Christmas This Year
Captain’s Log #1
My sailboat Kailani, a 1979 Westsail 28, hasn’t left the dock in the two years since I bought it.
The previous owner John was a megachurch pastor in another life. He smiled with too many teeth and his southern charm never quite reached his eyes. He was desperate too. Uncle Sam had graciously provided him with surprise orders to Japan and he had borrowed money to finance his dream of living on a sailboat in Hawaii. Time was running out and he needed to sell a boat that was sitting much higher in the water than it should have been.
On his maiden voyage off the dock, the Volvo MD11C that powered Kailani seized up and brutally dismantled the buzz John had been fine tuning all afternoon. After ignoring the problem by using Kailani’s cozy interior to lure women down from the marina bar, John finally removed the engine from the boat, which is no small feat. He carted it over to a mechanic, named Russ, who worked off his own boat, the Maori Warrior II, several rows down. He begged Russ to “please just get it running again so I can sell it.” Russ was happy to take John’s money and get it running again but he knew from the start that Kailani wouldn’t be safely crossing oceans anytime soon. So John went along telling all the prospective owners he showed the boat to that Russ was “rebuilding” the engine a few slips down. It should be ready any day now.
John needed a sucker who wouldn't ask too many prying questions about the engine AND pay him enough for the boat so that he could escape his debts. For a 50-year-old sailboat. With no engine.
Within the first five minutes of meeting me, John knew he had a lifeline. I was in love with the idea of Kailani; a small, relatively affordable and rugged world cruiser that could take me and my girlfriend to Tahiti some day. In the salon, warm string lights illuminated cozy wood paneling on all sides. The galley was neatly organized and clean. The centerpiece table had coins and maps from faraway lands inlaid into its surface and the surrounding benches invited a respite from whatever the hell the ocean was doing outside. I was in trouble and I knew it. The only trick up my sleeve was the previously mentioned desperation I had picked up on through John’s need for assurances and constant use of hyperbole.
After mild mannered negotiation aided by his well stocked mini-fridge and Jesus Christ’s teachings on morality, John knocked off three grand from his original asking price of $15,000. He sheepishly admitted that I might have to buy a “new” engine off eBay.
What John meant by “New” was actually “Used” with nothing other than an item description of “looks good, it was running when we took it out;” a classic example of plausible deniability. I don’t know why the seller from Long Island took it out of the previous boat, but as a rule I avoid hauling out 545lb engines when everything is running smooth. That’s just me. To be of use to me this questionable engine would need to be boxed up, put on a truck and driven from east to west, then put on a ship to cross an ocean, and finally put in the bed of my 2003 Ford Ranger to be delivered to the marina. All to the tune of roughly $4000. Then starts the actually difficult part of the whole process, putting the engine into the boat using mandraulics, leverage, and anger. More on that later.
The only other option available was a truly new engine or “refit” as it’s called, which would have cost about $9000. Brand new engine, brand new engine mounts, brand new hoses, the owner is essentially paying a premium for peace of mind. That option was off the table due to cost but in hindsight it shouldn’t have been.
John and I eventually shook hands and signed papers. He scurried off to his new apartment on the other side of the island muttering something about a bed that doesn’t move. My girlfriend and co-conspirator Marissa and I wasted no time in celebrating. We popped champagne and sent some over the rail as an offering to Poseidon. We settled down in the cozy salon to snack on fine cheese and crackers as we imagined all sailboat owners must do quite often. Marissa climbed in and out of the berths tucked away into the curves of the hull and marveled out loud at all of the ingenious storage space. It was a perfect evening spent daydreaming out loud.
“We can anchor up all over the island and then in the morning we can dive and make breakfast!” - Marissa
“Yeah and we can sail out to all the surf spots I’m too lazy to paddle to and you can watch me surf!” - Me (not received well)
“Yeah yeah, when is she gonna be ready?!”
“Depends on the engine but conservatively? Christmas this year.”
That sunset in August of 2024 would be the first of many beautiful sunsets that we watched from Kailani in that exact same location, with her lines made fast to the dock. Instead of celebrating, we should have been studying.
When I bought the boat, Kailani was in relatively great shape. The previous owner in his manic need to sell had actually put some respectable elbow grease into tidying her up, though there were still glaring question marks. There was a veritable treasure trove of original documents onboard including: a service manual for the Volvo diesel, old surveys identifying problems the boat already had, and maintenance guides from a Westsail savant who started something called the Westsail Parts Co.
It was all there, but I blinked. I didn’t learn a thing from John and I chose my work over my dream which is a lame excuse but it’s the only one I’ve got. Every time it rained I went down to the marina to pump it out. Each time it felt like I was showing up to take the SATs before learning how to read.
These days, Kailani is tired. The sun, wind, and salt have spent the last two years trying to kill her with no one rising to her defense. Her sails have not filled with the trades and the lines keeping her on the dock have atrophied into place. What was already going to be an uphill battle to get this boat back in fighting shape has now turned into 5.15 free solo during a thunderstorm.
And yet, the Volvo is on its way. Russ and I have no idea how we’re going to get it from the parking lot to the boat and the forecast is nothing but rain.