I arrived at the Ericson and was greeted by the seller. Without speaking I could tell we were cut from the same cloth. Some enjoyable story swapping on the deck ensued. We both had a penchant for excitement and shared a common history of cars and motorcycles. I hate to admit, because I have a few good stories, he has a few more. He is a hard charging wonderful spirit. Twenty three years my senior and I’m not young.
Enough of that, I’m now looking at the boat with the voices from the forum. I’m dancing with in or out. If I do the interior, I get the color I want. If I replace the rigging, I know it is safe. If I put a diesel in, I’ll know where the flaws of the refit are. Sails, woodwork, some electrical snake pits to kill, a dodger to recover, bottom paint, plumbing, and do some work around the deck ports, all haven’t been fully explored yet. I’m adding up the time and money and dividing it by a sail to Hawaii in a few years.
I’m like a kid. I like the neighbor’s tunes, the day is gorgeous, the vibe on the dock is healthy and upbeat. I can see myself in this place and want to be there. I make a big concession. What if I put off the rigging until I really plan to go somewhere? I’m trying to make this happen. I like the boat, the seller, the dock, all that a side, I'm looking for something to make clearer sense for me. I don’t always do what makes sense.
The seller had gone to pee. He had a fall on the port side of the deck as he left, and was up quick. I was a little concerned. It was a thud of a fall. He was up and moving so quickly, I figured he was all right. I keep shutting down the boat as if it is mine, yet I have a big reservation. I take the sniped brass of the cabin lock and twist it together in a fashion I’ll know if somebody opens it.
He left the cabin headed to the head with the impression a deal was taking place after the Harbor Master’s office. I shut the cabin with a slight intention toward buying the boat if the Harbor Master went well.
I decide to walk the deck again. The rigging question was ringing in my head. One old sailor I know looked at me a week ago and said, "All these old boats are running thirty and forty year old rigging. It’s rated for fifteen. If you sail, that’s a safe time to replace it, but these boats aren’t used much?" The seller who has done some sailing said he never has saw a bolt break on the rigging The neighbor stated he thought the rigging on the boat had a recall about twenty years ago. Had it been done the stud of the rigging would be bronze not stainless? I walk the deck toward the port lower shroud. I notice one is missing. Am I an idiot? I looked at those? They were all there a few minutes ago? I’m wishing I had those brain cells I left at The Who concert. I look around, then up. Pinned to the mast in its upper location is my missing cable. My eyes follow it down, finding it stuffed into the sail. I’m brought back to the thud on the deck. I’m looking at the snapped stud. The seller, who is a larger man than I, must have leaned on it as he walked the deck. That sound and thud of his body were due to the snapping stud.
I decide the universe and the concern of others have made a statement. I'm out on this deal, the deposit is sunk as the sunk cost it was. I’m headed up to see the seller. He meets me at the gate to the dock and hands me five one hundred dollar bills, my deposit. I thanked him for his time and handed him a hundred back. Not much else was said.
One thing sticks in my mind. There are things that do not make sense. Some objects (boats, cars, bikes, motorcycles, bindings on your board) we count on regularly fail in bad places or times. Others always break close to a safe spot, or just before a crazy trip keeping you from it and those that went fall into serious consequences? That Ericson 32 is a soulful boat. I felt cared for on the deck and in the hull. I know it will take some work to bring back. I think it is one of those boats that won't let you down once you get it going. It was a sad pass for me. If I were twenty years younger I'd buy it anyway. Thanks for the feedback. My years aren't as plentiful as when I was twenty. I'll be at the dock available to help and learn on beer can race night Wed, rather then toiling on the old boat. Thanks again for the wisdom.