First Christmas on First Light...

...sort of.

It was Christmas Eve and then Christmas Day. And we were on First Light. But the boat was / is still on the hard. Those familiar with the cruising life know that living on the hard is a couple of steps down (in the up direction) from camping. Though it must be admitted it is fewer steps down from First Light's swim platform to the ground than it was from Kintala's deck. About half as many actually.  Both Deb and I made comments on how much easier on the hard life has been. Still...

There is no using the head when the boat is on the hard, requiring regular trips down the ladder to the community bathroom and shower. The galley is of limited use. The power grid in the boat yard requires judicious use of electrical juice. Run the space heater, or the microwave, or the coffee maker, or the fridge. Pick more than one at the same time and it is down the ladder to reset the GFCI. Fortunately it was cold enough that a cooler out in the cockpit negated the need for the fridge. Coffee heated in just a few minutes, not long enough for the cabin to cool off too much with the heater shut down. The microwave was also a short burst kind of load. Which was good because it got pretty cold, making heater power a priority. When the temp in the berth getting into the mid 40s means shedding a layer of clothing and removing some of the blankets piled over your bald head, you know it has been cold.

Santa had more important places to visit than an old boat sitting on the hard. But a little of his Magic Dust must have blown off the sleigh as he went by making his rounds because things went pretty smooth this work week. (Extra points if you are old enough to know about "... a little bit more Magic Dust for Santa...") Those familiar with the cruising life also know that is a rarity for a boat on the hard. Generally boat projects go from "Here's what's needed" to "What?", deteriorates to "Oh No", then completely collapses into "(Insert your favorite swear word here)." Determination mixed with having no choice but to soldier on leads to "Let's try this." Then the project rebounds to a conclusion of "That got it" or "That will have to do"... depending on your luck and skill.

We'll leave to your imagination the difficulty in routing
this hose through that box...

A new bilge pump cleared a major survey discrepancy. Separation of the AC and DC panels, another survey mandatory repair, was accomplished with some fiberglass cloth and a Sailrite sewing machine. Generator exhaust hoses were replaced. Good progress was made cleaning and painting fuel tanks. The main doors almost work. (Okay, that one did finish in the "will have to do" category. When the boat is back in the water and taking on its designed shape once again, we will take another stab at adjusting them.) Deb got the chart plotter talking to the RADAR and the auto-pilot. AIS has to wait for some paperwork, but a working RADAR and  auto-pilot makes my pilot's feet do a happy dance. We also built some custom shelves into two hanging lockers which were never going to see hanging clothes, vastly increasing clothing and pantry storage space. All of this accomplished in the space of a few days. Days where Deb's runs to get supplies and parts meant joining the hoards of holiday shoppers, chewing into the available hours. How she manages to do that baffles me. That much humanity all holidayed-up and packed together for an orgy of frenzied merchandizing? I completely understand why Santa lives at the North Pole, does his thing in the middle of the night, and at that only once a year. Any more, and his "HO-HO-HOs" would be "OH NO - OH NOs!"

After.

Before...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ABYC standards now require panel separation
between AC and DC panels. With all the cables
and wires added over the years there was no way
to install a rigid plastic box over the AC panel so
a soft cover was called for.

 

 In addition we made plans with both an engine and electrical contractor for them to get some needed work done early in the New Year.

I am of two minds over that. It is work I would like to do myself. But what I really want to do is get the boat ready to splash. Since we have the income to cover the expense, parsing out those projects should move our plans ahead by weeks, if not months. There is still plenty of work for us to do. Like all older boats First Light's gel coat has taken a beating over the years. Damage that is at or near the water line needs addressed before she gets wet again. There is clean up, scrub, and paint work galore still needed in the engine room. Damaged upper helm seats and rotted core in the cockpit hardtop are demanding attention. Dull and faded paint work chides my eyeballs every time I look at it. The windshield wipers need fixed even if they never see any use, another pilot thing. At least once I want to motor through the rain, RADAR keeping an eye on the sky, auto-pilot holding a course, while I sip coffee in short sleeves, dry and snug as a bug. There is one thru-hull still frozen shut in spite of pulling off the hose and blasting it with penetrating oil from both sides for a couple of days. Something that may yet turn into a serious project. 

But, for this Christmas week, things feel like they are coming together. Hopes are beginning to feel like plans. It actually seems reasonable to think that our second Christmas on First Light will be spent riding to an anchor somewhere, with family near by, watching the holidayed-up from a comfortable distance off shore. 

Boat Projects and Old Man Winter

This is our  last night on First Light for this trip. Today we finished up the last of the winterizing tasks—the A/C. Getting the engines, genset, and A/C winterized were the "must do" items this time around. (We swore we were never going to have a boat somewhere that required winterizing again, but this is how cruising plans go...) It took several days of effort and multiple trips to cobble together the stuff needed to get it done. First Light now carries a pump for A/C winterization, a gizmo for doing the engines, and a modified plunger / pipe set up for the deck wash.  If we ever have to winterize the boat again, it will take us about two hours. Having a clue as to what you are doing is an amazingly good thing.

A quick-disconnect fitting goes through the  board
for the hose going to the bucket full of
antifreeze. The fitting extends into the sea
strainer. If we were actually going to do
this frequently, we would make a much better
model of this prototype.

The board has a rubber backing and wingnuts that
run down on the screws to hold it in place on the
sea strainer for the engine raw water.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I struggled with the aft cabin doors for the better part of three days. The doors work better than they did,  but are still not right. And there was still the puzzle as to why the doors were so screwed up in the first place. But we think the puzzle has been solved along with a chance to make the doors actually work as they should. Deb, while searching through one of the piles of stuff stashed around the boat, ran across a bag of bits matching some of those we found on the doors.  It turns out the doors have already been fit with an aftermarket kit, likely installed years ago. As the years went by, and wear and tear accumulated, they deteriorated to barely working.

