Condor’s Story

It was fall of 2002. Condor was being hauled out just like every fall since 1985. She expected to sit out the winter in the comfort of the marina yard alongside the other boats. Little did she know that things were changing. Spring came, but her owner didn’t. He had come every spring and had sanded her bottom and put on fresh paint. The other boats’ owners came and prepared them for the season and one by one they went back in the water. But Condor sat patiently waiting for her owner to come and get her ready.

The summer came. She could feel the warm winds and hear the sounds of other owners and friends enjoying their boats on the water. She knew he would be there soon. As she waited, she thought back to the fun she had in the past 17 years. Daysailing with her owner and his co-workers, non-spinnaker club racing on Wednesday nights, and even some trips to participate in Sabre events. Those were good times when she was able to reunite with sisters and cousins. Even as she relived those memories in her mind, she realized that more of her memories were of years ago and fewer were recent.

It was late fall when he finally showed up at the yard. He checked her over, made sure that she was still winterized and left. She had spent the whole season setting on her stands and hadn’t been able to enjoy the rush of water against her hull or the warm breezes in her sails. But she still had her memories to get her through the cold winter. And she knew next year would be better. Her owner had recently retired so they would have lots more time to spend sailing.

Spring came again and she eagerly waited for her owner to come. Once again the other boats’ owners came and prepared their boats. And again, one by one they went in. At least she had a few other boats to keep her company. The old wooden ketch right in front of her had been out for many years. Her owner was completely rebuilding her. While the tent around kept her warm in the winter it also prevented her from enjoying the sun and the breezes. Condor pitied her. But at least the ketch’s owner came and spent time with her. Condor was feeling lonely.

Condor spent another whole season sitting in the yard only able to hear the sounds of summer around her. With her stern to the water and the tented wooden boat in front of her, she couldn’t even enjoy watching the other boats. Two years ago, when her owner first retired, there were a few weeks when she would bob in her slip as she watched the other boats enjoying time with their owners. A few times he came down and spent the evening just sitting there. He had commented that finding crew was getting harder since he didn’t have co-workers any more.

The seasons came and went. The sun was burning her sail cover and fading her teak. She could feel herself getting old. The sun had dried and cracked her mast boot and she could feel the rain water trickle down her mast to her bilge. At least her owner had left her battery charger plugged in so she was able to run her pump and pump the water out.

She didn’t like it, but still hoped for the best when he put a ‘for sale’ sign on her stern rail. She had seen other boats get new owners and it seemed to breathe fresh wind into them. And, she was pretty proud of the price he had listed. A few people came by and poked and prodded her. Which one would be her new owner?

One late fall storm shredded her sun damaged sail cover. The fact that he had left her sail on had always given her hope of getting back in the water. Now she was beginning to think there wasn’t hope. The shredded sail cover made her feel neglected. Then he lowered her price. She was a mark down. She had seen this before. There was a boat over at the edge of the yard that had been there as long as she could remember. That boat had been a mark down. And now it just sat there and no one ever came or looked at her. Condor was beginning to feel guilty and sorry for some of the thoughts she had about that boat.

Even though her charger was plugged in, she could feel that her batteries just didn’t have the energy they once had. The sun and neglect were making her feel old. The fitting on her deck scupper broke and the rain water ran down into her quarter berth. At least her pump could still get it out.

The sun had once been her friend, but she was beginning to resent it. Its warm rays were now burning every part of her. She used to love the cool rain pouring down on her. It cooled her deck and washed away the dirt and salt. Now she hated the rain. It found more ways to get into her bilge. It was getting harder and harder to pump it out. She could feel the rot in her quarter berth shelf from the rain water sitting on it.

How could this have happened? Her owner had ordered her after seeing one of her sisters at the boat show. He had traveled to Maine to see her being built. He had owned a smaller cousin, a Sabre 30, and wanted to bigger boat. He had taken good care of the other boat and had even found a new owner to take care of her. This isn’t the way it was supposed to be! How could he do this to her?

It was no longer a tickling trickle of rain coming in. It ran in. With each rain the batteries got weaker and finally died. She could no longer pump the water out. Now it filled and overflowed her bilge. She could feel the rot growing in her plywood subfloor. It was leaving a mark on her wood work. Who would want her now?

Another lower price and a few more people to look at her. She almost didn’t want them to come. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. One person seemed interested in her. Maybe there was hope after all. A surveyor came out to inspect her. These people must be serious! These would be the ones to take care of her and put her back into shape.

