Part 2: You Can't Always Get What You Want
A beautiful dream goes poof...
So, where were we? Ah yes, the boat search…
The J46 was an excellent target boat, and made the most financial sense. But it never hurts to fantasize a bit as well. So while I searched for a suitable J46 I also indulged myself by keeping an eye out for a Morris 48 or Morris 51. Both are fast-sailing, highly customized, bluewater thoroughbreds. Pricier to be sure. But very rare (they only built a handful) and perfectly suited for the sort of voyaging I have in mind. I never really expected to have a crack at one, but in early February, a Morris 51 I had heard might come on the market, suddenly appeared on Yachtworld.
What the hell, why not? When you get lucky in life you can’t hesitate. I quickly threw in an offer somewhat below the asking price It took a little back and forth, and I had to agree to take ownership in Tortola and sail the boat back to the US. But to my great surprise, I suddenly had a contract on my dream boat. It was probably the single most self-indulgent act of my entire life. But I didn’t care. The boat was too beautiful to resist, or act rationally
The contract was of course subject to survey, and I quickly lined up an experienced surveyor at Nanny Cay on Tortola, where the boat had been kept for the past few years. But I wasn’t going to quibble over minor issues. It would give me pleasure to make a beautiful boat more beautiful. And the owner, an experienced sailor who had sailed the boat around Cape Horn, was a straight shooter and happy to give me access to all the maintenance logs. He loved the boat and he was taking good care of her with the help of an onsite boat management company at Nanny Cay. It was a perfect setup (there was even a new mainsail about to arrive onboard).
I flew down to Nanny Cay for the survey, barely believing what was happening. I arrived in the evening and strolled over to to see the boat in its slip. She looked even better than I had hoped. A day later the owner arrived and took me through everything: the systems, the gear onboard (almost all of which he was going to bequeath me), all the tricks and nuances he had learned over nearly 20 years of voyaging. He was a great guy and a pleasure to deal with. He urged me to call him anytime if I had questions. The coming years looked golden.
The following day the surveyor arrived and went through the boat as it sat in the water. Nothing major came up. We were cruising toward a smooth closing of the deal. All that remained was to haul the boat, let it dry out for a few days, and run a moisture meter over the hull and decks. I took off for the weekend, and headed to an AirBnB outside Road Town to chill. Early next week I returned to Nanny Cay and met the surveyor at the boat again. The plan was to spend an hour or so examining the hull and rudder, re-launch, and then go for a brief sea trial.
I was so close. But then Chris, the surveyor, opened his bag and pulled out a moisture meter. He touched it to the hull. It sounded a high-pitched alarm, indicating moisture. He placed it in another spot. Again, the alarm sounded. He ran the moisture meter over most of the hull below the waterline. The moisture meter showed high moisture readings almost everywhere. This was very puzzling, almost unheard of, in a well-built Morris. Sometimes you can get some moisture around a thru-hull that hasn’t been properly sealed. But this meter was indicating moisture everywhere.
I started to get a sick feeling in my stomach, which intensified every time I heard the tiny but persistent blare of the moisture meter alarm. Chris chalked the readings across the hull. Almost all 8, 9, or 10, which meant that the hull, and maybe the foam core inside, was wet. That could mean a serious structural issue, which was just about the only thing that might force me to walk away.
At first, we all resisted the Occam’s Razor conclusion. Maybe something in the bottom paint was causing the moisture meter to err. (The owner had his management company strip two sections of paint away. The meter still read “wet.”) Maybe the kevlar in the layup of the hull was causing the moisture meter to err. (Above the waterline, the readings rapidly declined to “dry.”) We took the moisture meter inside and placed it on the inner skin of the hull in the bilge. The alarm kept sounding. There was no way around it. The hull appeared to have moisture throughout. To confirm, the owner agreed to have a section of the hull cut open so the foam core could be examined. The surveyor took the foam that was removed and placed it in a sealed ziplock bag. Before long, moisture started condensing out of the foam. All evidence pointed to a single, disastrous, conclusion: the core was wet.
What followed was a slow and painful abandonment of the dream. The owner agreed to transport the boat by ship to Newport, and offered me a generous price reduction so I could take her back to where she was built in Maine for repairs. I was ready to do it, and spoke at length to the boatyard in Southwest Harbor, which knows Morris yachts better than any other yard. The yard manager explained what they would do to try and dry the hull out and make sure no new moisture would work its way back in. It sounded like a good plan. The only problem was that he couldn’t be sure he would get all the moisture out. And if there was some level of moisture that remained in the core, experts varied widely on whether that would lead to no problems or serious problems. At a minimum, it meant I could never expose the boat to temperatures which could freeze the residual moisture in the core and cause it to expand and contract.
There was almost nothing I wanted more than to buy this boat and somehow have it all work out. But I had to face a harsh reality: to complete the purchase and try to effect a repair would be a major roll of the dice. I am often happy to roll dice, but in this case there was too much money and too much uncertainty. I had to accept reality. I sat down and wrote the owner a sad email explaining why I could no longer buy the boat. He understood, I think, and was as gracious as ever. It broke my heart.
I flew home trying to process what had happened. I was deeply disappointed, of course, and all my blissful visions of sailing a Morris 51 across oceans and into well-loved ports had abruptly vanished. It was severe boat-buying whiplash. But I wasn’t bitter. As the man sang, you can’t always get what you want. And there are far worse things going on around the planet than a sailing fantasy denied. Last I heard the boat will be taken to Southwest Harbor by the owner. Perhaps further investigation will prove the moisture meter didn’t provide a fully accurate picture of what is happening in the hull. Perhaps Southwest Harbor will figure out how to accomplish a reliable repair. If so, I hope I get a call.
Meanwhile, I am back to scanning Yachtworld. There aren’t really any other dream boats out there at the moment. But maybe another Morris will suddenly appear. Or maybe some other beautiful boat will come my way. It happened once. Maybe it will happen again. I can hope.
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Tim, So sorry that this didn't work out but hope you will "get what you need" very soon. Thanks for your description of the journey so far. Be well, Ben
Sorry that Morris 51 is not yours but on the other hand your followers also travelled with you to Tortola and your dream destinations in these 2 excellent pieces you wrote. Keep sending them to us!