Roots of a Voyage
Part Four: The Purchase

by Dave and Jaja

On the morning we handed our bank check to the yacht broker, in exchange for ownership of the boat, a 75-knot hurricane was fast approaching the North Carolina Coast. Logic said hold onto the check until the storm passed. If the boat got wrecked by wind and waves, we could go find another one. The problem with logic is it is defenseless against emotion. We'd spend months hunting, and this was "The Boat For Us". In our souls we already possessed her. The paper check was just a formality to commitment, like a marriage license.

DRIVER is a Chatam 33, designed by a Monsieur Carroff, and she was home-built in France in 1980. She has an eleven-and-a-half foot beam, with a six-foot draft that effectively lowers her center of gravity without adding extra weight to her already substantial ten tons. If our goal had been to gunk hole in shallow waters, her deep draft would have been a pain in the neck (whiplash every time we ran aground). But her relatively deep draft and solid righting moment were assets for our proposed cruising itinerary.

The broker was in high spirits; he had our bank check in his briefcase. "Young man," he said, shaking my hand, "you are the first person I've ever met who has bought a boat BEFORE a hurricane. Where'd you tell me you wanted to take this boat? Down to the Islands someday?"

I shook my head. I had already told the broker that Jaja and I wanted a cruising ground that was remote, somewhere free from the clutch of mass-market tourism, somewhere off the beaten track. We liked the tropics, but the splendor of the higher latitudes was calling: snow-covered mountains, prolific wildlife, and most important, few other cruising boats. We wanted to become time travelers, to discover what voyaging might have been like 50 years ago at the dawn of the cruising scene.

"No, not to the Islands," I said to the broker. "We're sailing her to Iceland and Norway." Few people believed us when we mentioned our cruising destination.

The broker looked at our three kids, then gave Jaja and me a deprecating look that said: Dream on.

To be honest, the yacht broker was justified in believing that Jaja and I had just bought the proverbial farm. Upon delivery, DRIVER was a floating nightmare. She had more problems than a crisis hotline. But she was an inexpensive nightmare that put us on the road to going cruising. Compared to having no boat at all, she was a valid dream ship.

We weren't blind to DRIVER'S faults when we'd laid our money down. We were, perhaps, a little near-sighted, but we had plenty of depth perception. Underneath the rough facade was a solid boat perfectly suited to our purpose.

Apparently, Jaja and I were the only ones who could see it.

For our maiden voyage we left the boat yard, motored northwards up Adams Creek, then sailed across Pamlico Sound. We had a marvelous time sailing our new boat under hot, sunny skies. It didn't look like a hurricane was on its way. We finally reached the protected channels near our rented house in Oriental, then motored into the creek where we were planning to hide from the storm. We deployed abundant ground tackle and tied to tall pine trees. Thirty hours later, our future home was pounded by hurricane-force winds.

Next week: After the Hurricane.