marko
Give me a museum and I'll fill it. (Picasso) Give me a forum ...
- Joined
- Mar 16, 2011
- Messages
- 8,456
The two happiest days of a boat owner’s life are the day he buys it and the day he sells it.
Friends, I’m about to have my second day.
My great-grandfather raced sailboats, my grandfather (mom’s dad) did and my father did (that’s how he met mom). For fifty five of my seventy years, I’ve owned a variety of boats, sail, power, row.
Thirty years ago a dear friend called while DW and I were on our honeymoon telling me that he was 'very' ill and needed to sell his five year-old sailboat. His was the only boat I had ever really wanted and I jumped at the opportunity.
A 52 foot sailboat isn’t the type of thing that you use casually when there’s nothing better to do, so for the next thirty years our life revolved around that boat; it was a lifestyle commitment.
But with hundreds of trips up and down the coast north of Boston, overnights in Nantucket, birthday parties on board, one memorable 'cook aboard' dinner for ten, we have had more than enough memories--and photos for a lifetime.
The boat and I aged together over time. But it was not the type of boat you just took out for an hour spin, and it’s a very big boat to handle yourself; a lot of work. Heck, it took almost an hour to get out into deep enough water to hoist the sails. Over the past few years, we stopped sailing as much and the boat became more of a summer home; lunch at the mooring, a swim, some music, a nap. Thirty five is also old for a boat like that, the maintenance was getting more involved (and costly) and, well….we had just had enough. It was just time to move on and do something different.
So, our old girl is on her way to a better home. Happy? A bit melancholy for DW and I. We did join a local boat club where we can take out power boats whenever we want and we’re really looking forward to that. No mess, no fuss; 'here’s the keys, kid, thanks'.
One regret: Every year, my brother and I would do three or four different overnights at the mooring. An entire bottle of Scotch would evaporate during the early evening as we sat in the cockpit chatting, looking at the stars. In the early morning my brother would jump out of his bunk, stark naked and run up and over the rails into the cold New England water. The last time we went out, he was begging me to join him; he loved it. 'C’mon, c’mon!'. I refused; just didn’t feel like getting wet that day. Had I known that in four weeks he’d have a life threatening and life changing stroke, I’d have jumped in with him even if I were wearing my best business suit. But…regrets are for another day.
Bon voyage my girl!
Friends, I’m about to have my second day.
My great-grandfather raced sailboats, my grandfather (mom’s dad) did and my father did (that’s how he met mom). For fifty five of my seventy years, I’ve owned a variety of boats, sail, power, row.
Thirty years ago a dear friend called while DW and I were on our honeymoon telling me that he was 'very' ill and needed to sell his five year-old sailboat. His was the only boat I had ever really wanted and I jumped at the opportunity.
A 52 foot sailboat isn’t the type of thing that you use casually when there’s nothing better to do, so for the next thirty years our life revolved around that boat; it was a lifestyle commitment.
But with hundreds of trips up and down the coast north of Boston, overnights in Nantucket, birthday parties on board, one memorable 'cook aboard' dinner for ten, we have had more than enough memories--and photos for a lifetime.
The boat and I aged together over time. But it was not the type of boat you just took out for an hour spin, and it’s a very big boat to handle yourself; a lot of work. Heck, it took almost an hour to get out into deep enough water to hoist the sails. Over the past few years, we stopped sailing as much and the boat became more of a summer home; lunch at the mooring, a swim, some music, a nap. Thirty five is also old for a boat like that, the maintenance was getting more involved (and costly) and, well….we had just had enough. It was just time to move on and do something different.
So, our old girl is on her way to a better home. Happy? A bit melancholy for DW and I. We did join a local boat club where we can take out power boats whenever we want and we’re really looking forward to that. No mess, no fuss; 'here’s the keys, kid, thanks'.
One regret: Every year, my brother and I would do three or four different overnights at the mooring. An entire bottle of Scotch would evaporate during the early evening as we sat in the cockpit chatting, looking at the stars. In the early morning my brother would jump out of his bunk, stark naked and run up and over the rails into the cold New England water. The last time we went out, he was begging me to join him; he loved it. 'C’mon, c’mon!'. I refused; just didn’t feel like getting wet that day. Had I known that in four weeks he’d have a life threatening and life changing stroke, I’d have jumped in with him even if I were wearing my best business suit. But…regrets are for another day.
Bon voyage my girl!
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