If you have ever been near a body of water big enough to float a rubber ducky, you have probably heard a boat owner say the two happiest days of his life were when he bought a boat and when he sold one. While I favor the gas-guzzling variety, my Rocky Point pal, Craig, has invested in boats that cost almost nothing to run when the wind blows. Trouble is, before the wind blows he has to be ready for it.
CAP’N GREG: How big is your new sailboat?
CRAIG: With or without the helicopter pad?
CAP’N GREG: Without.
CRAIG: Thirty-eight feet.
CAP’N GREG: Power plant?
CRAIG: Diesel inboard.
CAP’N GREG: Sails?
CRAIG: Main, jib, spinnaker, flap-doodle, electric hoist and furl.
CAP’N GREG: Dinghy?
CRAIG: That’s none of your business.
CAP’N GREG: Generator?
CRAIG: One main, one standby.
CAP’N GREG: Autopilot?
CRAIG: Of course. And Loran, sonar, radar, GPS, redundant UHF ship-to-shore, satellite phone, dual channel sideband and soup-cans-and-string intercom from the helm to the mess deck.
CAP’N GREG: Water?
CRAIG: Fresh storage, plus reverse osmosis, emergency desalination and three bottles of Arrowhead.
CAP’N GREG: Decks and hull?
CRAIG: Covered with sea gull poop, algae and barnacles, and need to be cleaned every time I turn around.
CAP’N GREG: Monthly slip fee?
CRAIG: About as much as a Mayo Clinic heart transplant.
CAP’N GREG: Hair?
CRAIG: Disappearing fast.
CAP’N GREG: Bank account?
CRAIG: Same as the hair.
CAP’N GREG: Planning a cruise soon?
CRAIG: Can’t afford to leave the harbor.
CAP’N GREG: I hear a guy just sold his boat and he’s buying rounds at Latitude 31.
CRAIG: Boat ownership is an obsessive compulsive disorder, Cap’n Greg.
CAP’N GREG: Then let’s get over there and order before he buys another boat.