This leaves me with two ways of looking at the last few days. One? We spent the better part of three days' time running around in circles with little to show for hours of effort. Two? We were working our way though a maze, figuring things out and parsing together ancient history with few cues. The better part of three days is just how long it took. I think I'll go with option two. When working on an older piece of equipment that has seen endless upgrades, hacks, replacements, and modifications in an industry where there is no tracking of such things? And on a piece of equipment that is new to you? Time spent wandering around in the dark is inevitable. In many ways, this is like rebuilding a classic motorcycle or antique airplane. When it comes to this kind of work, we have all heard the saying, "You can have it, fast, cheap, or right...pick two." But when it comes to the kind of repairing and rebuilding required on something like an old boat, one that needs to be safe for traveling and comfortable for living on? You can do it done right, but fast and cheap are not options. It will take all the spare time you have and all the money you can spare. 

New door kit parts are on their way, so the next time we tackle the doors we will have a much better idea from where we are starting and the direction we need to go. We got a little cosmetic work done on the inside and I had a chance to get  more comfortable with the engine room. Likely a good thing since I suspect I'll be spending a lot of time in that space. There are exhaust hoses to replace, heat exchangers (3) to pull, have overhauled, and reinstall, and alternator belt covers to reinstall. I'm not sure why they were removed. The idea of working around running engines in a bumpy sea (something that is certainly possible) with those belts exposed does not give me warm fuzzies. 

Most important, we are ever more pleased with the idea of First Light being a part time home and looking forward to having her on the water. There will still be trials and hurdles before we are floating down the ICW somewhere. But we have figured out a bunch of things and have a good idea of the next bunch of things we need to figure out. Meaning this has been a good bunch of days. 

Thanks giving...

We have been on First Light for a few days, digging into the "TO DO" list while burning up vacation time I was about to lose.  It has to be admitted I am slow getting back into the swing of all things boat. The first time I un-retired was to a boat yard for a Florida Summer workout. That stint included gutting and rewiring a Sport Fisher from fly bridge electronics to bilge pumps, anchor windlass to trim tabs. In between was every knik-knac a rich person wants: AC, Heat, TV, fancy lighting, sound system, electric head, router, and a humungous battery bank to make it all work while at anchor. (Don't ask me, I thought it was insane as well.) It was a big and involved job that took months.

The second time I un-retired was back to the same boat yard, a stint that lasted a year. No single big job, just a relentless stream of engine, electrical, electronic, fiberglass, and general maintenance work. This last time I un-retired was to an air-conditioned box stuffed with airplane parts that get fooled into thinking they are actually in the sky. The tools required to fly the SIM are an i-Pad filled with approach plates and lesson plans, and a pen. Indeed, in the going-on-three-years that this un-retirement has lasted, about the most difficult mechanical thing I have done is adjust the de-railer on a 21 speed bike. Something even easier than it sounds... and it sounds pretty easy. So being surrounded by more tools than most people now-a-days have ever seen, with a list of projects months long? It is fair to say I am feeling a bit out of practice. So I decided to hold the engine and wiring work for later and get warmed up with something simple.

Unlike Kintala, First Light has more than one way into the boat. The main one is two giant sliding doors that make up most of the aft wall of the salon. The second is a smaller door next to the (Inside!) helm station. After sitting for the better part of two years, all needed both hands and a bit of grunt to open and close. Why not start with something easy like cleaning and lubing the tracks? That was three days ago. 

The doors do, in fact, now open with one hand. But… the main doors aft still don’t match edge to edge when closed. The latch doesn't latch and there is a gap in the middle. Simple fix, right? There has to be a ride-height adjustment on the door, just adjust it. Yeah. It came off missing one of two identical bits that the door edge rides on. A bit that apparently disappeared into the great blue somewhere as it isn't anywhere near the scene of the crime. Fabricating a new bit is no big deal, but a new bit identical to the old bit isn't going to fix the problem. The door will still ride too low. Fix? The old bits were 2 x 1/4 x 1/8 inch and glued to the carrier. Make new ones 2 x 1/4 x 1/4 and lift the door edge another 1/4 inch. Easy but...why are the doors that far out of whack? 

The boat has been on the hard for two years. Can things have shifted that far? I don't think so, but it is possible. Is there some hidden structural problem with the doors that went undiscovered during the survey? I don't think so, but it is possible. In any case several attempts proved that the gluing the new bits in place proved inadequate. Some very careful sizing, drilling and countersinking was brought into play to mechanically support the adhesive. 

 

 

Edit: We have since found this piece in a bucket of spare parts that might be missing from the doors. Anyone with previous experience please chime in...

 

 

 

The red arrows are
pointing to the gap

I did discover an actual structural problem while working on the doors. The (Inside!) helm station door has delaminated along its aft edge and there is no seal between the door and the cabin. It is an open no-toll highway for cold air (It's going to be 29º tonight) and insects. I have no clue how the door actually comes out of the track to be repaired. Is isn't something we will have the time for on this trip so figuring it out can wait until later. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We haven't been entirely stymied. The salon ceiling had ugly, broken, white accent strips that made the place look like a decrepit hunting trailer. They are now brown accent strips on a white ceiling sporting shiny hardware—pleasing the little bit of mechanic's OCD I carry around in my brain and evidence that we have actually accomplished something. Lines have been added to keep the flybridge drain water from staining the aft cabin wall with new lines replacing those on the flybridge cover.

Newly installed hoses down the side of the window

We have also figured out why the hatch to the flybridge is so hard to open. Someone did a excellent job of routing out the track to a very tight tolerance with the slide brackets, apparently unaware that wood swells when it gets wet. A bit of sanding should take care of it. 