As the surveyor poked and tapped and tested, she knew he could see past her leaky ports and rotten floor. He got her pumped out and even started her engine. It felt good to have her engine run even though she knew the algae in her fuel wasn’t good for her. She coughed and sputtered until the algae clogged her fuel filter. Then her engine wheezed and died.

She couldn’t believe the report! Corrosion in her keel, engine died and would need to be replaced, rotten subfloor, leaking ports, broken deck drains. Anyone would back away from her with that report. And that is just what they did. Her potential new owner ran away from her and never looked back. She was alone again.

It had been seven years since she had felt the water on her keel and she knew now that she would never feel it again. Another lower price. Another gawker to point out all her faults. She wished they would just leave her alone. The words from the survey report were still burning – engine needs to be rebuilt/replaced, leaks on all port windows, chainplates need to be rebedded, flooring beneath the mast step is "spongy" with rot, mast/deck joint needs to be resealed to stop rainwater from entering the boat, keel needs repair, all running rigging needs replacing, hull needs faring, sanding, and repainting.

Condor was done. It was just as well that she couldn’t see the water. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. It would be better if she were in the corner of the yard where no one could see her and she wouldn’t have to see anything. Now she longed to be under the old wooden ketch’s tent. She wanted to die in peace. Even her for sale sign had gotten destroyed by the sun and had fallen into her cockpit leaving just the cable ties on her stern rail.

More people. Why can’t they just leave her alone? There was no hope left. Only a fool would want her now, especially after the surveyor had written those words. She didn’t want people looking at her keel. She didn’t want them in her cockpit. She didn’t want them poking at her floor or looking at her engine. Just leave!

Why are they back? Haven’t they seen enough? Do they need to ridicule her more? Couldn’t they see she didn’t want them? What do they mean they are her new owners? Can’t they see that she doesn’t want an owner? And the offer they had made was an insult, though inwardly she knew it was really more than she was worth at this point.

They took off what was left of her old sun damaged mainsail. They changed her fuel filters and cleaned her fuel. The pried up her floor and replaced her rotten subfloor. She had to admit that it felt kind of good to be getting some attention after all these years, but didn’t they know they were wasting their time? This time when they started her engine, it felt good; it purred the way it used to. It also felt good to have the corrosion ground out of her keel.

What probably felt the best was having her leaks stopped and her deck drains repaired. No more water running in when it rained. Now the rain could just wash away the dirt and not run into her bilge.

By the time they had buffed and waxed her topsides and sanded and oiled her teak she was beginning to feel like there may be hope. Her floor had been repaired and all her teak inside had been cleaned oiled. Her bronze seacocks had been rebuilt. Her cushions had been cleaned. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed the warmth of human touch. And then they spent the night with her. Did they really care about her? She hoped they would stay forever.

The old chunky anti-freeze had been flushed out of her Westerbeke and many of her hoses had been replaced. Now it felt really good when they ran her engine. They had replaced her cutlass bearing and had her dripless stuffing box rebuilt. They had even given her a new stainless prop shaft. She could barely wait to spin her prop in the water.

Then the day finally came. The travel lift came over and straddled her. She couldn’t believe how good it felt to be lifted off her stands. The gentle swaying in the slings heightened the anticipation of getting back in the water. The driver slowly positioned her over the water and began to lower her. What was that feeling on the tip of her keel? Water! It had been almost eight years! And now, fully lowered and floating on her own. She had almost forgotten how to float.

Her Westerbeke started and her prop spun. She was moving on her own! Freedom! Free from the stands that had held her for so long. She motored over to a dock and was tied up. It had been so long since she had seen or felt the water. This might be even better than the her original launching. Her water tanks were filled. It felt great to have water in her where it belonged rather than running though her and into her bilge.

What was this? A brand new mainsail made especially for her! So white and crisp! It even had her number and the Sabre 36 logo. Once again they started her engine. She never had any doubts about it running. Okay, she had to admit that she had had her doubts and she had once given up. But those doubts and feelings were washing away as they motored away from the dock. And now they were heading away from Solomons, the place she had called home all her life. They had even removed that from her transom and replaced it with “Baltimore, MD”.

After they motored through the channel they raised her sail. The wind filled it and it pulled her gently forward. She was sailing! Just her and the wind and her new owners. Was this real? It felt so good it had to be a dream! But it wasn’t. She was sailing to Baltimore. She was soaring! Living up to the name her original owner had given her – Condor.