"That" Boat

You never forget “That” boat because it’s an affair of the heart.

by David Nichols

All of us with the “Boat Gene” have had “That” boat, and if you haven’t, it’s somewhere in your future, trust me. “That” boat is different from other boats. I’ve described “That” boat as an incredibly beautiful, extremely high-maintenance mistress; the thrills and sex are amazing but unsustainable.

You certainly never forget “That” boat because it’s an affair of the heart. Like affairs of the heart, it sometimes can be a ”Till Death do us part,” but not usually. My affair was certainly not. 

I discovered “That” boat while I was sitting by Lake Champlain in Burlington, Vermont. I had driven there from Texas with a friend to pick up a beautiful Southern Cross sailboat. The reason I was sitting instead of loading up a sailboat on my trailer was the SOB sold the boat to someone else while I was en route and didn’t bother to tell until I arrived in Vermont.

Actually, it was my friend that found her on a used boat website while we were sitting in Vermont. I think used boat websites are dating apps for those of us with the ‘boat gene.’ The lead line to the ad read, “Custom beauty built by professional boatbuilder as his personal boat. Located in Tampa, Florida.” The photos supported the beauty claim, phone calls were made, and I found myself headed for Tampa.

She had me at “custom beauty built by professional boatbuilder,” but I was toast when I stepped aboard. We did a test sail; I ordered a survey which she passed with a few minor issues, like the cutless bearing would need to be replaced at some point soon. I decided to make the commitment and do the deal.

I also decided to have the cutless bearing replaced while all 10,000 pounds of her was on the hard and save the cost of another haulout. Hauling out a 29-foot 10,000-pound boat is not an inexpensive process. The ink wasn’t even dry, and I had started hemorrhaging money. I didn’t know it at the time, but I contracted financial hemophilia when I signed the deal. But that’s the case with a mistress. It comes with the territory.

So I found myself in Tampa, Florida, with a magnificent, bluewater-take-you-anywhere-in-the-world sailboat and a big diesel truck with a big trailer and no place to put them. I needed a plan fast.

I decided I would sail her straight across the Gulf to Corpus Christi. After all, she was a bluewater boat, but that meant driving the truck and trailer to Austin and flying back to Tampa.

While I was in Austin, I could assemble the gear she needed for a bluewater crossing. As I worked to pull everything together, there was the slow and not-so-slow trickle of money into “the hole.” I learned a new mantra to keep going, ”She’s so worth it,” “She’s so worth it,” “She’s so worth it.” It is a mantra we boat people are all too familiar with.

There were the inevitable delays as I rushed to get everything together. Each delay cost and “she’s so worth it” became a constant refrain. Each delay not only hurt because it cost but looming just over the horizon was hurricane season. My weather window was closing fast, but “She’s so worth it.”

Finally, the weather window closed, and I made the decision to sail her from Tampa to Carabell, Florida, and bring her the rest of the way in the Intracoastal Canal. I still think this was the best move.

You always hope that, at some point, you’re going to get to the “worth it” part. I did on the Tampa to Carrabell leg. I had the morning watch, 04.00 to 08.00 hours, and those next four hours will stay with me until I die.

For one thing, I was at the tiller of an incredible beauty forty or so miles offshore, and this beauty was mine. For the first time, I felt a real bond with her, with the boat. The “worth it” had arrived.

I remember an easy close reach, but that may be clouded by time and romance. Once my eyes adjusted from the red light of the cabin to the darkness of the cockpit, I was struck by the stars.

I’ve looked up at the stars from the Pacific Crest Trail in the Sierra Nevadas, the Green Mountains in Vermont, the Black Rock Desert in Nevada, the Mexican Laguna Madre, and Terra del Fuego, Chile, and they are magnificent in each of those locations. However, I have never seen the stars more beautiful than at that moment. I wept because I felt a connection with every mariner from the beginning of time that has looked up and been awe-struck by the indescribable beauty of the universe. It would not be the only time I wept from pure joy on that watch.

The sun had just broken the horizon, and I was starting to think about coffee. Suddenly a large pod of Bottle Nose Dolphins broke the surface surrounding the boat. It was almost instantaneous; one moment, they weren’t there. The next, they were. The mist and spray from their blow-holes sparkled in the sun, covering my face and hands. I leaned out of the cockpit to touch one, but I could only come within five or six inches without risking falling out of the boat. As I stretched to touch a dorsal fin, a dolphin breached just out of reach and rolled slightly, so my eyes made clear contact with the dolphin’s eye. It was an electric moment. Then as suddenly as they appeared, they vanished. They were gone.

I sat there, my hand on the tiller, my tears of joy mingling with the spray and mist from their blow-holes. I never wanted to leave that moment.

“She’s so worth it.” “She’s so worth it.” “She’s so worth it.”

We made landfall late that afternoon, and the financial hemorrhaging started up again as we moved along the Intracoastal Waterway. We played Russian Roulette with thunderstorms all the way to New Orleans and had some good moments along the way.

However, the experience of those four hours and the memory of those four hours was and is “worth it.”

And that’s what makes us boat people.

If you enjoyed this essay, please check out my maritime novel, The Brotherhood of Pandora, at www.moontowerpress.com or on Amazon.

•SCA•