A small-craft sailor finds a second chance
with the perfect boat that got away.
Issue 145: July/Aug 2022
Most of us have been there—fallen for an early love who for one reason or another became the one that got away. In quiet moments of solitude and reflection, we wonder, “What if?” Yet life moves forward, and we carry on. But what if we had a do-over, a second chance, a lingering moment of déjà vu?
A Surprising Small Boat
The story of my repeat romance started in the winter of 1985, when I attended the boat show in Toronto. A multitude of manufacturers were there, each with a variety of designs, including several French builders whose boats were different from anything I had seen before.
The Eolia déjà vu in mid-refit. After buying her a second time, Frank made modifications and upgrades to optimize her for southern-waters cruising.
Always drawn to small craft, I stepped aboard a 25-foot Jeanneau Eolia and then and there was smitten. What designer Philippe Briand had accomplished within that diminutive hull seemed to me then—and now—simply amazing.
The 25-footer I was sailing at the time had the typical interior arrangement—step below onto the galley and look forward to settees port and starboard, a bulkhead hiding the head, with the V-berth visible beyond. It was functional if lacking privacy or floor space. Predictable teak trim here and there minimized how stark the white fiberglass drop-in interior really was.
The Eolia, on the other hand, had a beam 15 inches wider, open floor space at the bottom of the full companionway stairs, a fully wood-framed interior, and a teak-and-holly sole. There was nothing stark about it, nor conventional. Gone was the V-berth, and in its place was a large U-shaped settee surrounding a hinged table, providing room for six friends to share a drink on a windy or wet day.
Aft to starboard was a nav station and chart table with dedicated seat. What? A chart table on a 25-footer? Across to port was an L-shaped galley with a gimballed, propane, two-burner stove, sink, icebox, and storage.
And oh, the luxury—aft to starboard was a private head with a vanity sink! No more using the head right next to your mate’s head in the V-berth, but rather some semblance of dignity and privacy back there behind a closed door. To port was an aft cabin complete with a small hanging locker and a seat to assist with clothing changes, again with privacy behind a closed door.
The Eolia’s clean, roomy main cabin after her refit. Note the opening portlight above the settee; Frank added four opening portlights to improve ventilation.
On deck, halyards were led aft to the winches, inboard shrouds provided better sheeting angles, and a proper anchor locker waited up forward. For safety, the cockpit had a proper bridge deck and oversized 2-inch drains. And somehow, it all fit and was, to my eyes, very pretty.
I enjoy gunkholing, and when I learned that she could be had with a keel/centerboard and lifting rudder drawing only 2 feet 7 inches with the board up, I was sold.
She arrived by trailer in April 1985, just in time for rigging and spring launch at home on the Ottawa River. Proud as a peacock, I could barely contain myself after splashing her. But would she sail? Again, this design exceeded expectations, surprising many larger boats at our local club races and passing all in her size except for a lightweight Kirby 25.
In short, I loved her, though I never could seem to find the right name for her.
But, life has a way of interfering. Being self-employed presented unique challenges, and three years later, I needed more funds to advance my young, growing business, and the bank required more security.
The dedicated nav station, with chart table and seat, was one of the big-boat features that surprised and delighted Frank the first time he saw the 25-footer. Note the centerboard winch mid-cabin.
Sadly, I sold the Eolia to a lovely couple who lived 25 miles upriver. In making the sale, I asked for right of first refusal when the time came for them to sell her.
Always in Mind
Years passed, other boats came and went.
Yet every time I found myself driving past her new owners’ town, I’d drop down to the marina, and there she would be. Whether the boat was in a slip or hauled out and tarped for winter storage, I’d visit. Many times, I left a note: “Let me know when it comes time to sell.” The phone would ring, and a pleasant voice
would tell me how much they still loved and enjoyed her.
Even as the couple grew older, their sons, who had grown up learning to sail on the Eolia, still enjoyed sailing her. My hopes of ever getting her back faded. I looked for other versions of her, but she’s a rare model in North America, rarer yet with the keel/centerboard option. Simply purchasing another didn’t seem possible.