The green arrow points to the slider
and the groove it rides in

We also did some work in the galley while mounting an antique coffee grinder that Daughter Middle's In-Laws gifted. It looks cool while serving our admitted coffee snobbishness. 

Deb has been busy as well. One survey squawk was the lack of a barrier between the AC and DC portions of the breaker panel. Not something that was required when this boat was built. Several different marine electricians have suggested that the only fix is to rebuild the entire panel to meet the requirement. Something completely out of the question. We have come up with a different way to insulate the AC from the DC. One that includes a flexible insulation barrier fit and around the wiring maze and held in with snaps and/or Velcro. Since the sewing machine is still in St. Louis, the project won't be finished till the next trip and photos will be forthcoming. 

She is also the computer / wi-fi / screen / phone / i-pad wizard. She bought some kind of magic stick that ties it all together so we can sit and watch a movie at night on our (to us) big 25 x 15 inch screen. Not sure it will get much use anchored out in some pretty spot with little hint of my human family near by.  But it is kind of fun while sitting on the hard with nothing but other project boats to see though our giant salon windows. 

The transition from cruising to being land-bound was jarring. Truth to tell, the only thing making it tolerable was the blessing of having taken up residence so near some of those we love most in the world. We are as fully assimilated back into land living as we are ever likely to be. Enough so that any abrupt shift back to cruising would have been a bit bumpy. That transition will be far more palatable spaced out over the months as we turn this old boat into our new (and part time) home. Another blessing for which to be grateful during this Thanksgiving week on the boat.

The Road to Home(s)

Early Sunday morning we headed out for our first trip to First Light as owners. We were going to do it in one day again, a killer trip of 15 hours and change, but at least this time I would be able to help drive some. We were greeted with a nice sunrise to start the day. We chatted about what we would be ticking off the list, but we both agreed that this trip would primarily be a reconnaissance trip, a first date so to speak, us dancing warily around the boat to see if perhaps we might just have learned something from our previous experiences. I really have no interest in writing another book about our mistakes.

Arriving at the marina the next morning, we both looked on First Light with some cautious optimism. We worked the whole week ticking projects off the to-do list to make the insurance company happy. Mostly electrical things were being done but, being who we are, cleaning had to happen in between. One of the things bugging me was the underside of the cockpit hardtop which had developed a fairly decent coat of mold. While Tim pressure washed the rest of the boat to get the NC swampy green slime off, I had him hit the underside of the hardtop and absolutely nothing happened. The mold resisted. I had brought along my new favorite All Purpose Cleaner by Better Life, an ecologically sustainable cleaner, and decided to give it a shot. Wow. I was completely amazed because usually ecologically sustainable = no worky. It took a minimal amount of elbow grease and an hour or two, but the results were absolutely worth it. It comes in a quart sprayer and then also in a gallon of concentrate that lasts a really long time. If you're looking for a completely impressive and affordable boat cleaner that's kind to the environment, try it out.

It only took one night for me to feel completely at home in the V-berth. The bed is super comfy thanks to a very high-end custom mattress. After the toe-tootsie V-berth in Kintala, it was nice to actually be able to stretch out all of my legs on my side of the bed. There's good ventilation as well between the four portlights and the overhead hatch. Only time will tell whether the bow will be noisy at anchor. Fortunately, there is a very good anchor snubber at hand that should minimize the anchor noise.

Even with the lack of water in the tanks (she's still winterized and we're going to keep it that way for now,) the galley is wonderful. We bought a new electric tea kettle to heat water for coffee, which performed flawlessly. There's already a functioning microwave, something I never thought I would want or need, but reheating stuff quickly on a night passage is something desirable it turns out. The plan is to possibly get rid of the stove/oven combination and go with an induction stovetop and a Ninja Foodie air fryer/oven and make the existing oven space into more cupboards.  There isn't quite as much usable storage in the galley as I would like, and the areas are oddly arranged, but we have plans to add shelves to the hanging locker in the pullman berth and turn it into the same kind of pantry that I had on Kintala, which was enough to last us for several weeks.

Our biggest challenge is going to be the fact that our diet has completely changed since we were cruising before. Since we both gained a tremendous amount of weight in that six years (too much time at anchor baking cookies and bread...) we worked hard at losing it when we came back to land and don't want to go down that road again. The new diet is highly plant-based and requires a huge amount of fresh produce. The Norcold fridge/freezer performed well, but it is limited in space so we will have to make more frequent runs to the store. The Norcold was not up to the ice cream task, though. It froze bottles of water easily and kept them frozen, but the ice cream was very soft. In its defense, we did turn the fridge off periodically when we ran the vacuum and pressure washer because the electric at the marina is limited to one 30 amp circuit for the whole row of boats on the hard and there were other people using power tools so we were trying to be considerate. As a result, we can't really say the ice cream test was very accurate. The fridge portion did very well with everything we put in it.

In order to keep the suck-to-fun ratio properly in balance, we did find time to spend with our friends Alex and Diann of Yacht-A-Fun fame who introduced us to some new friends, Danny and Doris on SV Unicorn which is on the hard just down from us at Duck Creek Marina. We had some good beer, excellent food, and much needed laughs. Alex is a great tour guide, giving us some historical background on the city as we walked around for the annual MumFeast, a walking tour of restaurants in the historical area of New Bern, a tour that included several musical happenings and, of course, ended at an ice cream shop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When we first started talking about transitioning to a trawler from a sailboat, I admit to being somewhat concerned. Sailors have this "thing" about them, something you can only really understand if you've experienced that sudden hush when the engine is killed; the sails fill and the boat surges, the water slipping by the hull with a soft swish. I was worried that somehow we would lose that connection with the water that made Kintala so much a part of us, so much our home.

