“You have to be a little bit crazy,” was my answer to the nice woman at the auction, who asked how I had the nerve to sell all my stuff, buy a boat, quit my job and head for the Caribbean.
“That would make a great title for a book. Is your husband an experienced boater?” I had to admit we’d recently met, and that neither of us were experienced seafarers.
"Make sure you take lots of pictures, and keep detailed notes." Thanks in large part to her sage advice, you're able to enjoy this now.
“That would make a great title for a book. Is your husband an experienced boater?” I had to admit we’d recently met, and that neither of us were experienced seafarers.
"Make sure you take lots of pictures, and keep detailed notes." Thanks in large part to her sage advice, you're able to enjoy this now.

The boat was docked in Florida but the owner was dying of cancer in Denver. Cap contacted Dan, who mailed a few color photos of the boat and included an official-looking Survey, a report of the boat’s condition top to bottom, conducted by an independent professional. King Tut's results were stellar; but considering we were in Oregon I asked the obvious question:
"Don't you think one of us should fly down and check it out first?"
"No need, the Survey's great; and it's the best we can afford. Let's not push our luck."
"Don't you think one of us should fly down and check it out first?"
"No need, the Survey's great; and it's the best we can afford. Let's not push our luck."


Unfortunately, the 1971 boat was too old to qualify for a bank loan so we re-examined our financials: I had a car, furnishings, some savings, an IRA and a wallet full of credit cards. Cap had paid cash for everything, including his properties; therefore credit wasn't established. He owned three vehicles, some furnishings, automotive and woodworking tools, and a verbal promise for $10,000 from his ex-wife, in exchange for keeping their house.

I withdrew the entire amount from my IRA and wired the money to Dan in early August. I didn't bother with technicalities like taxes, for it was my money, used to purchase my first home. I'd argue that rationale with the IRS when the time came. Besides, I was leaving the country so they’d have to find me first.
“Whose name do you want on the title?” Dan asked, and I immediately dictated both. It was proof of my commitment to us; plus it might help protect the boat from tax collectors. I still had the remainder of my IRA for a cushion, so my savings account became the Cruising Kitty.

We expected to try boating for a year to see if we liked it, without ever discussing what we'd do if we didn't. $20,000 would surely be enough to keep us afloat, and Cap said he could pick up work as a carpenter.
"What will I do?" Paint, he dreamily suggested. We still had the vehicles to sell, and planned on a formal auction for the things we could live without. In our bones we knew that neither of us could accomplish this feat alone and it became our strongest bond; which had to continue if we wanted this trip, and we did, very much.

We expected to try boating for a year to see if we liked it, without ever discussing what we'd do if we didn't. $20,000 would surely be enough to keep us afloat, and Cap said he could pick up work as a carpenter.
"What will I do?" Paint, he dreamily suggested. We still had the vehicles to sell, and planned on a formal auction for the things we could live without. In our bones we knew that neither of us could accomplish this feat alone and it became our strongest bond; which had to continue if we wanted this trip, and we did, very much.
Actual boating experience was incidental to our scheme. Cap had owned a party-boat on the Columbia River in Washington, and he was a certified Marine Engineer (thanks to military correspondence courses). A trawler would be easy to learn to drive, and Cap was confident he'd be able to handle most repairs; plus as a former chopper pilot he was comfortable with navigation. We'd be island-hopping after all, not crossing an ocean; at least once we got to the Bahamas.
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Volk's Wagon |


