than you.” -My Tattoo Artist

Let me tell you about my boat

by EmilyBristol 24 March 10, 2016March 10, 20166 Comments

Anam Cara, which means Soul Friend in Irish, is a 1976 Bristol 24. I rushed up to see her for the first time the day after Valentine’s Day, 2016. I tried to look at her with a critical eye but had already fallen in love when I stepped onto her frozen decks, in the dark, while the wind rendering the temperature in the single digits ripped through her standing rigging. The Bristol 24 was a popular cruising boat built in the 60s, 70s and even into the early 80s, by Sailstar Boat Company, which later became Bristol Yacht Company, in Rhode Island. She was designed by Paul Coble.

She draws about 3.5 feet and has a long keel with a cutaway forefoot and attached rudder. With only an 18 foot water line the B24 is relatively slow, but what she lacks in speed she makes up for in stiffness. She displaces a total of 6,000 lbs, 3,000 of which are in her lead ballast. With an 8 foot beam and 6 feet of standing headroom, this B24 is a roomy 24-footer, which is probably what made her so popular for cruising families back in the day. An estimated 750 hulls were built during production.

On the day of survey, the surveyor denoted Anam Cara in “fair condition,” meaning she would be safe and sailable with some usual maintenance. However there is no major structural damage and what does need to be fixed is indicative of previous use, not neglect. I certainly have my work cut out for me to get her in Bristol condition, but I reckon we’ll be sailing along just fine in due time.

I bought the boat on one of the largest fresh water lakes in the U.S., where I plan to sail her for the season and then begin the long, meandering journey through a series of canals and rivers back to her original birthplace; salt water.

I move aboard Anam Cara, in the boatyard, in May.

“Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art, like the universe itself… It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.” -C.S. Lewis

Adventure vs. Ordeal

by Emilyadventure travel, Boat shopping February 20, 2016February 20, 20167 Comments

From the countryside of Quebec, to a frozen boatyard, to the lounge of a 200 year old Adirondack cabin, to my grandparent’s house, to the grimiest city in the world, and back home again–the journey to see the boat was a long one.It started early in the morning in sub zero temperatures as I caught the bus to New York City, to catch another bus, and then another bus. From there I did as best I could for my self-survey, but it was cold. Bitterly, bitterly cold. The wind howled through the rigging and snow drifts piled around as the wind off the water blew frozen bits in a steady direction. Before I left the boat, I sat in the port side settee, leaned against the nicely varnished ceiling boards and closed my eyes. I tried to picture warmer weather. I tried to picture myself, with all of my stuff, and my all of crazy notions, living in harmony within this little vessel. Thirty seconds later I sprung up. I had seen the light. That evening I enjoyed a traditional Quebecois meal of meat pie. A few glasses of tea, and a quick performance on the squeeze box and it was time for bed, as the next day I was meeting the surveyor in the wee hours of the morning. Luckily, the temperature was going to near 45 degrees that day. It’s damn cold in the north country this time of year.
When we arrived in the boatyard the next morning, the wind had quieted and the temperature spiked. Within minutes though, the current owner (who had graciously put me up for the night and offered me a ride to the bus stop to catch home later that evening) slipped on some ice which resulted in an intense injury. He had to call it and retreated to the Canadian border.

The surveyor and I went through every inch of the boat for the next four hours. My toes were about ready to fall off, but I felt like a got an education that was worth the frost bite. When the current owner had to bail, the surveyor said he would drop me at the bus stop. The thing was, I would be stranded there until midnight! I didn’t want to fish too hard for an invite to spend the remainder of the day at his house, so I didn’t. “I’ll find a coffee shop,” I said. “Or a bar.”Turns out, he was heading south where he also has a home and business, so I was able to catch a ride with him to my grandparents house in the rolling mountain range a few hundred miles down the line. A quick stop at his 200 year old house that used to belong to the secretary of the great New York poet Pearl Buck, and we were on the road.

Overall, it would take him 90 miles out of his way total to drop me off there. Not only did that not matter to him, but he knocked $150 off the survey price, and we smoked cigarettes in his flash Range Rover the entire time, talking about boats. I felt like a sponge, thirsty to soak up every last bit of information I could from him during our impromptu road trip. He has thousands of sea miles, many of which were offshore.