After spending this past week on First Light, it became readily apparent that what made Kintala our home wasn't the big white flappy things in the air, it was us.  We were back in the groove, working easily together, reading each other's thoughts before they were uttered. The space that is First Light fits us well, but it is only a shell to hold that which makes it a home—the two of us.

So, for the time being, we'll make the road trip back and forth, each direction taking us to a place we call home. Our land home where seven of our eleven grandchildren live, and our boat home which promises to get us back to the four grandchildren cruising in Florida. Anyway you look at it, the destination at each end is as good as the one at the end of the rainbow.

Now if I could just figure out where we're going to put all these ukuleles on the boat...

Land side brains and boats.

As anyone who has spent any time around boats would have guessed, these first couple of days on First Light have been long and busy. We showed up with a full list of things to get done, knowing the list wouldn't fit in the time allowed. First item on the list was figuring out what was gong to remain on the list for this stay and what would have to wait until later. Replacing all the batteries on the boat was on the "contract out" list as an item we had hoped to have on the "Finished" list before this trip. No one familiar with boats will be surprised to hear that plan fell through. It was no one's fault. The tech we hired had a serious family obligation crop up. He recommended a replacement but there wasn't time to get on the new guy's schedule. So "replace batteries" went on the list as something to try and get done in the few days available. 

Day one was spent just finding our way around the boat. Which switches for which lights, "what's this" and "what's that" kind of thing. A couple of hours disappeared taking down and putting up canvas. There is a repair required on the flying bridge that will be structure and glass work. It drew our attention for a while. Bins and cubby holes were emptied, as well as time lost into just looking around trying get a handle on what we gotten ourselves into...this time.

As night drew nigh, and after some consideration, I decided it was safe to put power on the boat even though the batteries were clearly roached. They weren't that old, its just that they had been sitting dead flat for likely the better part of a year.They had come up fine during the sea trail though the voltage had fallen off rather rapidly once the engines were shut down. Essentially we would be running a few LED lights on the DC side of the boat's electrical system, carried by the battery charger. The AC side, fridge, outlets, and power tools like the pressure washer, vacuum, trouble lights, and recharging hand tool batteries would rely on shore power. "Replace ship's batteries" was moved off the current "to do" list and back onto the "contract" out list.

Day two was partly spent in the engine room sorting out priorities and grumbling about the poor state of some of the electrical work. But all appeared to be basically sound. We then dove into the huge locker under the cockpit floor. It was filled to the brim with all kinds of goodies. More fenders (10 so far) two fender boards, dinghy motor, two more anchors plus chain and rode, lines (some still serviceable), and a fish cleaning thing that fits a holder in the cockpit I had found puzzling. (So that's what that thing is for...cool.)

Under that stuff we found buckets full of other stuff floating in water, and a whole load of chemicals that have no business being stored on a boat. Tangled up with all of it were beefy hardware bits that have to do with the fancy tip-the-dinghy-up-on-the-swim-deck system. Another power boat thing of which I have no clue. 

Poking around in the now empty hole revealed a few minor chafing issues with the hydraulic steering gear that were easily addressed. Deb started cleaning and I started sorting. By the end of the day it was all under control. We were happy with the progress but beat right down to our socks.

First thing on yesterday's list was lubing the thru hulls. That required opening up the engine room (engine ROOM!) to find all the various handles. Here Kintala has it all over First Light. With her two engines, two air cons, waste dump, generator, and sink drains, it is a bit scary thinking of all the places through which water is trying to get into this boat. The bad news was that two of the thru-hulls were stiff enough to make it onto the survey MUST FIX list. The good news turned out to be that that one of those is forward in the engine room, just aft of the batteries. As I moved forward toward the thru-hull my nose caught a whiff of something that set off an alarm bell in the mechanic side of my brain. The side that hasn't been particularly busy since we moved back on land. Moments later my ears ramped the alarm up to full %$#$%%%^ ME! mode.

The batteries were sizzling like breakfast bacon and stinking of acid, their cases distended and the tops bulging. The Mechanic side shoved my land side brain out of the way and took over, calling for the battery charger and DC bus side to be shut down right now! It then took to smacking around the land-side of my brain for being near terminally stupid. Dead flat batteries on a full honking charge? Amps surging, generating heat and gas, warping plates leading to a dead short and...ka-boom!

How in the world could I have forgotten that fundamental safety issue? But, somehow, my land side brain managed to do exactly that. 

The next few hours were spent replacing all of the batteries on the boat, four house, one (big) start battery for the engines, and another (normal sized) start battery for the gen-set. The good folks at Duck Creek used a fork truck to lift the pallet full of new batteries up to the bow, then returned to lift the old batteries back down to ground level. One of the young yard guys helped me wrestle the (big) engine start battery out of its holder, then wrestle the new one back in. No way could I have pulled that off by myself. But hauling the rest of them in and out of the engine room, even with Deb's help, put a well deserved hurting on my 66 year old frame. Penance for such a bone-headed act.

Wiring up the new battery bank gave me a chance to correct some other MUST DO items. Adding terminal covers that were neglected the last battery change was just part of the job. Even the land side of my brain knows better than to leave hot terminals uncovered, especially in a machine space. Some of the wiring needed rerouted as well. It is hard to explain but there is such a thing as "happy" wiring. It is easy to spot, as is "unhappy" wiring. The mechanic side of my brain, now in complete control, made the wiring as happy as possible. The rest of the day was spent with the power washer, blasting 2 years worth of grunge off the outside of First Light. My Mechanic brain made notes of things that will eventually be addressed. Most of it cosmetic, some of it not. A mechanic brain, left unchecked, will spend untold hours and oodles of money to fix things only another mechanic brain would understand or appreciate. Non-mechanic brains would scratch their nose and ask, "You spent how much and took how long to do that?"

