November 2015 - Boat Life Larks

Searching for our Dream Boat

We had spent the last year or so scouring Yachtworld constantly (I mean non-stop), dreaming about “the” boat. At my annual performance review, my boss noted the considerable lack of focus on work. He said my co workers found my constant mumbling of, "Manta, Lagoon, Leopard, must have now", bizarre and upsetting. He also mentioned that the IT servers, which can handle 10 billion searches a second, kept crashing due to too many hits on yachtworld.com. Is this all connected? Why are you asking me! (This is a joke, haha, I do actually work at work!)

We contacted a broker who had shown us some cats before we sold the house. We talked about our timeline - 6 months to a year - and he wanted to show us a Manta. Now, every time I thought about my dream boat, it was always a Lagoon 380. Even when I knew we couldn't afford it. Even when I thought a Gemini was out of our price range and a 26 ft monohull would be in our price range. We both kept coming back to a Lagoon 380. And, if we are really talking dream / fantasy, not at all grounded in reality? A Lagoon 380 S2 owners version. Thanks.

I had lusted heavily over a listing for a Lagoon 380 S2 Owners Version that was in the BVIs, but it would be such a pain to even look at, let alone deliver, from so far away. It had also been on the market a long time, so there must be something wrong with it. I watched as the listing changed to Ft. Lauderdale. Too bad we don’t really have the money - and it’s such a bad time for us personally. Quickly the listing changed to “Under contract”. Not to worry, there are plenty of boats in the sea. Ha!

We moved forward with getting in touch with our broker and spoke to insurance and loan people (we wanted to figure out if sane, spreadsheeting individuals would realize we were poor and crazy and set us straight. Weirdly, they didn’t.) Everyone says they spend 6 to 8 months searching for "the" boat. The next evening, I noticed the Ft Lauderdale boat wasn’t under contract anymore. Matt wrote to our broker, who urged him to sign a contract right then and there. And then actually see the boat the next day. We wrote back and said it wasn’t the right time, but we hoped to find a similar boat in 6 months. He recommended we make an offer and request 6 months of dockage; he was planning an African safari and he really needed the commission.

Surely boats don’t fall into your lap? Surely we needed to look at 269 boats all over the country before finding “the one”?

Making the Offer

We didn’t think the owner would accept the offer - but it was so tantalizing - this boat was right here, not 1,500 miles away. And it was an owner’s version. We couldn’t help ourselves. It was over. It didn’t matter how much she was going to cost us, how much pain and suffering was ahead, whether or not there was a better deal - we were buying this boat. We submitted the offer. I drove to the bank on the way to work and wired the deposit. Now all we had to do was see the boat! Ha! Matt picked me up from work and “Cool Change” was playing on the radio. Oh, we are caught, hook line and sinker. Well played Mr. Yacht Broker, well played.

Seeing Independence for the first time

First Impressions

Walking up to the boat, she seemed huge. Ridiculous. What would the two of us ever do with such an enormous boat? She is way too fancy for us. Out of our league. Is this real life? We’re not trust fund kids. We eat PB sandwiches for breakfast, PB sandwiches with chips for lunch, and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. On Friday nights, we split a beer. I wear clothes I bought from the thrift store 10 years ago.

Matt tore apart the boat and took pictures of questionable items. We negotiated the offer, and she was ours, pending sea trial and bank and insurance approval. Our broker said the bank was no problem, he had spoken to them and our docs were in perfect shape. Is the bank looking at someone else's docs?

Yuck! Nobody is perfect!

We entered a dream like state, talking to the insurance people, the surveyor, the bank, waiting for someone to stop these maniacs from walking this path.

What will happen next? Will Matt and Lucy go bankrupt? Will the boat sink as soon as they leave a dock? Will picking up their first mooring buoy end in divorce? Stay tuned!

Undeterred by the misery inflicted upon us by our previous instructional experience, I booked us an ASA sailing course in St Petersburg to coincide with our 10th wedding anniversary. Matt wanted to revisit the basics that were lacking last time - tacking, man overboard, etc. My take: how hard can it be? Pull on a rope and the big white thing goes up. And don’t fall off. Am I missing something?

I was resigned to weathering a storm of horror and confusion in the name of “learning”, but figured it would make for a good war story (better than “that time the oil pressure light was stuck on”) and a mini vacation. The sailing school we picked allowed students to stay aboard their sailboats. This satisfied the Chief Bean Counter’s intense frugality (aka cheapness), put us right downtown, and on the water!