So many people don’t take care of their boats, or take care of them wrong. In some ways, talking to the surveyor gave my confidence a boost, as I asked the right questions. It was like we both came from the same school—except he was a near zen master, and me just wee student.

Somewhere in between the highway and the back mountain roads he said to me, “Emily, I think it’s great what you are doing, and I’m really excited for you.”

“Thank you. Wow,” I said. “I’m excited to have you as a part of it.”

I’ll keep him in my proverbial rolodex for years to come.

I was at my grandparent’s house in time for dinner, where my poppy gave me lessons in the art of negotiation, and my grandma advised me to wear a life jacket.Tucked into bed with my aunties playing a rousing game of scrabble, the past 36 hours almost seemed like a dream. It had all happened so fast. The boat, the miles of road, the mountains…

360 degrees north

by EmilyBuying your first sailboat, Sailing February 12, 2016February 15, 201610 Comments

Choosing a dinghy

“But I’m going to need a dinghy,” I say with a suspect tone.

“Yes, but I’m going to need one, too,” my Canadian friend replies.

So, we’re negotiating.

When I got a call this morning from the owner of the boat I’ve been slowly trying to make my own I knew that the methodical, maple-syrup like pace I’d been operating at was too good to be true.

“I’ve got a fellow from Toronto who wants to come down and buy the boat right away, sight unseen, for my full asking pricing!” He said, practically laughing with excitement.

I guess it’s true what they say, about the two happiest days in a sailor’s life. . .

But I wasn’t going to let this Canuck swoop in and spirit my boat away from right under my nose. I appreciated the forewarning, which had been delivered in good faith, but it was time to act fast.

Less than an hour later I had bus fares booked and a surveyor who understood my situation, was willing to come on such short notice and not charge me for the entire survey if we decide early on the boat’s not up to par…but I hope she will be.

I’ve written up a contract. My finances are in order. On Monday morning I will board that bus that could take me into the future. She’ll be buried under snow. She’ll surely have some deck rot. She might not even have a dinghy. But she might be mine.

Like what you see? Follow the journey and get updates from the poop deck.

Soul friend

by EmilyBuying your first sailboat, Sailing February 7, 2016One Comment

“You’ve always done everything you ever said you were going to do,” my best friend says to me. She’s on a cell phone in Seattle. I can hear the rain and sirens from a passing police car.

“You don’t understand,” I say. “This isn’t just some job I’m trying to get in another country. I’m afraid I’m going to get this boat but be paralyzed by the responsibility, so it will sit there unmaintained and degrading. And I’ll be living on this tiny floating thing that has become some kind of prison.”

“That won’t happen,” she says. “I’ve got to go.”

She hangs up.

Somehow this validation from my friends makes me feel better. How they’re already telling their people in these cities so far away from me about this boat I’m getting that they’re going to be sailing on soon.

My fears are not irrational. I’ve been shirking my boat responsibilities. Yes, I’ve been working a lot and socializing more than usual—but I’ve had the time. I need to schedule a survey for the trip I’m taking soon, but I just haven’t done it.

I’m going to see the boat that I think is “the one.” So many sailors have used that cryptic line.

“When you know, you know.”

“But how?” I ask.

“You just know.”

That’s all I can go off. The fact that this boat was the first one I called on four months ago when my pockets were empty. How even when I push her to the bottom of the list she somehow manages to resurface as number one every time. How I’ve already started making the list of what she will need right away in order for me to be comfortable splashing her and living aboard.

How her name is translated into English as “Soul Friend,” and how my handful of nearest and dearest mates scattered across this country, who are the only people that I can talk to when I’m on the edge that can make me feel human again—how I’ve always referred to them as my “soul friends.”

The Bristol 27

by EmilyBoat shopping, Buying your first sailboat, Living Aboard January 29, 201616 Comments

Sitting in the cabin of the boat ten feet off the ground I felt like I was in the belly of a whale, swallowed whole by her size. Her current owner left me instructions to tie up the tarp properly for the impending snow storm and left me to fiddle around unbothered.
The first time I ever sailed was on a 43-foot catamaran during a 1200 nautical mile trans-Tasman journey. From there I sailed on everything from tall ships to day sailors, with the majority of my time sailing spent aboard a 22-foot pocket cruiser. Ever since that fateful day that I learned about small boats, size has mattered.

