A Sail of Two Idiots (5 page)

Which one is the right boat for you? Only you can know. Just don't get caught up in the “expert” debates. Many such arguments involve
racing
yachts, not liveaboards, and those are a different breed altogether. Plus, boat design changes.

I recommend that you charter a monohull and then picture yourself on it—forever. Even if it's not forever, you will be living this way for quite some time, so don't get caught up in “vacation” think. Picture all your stuff on board. Where will you put it all? Bring along all the people who will be living on the boat. Where will you put all of
them
? Do you feel safe? Comfortable? Who's doing what tasks, and are you okay with that? Then do the same with a catamaran. Decide based on your own needs and your own experiences. Most of all, be realistic.

A visit to boat shows can give you an idea of your tastes. The Miami (every February) and Annapolis (October) shows have the most of each type of yacht to peruse (if you happen to be in the United States). Be prepared to be overwhelmed, and wear comfy shoes because these expos are big. They'll even test your mettle by including liveaboard trawlers and motorboats in monohull and catamaran options. It will be okay—just take a temporary detour to the megayacht section, grab a glass of champagne, rest your weary feet in their hot tubs, and pretend you've found “it” for just a moment (or two).

Ready? Let's find the “perfect” boat.

S
o how do you find your dream boat? Wait until the market tanks and banks foreclose on thousands of them—you'll be like a kid in a candy store! If your timing is off, as ours was, you can look online and in magazines, talk to people, and go to boat shows. Boat brokers can help too. But first you must do some homework. I'm pretty sure your eyes are going to glaze over, but stick with this section even if you just glance at it. When you're finished reading this book, I recommend that you reread this section. I promise you'll understand what just about everything means and why it's important.

Assuming you've decided whether your boat will be one, two, or even three hulled, you're now ready to delve in the nitty-gritty details of what will make your boat a good fit for you and your sailing grounds. Whether you're sailing a friend's boat, chartering, and/or hobnobbing at boat shows, take your time and imagine yourself living on board.

Do you have a layout in mind? There are “owner” versions, with larger living quarters for said owners, or “charter” versions, which are usually more basic. How is the seating? Ample? Comfortable? How do you like the window configuration? Airflow? How many heads do you want? Do you want showers that are separate from the heads? Do you need a bathtub? (If so, the boat better have a watermaker!) How many cabins do you need? Look for the most storage possible.

Since we wanted a catamaran, we had a choice of galley (kitchen) location—up or down. We knew we wanted the galley up (on the same level as the salon), so that automatically eliminated two or three manufacturers from our list. A galley-down configuration (located on the same level as the cabins) usually has more counter space and cabinetry, but some lower-galley designs are also less ventilated (read hotter and stinkier) and seem to banish the cook from the guests. When it comes down to it, it is simply a matter of needs and taste. Consider other cooking issues. Is a barbecue grill sufficient, or will you need a stove? How about an oven? A microwave? Do you want refrigeration—both a freezer and a fridge? What other appliances do you think are necessary? (Some folks won't leave the dock without an ice maker—not a bad idea when you see what bags of ice cost.) Remember, though, more gadgets mean more power needs (and more things that will break).

Speaking of energy, how
is
the energy and water usage/capacity? (Very important.) Are the engines powerful enough to provide energy and get you where you're going when the sails aren't enough? Picture yourself working on the engine(s). Can you get to them without doing a headstand or being skinny? (I kid you not.) Note the location of the filters and alternator belts; you will be changing them often.

How do you like the anchoring setup? Think you can pick up a mooring? (Some boats are really high off the water.) Are the decks wide enough for you to get around topside (on the deck) easily?

What kind of electronics/navigation equipment comes with the boat? The four things we could not have lived without were the autopilot, a wind meter (anemometer), a chartplotter/GPS, and an electric anchor windlass. Radar was a close fifth choice, particularly for overnight sails. A single-sideband (SSB) radio is recommended for communications if you plan on sailing far offshore, but a decent Internet setup and a VHF radio can suffice if you plan to mainly island-hop.

Don't forget to look at the rigging plan. Will you be sailing solo? Sharing duties? Try putting the sails up and down; you'll be surprised at how heavy they can be (you might want an electric winch). Are the sheets (ropes used to trim the sails)/lines in good shape? Is there a good sail-handling system that makes it convenient to set and put away your sails? Roller furling for the front sail? A sail cover on the boom? Lazyjacks? (These are small lines that guide the mainsail up and down and into and out of the sail cover.) Is the mainsail halyard (the rope used to raise and lower the mainsail) conveniently located? Can you see adequately from the wheel? Is the cockpit enclosed (or can it be)?

There's still the dinghy to consider. Can it hold everyone (and all potential groceries)? Is the dinghy outboard powerful enough to get you where you want to go? Picture yourself dragging the dingy and motor up and down the beaches. How is the davit system? How hard is it to get the dinghy up and down?

I recommend that you select a range for the age and the size of your boat. We decided we wanted the boat to be newer than year 2000 and shorter than 40 feet (prices for things such as slips, haulouts, and customs increase on 40-footers and up for both monohulls and catamarans).

Hey! Do I smell smoke? I'll bet your head is about to explode. Don't worry. I too was a little overwhelmed initially. Even if you don't know what some of this stuff is, you now know enough to ask, so just take your time. When you finish reading this book, most of it will make sense. Trust me.

Start a list of likes and dislikes, and then set out to find the closest thing you can to what you want. Buy what you can afford, which may or may not be a mistake, but don't cut too many corners thinking you'll adapt, because you might
not
adapt, and it's easier to start with the amenities you want than to add them later. Take my word for that.

