Ah, the life I’ve lived, the adventures that I’ve had! My maiden voyage was from Bristol, Rhode Island to Bermuda, then down to the Virgins. Then to Florida via months of island hopping through the Bahamas. After that, years of cruising the Florida Keys and the Gulf of Mexico. Then Mel and Dawn decided to go south, Cuba (back when we weren’t supposed to go there), Haiti and the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico and, once again, the Virgins. There we turned the corner southbound, deep into the tropics – the Leeward Islands, the Windward Islands then Venezuela, back when Venezuela was safe. Then up and down the islands for years.
That was long ago. Mel and Dawn were getting on and she started talking about time with the grandchildren. They left me on a mooring for some visits home then decided to move back. They were retiring from the cruising lifestyle to the comforts of shore and family. I was put on a mooring in Tyrrel Bay and put up for sale. And here I sit ten years later. If I could talk, I’d tell you.
In theory I should have sold quickly. Mel and Dawn left me clean and well found, ready to go. And I am sitting in the heart of the Windward Islands, in the Grenadines, where any sensible person would want their yacht to be anyway, in the middle of a cruising ground that I am perfect for. And I was cheap, they were only asking ten thousand. I was worth twenty I swear… at least fifteen. They are still asking ten, but I am no longer worth that. My hull is still sound – I’m fiberglass. And my rig is still good, aluminum spars and stainless wires… well, maybe the stainless needs inspecting. As I get older the other yachts get bigger and bigger and I am seen as smaller and smaller. But I can still show you a good time, I promise, give me a chance… after a refit. Granted, my electronics are dying, dead or obsolete. My VHF doesn’t have AIS and I’ve never had a chart plotter – I do have paper charts, which should be good enough… even better… except in the eye of a modern yachtie. And I’ll admit that by now I need a good cleaning – I’m pretty musty and my gelcoat could use a buff.
If someone offered six, they’d take it. But Mel and Dawn didn’t really need the money and I’ll bet it’s years since they’ve given me a thought. A few grand would get me ready to go again. Then I could show you what fun is! I’m a good little sailor. There are larger boats for sale in the bay at equally low prices – ten seems about as low as you go until someone makes an offer. But those boats would be much more work and expense to refit. I’m the one you want, folks, check me out!
But nobody pays much attention to me anymore. I’ve become a fixture, not even a novelty. It’s years since any would-be buyer has looked me over. There may have been enquiries, I wouldn’t know.
But now, suddenly, Handy has come alongside and boards with a couple of prospects. Handy is conducting a monolog regarding the special virtues of smaller yachts – he’s already had prospects tell him that I’m too small.
“Oh, her size won’t be a problem,” the guy tells Handy, “We want a small boat.”
Already I like this guy.
“We’ll only be daysailing her,” the woman adds. “We’re buying a place ashore.”
Well, that’s a disappointment. But daysailing beats no sailing. I don’t say a thing, of course. I let Handy do the talking.
They do a stroll around deck. I can feel the soft spots in my deck near the shrouds and on the foredeck as they pass but they don’t seem to notice. Then they poke around below for a while and open all the lockers, in which Mel and Dawn left a good assortment of rope, spare parts and galley gear.
“I can clean her up just fine,” she says, and talks about new curtains and cushion covers. I like her too.
He asks about the engine. “Uh oh,” Handy and I think in unison. Still, give it a try. It’s years since it’s been run, but who knows?
Handy carefully checks everything out to give us a chance. I’ve got a separate starter battery, which the modest array of solar panels has kept topped for all the years I’ve sat here. I wouldn’t bet on the house batteries though; they’ve been running the bilge pump some – deck leaks when it rains. And I’ve got a voltage drop somewhere between the electrical panel and the forepeak.
My engine starts reluctantly on the third try, just when Handy and I are about to give up. Marine diesels are wonderful. Just keep their filters and fuel clean. They shift it into forward and reverse, but nobody expects much. The prop is a ball of growth and my bottom would qualify as a marine sanctuary.
They’re telling Handy a bit about themselves as they look me over. They had a trailerable sailboat that they avidly sailed on Oklahoma lakes – that sounds good, as far as it goes. And he knows what’s in the catalog and intends to update all the electronics – the condition of the old stuff doesn’t matter. That’s cool. Their names are Ron and Sue.
Then they climb back into Handy’s dinghy and leave. I’m left in suspense.
But a week later they are back. I am theirs. Oh happy day! Sue begins scrubbing me down and Ron starts installing navionics and such. Then they put up the sails to check them out. The sails had a couple of years left in them when they were put below so they’ve still got a couple of years in them – I hope. Ron and Sue come aboard almost everyday for a week and things are looking good. Then they have me hauled and the yard buffs my topsides and gives me a bottom job – you can’t imagine how that felt! The next time I see them is launch day. Shouldn’t he have been inspecting through-hulls and the rigging? Shouldn’t they drain my fuel, which has been in the tank for a decade, and either filter or replace it? And I wish I could tell them why the door to the head, under the mast step, doesn’t close right.
They motor me out and anchor farther from shore than I’ve been for years, where the water is cleaner and feels more alive. I rock gently and content as they depart for the night.
They return early in the morning with a load of provisioning and spend the day aboard. Sue makes up the berths then, after green flash, they start preparing dinner. They are spending the night aboard! This is the first night I haven’t been alone in a very long time. If you have been there, you understand.
Morning coffee in the cockpit then breakfast. This is starting to be like old times.
“Shall we take her out then?” Ron asks.
“For sure!” Sue replies.
They are both excited, so am I. Sea trials! Just what I need! Even so, what about the rigging? “Do you know about crevice crack corrosion in stainless steel fittings?” I want to ask. But I am mute. I can show them things, but I don’t want to show them a rigging failure. What I want them to see is how well I sail.
“Just a short hop to start with,” he proposes. “How ‘bout we spend the night at Bequia and come back in the morning?”
Uh oh. They could use a lesson in navigation. I’ve done Carriacou to Bequia in a day but we started at first light, conditions were just right, and we arrived in the dark. I’m not a racing boat, you know. I was thinking along the lines of couple of hours out on the first sail, make a list, then a second sail once those items are taken care of. Sea trials.
But that’s what they intend to do. That’s okay. Mel and Dawn got a bit optimistic now and then too. We’d had our share of problems, but we always came through – it wasn’t always pleasant. But the diesel has pleasantly surprised us so far – maybe I can too.
I don’t think the mast step will be a problem. But I do wish he’d inspect the turnbuckles, toggles and chain plates. And there’s no telling what will come off the bottom of the fuel tank if we get shook up in a chop. They’ve got a radio, but I’d rather not make them use it.
Anyway, here we go. Wish us luck.
Caribbean Compass, August 2018