The ad said the boat was in good shape. All it needed was some elbow grease and a good cleaning.
I knew that this was only partly true. If, by some lucky chance, the engine really was in good shape, it would still need several days work to get it running after sitting for more than a decade.
I didn’t want a project. I just wanted to sail in the San Juans with my girlfriend this summer. How would a boat that had sat for a decade possibly be ready to sail in the San Juans? It hadn’t had bottom paint since I was in college.
The person who had made the listing, who apparently wasn’t the owner (what was the story there?) had already replied to my email, and commented about my blog (it’s in my email footer): “impressive website! Looks like you’ve lived on sailboats before so you have a good idea of what you’re looking at.” I had proffered to see it next week, but he told me to come soon because he was getting a lot of responses and it needed to be moved.
For no reason at all I already had a good feeling about this boat. I tried to quash the nascent hope rising in my chest. Surely it would be a piece of shit. I decided to email him back and tell him I wouldn’t make it tonight. It was a beautiful day and I had better things to do besides going all the way to Seattle to look at a mildewed free sailboat. On second thought, I would call first and ask a couple questions. A man, Jeff, answered the phone. I asked if the tarp in the photos was over the boat because the portholes leaked.
“Don’t all portholes leak?” This was true, if not encouraging.
I asked about the engine. It did turn over.
I asked about the provenance. It belonged to his friend Landon, who lived aboard but lost interest in sailing the boat because he got more invested in racing bicycles. That’s why the boat interior was in such nice shape. “Yeah, Landon is such a strange guy. You’ll see when you come here. I don’t know how he lived aboard and kept the interior teak so nice.”
It WAS nice. There were barely any scratches, but there was a spot on the floor where the wood had rotted away. I asked about that. “Oh, it filled up with water once when Landon went on a trip because the float pump on the bilge doesn’t work.”
Jeff told me about the marina. It had been purchased by a developer who wanted to turn it into one of those fancy pants marinas that have condos above the water and super yachts on the dock. Half of the marinas in Ballard have been gentrified, and now this family-owned marina had finally sold. They were forcing everyone off this dock so that they could start construction.
The boats were all supposed to be out March 31st but Landon’s was still there. Landon had almost paid to have the boat crushed, but Jeff told him that was a waste, and took posting it on Craigslist upon himself.
“We really liked your blog and we think you’d be the perfect owner for this boat, so I’ll hold off on showing it to anyone else until you’ve looked at it.”
I wondered if he knew about my anti-developer bent, and was pandering to me. I felt suspicious of anyone giving away anything for free. But I also felt excited. I’d never received anything just because people liked my writing before. And this felt like another sign that my writing was important, just like last week when Chris McClimans wrote about how my blog post had helped him.
I almost biked over, but I made a last minute decision take my car and my dog Sophie with me. If the boat was in decent shape, I would probably stay overnight in Seattle so I could start working on it right away. Time was of the essence to get it off the dock.
I made a mental checklist of the things that would cause me to not accept this boat:
Soft spots on the deck
Smells really moldy inside
Rust on the engine, or engine doesn’t turn over
Too much crazing or cracks on the fiberglass
Obvious problems with the mast or rigging
Jeff and Landon were both waiting for me when I arrived. Jeff had long white hair in a ponytail. Landon was a cheerful guy with a bright smile. As we walked onto the dock, an elderly man pushed his way in alongside us. “I’m here to see the boat,” he said. “What boat?” They asked.
“The free one.” Apparently this 93 year old man, Elwood, had used satellite imagery to look at the marinas closest to the craigslist coordinates, found the boat, and made his way down here uninvited. I had to respect the hustle. He handed us each a card. It said “WE PURCHASE DISTRESSED VESSELS.”
And there, at the end of the dock, was the free boat. We all boarded her, including Elwood. Landon told Elwood I had first dibs if I wanted her, but he could check her out too. I poked around. Landon showed me the engine. The very bottom of it, which had been submerged when the boat filled with water, was rusty, but otherwise it looked practically new. It had 900 hours on it. The curtains were mildewed, but the interior of the boat didn’t smell like mold. It smelled pleasant and boaty, with a faint whiff of teak oil and diesel. I walked across the top of the boat in my bare feet and inspected the chainplates and deck hardware. Not a soft spot anywhere, although some of the fiberglass in the cockpit was warped from age. The sail cover was in tatters, and it looked like there might be a couple small holes in the mainsail. I didn’t need perfect sails though. The immediate inspection looked good enough. Now I just had to say yes and the boat was mine.
Of course, there were other things I might discover on a more thorough inspection of the boat. The engine might need a $4,000 rebuild, for instance, or a rigger might tell me that the mast was crooked and the rigging was dangerous to sail with. There might be holes in the bottom, although the bilge looked dry. Elwood’s presence reassured me though. If I decided to get it and I changed my mind, I could always call Elwood.
“I want it,” I announced. Landon was all smiles. Elwood shook our hands and headed out.
That night, I stayed in Seattle with my cousin and her boyfriend. I could barely sleep. I made a mental checklist in my head of all the work I would need to do, starting the next morning, to get this boat off the dock as quickly as possible.
Note: I’m trying something new and and publishing this series on my Substack. I’m super late to joining Substack, but this true story feels magical enough to promote it to a wider audience.