Truth to tell, I like my mechanic brain a bit more than my land side brain. I have projects again, things that could be done, should be done, and must be done. My land side brain is mostly filled with things that other people insist be done, dictate how it should get done, set (usually absurd) limits as to when it must be done, and are absolutely bonkers about filling out the paperwork that testifies to it being done as demanded. Most of which my mechanic brain would laugh at, ignore, or work around without a second thought. It is probably best to leave my mechanic brain on the boat for now. It is a poor fit for my land side life.

 Today, me still embarrassed, the electrical system was front and center once again. It holds the lion's share of "MUST FIX" items. We contacted the recommended  certified marine electrician who just happened to working on a boat near by. Some of the "MUST FIX" items written in "boat electric speak" needed translating into "airplane electric speak" if I was going to get them cleared off the list. "AC NEUTRAL to GROUND CONNECTION NOTED" made sense after translation. At first I feared a long troubleshooting task was at hand. Such a "short" (in airplane speak) can be an elusive little bugger hiding deep, deep in the wiring harness. 

But do the easy stuff first. A GFCI plug in the galley, actually wired into the "Microwave" circuit breaker, was tagged as kaput. Such an item could also be the source of the noted AC NEUTRAL to GROUND connection. I changed it, copying the wires from plug to plug exactly. Not only was the GFCI still not working, now the microwave was dead as well. Deb, being far smarter and more patient than I, dug into the paperwork that came with the plug and spotted the mistake. The wiring I copied had two white wires crossed. Swap them and everything worked. Even better?  That sneaky little short had disappeared.

Of course there are more wiring glitches to fix. Two will be splicing into main power leads to add over-voltage protection. One at the main house bank to the ship loads. The other at the generator start battery to the starter itself. Somehow both were overlooked during previous surveys. Also, something needs to be done behind the main electrical panel to ensure the AC and DC wires and connections don't try to get friendly.

Those will have to wait for the next visit. Or they may end up on the "contract out" list. At the moment time is more of an issue than funding, Each trip costs at least three days on the road, usually 4. But the long and short of it is First Light is already starting to feel like home. Something making my mechanic brain smile. 

First Night on First Light

This is our third St. Louis to New Bern foray. A good part of it is a nice drive through the Blue Ridge mountains, this time with some of the trees just starting to turn. It was a reminder that seasons change. Though it will be a while yet, it certainly feels like a seasonal change is in the works for our lives as well. We are boat owners again, and are working toward spending a lot of time on the water. It must be admitted that our little car didn't enjoy the trip. Loaded as it was with tools, dishes, hardware, parts, more tools and more parts, hauling that load up the mountains had our little engine howling in protest and put a good dent in our usually impressive MPG.

It was 15 hours worth of “nice drive” with a New Bern arrival time of 10 pm. We elected to spend the night in a hotel and start our first full day on First Light fresh. Since we would be in the hotel for less than half a day, most of the stuff would stay in the car with just a few bags and musical instruments going inside with us. Almost to the front door, I remembered that we needed one more bag for the night. I headed back to grab it while Deb checked us in. As usual, I had backed into parking places because the scraping noise that comes from the bow when the curb is too high makes me wince. Said bag was in the trunk. It was dark and I was tired so it didn't register that the ground was really soft as I popped the lid and started to rummage around. Soft, because I was standing in the middle of a giant ant metropolis with a population likely larger than that of New York City. Those little buggers took offense at me stomping through their world, swarmed my Keens, and tried to encourage me to depart at once.

They succeeded.

Just as I closed the trunk I felt the first little prick of hurt, Moments later I danced into the parking lot with bag in hand and feet on fire; dropped the bag, shed the Keens, and started sweeping the little demons off my skin. Staggering into the lobby barely able to walk was a bit of a show. Now in the light I could find the few remaining assault troops still chewing their way into my nervous system, popped a Benadryl Deb keeps on hand, and limped up to the room. (A good bee sting can put me down for days. The Benadryl was an at-hand, hope-it-works-if-there-is-a-problem kind of thing.) While I iced my burning feet, Deb ran to the local store to get some med spray and bandaids. It all helped, and by midnight I was in bed after an 19-hour day.

The next morning, we rolled into the Marina for a third time as owners of a new-to-us boat. Day one was spent finding our way around, getting some things cleaned up, and starting a new to-do list. We put up the shower cap, (big cover that goes over the fly bridge.) It was at least as much of a job as was putting up the bimini and dodger on Kintala. Then we figured out a way to get power on the boat. Man, has it been a while. The big power plug had no match on the pole. Oh yeah, there is an adapter thing that goes from big to small, plugging the boat into a regular looking socket. But that doesn't carry a lot of amps so careful selection of what went on and what when off was necessary. Fridge and battery changer only. The boat's batteries are toast but, with the charger running at least we have some light. There is a pallet full of new batteries to be installed, a task for later. A couple of pieces of furniture got tossed off the boat with the help of a couple of young yard workers. A few other odds and ends were accomplished.

So, I sit here in our new salon, first night on First Light. First impressions....

The interior of this thing, compared to Kintala, is massive. Not quite as big as the two room apartment that is our land-side home, but for a boat? There are big picture windows all around. At the moment all they look out on is boats on the hard in various stages of repair or decay. But it isn't hard to imagine the view in No Name Harbor or Crab Key. The forward cabin looks to be twice that of Kintala's V-berth. Two people can fit in the galley without rubbing (Deb says she's not sure that's a good thing...) The lower steering station seems a bit tight. But it is still bigger than that on Kintala, and it is INSIDE. 

