So I sold my first boat in July of this year, not the greatest start to a piece about boat ownership, I'll grant you that, but please bear with me.
In fairness, I didn't expect anyone to buy it - it was a Swedish fjord cruiser from a now long since defunct manufacturer with a 6 cylinder diesel that was discontinued in 1970. The boat itself was very pretty. The GRP construction was solidly built, with lots of exposed wood and nice fittings, it also had two cabins that gave the impression that you could perhaps go away for holidays with friends (not if you wanted to keep them that is)... With its semi-displacement hull and (on paper) powerful engine, the world could be your oyster.
I will admit, I was utterly taken by her looks and went glass-eyed and gooey and phrases from the broker such as "finished project" and "spent most of her life on hard standing in a shed" failed to reach any rational part of my brain. Such was my desire to have this beautiful thing, and the fool and his money were easily parted.
This misty-eyed bubble was soon burst on our first weekend away, moving the old girl from the brokerage to her new mooring in torrential rain. This is where we learned that "finished project" does not necessarily mean "done properly" or "watertight". Upon our next visit back to the boat (we lived some way away from her mooring) we were treated to a scene of devastation, in the bow cabin particularly. All the lovely linings had become waterlogged and fallen off, there was black mould covering everything bow to stern and a distinct aroma of château sink trap 1969, with a hint of diesel.
So began the long process of restoration to bring her back to something resembling fit for purpose. My learning curve was exponential and being blessed with a curious nature, I set myself on a course to discover why a seemingly well-finished boat could turn, almost overnight, into such an utter shambles.
Through months of trial and mostly error - including one very awkward phone call to the poisons unit at Kings Cross via 111, explaining what the hell I was doing after a spaced out drive home following a day using a combination of high VOC content paint and contact adhesive. For the record, if the tin says "use in a well-ventilated area" a bow cabin with the Houdini hatch open does not count. Trust me on this.
I eventually brought things back to a presentable condition, just in time to realise I had bought the wrong boat. Too small to realistically spend anything longer than a weekend on without getting cabin fever. Too big to be useful as a day boat due to her layout - (other than the cabins there was nowhere to sit comfortably). Too far away from where I live, making even the most basic of general maintenance an all-day event, because she's too tall to bring closer to home - (curse those low medieval bridges) and ultimately too unreliable to go anywhere other than the stretch of river she was on, making coastal cruising potentially suicidal.
I realised I was, in fact, done with this boat. The love affair was over, and it was now time to go our separate ways and move on.
As with all things, a buyer eventually came along a few weeks after the waterways reopened. After some half-hearted haggling, where I knew that he really wanted to buy the boat and he knew I really wanted to sell the boat, but neither party wants to show their hand; eventually the deal was done.
So now what? I knew I wanted another boat, it was a strange feeling being a boat-less boater, and I tried to fill the void by going out and looking at other boats. Still, my heart wasn't really in it as I was determined to avoid having another boat on another distant mooring that I might visit once or twice a month and maybe, perhaps go out on it once there.
As mentioned previously, the waterways had not long reopened, and presumably, 2020 was now the year that because of the unique set of circumstances brought about by a global pandemic - everyone now wanted a boat. Every ad that I followed up for boats in my price range was invariably met with "oh that sold last week". Clearly, demand was outstripping supply of decent second-hand boats. The clincher for me was seeing the price of decent hulls with broken or no engines also go up which didn't take a genius to work out that getting a decent second-hand outboard would soon be tricky.
At this point, I wasn't actually completely boat-less and still had my trusty Intex mariner 4 inflatable (why I have this and why it's registered as a small ship is for another time). The transom can only take 18kg / 3hp so with this in mind I picked up a bargain little Suzuki 2.5 and a lovely new Bimini. A couple of trips out on the inland waterways reminded me why I had bought a proper boat and that no matter how good the kit is strapped to the inflatable, it still feels like a glorified child's toy.
Despite my assertion that I did not want to have a boat that required a permanent mooring, I still went and had a look at a few. There were at this point, some reasonably priced boats still out there and it was nice to get out and about 'just for a look'.
Inevitably they were too small, too wide, too brown, too twee, too rotten, too broken, too tired or just, too much of all of the above. Nothing was making the cut, so I began to question why none of them were reaching that special place in my heart?
Almost out of desperation (and following some prompting by concerned friends and relatives) I turned to eBay. This was something of a revelation and ultimately a game-changer. I hadn't really bothered with it before for no discernible reason but now was utterly hooked. I found myself watching about 20 boats not out of any desire to actually buy them but mostly just out of curiosity to see if the reserve was met.
Then I added the word 'project' to my search - this opened up a whole new world of entertainment and intrigue. It seemed that every chancer in the country who had some old wreck in their possession, were palming them off (always with a corresponding tragic backstory) onto the great British public who desperately wanted a cheap 'staycation'.
It was trawling through these ads I came across the boat that would come to be known as 'Monty'. I spotted Monty early September, a blue and white day boat, with a tiller steer outboard on a recently rebuilt trailer.
What drew my eye to this little boat? That is 'X' factor in any purchase other than price - it is that unknown quantity or quality that makes you choose one identical product over another. If you really pressed me for an answer, I would have to say that ultimately it has a unique charm and dare I say, 'cuteness' that I found appealing. That and it was in such a state of disrepair I actually felt sorry for it, mainly as the description on the advertisement was perhaps leaning a little towards the overly optimistic. Still, the photos weren't carefully angled, and it was plain to see that this little boat was going to need a lot of work.
A quick email to the seller to express interest and confirm dimensions (there was a length but no beam) I then clicked 'buy it now'. A fortnight later with a sense of both excitement and trepidation, I was setting off (with my incompetent crewmate Mike) on the 100-mile journey to the east riding of Yorkshire to collect an odd little boat that I had only seen pictures of on a screen.
What could possibly go wrong?