Why all this work in advance? The more you narrow down your requirements, the less time you'll waste looking at the “wrong” boats and the more time zeroing
in on the one that's right for you. You'll become a fan of certain manufacturers and be able to wait until the right boat comes along at the right price.

I read a lot of books and visited online chat groups. I understood daggerboards, centerboards, outboards, inboards, saildrives—you name it. This made it easier to identify bull when I heard it from salesmen, despite the fact that they kept talking to Michael instead of me.

That brings me to an aside. Yes, the sailing world is still a chauvinistic one (if you're a male, you likely won't care). Michael had no idea what they were talking about and would smile while pointing at me with a shrug. The salesmen would then look at me as though I was a talking dog. As a matter of fact, whoever processed our boat registration paperwork automatically made Michael the captain, without asking us first, just ASSuming. At that point, neither of us had any idea who would be captain; neither of us had a clue what we were doing, but it was the principle of the thing. I was miffed at that, until I realized that Michael, as the “official” captain, would now have to be the one who had to go ashore at every island and deal with the customs/immigration paperwork. See how things work out?

In 2006 the boat market was still doing pretty well, if you were a seller. An
extremely
used 35-foot catamaran (about the smallest ever made) was going for around $125,000 and up vs. similar-size brand-new basic factory/production monohulls going for around $80,000. Yes, a single hull would have been much cheaper, but we didn't want one.

How will you pay for your boat? There are lots of ways: inheritance, stocks, savings, loans, gifts, bank holdups. We sold our house.

In order to come up with how much boat we could afford, we valued our home and took the worst-case scenario (or what we thought was the worst-case scenario—the lesson is coming).

Although we figured we could probably sell the house for enough to pay off a boat, there would be very little left over to actually sail it. We decided to use part of the house proceeds to put a down payment on the boat (20 percent is standard) and then obtain a no-qualify loan to cover the rest. The remaining home profit would go into a money market fund, which we figured could have us sailing for up to four years.

The numbers looked like this: Sell the house for $340,000. After the commission and loan payoff, we'd have $199,000. If we put 20 percent down on, say, a $125,000 boat, we'd have about $174,000 for our money market fund. That money would cover our cost of living (boat payments, insurance, food, fun, and boat repairs—that last one should have been listed first). If we figured on spending $50,000 annually on these items, we could expect to be on the sea for three to four years, which seemed reasonable enough. We figured that when we sold the boat at the
end of that time, the proceeds would cover our boat loan, and everything would even out. You have to admit it was a good
plan
(a four-letter word), and it sort of happened like that. Sort of.

In what seemed like kismet, we got an offer on our house
and
at the same time found one catamaran on the Internet in our desired price range. The boat was in Florida, so we enlisted a broker we had met during a boat show and asked him to check it out for us.

Here's how it all works. You find a boat that's calling out to you. If you like what's above the water, then it's time to see what's below it (not only do
you
care, but your future boat insurance company will too). In order to do this, you must first make an offer on the boat. Yep, that's right. You will be required to submit an offer, contingent on the upcoming survey, that will allow you to peek under the boat's petticoats (so to speak). That offer will require you to put down 10 percent. Aack!

Once that's done, you set up a time to haul the boat out of the water and have an accredited surveyor give the boat a serious going-over. Some surveyors include rigging, electrical, and engine once-overs as well, but that usually costs extra (do it anyway!). If all goes well, you own a boat. If there's anything in the survey you don't like, you revise the offer accordingly or cancel it and move on. This all comes out of your pocket. We got good at this because we did it three times.

The deposit, made out to the broker's escrow account, keeps getting transferred as you change boats. You are never obligated to buy the boat. You can back out of a deal (even three times!), losing only the cost of the survey and the haulout (and maybe airfare). That isn't cheap or necessarily desirable, but neither is buying a bad boat.

Okay, so we asked our broker in Florida to look at the boat for us. We assumed he had.

We also reviewed 99 photos given to us by the selling broker and thought the catamaran looked good. Since we couldn't afford to keep going back and forth from Arizona to Florida, we decided to run with what we knew. This meant putting in an offer (cancelable depending on the upcoming survey results), getting it accepted, and then putting down a 10 percent deposit. (Our broker was nice enough not to cash the check.) All this on a boat we hadn't seen in person and weren't sure we wanted. Gulp.

What happened next resulted in an e-mail I wrote that was circulated all over the Internet because friends and family
not
going through the process thought it was hysterical. I duplicate it because so many lessons will be learned that I could almost end the book afterwards.

June 19–22, 2006

You call this a sea trial—I object!

So, we caught our flight to Fort Lauderdale and left 45 minutes late which got us to Fort Lauderdale after 5 p.m.

Since our broker was out of town, he paid the seller's broker to fly down and help us out (isn't she on the seller's side? well, um, ok). She flew in from Philly the same evening and took us to a popular diner. Afterwards, we all excitedly headed to the dock, just to take a quick look at the boat and to see exactly how to get there, hoping to make things easier on us in the morning (it didn't matter, we got lost anyway).

Fort Lauderdale is full of canals (more than Venice), so a lot of people rent out the docks behind their homes, and that's how this boat was situated. It was getting dark, but we found the boat and surprised the guy who was supposedly maintaining and captaining it (an accountant by trade). We listened in as he told Ms. Selling Broker that he found several things that needed fixing (mind you, none of these things were what eventually went wrong). Michael and I stood at the dock looking at a real live catamaran and tried to let it sink in that we were really doing this (trying not to notice the half-deflated dinghy lying forlornly on the dock). We stood there for a looooooong moment.