I’m in the construction business, and in 2002, after eventually realizing that building during winter in our cold and snowy location wasn’t profitable, I started
keeping a boat in Florida or the Bahamas and would spend January to March exploring the Florida Keys or the Abaco Islands. I sailed a series of boats, from a
20-foot Flicka to a Beneteau 423, and I can honestly say that no matter how much I appreciated them, the thoughts of my sweet-sailing, super-shallow-draft Eolia
would creep in, and I’d envision her tucked into the shallows where others could not approach.
The Eolia’s commodious, handsome interior—including an enclosed head and cabin aft—was a revelation for Frank the first time he saw the 25-foot boat.
Then came Hurricane Dorian. My boats had survived four hurricanes in the yard at Green Turtle Cay where I haul out and the boats are professionally and securely strapped down. So, I didn’t pay the extra for “named storm” insurance.
But Dorian wasn’t a just hurricane. With winds gusting over 220 miles per hour, it was a monster. No boat in the yard was left unscathed, including my Beneteau 423, which lost its mast and rigging, among other damages.
As I repaired the Beneteau with plans to sell her, the thought of a simple, inexpensive boat that I could keep here constantly occupied my head.
A Second Chance
Then one day back home the phone rang, and 32 years after selling her, I finally heard the question I’d been waiting for: Did I still want the Eolia? Hell, yeah!
With her centerboard draft, déjà vu is an ideal boat for the shallow Bahamas.
I drove up to inspect her and found her in decent shape but, not surprisingly, in need of some work. I hauled her home in the fall of 2020 (after the couple’s sons spent a final summer enjoying sailing her) and in spring of 2021 began to refit her to be a southern cruiser.
I tripled her water tankage and installed four opening ports to improve ventilation. I added a new electrical panel and replaced all interior and running lights with LEDs. I upgraded all the plumbing, created new storage, and installed a low-draw cooler/freezer.
On deck, I installed a new solar panel on an adjustable stern-rail mount. I ordered a CDI furler for the headsail, as well as a new headsail. I had a new dodger, bimini, and side curtains fabricated, and powered her with a new four-stroke, 8-hp outboard with electric start.
At times during the three-month refit, I questioned my sanity, but there comes a moment when it all starts coming together, and excitement overtakes frustrations. Once finished, I hauled her to Florida, where my friend, Roger Richards, met me and helped rig her at Port Salerno, launch her, and staged for a Bahamas crossing from Lake Worth.
The weather gods were kind and the wait was short, giving us a nice northwesterly to cross the Stream and sail to West End, Grand Bahama, to check in.
Frank’s partner, Bev Gervais, enjoys the Eolia’s nimble sailing abilities underway in the Bahamas.
As I write this, it’s been five months since her launch. Just as I knew she would be, this little boat has proven to be a wonderful, comfortable home and has allowed me access to places I’d only dreamt of previously. It’s wonderful to anchor where others simply can’t. Tucked up the creek behind Manjack Cay, in the shallow town harbor of New Plymouth, Green Turtle Cay, or behind the entrance island going into Hope Town Harbor, shallow draft truly is such a treat.
A small, easily handled boat certainly is as well. Simple systems and smaller size equate to easy repairs and less stress. Smaller investment means less worry. Smaller length means less expensive haulout and storage fees. I enjoy her many virtues; she is so easy to take out for an afternoon sail.
When I ordered her new, 37 years ago, I never dreamt we would be sailing in these beautiful blue-green waters and that I would still be admiring her lines and design so many years later. She continually makes me grin as I look back at her. I guess an old love is like that.
And the name I’d never given her before now seems obvious: She is déjà vu, all over again.
Frank Durant has been a fan of small boats since 1977 sailing his first boat with a cabin, a 17-footer. Since then, he’s cruised the southeast U.S. coast and the Abacos in the Bahamas, including 19 Gulf Stream crossings, in boats smaller than 25 feet. He’s also trailer-sailed the Chesapeake Bay, Buzzards Bay in Massachusetts, Lake Champlain in Vermont, and Moosehead Lake in Maine.
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