I often ask myself the point of all the effort and expense of owning a well-aged sailboat. This usually happens after I crack a knuckle breaking loose some frozen fitting or polishing some faded fiberglass while watching others head out for a day sail in their shiny new boat. With over 40 years of experience, I consider myself an old sailor. I am fortunate enough to be sailing the pristine cruising grounds of British Columbia in a boat I can still afford. My boat is nothing like a new boat with all the fancy options, rather it is just a 40-year-old Islander Bahama 30, lovingly restored with endless hours of effort and carefully doled out dollars—far too many hours and dollars to call this an investment.
Raising a Family Under Sail
Our daughter, Nicole, was just starting elementary school when my wife Carey and I started a summer cruising life aboard a Balboa 20. Nicky had a visual handicap that precluded walking the uneven ground of a camp site, but she could memorize the deck and interior of a 20-ft. sailboat with ease. We sailed the coast of British Columbia through the good and not-so-good times that first year, gaining experience through adventure. The freedom of sailing convinced us to move up to an O’Day 25 the following year, and then eight years later to the Islander 30. Nicky grew up on those boats, living the gunkholing life all along the coast through her formative years. She eventually went her own way, as children do, and we were fortunate enough to eventually be blessed with a granddaughter, Natasha.
A Granddaughter and a Namesake Boat
Natasha, born with the same visual handicap as her mother, started sailing on our Islander at the tender age of five, accompanying Carey and me on trips though the Canadian Gulf Islands, up to Desolation Sound and out to the wild west coast of Vancouver Island. She has been a joy to have aboard Natasha (named in her honor) and the boat seems empty without her. Her wit, sense of humor and positive outlook on life is a joy to behold. She appreciates sailing the same boat and waters as her mother did in her youth, experiencing the same adventures and sense of belonging. Yes, at times 30 feet is a tight fit for three and a dog, but Natasha loves the old boat as much as we do.
A West Coast Cruise and a Quiet Lesson
A few summers ago we trekked back out to Barkley Sound on the west coast of Vancouver Island. Natasha wanted to return to the wilds of the west coast in her 16th year. The trip went well with low morning clouds breaking into brilliant sunshine, whitecaps dancing on blue waters while thrashing to windward under white sails. We would poke our bow into nearly empty anchorages late in the afternoons, leading to breathtakingly quiet evenings with the occasional call of a loon as the still waters reflected the glowing sunsets. Quiet, inquiring discussions would envelop the cockpit as darkness fell. Natasha’s intellectual grasp of the world around her was far deeper than I had anticipated. On the last day of the trip, she was scribbling intensely in her notebook, watching the sunset, lost in thought. She put the notebook away without comment, joining me for the traditional hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies. She made no mention of her writing, and I knew better than to ask.
The next morning we were driving home when I asked her if she would tell me her most memorable moment of this particular trip. I anticipated a response about a place we visited, or a particular sailing day. She thought for a moment and said, “The hot chocolate and cookies in the cockpit with you, Grandpa.” She then showed me her notebook;
Old Boats as an Investment in the Next Generation
In these times where obtaining moorage and insurance for our well-aged, properly maintained boats is getting more difficult, we ask ourselves—why do we do this? Rediscovering our sailing life through the eyes of a 16-year-old reminded me that all that time and effort is an investment in the next generation, allowing them to see the world as we see it, allowing them to experience the wonder of discovery upon approaching a new anchorage. An experience outside the turmoil of the everyday pressures in our modern times, an experience very few get the opportunity to enjoy. A factory-fresh—and out of our budget—sailboat is not necessary to share the magic of a life lived on the water.
Thank you, young lady, for your perspective on something we “old sailors” tend to take for granted. May the winds in your life always be in your favor!
What a fantastic story. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks for the comment David. Natasha still comes out sailing with me, we’re headed back to Barkley Sound again this summer. Look up Bert Vermeer Sailing on You Tube, you could see her grow up.
What a beautiful article and I am so grateful for the memories it triggered – growing up sailing with my parents. My father could be best described as a West Point Colonel so communication wasn’t his first strength. However, on our sailboat, we found a common language and a way of relating. Even though his career was the army, his love of the sea was profound. There was something environmentally balanced to him about sailing, respecting the resource of water as well as the power of weather. He would use his engineering language to explain the principles of the boat and sailing itself. It’s strange to think of our sailboat as a “translator “between a father and his sons. But that seems to be the case with “North Cove “my dad‘s Hunter 30.
Thanks for the comment Jeff, appreciated. Certainly beats growing up hanging around the corner store with a cell phone glued to one hand!