I’m not a purist, or a good enough sailor to be considered an authority on anything, but I scoff at fancy boats. Give me something with a simple rig, good bones, an adequate anchoring system and a simple way to charge a handheld VHF.All signs from my self-survey pointed to this boat being a winner. Yes, there were some signs of delamination on deck but nothing indicated an entirely rotten core. Yes, she had beads of silicone around some fittings that indicated leakage. Yes, some of the bolts on the lifeline stanchions were rusted. Yes, her main sail would need to be retired almost immediately. But none of this seemed beyond my skills or budget for replacement or repair. She even had a working outboard motor and the head had been ripped out years prior (I come from the school of using a bucket as a head, just ask Teresa Carey, so that was a plus for me). The biggest issues I found were rusty chainplates and lack of a working 12 volt electricity system. Both were a turn off, but not enough to pull the plug.

The price was right. The owner was honest. It wasn’t the work that needed to be put in that would swallow me, it was her magnitude. She was closer to it but wasn’t “the one.” Now, I look forward to meeting her little sister. . .

“At sea, I learned how little a person needs, not how much.” – Robin Lee Graham

The 30-minute self survey

by EmilyBuying your first sailboat, Living Aboard January 25, 201612 Comments

Moving home at the age of 26 had me feeling a bit lonesome as everything in my hometown has remained much of the same, while I’ve changed dramatically. I envy the loners, I really do, but I’m a social creature and always have been. But with my newfound alone time I’ve found something incredible: focus. I’ve saved enough money for my boat, a professional marine survey, and the imminent upgrades it will certainly need right away. I’ve even stashed extra funds away for some travel for travel’s sake before I move aboard in Spring. I’ve studied closely what designs, designers, and builders have created inherently seaworthy vessels, and specifics I need to bear in mind when I examine a potential purchase. Recently I traveled to New England to look at two boats I was very keen on. They were in my price and size range, and I loved their lines and reputations. Luckily I was able to replace the diamonds in my eyes with concrete and see them for what they really were…

Disclaimer: I am still a beginner and looking to soak up as much information as possible! If you see anything in the photos below that I’ve called wrong, or failed to notice, please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts!

The Sea Sprite 28

Using notes from the book, “Inspecting the Aging Sailboat,” by Don Casey as a guide, I found some issues needing repair that were far beyond my skills.

Her rudder moved easily, the prop as well. Her top sides had lots of little bumps but I likened it to cosmetic only. Her bottom had layers upon layers of paint, easy to remedy with some scraping, sanding and painting. I tapped around the thru-hull fittings and the sounds resonated sharp. I found no overwhelming indication that the hull was in anything other than good shape.

Down below was another story. The boat was out of the water on jack stands, yet still the bilges were filthy and full of water. That meant two things to me, 1) the owner didn’t maintain clean bilges so what else could have been neglected, 2) water was getting into the boat.

I knew going into it that this boat had some issues, as it was advertised as needing “TLC to bring her back to her original glory.” Plus, she was priced nearly 70 percent lower than any of her used sister ships for sale. The hardware on deck that houses the boats’ spinnaker pole is apparently the source of a leak that has caused damage to the bulkhead veneer on the port side of the boat, but with a few pokes of my knife it seemed the damage went deeper than the decorative layer of wood. While I was sounding the cabin floor I also found rot on the port side at the bottom of the head door where the “wall” meets the cabin sole. It was wet, soft, and alarming. I also noticed salt crystals and other signs of leakage high on the hull, which could indicate hull to deck joint leakage, but I’m not sure.

Pretty quickly I realized these issues were beyond my skills for repair and I didn’t bother doing anything other than a light once over on the mast, rigging and deck.

The owner has only had the boat for a one season, and he didn’t get a survey, nor did he know how old the rigging was, when the last time the hardware was rebedded (something important, especially the chainplates, on the SS 28 according to owners forums). He planned to fix the boat up, but other boats came into his life so this one went up for sale. I don’t doubt his honesty or integrity, and I think the boat is priced fairly. This Seasprite 28 will certainly make a sailor who is a little more suited for the task of refitting very happy.

Another major factor was her sheer size and girth, she seemed like she would be too much work to single hand. The cost of maintaining her inboard diesel engine was the third strike and I had to let this boat go.

I want to outfit, not refit my first sailboat, and I don’t doubt that a boat meticulously maintained by its previous owner is out there for me. In my next post I will go over my findings on the second boat I surveyed in New England, a Bristol 27.

