Male boaters rush to hush the noise of the boatyard cash register
Issue 36 : May/Jun 2004
In the Puget Sound region it is staying light longer, coats are giving way to jackets, and tattered tarps are being removed from boats. Owners and their boats are being reacquainted in anticipation of a season of sailing. An annual spring ritual is about to begin. I used to think I was a lone practitioner of this ritual, but over the years I have learned there are many, many boat-owners like me.
Every spring for the last 10 years, I have sat in the cockpit of my 25-foot sailboat under the blue tarp with its eerie glow, looking at the filthy, green grime of five months of inactivity layered on the deck. Visions of sailing close-hauled on a breezy, sunny afternoon fill my head.
Between the current reality and that vision lies one obstacle. It’s not the commissioning and associated repairs. Those undertakings are expected. It’s the justification, disguising, and even hiding the costs of these repairs from my significant other.
Sailors and drug users have one thing in common: our addictions are expensive. Some lucky ones make enough to pay for their addiction. For other lucky ones, sailing is a priority in the household so the boatowner can openly budget for these expenses. However, for the vast majority of us, paying for ongoing maintenance and repairs is one of the toughest challenges of our hobby.
My first spring as an owner, I made the command decision to have the boat hauled out and the bottom painted. I discussed this with my wife and got the reply that I would soon learn to dread: “How much is that going to cost?” Ever the prepared one, I answered that the boatyard estimates about $5 a foot will do it, so it will only be $125 plus taxes and some small disposal fees. A reluctant OK followed a couple of raised eyebrows and a look at the enthusiasm on my face. We had survived our first repair negotiation.
Friendly calls
Over the next few days, I received calls from the boatyard manager: “The bottom is kind of rough; two hours of sanding will make a big difference.” And then: “The zincs need to be replaced and the rudder definitely needs some work.” And: “She will look really pretty if we spend a few hours rubbing her out and applying a few coats of wax.” And so on.
Thursday night I drove up to the boatyard to take my 25-foot lady friend home. As I saw her sitting in the water all buffed up and shiny, pride swelled within my chest. Stopping at the yard office to pay my bill, I was confronted with an invoice for $823.45. Shocked, I realized these were expenses I had authorized. Trouble was headed my way.
Avoidance, a defense mechanism often used by the male species, appeared to be the best course of action. I took out the credit card I use for emergencies and paid the bill. I figured I would have at least a month to figure out the proper defensive maneuvering.
A couple of days later, my spouse, the bill payer in the family, asked, “How much did that boatwork cost? I need to budget it into this month’s expenses.” The silence was deafening. Finally, I said that the yard had found a couple of items that needed fixing and therefore it was a tad more than the projected $125. Taking the plunge, I told her it was about $800. Or $823.45 to be exact. For the next few days I thought hiking would become my new hobby of choice.
Sailing did survive . . . but only because I had the foresight to marry a reasonable, good-natured woman who has a real concern for the well-being of her husband. To this day, I still feel guilty about describing a haulout to her as a one-time event.
Over the past nine years this spring ritual has recurred. In fact, it has become more of an all-season ritual. I have tried many ways to deal with the issue. One year, I had the standing rigging replaced. I cleverly gave the yard manager my work phone number and told him I liked to pay in cash. It almost worked, but he lost the number and used the telephone directory. You can guess who answered the phone.
Mailbox mischief
My favorite incident was when my one-cylinder Yanmar blew its head gasket. The repair cost me $800 (there’s that number again!). My strategy that year was to catch the bill at the mailbox and pay it off in installments. Pride had prevented me from telling the busy yard manager why I really wanted to pick up the bill instead of having it mailed. For two weeks, I faithfully picked up the mail each night. One night I was delayed at work. Arriving home just in time for dinner, I was served an entrée of an $800 bill.
After this, I swallowed my pride and just began telling the yard manager the situation. At first, the yard manager would just chuckle. Then he told me this was a common experience. For the first time in years, I felt I was not alone. One yard manager related that he had a client who could spend whatever he wanted on his boat. All he had to do to keep peace in the house was to agree that his wife could spend the same amount. Now there is one man I could feel sorry for.
Ever innovative, I figured if the repairs were still going to be needed, then I could at least reduce the cost of parts. One of my friends worked at a marine store. We worked out a swap of services, and my payoff from the deal was getting to purchase boat stuff through him, using his substantial discount. This worked out well until my friend quit working there. Back to ground zero. I also have learned to do repairs by myself. The discovery of secondhand marine stores, the quality of materials, and the deals that can be made are a real joy to me . . . hand-me-downs from those lucky rich boaters.
Boom and bust
Four years ago, I devised a scheme whereby I would invest my way into boat repair heaven. A booming stock market made this appear to be the way. I used funds I had invested through my stock club. Doing my research carefully, I found a stock with wide price swings — KLA Tencor. An initial investment of $500 turned into $3,000 within a year. But then I got greedy and decided I would invest to buy a bigger sailboat. “Pigs get slaughtered” is a saying a popular radio investment advisor often says. That’s all I need to say about that strategy.
On a positive note, I have noticed that over the years, the sum of $800 is not as frightening as it used to be. I enjoy sailing, and the idea that it costs money is gradually becoming an ingrained concept in our household culture. Getting my wife to go sailing with me has also helped.
This spring, on a sunny day in March, I once again sat in the dirty, tarp-covered cockpit. “Well,” I said to my boat, “what surprises do you have for me this year?” There was the usual silence. “You know, we have a 5-year-old in the house, and money is not the most abundant commodity,” I told her. Again, silence. Then slowly, the two of us came upon a grand solution. Why not take advantage of my love for sailing and writing? The proceeds, while not munificent, can be used to pay for some of the work on the boat. As I finish writing this article, I can almost see myself installing new Spinlock power clutches on my boat.
Epilogue: Recently I have taken over the bill-paying function at my house. As I pay the Nordstrom, J. C. Penney, and other bills, I realize I was less alone in my predicament than I thought.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