Hunter sailboat at sunset, St Petersburg sailing school

Lesson boat and boatel

We met our instructor, settled into the boat (a 36 ft Hunter) and walked downtown to an English pub. Does it get any better?! Wait, it does: the boat didn’t smell! We didn’t sink it or set it on fire before lesson time!

St Petersburg

The next morning, the on the water class began. We were joined by a lovely woman. Our instructor was very thorough and gave step by step instructions and explained the terminology. I have to say, it is actually very difficult to be a professional and teach a complete beginner. Teaching is an art and you either can or you can’t - we were SO lucky to have an actual teacher! The day went well and we both gained confidence. We tacked and jibed as a team, and learned words like “leech” and “luff” (these are parts of a sail and not a blood sucking creature and a drunk English person). I had read the books, watched videos and I could not for the life of me figure out these stupid made up words and how it all fell together. However, by the end of the day - I could. Like a miracle.

As soon as the first day was over, I was wiped. It wasn’t even that late! Now a big decision was to be made: do we try another restaurant that might not be as good, or do we go back to the pub? We went to the pub. :-)

The second day, we went over the maneuvers and tacked and jibed by ourselves. At some point, Matt self-identified himself as a flight instructor (see sailing lesson #1: how to identify a pilot). Then he threw me under the bus too. Unfortunately, this revelation made our instructor think we were smart. It’s a real problem, cause we are not.

Matt at the helm

There was a written test, taken in the salon, and graded immediately. We all passed and were sent out into the world to make our own mistakes and inflict misery upon ourselves with no one to blame but each other.

I have had many instructional experiences in my life, most of them inspiring fear and phobias. However, it was with unbridled enthusiasm that I approached an “Introduction to Sailing” course offered through the Miami Boat show. We met our motley co-sufferers at the dock, and our instructor got us settled on the boat. He immediately informs us that he was a flight instructor. Oh dear, this is going downhill fast. I hate pilots. They are socially defective imbeciles who have no conversation topics other than “war stories” of “that time” the low oil pressure gauge came on. (It was a faulty sensor, but you'd think they'd survived the Titanic sinking). Now I know you are saying, “Lucy, please help us! These pilot people sound like the worst. How can we identify them before they suck us into their vortex of poppycock?” I am here to help. These deranged lunatics always, and without pause, introduce themselves. You can see them at the Publix check out line: I'll be paying by credit card, Im using my AOPA card - see that? I’m A Pilot!

Here’s the dreadful truth: My name is Lucy, and I’m a pilot (yeah, Matt is too). Excuse me while I wipe away my tears of sorrow.

Enough about me - yes, let’s do a tour of the boat. We: myself, Matt, a healthy Hungarian who struggled with English, a “I already know everything because I charter” American with a baseball cap, and our sailor pilot instructor. I'm instantly transported back to our first sailboat, the IZ1. There were a myriad of reasons we had to sell her, but the most vivid was patent-pending old monohull smell, currently in experiments to use a biological weapon. It’s a pungent mix of diesel, teak, mold, and nasty holding tanks. Fighting panic and nausea, I scramble to the cockpit. I’ve had a lifetime of trauma and we haven’t left the dock. Focus.

We leave the dock. Victory! I’m at the helm first, due to an archaic “lady’s first” system, which suits me until it doesn’t. We weave out of the marina and into the bay. I’m instructed to steer perilously close to land to raise the sails, in 20 kts of wind, which seems stressful. But hey, it’s not my boat!

Now, I’m instructed to steer through the bridge, and I’m not doing a good job. All 4 men, none of whom are small, have lined up in front of the helm, blocking my vision entirely, but providing a good vantage for the men to judge. It’s now 25 knots of wind and our instructor tells us that we would be safer and more comfortable if we reefed, but we won’t reef. That’s good, I don't want to be safe or comfortable or learn how to reef (jokes!). Thankfully, I get to pass the helm off to someone else, and all the men disperse to give him a clear view of where he is going. How thoughtful. Next up its time for a man overboard drill. We don’t go over the maneuver or assign roles, but simply toss poor George over and manically scramble to figure out what we are doing. Poor George - it took us several goes to collect him and we ended up confused and depressed.

Thankfully, nothing lasts forever and we made it back to the dock in one piece.