Everything was dependent on a boat we hadn't seen, and as the reality sank in I began having second thoughts. I needed reassurance from Cap of his dedication, and devotion. During a break at work, I gently voiced apprehension about leaving together (without any real commitment remaining unspoken).
"Either of us can bail at any time," Cap said easily, leaning against a tree, field-stripping his cigarette.
I almost swallowed my cigarette, but my heart blocked my throat as I tried to form words. "Bail at any time? What are you saying?"
"Sure. What’s the big deal?”
My chest tightened and I wondered if Tino felt the same just before his heart attack. I returned to my desk like a zombie, and avoided Cap the rest of the afternoon. How could I be so stupid and trusting? What have I gotten myself into?
That evening, following, "What's wrong?" for the umpteenth time, I finally admitted my fear: abandonment, on some island with a boat I couldn't possibly handle by myself. Cap laughed and explained he meant we could bail from our jobs at any time, rather than work 6 more weeks like we'd planned. I didn't find it very funny, but onward, despite my insecurities. We gave notice at work that we’d be leaving the end of September.
I didn’t have a clue as to how much to bring, or what. Dan said the boat had plenty of storage space, much more than other boats, but how much was that? The photos didn’t show the kitchen, bathroom or bedroom.
“It’s galley, head and V-berth,” Cap corrected.
“Whatever…how much can I take?”
He pointed towards the shelves over the washer and dryer: three pine boards, six feet wide.
“You must be joking!” He wasn’t, so I designated three areas and began sorting: boat-stuff on the shelves; cherished mementos packed for storage in the garage; and sell everything else. We paid six months up front on the smallest storage unit we could find, and I would take Tino's ashes and a few other special items back to Mom's in New Jersey. Talk about making difficult decisions, but there was no choice other than ruthlessness.

Fine china and crystal were sold to Replacements, Ltd; hardbacks to used book stores; old vinyl to record shops. I sold winter coats, suits and designer handbags for a fraction of their worth. Cap was having his own difficult decisions.
"Cowboy boots on a boat?"
"A work pair and one other, but I can't decide which." He must have owned ten mostly exotic pairs, including python, ostrich, white snake, rattlesnake, alligator; all broken in. Despite my teasing I could understand his dilemma, for I was having the same trouble with my heels.

"A work pair and one other, but I can't decide which." He must have owned ten mostly exotic pairs, including python, ostrich, white snake, rattlesnake, alligator; all broken in. Despite my teasing I could understand his dilemma, for I was having the same trouble with my heels.
I didn’t care how boat interiors were supposed to look. King Tut was the first home I owned and I wanted it to be homey. Items on the pine shelves included an espresso machine, decorative tins, a favorite watercolor, thick Fieldcrest towels. To keep up appearances: makeup, electric curlers, dry-clean only clothes.
Most everything else, including stereos, TV's, VCR's, paintings, figurines, quilts, tools, Regulator clocks, were to be sold through the gavel. It was strangely exhilarating to shed material possessions. Something Zen about it; definitely freeing.

“But you can’t tell for sure. Is there anything with a Reserve…the lowest bid you'll accept?"
I felt like a fool for not knowing even the basics of something so important to my pocketbook. I spied the jelly cupboard I'd painstakingly painted after Tino died. Took months to finish.
“$400,” I announced, my only reserve item.

The day of the auction arrived. The crowd was small, and most seemed pretty chummy with the auctioneer.
“The newspaper messed up and didn’t print the announcement the first week,” the auctioneer claimed; but they did have a small piece in the paper the day before. He began in the living room. Encouraged not to watch, I waited within earshot in the kitchen as beautiful items received low bids. I couldn't stand to listen anymore so I waited outside.

Cap, sensing my panic, gently led me away to Marie Callendar’s for a liquid lunch. He described our lives in the not-too-distant-future and how relaxing it all promised to be. In my mind I looked great in a bathing suit. It’s not a mistake, Cap reassured. We’re about to embark on something remarkable. Keep your eye on the prize…
"I know; you’re right. I’ll remember those words, no matter how much we get." We returned to the auction.
For everything, except the jelly cupboard on reserve.
Steady, old girl. Cap was a rock, though he was gnashing his teeth over the low bids on his tools. He’d already sold the truck but not the camper. There was no choice now: his Fiat had to go.
Within 6 months of our first date, we were almost ready to leave.
Next up: Florida Bound
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To read from Chapter 1: A Rough Start
Next up: Florida Bound
Don't miss a chapter! Sign up to be notified through email, no obligation, no sharing. Thank you!
To read from Chapter 1: A Rough Start
Wow! I am riveted!
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