Crossing the north atlantic, even in the best of times, represented a risky undertaking that could result in serious problems, including the loss of our boat or even our lives. Sometimes we would lie awake at night and wonder: Are we really up to this risk? Can we cope with our fears? Can we eliminate all possible sources of trouble? Can we ever be truly prepared?
Paific white-sided dolphins frolicked and fed all around the 12-foot rib carrying the two California dudes and me across the Bay of All Saints. There must have been a thousand of them-dolphins not saints-and they were so close Gary Johnson couldn't help but reach into the water beneath our bow wake.
To some boaters, teh intercoastal wterway, or ICW as it is often called, may seem like a rather difficult place to cruise. They may have even heard of it referred to as "the Ditch," which naturally brings to mind something not easily navigated. The truth is, cruising this sheltered, protected route should present no more problems than cruising any other body of water, as long as you use good judgment, can read a chart and have a properly equipped boat.
The scruffy Guatemalan pointed his Smith & Wesson "38 Special" revolver at the gringo's belly. He was screaming in Spanish and gesturing angrily. He wanted the frightened American to get down on his knees right there in Sunshine's main saloon. Outside in the cockpit, Pirate No. 2 held a shotgun to the heads of the gringo's two teenage nephews. Pirate No. 3 carried a cutlass just like in the movies.
The anchor offered little resistance that night as I gathered in the line and hoisted it topside. Around us there was a hush found only at a sleepy anchorage after midnight. My husband had already snapped on the running lights, turned the ignition key and started the ship's two-cylinder Volvo engine long before the last ring of chain rattled into the anchor well. We were off at 2 a.m., and all was in order aboard ship.
It seemed like a good idea.
Buy an older freighter in Europe and bring it to my home in St. Augustine, Florida. I could make a few deliveries, refit it as a liveaboard or charter yacht, or sell it. My boat-brokering experience led me to believe it could bring a tidy profit.
In the fall of 2000, I found the right boat. It was a 186-foot by 30- foot, 499-net ton steel cargo vessel built in 1955 and located in Sweden. A Swedish boat was attractive because the Baltic Sea's low salinity meant there would be little rust. Swedes also have a reputation for taking care of their equipment. Most of the smaller cargo ships in the region already had been sold as island freighters as demand for larger ships had grown, so small freighters were attractively priced. A favorable exchange rate also was a factor.
They came in swarms from builders in the United States and Asia in the early 1970s-the fiberglass boats called trawlers by builders and brokers who wanted to project an image of seaworthiness and strength.
The truth is, most of them resembled trawlers only superficially. But boaters loved them then and still do today. For many, they are the perfect boat.