RVs on the water
Issue 8 : Sept/Oct 1999
Three years ago we transferred our wanderlust from pavement to water. The “For Sale” sign was up on our 30-foot RV for a mere day. In the blink of an eye the motor home was gone, and we had the money for our first sailboat. These days, the only RVs we see during our travels are off in the distance. But that doesn’t mean we’ve abandoned the lifestyle we learned to love during our travels across America.
I don’t begrudge the members of the Wanderer’s new family their microwave, fancy sound system, refrigerator, stove, roomy layout, outdoor awning, and other cushy amenities. We don’t have a microwave on our 32-foot Down Easter, Chip Ahoy, but we do have a TV aboard; we wouldn’t want to miss the hockey games! We’ve got a fridge/freezer as well as an icebox. The stereo is great. Ditto the brass fixtures, charming lamps, and lovely woodwork. The additional bunk built in above our dinette seating/bed has been converted into what amounts to an entertainment center, with a spot for everything from reference books to fishing pole holders and the aforementioned TV.
We prefer to sleep no more than four on board. Chips can accommodate up to eight. But we’re into cruising, not crewing. The boat is perfectly set up for two people who enjoy portside living as well as sailing the high seas. On this vessel a proper garlic press is as essential as a GPS.
Therein lies one of the distinctions that sets us and sailors like us apart from those sailing sheerly for sailing’s sake. Because we regard our boat as a home, we enjoy having all the comforts of home at our disposal, from a well-stocked linen and towel cabinet to dinner service for six. Adapting the RV lifestyle to our boat allows us to fully appreciate both our journeys and our destinations.
As we see it, happy sailing means more than a good wind and the right hardware. You’ve got to be warm and have good food to eat and good music while you’re on watch. You should have enough drawers and closets and cabinets to neatly stow clothes, tools, and the miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam. As far as we’re concerned, these amenities are more than “nice.” They’re necessities.
We wanted a boat built for comfort, not necessarily speed. “A true cruising vessel,” is how my husband, Scott, describes the philosophy. Cruising surveys consistently show that the quality of a visit in port is as important as all the fun you have out on the water. The majority of boaters spend more time dockside than they do traveling on the water. Whether you’re smoothing the aftereffects of a rocky journey or whiling away another glorious, lazy day in port, a cozy candlelit dinner at the cockpit dining table is a true pleasure.
To any hard-core racing sailor, Chip Ahoy’s dodger would be the first giveaway that the people aboard rank the little luxuries in life just as high as sailing itself. Her spacious cockpit can be totally encased in plastic or screens, creating a virtual “sun room.” On chilly Lake Superior, we can sail well into October without freezing our fannies off. Even summer days on the big lake can be nippy. Enclosed in the cockpit, we can peel off the heavy sweatshirts and indulge in a downright tropical atmosphere.
Even when it’s rough, we usually have a line off the back of the boat. We fish. A lot. We don’t catch our limit — we’d love to see that — but we always try. So we had to have room on our sailboat for fishing paraphernalia. Captain Scott’s tackle box is a rainbow-colored treasure trove chock full of sharp hooks and good intentions. He freely admits he’s thrown Lake Superior fish everything Wal-Mart has to offer. In a less roomy boat, messing with giant trebles, sinkers as heavy as bricks, and fishing lines would be impossible.
Down below, there’s even more evidence that sailing isn’t the only priority on this vessel. The décor — complete with kitschy faux leather ’70s upholstery on the ceiling — and especially the generous headroom (6 foot 8 inches), gives the cabin a true motor-home feeling. The 11-foot beam means there’s plenty of room to stretch out or move about without stepping all over each other.
There are, of course, some major operational and design differences between RVs and sailboats. The only thing I truly miss is the RV toilet — boy, could that baby flush! From what I’ve seen, balky, stinky, cumbersome sailboat commodes simply don’t stack up. The toilet and I have reached an uneasy truce. But guests practically need written instructions to operate the john.
Conversely, the gimbaled stove on the boat is one of the niftiest appliances I’ve ever seen. Scott can keep a pot of beef stew simmering in 3- to 5-footers. We could have used a setup like this as we bounced along the pothole-studded highways of Pennsylvania and New York in the motor home.
Chip Ahoy’s user-friendly, unique look seems to invite questions and comments. We must confess: we enjoy illustrating the contrast between plush and primitive. The boat’s capacity to house creature comforts has given us the opportunity to perform numerous good deeds. It’s a great feeling, for example, to provide hot, thirsty backpackers at Isle Royale National Park with a jug of ice water. Since these wilderness walkers are reduced to boiling or filtering drinking water during their visits, a cold beverage of any sort tastes like nectar from the gods. We’ve been offered $5 for a can of cold pop. But you can’t put a price on hospitality. What we have, we are happy to share.
Some sailing purists may think you have to rough it to have a “real” adventure, just as extremists in pup tents will insist that camping in an RV isn’t “real camping.” But most of the boaters we meet seem to appreciate Chip Ahoy’s special features. In fact, they are often eager to show off the custom touches that make their boats more homey.
One stormy morning earlier this year, it became clear that our cruising attitude is somewhat untraditional. The crew on our buddy boat began a long series of tacks. We consumed a big breakfast. Eat now. Tack later. Nothing wrong with that, we decided. After all, the leisurely excursion was hardly the Whitbread. If we wanted to race, we’d be racing. The sailor we were buddy boating with was on vacation from lower Michigan. He rarely gets to sail on Lake Superior. If I were in his deck shoes, I’d probably get a little obsessed about putting up sails as soon as possible for as long as possible, too.
Our first long-term cruise is still a couple of years off. As we prepare, we do so fully aware that safety equipment, maintenance/repair skills and sailing knowledge are far more important than having the right wine glasses or color-coordinated throw pillows. We need a solar panel. A nice windlass. New foul weather gear. A wind generator. Possibly a new engine.
And then we’ll get the microwave.
The former managing editor of a regional newspaper, Cyndi Perkins is a freelance writer cruising Lake Superior with husband Scott aboard the family vessel Chip Ahoy.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