There is a big-screen TV that is tied to some kind of magic box that actually has stations on it. Weird. We haven't had any kind of commercial TV in our lives for nearly 20 years. A quick run through stations I've never heard of was all it took to convince me that we haven't missed anything. But there was also a DVD player and Deb and I like to watch movies. Since moving to Kintala all such watching was on a tiny screen. But this big screen came with the boat so why not give it a try? Deb bought a DVD while at the store picking up some other stuff so we could see if the DVD worked at all. There was a total rat's nest of wiring, TV, DVD player, router, power strips. One would think tie-wraps are some kind of state secret. There are also two different remote controls. I haven't had one of those in my living space for nearly a decade. Now I have two. So we ate dinner and watched John Wick off a bunch of bad guys because they stole his car and killed his dog. 

Pure cartoon violence, BANG...BOOM...SMACK...GRRR...we got a couple of good laughs. Then we hit the shower, I put some more goo on my still-aching feet, and it is time to call it a day. It was a good day, and holds promise of more good days to come.

Can't beat that.

A different kind of minimal

I usually hesitate at taking a guess at what someone else is thinking. Half the time I can barely make sense of the thoughts crashing through my own head, let along those of someone else. But, that being said, I suspect many sailboat dwellers harbor just a twinge of smug at the light touch they leave as they live and travel. Those not minimalists by desire are still minimalists by design: using the wind for go power, living in tiny mobile houses, making electricity with solar panels and wind generators and passing through a place leaving little trace and no permanent mark (At least those not living on Super Boats.) Even the divots gouged out by anchors, already under water where no one could see, would be gone minutes after pulling the hook and ghosting away. People who live such a life are surely among Mama Earth's favorite children. I will admit to being a bit pleased with having been one of them.

But my sailing days are over. The next time we take to big water it will be at the urging of two thumping Cummins of around 150 hp each. Both will leave a trail of stink lying on the water while, by any standard, pushing the boat a remarkably few miles per gallon of fuel. In fact, I just did a crude estimation and it looks like the trawler goes just a bit further on a gallon of dinosaur juice then does a corporate jet. Ouch. The up side is that the jet will go further in a day's worth of travel than the trawler is likely to cover in a year. (As an aside, after all the travails with the WesterBeast, I am wondering at being ganged up on by two engines nearly three times the size of the Beast. At least these are in a pretty big pit where I can work around them without always drawing blood.)

Since we will not be doing much driving while trawler-ing, will still be making a good bit of our own electricity with solar panels, (at least while not moving) and still living in a tiny home not taking up much room, hopefully Mama Earth will give us a pass on making a tiny bit of stink. And if She does get a bit irritated and send a hurricane our way, those thumping Cummins will give us a fighting chance of getting out of the way.

Still, if we manage to find ourselves anchored somewhere, surrounded by a gaggle of masts rocking gently in the swells, I will understand a few slightly elevated noses.  I hope some will still drop by, take an easy step out of the dink onto the swim platform, settle on the flying bridge for a nice look at the view, and join us for a sundowner. 

Insurance Circa 2021

Ed Note: Another detailed post about insurance procurement in the marine world. If you're not planning on buying a boat any time soon, you can probably skip this one.

Hurricane Dorian 2019

Like a list on a bad dating site, there was Sandy and Andrew and Katrina and Michael and Harvey and Irma and Dorian...and whether or not you believe in climate change, hurricanes are increasing in frequency and strength.

And insurers are taking note.

When we bought our first boat, it was on an inland lake. We were able to get insurance through BoatUS for $857 per year even though we had no prior experience and only a handful of ASA classes. When we bought Kintala that amount went up to $1100. When we announced our intention to move the boat to the coast and begin full-time cruising, they said no, thank you. We looked around and ended up with Markel, who served us the whole first year just fine, although with the annoyance of having to report to them every time we changed states. At renewal time, we were referred to Jerry at Novamar Insurance in Sarasota, FL who was able to get us a good policy with GEICO. It started out at around $2300 but reduced each year with the lack of claims, and by the time we sold Kintala it was down to around $1700 for an agreed hull value of $95,000. The only claim we ever filed was for a hurricane haulout for Irma and they paid quickly.

Fast forward to our trawler purchasing period, now two years after selling Kintala. I contacted GEICO and even though their policy is to not insure any boats over 30 years old, they did quote us because we have our car with them. It was even a reasonable quote for hull value of $74,900 and $10,000 personal property and $500,000 liability with a policy premium of around $1700. It did not include the Bahamas, but we really didn't intend to go there this first year anyway. It went to the underwriters as soon as we agreed to it, and a few days later, after sending them the required copy of the survey, they came back with the statement that we had to comply with all survey recommendations, both the safety items on the A list and the recommended items on the B list, before we could close on the boat. Ummmm.... we told them we could not work on a boat we didn't own and we couldn't close on the boat without insurance. They said too bad, so sad, and the conversation was over. It was quite a surprise, because when we bought Kintala, the insurance company gave us a rider with 30 days' allowance to complete the survey recommendations, and we only had to address the A list safety items, but GEICO was not budging.

