It Could Be A New Era: Part 1
Goodbye Moondust?
I left things off last fall at Herrington Harbour North, with Moondust on the hard and shrouded in her winter canvas. It always amazes me how diminished my little world seems when the boat is on jack stands, there is a nip in the air, and the sun sets too early.
Today, however, I greet you at the start of Spring 2022 from Nanny Cay in the British Virgin Islands. It’s a slightly weird and removed place to be while war is devastating Ukraine, the pandemic continues to roll onward (in Asia, in Europe, and with data suggesting another round headed toward the US), and very little is being done about climate change or any other existential threat to the planet. But life takes you down paths you never really anticipated, and sometimes you just have to shrink the world to a frame that seems manageable. And in my case, that means looking at a boat.
“Wait!” you might say. “You already have a boat!” That is very true. But times change, goals change, and boats sometimes change with them.
Let me set the context: I turned 60 in December (I can’t quite believe I am writing that, but there is no use pretending otherwise). My last child is headed for college in a year. And in such circumstances more distant horizons naturally start calling, I’ll let Melville explain, as no one has ever come close to saying it better:
“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship.”
Lest I be seen as disloyal, inconstant, philandering, let me be clear: I love Moondust. The Beneteau 36.7 is the sweetest sailing, most versatile design I have had the pleasure to experience. When my friend Ivar and I first bought Moondust 10 years ago, we wanted a fun boat to cruise the Chesapeake Bay with our families. Check. Much fun was had by all.
When our kids became teens and drifted off toward other interests, with a bunch of upgrades and modifications Moondust became an excellent shorthanded handicap racing boat. Check again. Plenty of good racing and a few podium placements even if we never got Moondust fully dialed in and up to her potential. Lots more fun had by all.
But Moondust is not really an ocean-crossing boat, or a super sea-kindly boat. My kids and I sailed Moondust to New England during the pandemic summer of 2020. Then, along with my wife, we enjoyed a great 2-week family cruise. I singlehanded Moondust home to Annapolis, down Long Islands Sound and through New York City and the Delaware Bay, and loved ever minute of it. For really going places, and for longer term living aboard, though, Moondust is not ideal. Doable (almost any boat is doable, really). But not ideal. So I started thinking about sailboats that might be better suited for more bluewater voyaging and extended stays aboard.
Of course, that is fun to do no matter where you are in your sailing life. Who doesn’t look at Great Sailboats For Sale for fun or fantasize about all the classic beauties out there. But I started getting serious early last year, hoping to land a good successor boat this year, and by Spring of 2023 at the latest. My criteria were pretty basic: 1) good sea boat; 2) liveaboard friendly; and 3) Fast (at least as fast as Moondust and ideally faster). Also, affordable to me (which meant no new boats, though a new boat was also excluded because I don’t really want to add to all that nearly-impossible-to-recycle-fiberglass already out there). I have always owned cruising boats in the mid-30 foot range. These criteria pushed me toward the mid-40s.
I thought about my friend Steve’s beautiful Swan 44 MKII. Fast and beautiful, surprisingly reasonable price point, but not really set up for long-term cruising. I considered everyone’s favorite do-it-all boat, the Outbound 46. Fast enough (barely), and well set up for any voyage. But also very pricey. The Hylas 46 and 49 popped onto my list. Also pricey, and not that fast.
Every design I considered seemed to involve a compromise. The Outbound and the Hylas designs also made me realize something else: I want a boat that meets the dinghy test. What is the dinghy test? It is when you are rowing toward or away from your boat and you find yourself admiring it, and thinking it looks beautiful. (Admittedly, the Beneteau 36.7 is not a beautiful design, but I do think it looks cool—it exudes purpose and capability). And with apologies to all Outbound and Hylas 46/49 owners, I just don’t consider those highly capable designs very pleasing to the eye. Great boats for bluewater voyaging, without doubt, but they don’t pass my own personal dinghy test. Don’t be insulted. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
By late last summer, I was kind of surprised that my search hadn’t identified at least one design or two that I could be 100% enthusiastic about. Usually you find the right solution. Still, I kept at it, with faith that I would find the answer. Patience and plenty of online surfing eventually paid off. Late last year I finally found a design I could put right at the top of my list without hesitation or second thoughts: the J46.
It is a good offshore boat that is decidedly fast (PHRF around 40), and would be a lot of fun to sail. It is also set up well for long-term cruising. Built in the early 2000s, the price point was good. All boxes ticked. It is not truly beautiful. But it is sleek and powerful, with a sort of greyhound appeal. I could and would admire it from a dinghy. I started watching the excellent YouTube channel of a young couple sailing a J46 around the world. Former racers, they include lots of info and analysis about the sailing and voyaging qualities of the J46. Their experience only confirmed my interest.
It is a great feeling when you finally realize what kind of boat you need to focus all your effort on. And there is a sweet anticipation of what it will be like to find a good one and start making it your own. I felt really excited about the idea of a J46. I could see myself sailing fast across lots of blue water. My boat hunt had taken a giant leap forward.
There was only one problem. Both of the J46s then on the market had issues that I didn’t want to deal with (especially prolific crazing throughout the deck area, a problem with certain TPI boats). It was a measure of my enthusiasm for this design that I even made an offer on one of them (thankfully turned down, because when I went to take a look in person anyhow to see whether I should up my offer I realized I would never get past all the gelcoat problems).
Undaunted, I turned my efforts to trying to find a J46 owner who was thinking to sell but hadn’t yet listed, and pursued two solid leads. Either boat would have worked perfectly for me, but in the end the owners just weren’t willing to pull the trigger on a sale yet (yet another testament to the J46, in a way). So I was stuck. I would just have to be patient and hope that a decent J46 would become available sometime this year or early next. I can be patient when I have to. But I would have much rather been sorting out a new boat and setting it up for the next phase of my sailing life. Reluctantly, I settled in to wait.
But then. But then. Something quite unexpected happened, as it often does. You are firmly and happily on one path, and fate decides for its own amusement to pick you up and toss you onto an entirely different path. And that path led me down to Nanny Cay hardly believing what was happening and what might lie ahead.
Because there sure are some interesting and intriguing boats down here. For example:
And..
For what really brought me down here, stay tuned for Part 2.
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