Supernatural forces chose their boat for them
Issue 55 : Jul/Aug 2007
I used to think that buying a boat was a careful, thoughtful, weighing of pros and cons, wishes and budgets, dreams and realities. I now understand that boat buying is an inexplicable process involving unseen forces beyond the imagination.
For our first boat, we braved the cold, Canadian early spring morning to see a broker. We looked at a boat hiding under a snowy tarp, then left the yard and stopped for some noodle soup at a little Vietnamese restaurant nearby. At this point, we had never sailed in our lives. We had never even set foot on a sailboat before climbing up that icy boarding ladder in the boatyard. After lunch we were served fortune cookies. “Get your mind set,” the fortune read. “Your confidence will lead you on.” The fortune cookie told us to buy the boat. This boat, a Jeanneau Fantasia 27, was meant for us.
We called her Sogno del Mare, which means dream of the sea. We sailed her up and down the Ottawa River, and what a wonderful little boat she was. But, alas, she was too well named, and our dream indeed turned to the sea.
So began our search for a larger boat. We learned well the meaning of “every boat is a compromise.” We considered all the compromises. We discussed and we debated. With logic and rationality, we decided on the perfect compromise boat. We decided to buy a 39-foot, 20- to 25-year-old, Amel ketch, a true bluewater cruiser.
We found an older Amel Sharki in Annapolis, contacted the broker, and asked for details. “Make an offer,” said the broker. “It’s a good old boat.”
We sent a list of questions. “It’s a good old boat — what more do you need to know? Make an offer!” we were told.
We tried. We even made an offer. But in the end, we couldn’t work with a broker who wouldn’t work with us.
Tried Europe
Next we tried to buy a boat in Europe. We were interested in an Amel in France but learned there was a “sale pending.” We made an offer on an Amel in the Canary Islands, but the sellers were not yet ready to negotiate on price. We then tried for an Amel in Spain. Once again, the broker would not give us the information we needed. Surely there were unseen forces conspiring against us.
But there was one boat that called to me. It was a lovely boat, albeit very different from the Amels we had tried to buy. It was an Alan Pape-designed, custom-built, steel cutter. This boat was in the Caribbean. We had decided to cruise the Mediterranean. It made no sense.
“Stop looking,” I rebuked myself, but I couldn’t resist such a lovely boat.
However, we had no success in Europe, and there were two other boats in the islands, including another Amel, we wanted to see. What would it hurt to see the steel boat too? No sooner had I paid for the tickets than one of the boats sold. The very morning that we landed in the islands, the Amel sold. Only the pretty Pape cutter was left.
We came, we saw, we were conquered.
Surely some strange force of the universe had prevented us from buying any of those other boats. Surely this same mystical force had led us inexorably to the boat meant for us.
This boat is perfect for us and I am still amazed that it is ours. There are those who would say, “Humbug, that all is easily explained by the normal interplay of market forces and random luck.” But I say when you find the perfect boat, it feels like magic.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