So, what did we learn? That we could probably remember the basics of sailing by ourselves. That instructors personality and fit with the student comprise 99% of the teacher/student relationship and the success of the lesson. For the most part, sailing is so fun and so easy, it’s a real shame that one bad experience could put someone off. That the smell of a boat is something that cannot be seen in pictures or videos, but is the number one cause of abandoned boats and crushed dreams. The smell, and getting on a boat with a pilot.

My mother always said “If you’re not married, don’t get married. If you don’t have any children, don’t start now. If you don’t have a pet, don’t get one.” Sage advice. I’ll add one more. If you don’t own a house, don’t buy one!” Why? Because it will be the bane of your existence and then you will end up selling, which could well be the death of you.

Florida Pool House: Living the Dream!

If you are going to live in Florida, you need a pool home. So we bought a pool home. Our house also had a hot tub to get us through the bitter winters when the pool temperature would drop to 72 – a good 10 degrees below Floridian’s freezing level. Everyone in Florida has to have a pool; presumably to post pictures of it to Facebook and make their northern friends jealous, but no Floridian actually uses their pool. Most don’t even look at it. Floridians also don’t go to the beach. We don’t want to see the brown potbellied Canadians in G-strings. It’s not good for our psyche. Since my main use for the pool was to cool down after mowing the lawn, it became clear that it was time to sell the house.

Florida house

Getting The House Reading to Sell

Here’s how it works: you meet with a realtor, decide he is just as weird as every other realtor you’ve ever met, but no weirder. Charge around, paint, clean, decide to paint the intricate steel patio railing, decide this is the worst day of your life, plot ways out, start pulling the patio railing down to avoid having to finish painting it, receive tetanus when the rusty pointy bit impales you, prop the patio railing back up since it seems to be supporting the whole house, paint the patio railing for the entirety of your 2 week vacation, be informed by the weather channel that Florida has broken heat records, seemingly because someone had decided to perform outdoor manual labor. But you already knew that.

Decide to replace those horrid old fashioned switchplate covers. Oh, how you hate those switch covers. Tear out a huge chunk of drywall while removing said switchplate. No problem. Trip to home depot. Patch, putty, sand, putty, sand, putty, saint, paint. Now wire the new switchplate. Nothing. Fiddle. Curse the day you were born. Reminisce about how wonderful the old traditional classy switchplates were. They don’t make them like they used to! Luckily, it will only cost you $2,685.23 to finally update that $2 switchplate. No problem.

Showing The House to Buyers

Ask for 24 hours notice to show so you can remove the demonic pet your mother warned you about from the house. Get 24 minutes to absolutely 0 notice to show. Hussle the dog out while he tries to eat the weirdos. Go through elaborate morning rituals which include hiding all your valuables, never to be seen again. Scream at your spouse (the one your mother warned you about) for walking mud over the floor you have just finished cleaning. Develop a hate for your realtor and all buyers. Insanely stalk them from the street as they flush your toilets and then complain that your toilet flushes loudly. Wonder what on earth they could be doing in your house for 45 minutes at a time. Is this a scam? Are they looking at houses just so they can do their filthy laundry in your washing machine? Is this a front for a triple blind toilet flushing decibel level nationwide survey? Will there be a YouTube video of toilets flushing across America in houses for sale in March? Is this part of a Ph.D. study? Is the study just to see exactly what rate and intensity house sellers eyes twitch when you report that their toilet flushes loudly?

All Important House Inspection

Finally, get ahold of someone who is willing to look past the obnoxiously loud toilet flushing. Thank the Lord! The night before inspection, your house will revolt. It will basically attempt to collapse on itself. It’s happy with the way it hasn’t been used, and it certainly doesn’t want these Canadians buying it. These Canadians will surely use the pool. They will surely use the pool with their potbellies sticking out of their G-strings. Canadians do not know about the no pool usage in Florida rule. Their thick blood thinks 72 is not unsurvivable, but that it is almost too warm! That switchplate that cost $2,685.23 to update? Well, you didn’t wire it correctly after all. It’s been waiting till the Canadian’s inspect the house before finally deciding to quit and blow the circuit breaker, pitching the house into darkness. Total cost of said switchplate? 291,685.23. Worth every penny!

SOLD!

Apparently, Canadians like mood lighting. They still bought the house. Just think, all these problems would have been solved if I had only followed my mother’s rules: Don’t get married (no spouse to traipse mud through the house, come up with brilliant ideas like painting the patio rail and updating the switchplate) don’t get pets (no dog to shuffle out of the house) and don’t buy a house!