I submitted my application for a city-owned boat berth at the last minute. You don't submit an application just for fun, as the application fee alone is 8 euros. And if a berth becomes available, it must be accepted immediately, along with payment for the first year's fee. While filling out the application, I was advised on the so-called correct line that might increase my chances. I had to be ready to accept a berth from anywhere. I could change later if other opportunities arose. Of course, at this stage, I couldn't provide much information about the boat other than the type I intended to buy if a berth became available.
In spring, Helsingin Sanomat reported that there was a redistribution of city-owned boat berths. For the first time in years, 600 berths were up for grabs out of a total of 12,000 in the city. Finally, the day came when I could call the sports department about a boat berth. For a couple of days, I couldn't get through, but then I got lucky. While reading my application, the official informed me that the berth hadn't been granted yet, but since I was willing to take a berth from anywhere, they had one available for me now in Aurinkoranta. Should I accept it? It couldn't have been better luck. Absolutely! Fifteen minutes later, I had the keys to the boat berth. Now all that was missing was the boat.
Spring passed as I browsed online boat listings and inspected potential boats. Anything even remotely interesting was either in poor condition or uncomfortably designed.
Then, on an early morning in May, I spotted the perfect boat at the right price. Time passed slowly as I waited for the courage to call the seller. At one minute past eight, I made the call, only to hear that the boat had been sold. The seller hadn't handed over the boat to the buyer yet; that would happen in a couple of weeks. The seller asked me to keep an eye on the listing, and if it was still available in a couple of weeks, I should contact them again. I hung up the phone in disbelief and took a moment to process what I had just heard. I called the seller again and asked if there was a sales contract for the boat. No. Had a deposit been paid for the boat? No. How does the seller know the buyer will come to purchase the boat in a couple of weeks? They don't know. I suggested that we meet at the boat, and if everything looked as described in the listing, we could make the deal immediately. The purchase price today, without negotiating, is surely better than an uncertain deal in a couple of weeks? The seller asked for permission to call the first buyer and promised to get back to me the next morning. It was a long night waiting for the morning.
The next morning, the seller called and said they hadn't reached the first buyer. We agreed to go and see the boat, and if everything was as it should be, we would make the deal.
It felt like going on a date as I waited for the seller to show me the boat. The boat was in the promised condition, both on the outside and inside. The engine started, and the gear worked flawlessly. It was time to write up the sales contract. The seller told me about the history of the boat – it had been owned by a company, and one person had used it. This person had left the company, and the boat became unnecessary. The seller had bought the boat but realized they didn't have time for sailing. So, they put the boat up for sale without ever sailing it. The seller also explained why they had decided to sell the boat to me rather than the first buyer. The first deal included conditions regarding moving the boat to Central Finland and training. With me, neither was needed, and it wouldn't have been possible because the seller didn't know anything about the boat, and the trailer it was on wasn't roadworthy.
I had a puzzle in my hands and had to quickly understand and learn how it worked. Although I had sailed for a few years, I had always managed to avoid both spring and fall boat chores. In theory, I knew what to do, but how about in practice? I should have joined the engineering students for a drink and to learn some hands-on skills. Now, skipping those work parties really annoyed me.
It was the last day to lift the boats into the water for that spring. I could manage the task with a little over a hundred euros, so I had to be prepared. Plug into the bottom of the boat and connect the cooling water supply tube to the engine. In no time, there was an 11-meter-long, 3.4-meter-wide, 6,000 kg boat on the flatbed of the lifting truck, heading towards the edge of the marina basin. No leaks, so add the 13.4 m / 300 kg mast to the deck and start the engine. The boat was in a winter storage area surrounded by bridges with a clearance of less than 5 m. The mast should be raised later when we reached the home port with a mast tower next to the yacht club. The club commodore assured me that I could use the mast tower, so I had to find someone who knew how to handle it practically.
I had heard all sorts of stories about mast raising, mostly horror stories. Fortunately, an old diving student of mine offered to help as an experienced sailor.
Before that, though, I had to find my way from Verkkosaari to Aurinkoranta using a paper chart. After a two-hour adventure, the home port appeared in front of the Cirrus tower. Coming into the dock for the first time taught me that when reversing/braking, the boat doesn't go straight but turns the stern to the left. This is due to the propeller's rotation, which needs to be taken into account when handling the boat. After a small commotion, the maneuver succeeded better on the second attempt, and luckily, no accidents occurred. The boat was now tied to the home dock, so it was time to raise the mast and tackle the next mystery: what sails would be in the bags and in what condition?
Capt. Simma
Dictated but not read.
