Perhaps how NOT to do this
Issue 49 : Jul/Aug 2006
The first time I saw a Mega 30 was at a boat chow. She was a new idea, a new design, and newly built . . . all untried and unproven. I wanted one.
I never stopped wanting one. Twelve other boats came into my life. Four of them stayed. Mystic, our C&C 30 stayed, and eventually I came to think of her as one of the best boats we could possibly own, perfectly suited to what we do with her. And yet . . . I wanted a Mega.
There was one in the back of a boatyard in Wisconsin that I looked at almost every time I drove past her. She was a sorry little kitten who seemed to have been abandoned. I’ll never know how much was wrong with that boat. One day she was gone.
It is a dangerous thing when your spouse buys off on one of your ideas. So it was that I found a Mega in Michigan and bought her, thinking I’d do a little bit of work to begin with. Then gradually, as we sailed her, I’d get her up to snuff.
As she had been a race boat, I could see that she had been ridden hard and put away wet. I could hear the dull thud of wet core. There were lots of rusty fasteners that were not stainless. Still, even with a survey, I did not begin to see it all. She needed work before she’d sail. Lots of work.
I’ve been working on her for several years and have reached the point where at least some of the work is reassembly. The piles of parts in the garage, basement, attic, living room, and dining room are slowly going back into the boat. There is hope.
Maybe a quarter-century of wanting a Mega blinded me too much. Maybe. In any case, here is some advice from a guy who knows he did not do this right:
- You should choose a boat that is as close to being what you want in terms of characteristics and condition as possible. The Mega we bought was a rundown, lightweight club racer, no longer raced but used for an annual vacation. We wanted a lightweight, trailerable cruiser with good performance and more interior space than most trailerables have. Making the one into the other has taken more time than I thought.
- You will need a place to work. The nice neighborhood zoning lady chased me out of my yard when the realtor selling the house across the street complained. The boat is back in our yard, and we are still fearing the nice zoning lady. Here under a tree, all manner of flora and fauna fall on her decks and cockpit, preventing any jobs like exterior painting. Below 45 degrees, epoxy won’t cure. When it’s above 50 degrees, the mosquitoes and other bugs come for blood.
- You will need the time. I have a business and another sailboat. I have an adventuresome wife. She wants to cruise. . . now while we are still young enough to care. You will need other things like money and tools and new skills and such, but the most important thing is the time. You only have just so much time. Everything that must be fixed takes time, and everything you want to change takes time. You don’t ever know how much time the task will take, and you never know how much time you have left. Time is the most important thing.
Still, I think we have turned the corner, the Mega and I. I don’t know which year she will sail yet, but there has been progress and sometimes I can see the endpoint. I know I’m not good at planning this sort of thing, but I don’t give up easily either.
The first time I saw a Mega . . . I wanted one.
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