It was just Rebecca and the sailboat — then sudden unconditional love
Issue 35 : Mar/Apr 2004
“For sale” read the faded handwritten sign on her pulpit. Looking forlorn and out of place, she was huddled against oversized pilings in a muddy slip with odoriferous commercial fishing boats for neighbors. I wrinkled my nose. Standing at the base of the pier, I studied her from a distance. The elderly blue 1978 Bayfield 29 was obviously suffering from neglect. Earlier, when I’d contacted the owner over the phone, I learned that the sailboat had been his father’s. The son had no interest in the orphaned cruiser and was too busy with other endeavors to bother. He didn’t sail and knew little about her.
Feeling unusually shy, I stared at the lonely sailboat from a distance. A “handyman’s special” was not high on my list. I entertained the thought of turning around and leaving but, for some inexplicable reason, I couldn’t. The Bayfield seemed to notice my mental anguish. Suddenly drifting forward in an unseen current, spring lines straining, she bobbed her bowsprit over the pier like a lost child desperately trying to be noticed.
“Hello?” I called toward the slip. “Anyone there?”
An awkward silence followed. No one appeared. It was just the sailboat and me, staring at each other.
She had been for sale for a long time. Perhaps no one wanted to contend with an ailing old boat plagued with numerous old-boat problems. Birds had soiled her once-shiny decks, and she wept gray stains from her ports. Later, I’d discover a surly crab living in her damp bilges and an army of roaches infesting her mildewed, water-damaged interior. There were scars on her sides and tatters in her ancient sails. She was slowly dying, and no one seemed to care.
Struggling to remain detached about the business of boat buying, I shook my head. Still standing at a distance, I knew that as soon as I stepped closer all emotional restraint would be lost. Unlike the scores of used sailboats that were within my small budget and were in far better condition, the sad orphan in the muddy slip captivated me. I couldn’t explain how or why.
In no hurry
The search for the right used sailboat had taken well over a year, and I was in no hurry. An experienced sailor and liveaboard singlehander, my goals had seemed realistic enough. If anything, I thought that I was being overly selective in the lengthy quest for just the right sailboat. Sighing, I gave the Bayfield a suspicious sideways glance. She loudly squeaked her fender against the piling. I looked away. Intense, she seemed to be probing right into my very soul. Intimidated, I stepped closer. The sailboat now sat still, calmly resigned, as if she already knew. At that moment, even before seeing the survey, I knew it too. She was the one.
“You don’t pick your boat,” a salty old sailor once told me. “She picks you.”
Two are transformed
He was right. Angel, the cutter-rigged 1978 Bayfield, slowly stretched her dusty wings for the first time in years and sailed home with me. Once again needed and wanted, she began her new life. Little did I know she would drastically change mine as well.
During Angel’s restoration, I was transformed from someone who relied on the help of others for boat care to a confident, self-reliant keeper. Highly motivated, I sought to learn valuable new skills such as fiberglassing, painting, diesel care, electronics, rigging, and even plumbing. Angel’s bookshelves filled with how-to publications. A high level of interest, plenty of hard work, time, and socializing with boatyard experts was the key. Earlier, I would never have thought I possessed the wherewithal to install a marine diesel engine or rewire cabin lights. Angel proved me wrong.
Since I started out with little experience and skill, the road to restoring Angel was a long and difficult one. However, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. The learning experience gained during Angel’s renewal was the most meaningful thing I’d ever accomplished, and I took great pride in her. She became the love of my life. It was difficult to imagine that the well-built and eloquent little cruiser was once a neglected, unwanted orphan. Toward the end of her stay in the yard, the charismatic little Bayfield began to attract attention. People would stop and comment on her beauty. I grinned like a proud, doting new parent.
Restored, confident, and with a meaningful sense of purpose in life, Angel and I sailed to a new horizon. Our love affair had just begun.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
