Right Boat, Wrong Time?

A long-admired boat, finally acquired, revealed its shortcomings

Issue 126: May/June 2019

After waiting years, I found the right boat at the right price in the right location. But was she needed to carry more food and supplies than we maybe had room for, and my Parkinson’s disease had gotten worse the right boat? Is there ever such thing as the wrong boat? Most of my sailing friends thought I was crazy, because my right boat was a Buccaneer 270, a boxy craft that doesn’t sail well and resembles a Winnebago motorhome more than a sailing vessel. I didn’t care. My goal was to do the Great Loop, which would mean more time spent motoring than sailing. The Buccaneer’s virtues included shallow draft (to get through canals such as the Dismal Swamp), standing headroom (in a boat small enough for me to handle by myself), and a price that fit in my budget.

So that summer, a well-loved Bayliner Buccaneer 270 near Buffalo, New York, became mine. My first goal was to get my family on the Erie Canal for a few weeks of needed vacation.

Maybe it was love at first sight that blinded me to the Buccaneer’s faults. I had studied pictures and layouts of this boat, but I had never been aboard one.

Two things were immediately apparent: with my family along, we than I realized. I’d taken long trips on sailboats before, but when I was younger, and I’d wrongly imagined it being much the same. My wife and family pointed out other potential problems and I dismissed them all because I was the expert on sailboats. After all, I had sailed the Mississippi already.

By the time I’d bought a radio, food, fenders, dishes, blankets, and safety equipment, I’d spent my entire budget. When the 30-year-old outboard motor broke upon launching, we dipped into our savings for a used replacement. I found this motor difficult to shift and impossible to start, but I didn’t have to worry about it very long because it died on our second day. We drifted for a panicked moment until the kids unearthed the kayak paddles and guided us slowly to the next dock. The marina that had sold me the now- defunct motor was kind enough to pick it up and give me my money back. But that left us on the banks of the Erie Canal without an engine.

My wife made lunch. A good meal can fix just about anything, including an attitude. Attitude is the only difference between a situation making you lose your temper and making you more tempered.

Refreshed by the lunch, I called a few more marinas and struck gold. I caught a ride into town with a new friend and purchased a brand-new 15-horsepower Yamaha outboard with electric start, on the condition that they would deliver it and hook it up to my boat. This took all our remaining savings, but allowed us to finish off the week with the kids, enjoying stops at little towns along the way.

While I was off fetching the new outboard, the bimini collapsed. This was a custom-made affair that fully enclosed the cockpit. We tried several fixes, none of them lasting, and by the time the rain was obviously coming, the only wrench we had that fit the bimini screws was at the bottom of the canal.

We pulled up at the next dock we came to, where a pair of angels wearing cutoffs and T-shirts and drinking Miller Lite came to our rescue. The lead chap had a Duck Dynasty beard and Teddy Roosevelt glasses. He took charge and pointed out which of the bimini’s bars we had backward and what parts needed to be bent and banged into place. Within minutes the two were gone and our bimini was up. All they would accept as payment was a handshake.

Under way again, we met a young family in canoes. They stopped to chat, enamored with our boat. They admitted that they bought the canoes for exercise, but what they dreamed about was sailing a boat like ours. We were living their dream. With the motor running and the bimini up the way it should be, it looked like we were finally starting to live ours.

Quarters were cramped with the grandchildren aboard, and when they went home I thought I would finally be able to stretch out. I quickly learned that getting out of the V-berth at three in the morning to go to the bathroom is uncomfortable no matter how many people are on the boat.

As we entered a lock the next day, I held out my cane for my wife, who was already ashore, to grab so she could guide us in. While I was fumbling with the engine, trying to shift into reverse, the boat continued motoring forward, and she lost her grasp on the cane. It wound up in the water.

It took only several more days for me to reach the hard conclusion that this was not the boat of our dreams. With my Parkinson’s, it was difficult for me to turn around to shift gears on the motor and adjust the throttle. Getting up and down the stairs into the cabin was difficult, and no matter where I sat or lay down, I could never fully stretch out to relax. It was a sad day when we turned the boat back toward Buffalo to put it on the market.

Did I buy the wrong boat? I don’t think so. We had an adventure, and that is priceless. I learned my limitations and what it will take to make a trip enjoyable and manageable with my condition. I learned that simple is better, and we discovered that the people along the Erie Canal are wonder- fully diverse and fun to meet. I learned you can spend as much on ice cream as you do for gasoline. I learned that, as I have changed, my dreams must change as well. I have not given up on boats, nor have I given up on the idea of completing the Great Loop. Even with Parkinson’s, I am determined to get back out on the water.

So, if you see my cane floating in the Erie Canal, maybe you could hang it up on the railing at Lockport Locks for me to pick up on my next trip through.

Dan Smeenge’s compass points due water, wherever it may be found. He has journeyed many a water, including the Mississippi sojourn, and has lived on four continents and several islands. From Australia to Scotland, Cyprus to Newfoundland, from the Dardanelles to San Juan Harbor, he knows his way around. House and boat guests have been everything from tarantulas to chickens; everyone from refugees to Quechua Indians. His love of boats came early on, and it’s been fairly contagious. When he’s not writing he is sketching a draft for his next odyssey.

 

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