Back to the drawing board. Our broker, Lars Bergstrom from Curtis Stokes, suggested that we take a look at their website where they have compiled a very nice list of resources for those buying boats, including insurers. I sat down early the next morning with my notebook and began to call every single one on the list. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that each of the people on the list were brokers who would all be calling the same underwriters for the policy, so I had duplicated a lot of effort for some of the brokers (sorry, guys) and ended up with a bit of confusion. In the end, we contacted a fellow sailor, Laura of Legacy Underwriters, Inc. (who I knew from the Women Who Sail Facebook group) who was able to hook us up with a policy from Concept Special Risks, Ltd. It was massively confusing because even through her we had to fill out multiple applications—one for her company as the broker and one for Concept directly. In the end we were supplied with a policy for the hull value of $72,900 with a $10,935 deductible for normal damage (if there is such a thing) and a whopping $21,870 deductible for named storms. In case you're not doing the math, that's almost a 30% deductible. (The named storm deductible on our last policy for Kintala was 5%.) Liability at $500K, uninsured boaters at $100K, and personal property at $10K. Yikes. And this is even with the fact that both Tj and I are USCG licensed captains. Still, they insured us for the whole US and the Bahamas, and they're OK with liveaboards. Acquiring insurance was one of the longest parts of the purchase. It took a full 15 days from our first phone call to an insurance company until we had a binder so we could close, and another full week before I had the policy in hand. They gave us 45 days to complete the A-list on the survey, something we are in the middle of now.

So here's what I heard from the companies I contacted.

• GEICO—they don't insure liveaboards. Period. They don't insure anything over 30 years old or 40 feet. 
• Anchor Marine—the rep did contact us back but I had already secured a policy by that time. We were really in a time crunch for the closing after screwing around with GEICO for so long.
• W.R. Hodgens Marine Insurance—he also did respond but we already had our binder in place by that time.
• Blue Water Yacht Insurance—"I can't help you."
• Jackline—they do not insure anything under $100K. They primarily only insure circumnavigators
• Markel—never got a response
• Novamar—"I seriously have nothing for you."
• I repeatedly heard "we don't insure liveaboards" and "we don't insure boats over 30 years old" and "we don't insure travel to and in the Bahamas" 

So my advice is this:

• Do your own research. Don't assume because someone else got insured by so-and-so that you will also.
• Get your insurance tied down solid before you sign the closing papers and transfer funds.
• Be completely upfront with the underwriters if you plan to live aboard. I know a lot of people are just getting insured and not telling them, but if you go to file a claim it could quite easily be denied
• Be sure to get the survey compliance requirements in writing and secure a reasonable time frame to get that work done.
• GET EVERYTHING IN WRITING - deductibles (both regular and named storm), navigation limits, liability, uninsured boater, medical payments, personal effects, time to complete the survey items, exactly what survey items have to be completed, what hurricane plan is required.
• Be prepared to pay at least 25% down on the policy, if not in full.
• If you're new to boating, get every training class done that you can. It will help immensely. ASA101, 103 104, 105 and your state's boating safety courses all add up on the application. Also, keep a logbook of any charters you do. I seriously doubt we would have been able to get insurance at all in this environment were we just starting out like we did in 2008
• Be prepared to do this Every.Single.Year. Keep your notes—just because they insured you this year does not mean that they will insure you next year. Boat owners are getting dropped all the time by companies they have dealt with for years
• If you elect to self-insure, be sure that you understand the risks of doing that. Believe me, it crossed our minds, but we would still be required to have liability insurance in order to stay in many marinas, and the difference between just liability and hull insurance was not great enough to persuade us. If you elect to go this way, you may want to secure the advice of a maritime lawyer first.

And my final statement on the topic is...Good Luck!

The Boat Purchase Circa 2021

Ed Note: This is a longish post about the whole buying process for our new trawler First Light. The detailed information has been requested by many folks also looking, so bear with the history lesson necessary to explain what buying a trawler looks like in  2021.

The first boat we ever bought, our Compac 27 named Nomad, was our "starter" boat, our learning boat. The Compac was perfect for that since she was a stout, forgiving design. She was already located in the marina where we wanted to be on Carlyle Lake in Illinois, an hour's drive from St. Louis where we lived. The price was a stretch for us at the time, but we decided to proceed anyway. The owner of the boat had properly prepared her for an extended time on the hard because he was away—he left her fully shrink-wrapped and in the care of a local broker who also had a boat in the same marina. We didn't hire a buyer's broker, we didn't do a survey, and the whole transaction took less than two weeks. Boat US insured us even with no survey and no prior experience other than ASA101, ASA103, and ASA 104. Such is the way with less expensive starter boats. Such is the way with boat purchases circa 2008.

The problem with Nomad's purchase going so smoothly is that it left us ill-prepared for the purchase that Kintala would be. We were completely unprepared for the purchase of a serious cruising boat. We had no knowledge of surveys, or big-boat brokers, or over-land transportation, or the types of problems that the many new systems of a serious cruising boat would bring. We were bringing our aviation world expectations into the cesspool of marine world realities. While we made it work, and enjoyed 6 wonderful years of full-time cruising, it cost us dearly—in physical, emotional, and financial hardship. Vowing to try to help others not to make those same mistakes, we wrote How NOT to Buy a Cruising Boat. 

As we sold Kintala and moved back on land to refill the cruising kitty, we began to think about the transition to a trawler. The last year we sailed had been a sort of survey of our future plans. We were asking every trawler operator we could find if they were sailors in the past and how they felt about the transition. To a person they all said they wished they had done it sooner. The plan then was pretty firmly ensconced in our minds as we sold Kintala, but the timing had yet to be determined.

Right before the Covid lockdowns were declared, we took our Trawler School in Biscayne Bay, FL. In fact, the lockdowns were declared while we were anchored in No-Name Harbor enjoying a sundowner. We realized immediately that this would put a wrench in our works, so the plan kind of went on hold till we could see what was happening. Not a bad plan, because more time = more money in the cruising kitty. 

Even as Covid put a damper on the plans for over a year, we began to spend a significant amount of our spare time on Yachtworld again looking for what might be the "perfect" trawler. We realized after the trawler school that it would take some time to decide what style of trawler would fit our lifestyle the best. We were being slow, cautious, and vowing not to repeat the same mistakes detailed so painstakingly in our book.

