How Did We Get Here? (Second Part)

The weekend we returned to Colorado from our charter was the annual block party. As we mixed and mingled with our neighbors, we raved to whoever would listen about our San Juan Island adventure – probably very boorish behavior – but we were still on a natural high induced by the ocean air. People listened politely, then changed the subject to more germane topics, like prospects for early snow as the Rocky Mountain ski season approached.

One of my neighbors, though, listened with interest. Mark Williams, a contemporary who lived two doors down, informed me that he had long held an ambition to circumnavigate the world in a sailing yacht. Indeed, he had even assigned a date – July 11, 2011, his 55^th birthday – when he would chuck it all to begin his circumnavigation. A U.S. Navy veteran, he was already getting smart about which yacht to buy. In fact, he was planning a trip in two weeks to the big kahuna of U. S. boat shows, the Annapolis Boat Show in Maryland, to research boats further.

Sensing my enthusiasm, he suggested, “Why don’t you come with me to the boat show?”

Like the notion of going cruising one day, my immediate thought was, “What? Are you crazy? I can’t just pick up and leave.” But instead, I mumbled, “Well, I’m not sure …” in reply.

Later that evening, as pillow talk, I mentioned Mark’s invitation to Jocelyn. I guess the ocean-air induced euphoria hadn’t worn off, because her immediate response was, “Jack, you’ve got to go.”

So here I was, slowly coming down from a great charter vacation, quite smitten with a taste of the cruising life, and my wife is giving me an imperative to look deeper into doing more. I couldn’t resist.

The next day, I called Mark to ask if he was serious about his invitation. He said he was, and two weeks later I found myself roaming the docks of the Annapolis Boat Show weighing the attributes of this boat over that. My education about cruising sailboats had begun.

As the next few months went by back in Colorado, memories of the San Juan Island charter started to fade and the Annapolis trip began to feel more and more like a lost dream. A small ember of ambition continued burning to one day pick up the cruising life, but when that day might come remained uncertain.

Then, again, Mark Williams intervened.

By now it was early winter. Summer sailing was the furthest thing from our minds. Out of the blue, Mark phoned and said he had an offer I couldn’t refuse. His wife, Sue, had decided to forego a slot reserved for her aboard the Mahina Tiare III, a vessel owned by John Neal and Amanda Swan-Neal, a husband-wife team among the best in the business of bluewater sail training. He wanted me take Sue’s place on a two-week Mahina expedition next summer.

Again, immediately through my mind went, “What? Are you crazy?” As before, I told Mark I would think it over. And once again, I consulted Jocelyn who without hesitation said, “Jack, you’ve got to go.” I called Mark back and told him I was in.

In preparation for the training, I continued taking American Sailing Association courses at the Victoria Sailing School, Denver’s only ASA-accredited school. There, twelve months earlier, I had taken my first formal sail training course in 35 years in advance of the San Juan Island charter. But it was the Mahina Tiare III training that vaulted me forward toward becoming a bluewater skipper.

Not only did John Neal’s curriculum provide the essentials on how to select, maintain, and operate a bluewater cruising sailboat, it emphasized the notion that, with preparation and diligence, anyone could become a bluewater cruiser. John’s alumni list is replete with regular Janes and Joes who left their former lives to scatter across the globe as cruising sailors. Aboard Mahina, I made three new life-long friends, Chris Adams, a Brit, and Martin Neumayer, an Austrian, and his American wife, Dawn, all of whom climbed the cruiser learning curve with me. With John’s example and my new friends’ encouragement, I began to believe I could succeed in taking on the cruising sailor challenge.

John Neal’s training was conducted aboard Mahina Tiare III, a 46-foot Hallberg-Rassy sloop. I had first seen a Hallberg-Rassy at the Annapolis Boat Show, where I met Roger Johansson, one of the few U. S.-based Hallberg-Rassy dealers. Instantly, I sensed that these boats were a cut above the competition. I vowed to give them careful scrutiny in my search for our new floating home. On the Mahina training, not only did I gain experience aboard a Hallberg-Rassy, I also toured the Hallberg-Rassy boatyard and met Hallberg-Rassy staff. The Mahina training leg Mark Williams had invited me on, you see, was from Oban, Scotland, to Ellos, on the Swedish island of Orust, the center of the Hallberg-Rassy universe. By the end of my Mahina experience, my inculcation to Hallberg-Rassys was well along.

This time, my return to Colorado came with more resolve to act on our newfound direction. I called Roger and told him I was interested in considering any used HR40s that came on the market. As the summer wore on, he shared several listings, but none caught our fancy. Meanwhile, I attended several boat shows and actively researched other models, including the Valiant 42, Najad 380, and Vilm 117. Each had their merits, but once the layers of the onion were peeled back, only the Hallberg-Rassy remained with the fewest compromises.

In September 2008, as the financial world was in full meltdown, I flew out to Annapolis to look at an HR40 that Roger had found. It was only five years old and had many of the attributes Jocelyn and I desired, but when we looked at the price compared to that of new HR40 with exactly the layout and options we wanted, the difference was not that much given the favorable currency exchange rate at the time. If we placed our order right away, the boat could be ready for delivery next spring.

I called Jocelyn to report my findings. We decided to place the order. Our “no turning back now” line was crossed.

It was not without a fair bit of angst that we rendered this decision. I distinctly recall a relapse of the “What? Are you crazy?” thinking as I wrote the $30,000 deposit check. Hallberg-Rassys are known throughout the yachting world as among the best boats money can buy, a well-deserved reputation for a product that commands a premium price. Our relatively modest HR40, with options, would set us back somewhere north of 500K USD. We count ourselves among the regular Janes and Joes, not elite trust funders, so devoting such a significant share of our net worth was not without consternation. I rationalized that the boat was an “investment” that would hold its value better than those tanking in the financial markets. But of course this was only grasping at straws to keep buyer's remorse at bay while waiting for the boat to be built.

Anticipating this life-changing decision, Jocelyn and I had consulted with a financial planner some months earlier. Over the course of a thirty year career first as an exploration geologist, then as an environmental scientist, then as a communications professional, and finally as a development consultant, I had managed to amass a respectable stack that had weathered market ups and downs fairly well. As a CPA and sensible saver herself, Jocelyn had done her part in contributing to our fortunes. The planner helped us look at our situation and conclude that we would be able to afford the cruising life in reasonably comfortable style, particularly if the boost from a modest inheritance was anticipated. The planner had greater influence than perhaps he realized when he told stories about so many of his other clients who waited too long to live their dreams only to have health issues or other calamities keep them from ever realizing them.

So I warded off the “What? Are you crazy?” questions with others, like “If not now, when?” and “What else are you going to do with your money?”

The next question was where to take delivery of the boat. On my first visit to the Annapolis Boat Show, I spent a fair amount of time inspecting the Najad models on display. Something the Najad people said stuck with me. They casually suggested that once I bought one of their boats I should come to Sweden to pick it up. (Najads are also built on Orust, only a few coves away from Hallberg-Rassy harbor.) At the time, the idea seemed far-fetched, but with our new reality, the question was suddenly legitimate. I had been to Sweden to see the Hallberg-Rassy boatyard, so the idea was now not so abstract. Picking up the boat in Europe and sailing her home offered attractions too fantastic to fully comprehend. Jocelyn and I talked it over and decided to take delivery of the boat in Ellos.

Windleblo was built over seven months from November, 2008, to May, 2009. In June, we flew to Sweden to begin our cruising life.