Retired from newspapers and television, currently sailing Thelonious II, a 1984 Ericson 381.
Five-minute video of hull and engine survey:
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I was proud to see the first Thelonious, an Ericson 32-III, leave my stewardship on a truck headed to green pastures in the Pacific Northwest. She had taken me to Hawaii and back, and I was confident her new owner would do well by her and never be disappointed. She was the most proportionally perfect yacht I have ever owned and had both guts and grace. It was like seeing a kid graduate from college. Paying the tuition is worth it if they turn out fine and head off to a new life.
The new boat, Thelonious II, is a 1984 Ericson 38, with the same Bruce King lines and ideas. It's a little bigger, but the increase is subtle. The galley is larger, the quarterberth is wider, and the head has a shower. The layout is the same as the 32-III which worked so well for me.
There were three E38s to choose from in Southern California, and all were well maintained. I chose one in which the hull had been taken down and barrier coated only last year, and the mast painted professionally in 2009, and the upholstery recently new. I even liked what the boat lacked: a dodger, and recent sails--I prefer to buy new sails, to my specs, and don't use a dodger.
Buying a boat is a hands-on process and it's not a good idea to rush. We had the usual survey, an engine inspection and a three-hour sea trial. I listened to the surveyor, the mechanic and the broker, and learned a lot by hanging around with them before, during and after. I visited the boat four times over the course of a month, each time with new considerations to check out and ponder. Negotiations took another month or so, because buyers and sellers need time to adjust to each other. Eventually a compromise was reached that was acceptable to all sides. I say this because buying or selling a boat isn't like a transaction for a car or even a house. It is more personal. Feelings must be appreciated. Buying is easy, selling an older boat is hard.
The E38 is about where the E32-III was when I bought her three years ago: sound, but in need of attention. Her hatches are crazed, her opening ports need to be changed, most of her running rigging is old, a shroud needs replacement, and I don't know if I can save the cabin sole, which will be a big job to entirely replace. She has an elaborate solar panel setup which I don't understand, lazy jacks I question the need for, a refrigerator I never knew I wanted and a television set that was removed before the dock lines were taut in her new home slip.
So there is lots of work to do. I have a budget and no intention of keeping to it--if costs overrun, I'll just stop writing them down. But in theory I can do with my own hands everything needed to make this standard production boat, still more the previous owner's than mine, into a restored example of 1980s yacht design by a master. And after some unknown number of skinned knuckles, busted tools, and check stubs hidden from my wife, Thelonious II and I will look up from the grease pot one day and recognize each other for what we are: in it together, with secrets nobody else needs to know.
Maybe we will head off somewhere far together. Maybe we will just hang on a mooring at Catalina, entertaining friends and grandchildren. Maybe one summer afternoon we will just rise together on an ocean swell, and see for a moment the horizon beyond the horizon, the one never visible from shore.
Sailboats are all about the maybes, aren't they?
Photo: Marine surveyor Jim Wallace at work at Marina Shipyard, Long Beach, CA
I was proud to see the first Thelonious, an Ericson 32-III, leave my stewardship on a truck headed to green pastures in the Pacific Northwest. She had taken me to Hawaii and back, and I was confident her new owner would do well by her and never be disappointed. She was the most proportionally perfect yacht I have ever owned and had both guts and grace. It was like seeing a kid graduate from college. Paying the tuition is worth it if they turn out fine and head off to a new life.
The new boat, Thelonious II, is a 1984 Ericson 38, with the same Bruce King lines and ideas. It's a little bigger, but the increase is subtle. The galley is larger, the quarterberth is wider, and the head has a shower. The layout is the same as the 32-III which worked so well for me.
There were three E38s to choose from in Southern California, and all were well maintained. I chose one in which the hull had been taken down and barrier coated only last year, and the mast painted professionally in 2009, and the upholstery recently new. I even liked what the boat lacked: a dodger, and recent sails--I prefer to buy new sails, to my specs, and don't use a dodger.
Buying a boat is a hands-on process and it's not a good idea to rush. We had the usual survey, an engine inspection and a three-hour sea trial. I listened to the surveyor, the mechanic and the broker, and learned a lot by hanging around with them before, during and after. I visited the boat four times over the course of a month, each time with new considerations to check out and ponder. Negotiations took another month or so, because buyers and sellers need time to adjust to each other. Eventually a compromise was reached that was acceptable to all sides. I say this because buying or selling a boat isn't like a transaction for a car or even a house. It is more personal. Feelings must be appreciated. Buying is easy, selling an older boat is hard.
The E38 is about where the E32-III was when I bought her three years ago: sound, but in need of attention. Her hatches are crazed, her opening ports need to be changed, most of her running rigging is old, a shroud needs replacement, and I don't know if I can save the cabin sole, which will be a big job to entirely replace. She has an elaborate solar panel setup which I don't understand, lazy jacks I question the need for, a refrigerator I never knew I wanted and a television set that was removed before the dock lines were taut in her new home slip.
So there is lots of work to do. I have a budget and no intention of keeping to it--if costs overrun, I'll just stop writing them down. But in theory I can do with my own hands everything needed to make this standard production boat, still more the previous owner's than mine, into a restored example of 1980s yacht design by a master. And after some unknown number of skinned knuckles, busted tools, and check stubs hidden from my wife, Thelonious II and I will look up from the grease pot one day and recognize each other for what we are: in it together, with secrets nobody else needs to know.
Maybe we will head off somewhere far together. Maybe we will just hang on a mooring at Catalina, entertaining friends and grandchildren. Maybe one summer afternoon we will just rise together on an ocean swell, and see for a moment the horizon beyond the horizon, the one never visible from shore.
Sailboats are all about the maybes, aren't they?
Photo: Marine surveyor Jim Wallace at work at Marina Shipyard, Long Beach, CA
