First thing, 2003

January and February were rainy and snowy months. For the first time the water that normally gathers in the back section and stays there when it rains, just up and overflowed into the bilge. We wound up bailing out two or three gallons and, while we were at it, tearing out the little strip of carpet that was neatly fitted into the tiny little space that served as a cabin floor leaving crusty old glue underfoot. After we eventually get the glue off of the fiberglass, we are planning to apply some of those pads you stick in your bathtub so you don’t slip while taking a shower. Those seem more appropriate on the cabin sole than carpet.

By March we had taken a bunch of stuff out of Whisper and arranged to have some needed maintenance done. The bottom was cleaned and painted by our friendly marina operator. When he got around to hoisting the boat out of the water he called us at home to let us know. Rhonda had expressed a desire to see the keel lowered to its sailing position, and I was kind of curious to see this myself. We also wanted to get a good look at the gross stuff that grows on the bottoms of boats, plus we had some other chores to get done. We were not disappointed. When we got there our boat was suspended in the air at a very comfortable height for looking underneath. The rudder had already been pretty much cleaned off, apparently he has tools far superior to my ice scraper for this task, and he climbed up into the boat to crank the keel down for us. This was really something. The boat looked pretty neat, except that so many different kinds of sea life had crowded into our keel well and onto the keel. They had created a thriving community for themselves, it was kind of amazing. I was glad we decided to get it done because we might not have been able to go another year otherwise.

We also brought along some of those vinyl letters to put on the side of the boat so finally everybody would know that our boat was "Whisper" without having to be told. I got the letters on the starboard side just about perfectly straight. Then I did the other side. Meanwhile Rhonda was chatting with the marina guy and, - always shopping, never stopping - she asks "so, are any of these boats for sale?" He points to a grubby old boat up on blocks that I have always admired and says "that one is." "Oh, yeah? How much?" she asks, being a smart shopper. "Five Thousand" says the good gentleman.

"That boat?"  I ask her when I hear this, pointing at it carefully to make sure there is no mistake. It’s about twenty feet away and propped up on its keel for winter storage and maintenance, big as a whale. She assures me it’s That Boat. Five Thousand smackeroos. Fear creeps into my heart, like this is some kind of trap. "What’s wrong with it?" I wonder. She shrugs a "what-do-I-know" shrug. I stood there and looked at it for a while. She’s probably thinking I’m crazy; I’m looking right at the boat and I can’t see what’s wrong with it. The marina guy walks up, smiling, offers me a ladder. The deck is eight or nine feet off the ground.

It needs some work. I’ve looked at it three times now and I’m thinking carefully about it. The rig, the motor, the hull; all are in reasonable shape. Thirty feet long, five tons, just under five foot draft, just over nine foot beam. The interior is loaded with woodwork, much of which I like, but some of which is more in the way than it is useful. I can’t tell how much work it needs, but if I did need it closer to home I thought I could sail it to Jordan Point Marina, maybe a 2 or 3 day journey, and put it up on blocks there. That’s motorboat country, but only 20 minutes from home and an easy commute to putter around on a boat’s interior. There are more sailboats up on blocks at Jordan Point than there are down in the water; so obviously my idea is unoriginal enough for someone my age to be comfortable with. I like this train of thought more all the time! On the other hand, I could pay more for a boat that’s in better shape and do more sailing and less (ugh) work. This also makes sense. (Rhonda has been coaxing me into a little boat-shopping to bring me back to my senses again.)

But, let’s get back to our first love. When the cleaned and clearly labeled Whisper was back in the water, I filled up the pickup truck and skipped out on a lovely baby shower Rhonda was throwing for our niece. Everybody had a special occasion that day; I replaced the motor, professionally fixed up, and the battery, and anchors. Plus I replaced those miscellaneous boxes of stuff which will probably ride around with us undisturbed, unopened, and in the way again for a third year. There are half a dozen other things left to pack away on top of all that stuff, too. Then we just need to remember the jib sails, gas can, various life preservers, and yellow ditch bag when we come to sail again. Oh, yeah, and lunch.

On that trip, I looked at the big boat (second time) and took a home movie of my tour of the inside.

The next weekend, March 29, nephew Johnny (my nephew by two marriages, our wives are kin) came to look at the big old boat and help load up Whisper with the last of the whisper-junk. The Marina office was closed due to weather but they had left a ladder beside the big boat for us, knowing I was trying to get there sometime that weekend. We climbed the ladder up to the deck in a fine, ice cold spring rain. This was my third time looking at it and I was clearer about what to pay attention to. We went around looking for access panels, into and under drawers and bins and storage spaces. It needed some cleaning up, at least. If only I were closer to retirement, there would be no question about it; that would be my boat.

Then we carried out and loaded the last eight or ten items not previously returned into our patient Whisper. All of it was wet by the time we got it stowed, canceling out some of last week’s work. Johnny likes boats and we spent some time looking out at the steaming water wishing we had brought the gas can and the boat’s papers. With a north breeze, we could have just pushed off and sailed carefully out to the open water, but we couldn’t get back very well. Besides, it was below 40 degrees and raining, we would have been pretty cold and wet when we got back, if we got back. We just settled for standing there getting wet thinking about it.

Finally, Rhonda and I went out on April 6 to load the very last of the very last stuff and put things in place. She contented herself with scrubbing at the old carpet glue while I did some cleaning in the cockpit, drying out the stuff from the V berth, and gazing out on the water, resting between chores. It was a windy day, chilly but sunny, and we were prepared to go out, but we were also content to straighten up inside the boat just that little bit more than it was before. Just sitting on the boat was OK with us. A little less wind and cold would probably have tempted us out.

I have now pretty much given up on buying Stormy Weather, and this was a hard call. If I had only just a year or two before retirement it would have been a whole different decision. Jordan Point seems not to want to harbor any "Project boats" and the depth of the water there is kind of iffy. I have a lead on another outfit, but they are hard to find. I can tell myself that we are living in the greatest buyer’s market for small yachts in history due to the miracle of fiberglass, and Rhonda has helped me along with a little shopping-therapy, so I was able to wrench myself from the clutches of another dream boat. I only cry to myself on the inside  now. Whisper, oblivious to my treason, seems ready to go. She feels familiar under my feet now, more at ease in the water, she seems happy; if you sail, then every boat is alive.

Go on to First Sail of 2003