Thorough

by EmilyBoat shopping, Buying your first sailboat January 20, 20166 Comments

That word was used again. That word that has never been the right adjective to describe my actions. That word associated with people who are inherently less likely than me to half ass everything. I’ve never been obsessive compulsive until I started shopping for boats, and while it may be aggravating to the current owner (who I ask to leave me alone with the boat and then respond with a very generic “eh,” when they ask me how I liked the vessel) it’s a quality I’m glad I developed. It’s difficult for me to describe how uncannily fun it was to stomp around those boats I went to see last week. How it made me feel to scrupulously inspect every inch of the hull, deck and cabin. I felt like I was ensuring my safety, like I’d learned so much since I went to inspect my first boat only a short month ago, like a few taps of the head of a screwdriver was going to save me from having to pay upwards of $500 for a surveyor to confirm my suspicion–this isn’t the right boat for me. I discovered some faults that may have otherwise gone unnoticed by the owners, like a rotting bulkhead on one boat. It was clear, that in my sailing education and theirs, we had come from different schools.
One of the owners texted me later that evening asking for my feedback, and when I gave it to him I was reminded of the time I quit a job and my boss asked for the same thing. People don’t actually want to know what’s wrong, and just because you’ve been sailing longer than a neophyte doesn’t mean you necessarily know more about boats, or anything about boats. Although I can’t help but wish I had an experienced sailor and boat buyer there with me, to confirm or deny my findings.
Every boat I call on brings me closer to “the one.” The stars seem to be aligning for one particular vessel, but it’s too soon to reveal anything about her condition or whereabouts. I don’t want to jinx it but unless a star falls out of the sky…

Until then the search continues, and so does my education in the valuable skill set that is the self-survey.

“There are a lot of people in this world at this moment in history who feel pretty lost in life. Who don’t feel like their life has a lot of purpose, has a lot of meaning, they don’t feel like they’ve actually achieved anything…People have gone to sea or have sought that experience as a means to remedy those lacks, and I would attest that can still be the case. If you do feel there a things in your life that you’d like to have that you’ve never had, sailing can be an excellent vehicle to reach that kind of satisfaction.” -Jay Fitzgerald, Pacific Northwest Engineless Sailor.

Good old boats

by EmilyBuying your first sailboat, Landlocked January 15, 20164 Comments

Even when out of the water…

…the sentiment remains true.

“There is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.” -Kenneth Grahame

SNAP OUT OF IT

by EmilyBuying your first sailboat, Sailboats January 6, 20162 Comments

When I become giddy over the thought of owning my very own sailboat I remember what my book on inspecting the aging sailboat says, “SNAP OUT OF IT.”

I must remind myself not think about the warm light that will undoubtedly illuminate the saloon, nor the adventures that are sure to ensue. This is a business transaction. Someone is trying to sell me something, and I have to be sure it’s not their problem, or something I can’t afford.

Going to see this little fine beauty next week. I hope she’s in as good of condition as she seems from her pictures. Since I’m a wee bit superstitious I would paint her hull white as soon as I could.

The devil is in the details, so they say. I’m going to look at two boats in New England next week. I’ve done a thorough job in determining whether the boats are worth my time, and “thorough” is not an adjective normally used to describe myself. “Haphazard” is more like it. But I must admit emailing back and forth with the owners, talking with them on the phone, contacting other sailors who own the same type of boats, spending hours researching, it’s been a surprisingly satisfying experience. I haven’t acted this studious in many years. In fact, nearly two years ago I couldn’t even bring myself to finish my Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) online certification, and I’d paid $400 for it.

I don’t have a car but luckily I have a good friend whom I haven’t seen in two years who lives in New England and she’s offered to pay for half of a rental car and her parents have a house on Cape Cod where we will stay. We will gallivant around the shores of New England looking at potential boats for me and exploring the region to see if it’s where I’d like to keep the boat and live for the sailing season.

Once again this entire process is a mixture of excitement and terror. I can certainly afford to to buy the boat, but can I afford the boat in general? Most likely not–I’m an underemployed journalist and a waitress, but just like when I get overly optimistic about a boat when I become too negative I must also tell myself to “SNAP OUT OF IT.”

All I want for Christmas…

by EmilyBuying your first sailboat December 25, 20156 Comments

Is to find a sailboat without core rot! Until then, cheers and happy holidays to everyone who actually reads dinghy dreams.

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