Everything we do to the boat is hard. I’ll go into details when I get this blog fully refocused, but for now I just want to complain about the boat. Yes, I’m going to whine about a strong hulled forty-seven foot long sailboat that has three state rooms, two heads and over six feet of standing head room. I’m going to sit here and boo-hoo over a boat that was sailed to Florida from South Africa and has gone up and down the east coast of the US quite a few times, as well.
We purchased a Compass 47, so we’re pretty much the luckiest kids in town. The fact that a boat like this was around for the taking, under the circumstances that it was proves the existence of some sort of merciful God. The boat needs some work, but, structurally, she’s as strong as an ox. A really big, young, strong ox (or whichever way oxes … -en … are strongest). She’s got an attitude though. I’ve begun to think of her like an insecure woman who gets a reputation for being – and I do hate this term – “high maintenance.” She’s quite the catch, but she needs you to spend time and money on her so that she’ll know she’s worth something. She knows you love her dearly, but she requires that you show her. She wants to get taken out to dinner and a movie, and dessert, and get an engagement ring. Every day. She wants you to shower her with platitudes, and act like you need her a little bit, too. A few tears shed on her behalf every now and then may be necessary, and she doesn’t mind if you know that.
She likes it when you spend eight hours straight hunched over, putting painters tape down on her deck.
And we did.