Once Covid became the New Normal, we started to seriously look around a bit. The market was going insane with all the available boats going to people who had decided that 1) since they had to work remotely anyway due to Covid they could do that from a boat and social distance at the same time and 2) since life was uncertain, to say the least, then maybe they shouldn't put off the dream of living on a boat and should do it now. Boats were being sold sight unseen. Boats were going for over the listing price in bidding wars.

Last year we saw an ad for a Golden Star Sundeck 38 that happened to be in our area. We took the grandkids with us to see it. We liked it, they liked it, and we put an offer in on it. The owner was asking way too much money for it (the insurance company wouldn't insure it for what he was asking for it) and our offer was a lowball one in consideration. He soundly declined the offer and we moved on. (Lesson One from our book—always be prepared to walk away.)

Over the next year, we went to Kentucky Lake to look at a couple boats, did a virtual tour on one in Stuart, FL, and conversed with brokers on several others. At this point I was tiring of the process and I think we were coming to the conclusion that we would just have to wait till the market calmed down a bit. I decided to set up a search alert on Yachtworld, just so that I wouldn't miss something if it came along. A couple months later I got an alert on First Light.  It ticked all the boxes but one, so we decided that it would be worth taking a look at. I talked to the broker less than 24 hours after the listing went live. He explained that we could make an offer sight unseen, then make arrangements to come see the boat and if we didn't like it we could walk away at that point with nothing lost. We put the offer in.

Deciding what to offer is always the purchaser's dilemma. In any sane market, a buyer would offer 10% less than asking price. In this market? We offered the asking price. It was a fair price for the boat, and with a full-price offer we would have more room to negotiate on survey items. The offer was accepted, we made arrangements to go to the boat that weekend, and off we went. As we drove, we talked a lot about the decision. The boat was at the high-end limit of what we were able to spend, but it had everything on it that we would have to have added to a lower-cost boat: radar, solar, AIS, air conditioning, a full-size fridge, the teak was all freshly done, the bottom was freshly painted, it had a brand new dinghy and the exact outboard we would have chosen. I had looked at several boats in the mid-40's to mid-50's that we would have to have spent another 25 grand to get all that installed. Granted, the equipment would be new instead of a few years old, but the amount of work involved and our bones accumulating years made the decision an easy one. The hardest part of the decision was the location of the boat. Having a boat that was that far away was not ideal, but all other things considered we decided it was worth it.

Timing has been a huge question of many prospective buyers, so here is the detailed breakdown of our purchase. The whole purchase process took close to 2 months. We placed the offer in on August 6th and was accepted August 8th. The time delay was due to the fact that the seller was living in Japan at the time. We visited the boat the following weekend and agreed to purchase. The longest delay was in securing a surveyor as many are booked out for 3 months but, after a good many phone calls, we were able to get one to the boat September 1st. The next delay was in waiting for the oil sample reports to come back. By the 4th of September we had all in hand, made our offer for the survey adjustments—which was accepted— and signed the conditional acceptance on the 4th. The buyer's closing statement was signed on September 17th. Insurance was procured on the 17th (another post coming on the insuring process) and the closing was the 22nd.

So here's the takeaway from the whole process:

First of all, I can't say enough good about Lars at Curtis Stokes Yachts. In our case, we didn't have to have a buyer's broker because two of their brokers were co-brokering the boat because the one is new and wanted a more experienced broker to help him through the process. The trainee acted as the listing broker and the more experienced broker acted as the buyer's broker. In every step of the process he was professional, courteous, responded immediately to all of my questions, and followed through on all the actions necessary to close the sale. In addition to that, he acted as the captain on our sea trial and did one of the most amazing jobs of piloting a boat in close quarters that I have ever seen. It was clear that Curtis Stokes has very high standards and trains their brokers well. The customer service was unparalleled.

Second, Kathy, the office manager of the marina where the boat was—Duck Creek Marina in New Bern, NC—was hugely responsible for how smoothly the purchase went. As a customer service manager for nearly 30 years, customer service is the most important aspect of any interaction I have with a place, and Kathy took it to new levels of competence. She was ever so patient with my questions, and there were many. I can't stress how important it is to have good, capable people to deal with in any purchase, but especially long-distance ones.

Third, be sure to write down all of your questions as you think of them. When you are at the boat with many distractions, you will forget. Carry around a small notebook and pen with you and write down everything. What you need to do, what you need to ask, what you need to buy. Be sure to get a specific timeline from the broker on what is expected of you. Make no assumptions, and be proactive. You are your best advocate in the purchase of your boat.

Fourth, just a list of some of the steps/considerations/requirements involved in buying a boat for those of you for whom it's a first time:

• The offer
• The acceptance of the offer
• The visit to the boat
• The Purchase and Sale Agreement (PSA)
• Deposit funds transfer (usually 10% of purchase price)
• The survey: hull, mechanical, rigging (if sail), fluid analysis
• Fluid analysis if not included in the mechanical survey
• A boat history report
• Survey allowance offer (amount reduced from offer for items on survey that require attention)
• Buyer's closing statement
• Insurance procurement
• Funds transfer to escrow
• Closing
• State sales tax
• Local sales tax (not required in some states like NC)
• Personal property tax (done by county and city both in NC so some marinas have both and some only have county)
• State registration
• USCG documentation
• Dinghy registration
• Dinghy sales tax

Making yourself a checklist is a great idea. I have a multi-section, spiral-bound notebook that I used with one section dedicated to each item I needed to take care of. This gave me plenty of room to make notes on phone calls with prospective vendors to deal with each item.

Navigating a boat purchase can be difficult. Find well-qualified people that you can work with, be detail-oriented and proactive and hopefully it will all go smoothly.

Now I get to start the Boat Projects section in the notebook...