History 3: Auction

Written by J.

March 2, 2010
"Hey, that is 3, 2, 1 0 - must be an auspicious day! Good day for the auction," L. commented as she headed off for work. Although she is certified K-12 in Spanish, she had just been hired until the end of the school year as a permanent substitute in the local school's developmentally delayed preschool. This was great news, but meant that she wouldn't be able to come down and check the boat out, nor advise me at the auction.

Both of us feel very confident in making our own decisions. But when it comes to those decisions that effect both of our lives, and especially the lives of our family, both of us are used to conferring with one another. Though I knew she would be holding me in prayer, I was going to miss having her with me today.

However, Dad (my father) was able to come up. We met in the Anacortes parking lot, and headed down to look at the boat together. There were tons of people, mainly men, wandering around and having a look at the boats. There were four boats being auctioned off that day. The first was a dilapidated Thunderbird with an added on doghouse to the coach roof. It was completely gutted and stripped. Second was an early model Tullycraft, a power cruiser with fiberglass over plywood. The hull looked sound, but would the engines even start? Then there was a Columbia 26 sailboat, that needed a lot of TLC. And finally the Dreadnought.

As Dad and I got there, we took a look around the Dreadnought, checking her out closely. There were a couple of guys down in the engine room, with another standing on the dock. They were testing the engine by moving the flywheel to see if the prop would spin. It did. I took this to be a good sign.
As they wandered off, Dad and I went below and poked around. She immediately smelled of boat, of ship: a mixture of oiled wood and engine oil from the engine room bilge. (The bilges are split into main bilge and engine bilge). We looked into the cupboards, the stove, the engine room, under the v-birth and settees. The ceiling in the v-birth was lying in a pile to be reinstalled. There was a silver cutlery knife on a water tank in the engine room, a few dinner plates, many dessert plates covered in candle wax, two mugs, and a notebook containing all the previous and currently installed equipment owners manuals.

Dad and I took a look deck side. We pulled on shrouds and stays, looked at what we could see of sails, and noticed the pile of chain under a ton of muck on the starboard side deck.
Then we took a walk; a time to think, pray and reflect.

 "What do you think?" he asked me.

"I think she is sound, needs to be cleaned up, and needs new sail covers and a dodger. She could take us anywhere. The v-birth is tight and a bit short, but maybe we put the girls up there, turn the aft-facing navigation station into a quarter berth for the son, and L. and I can sleep on what looks like almost a double to port in the saloon. What we've found in the past is that the kids usually go to be earlier than we do, and we are usually up before them, so this would give us the living space of the boat to use while they are sleeping, or put to bed."

"Sounds like it should work."

"I think so. I remember reading of another boat with a family of five that was set up this way, too. They said they really liked the layout."

We walked back to join the milling crowd as the auction was due to start.


"OK, we are going to start with this fine sailboat right here," said one of the local pastors acting as auctioneer for the marina. He was trying to stand on the Thunderbird without falling off.

"Who will give me $1,000?"

No response.

"Who will give me $900?"

No response.

He got down to ...
"Who will give me $10?"

No response.

Then the marina manager says, "This kid here will give you $7!"

"What?!" the kid says, "I've only got $5"

"I'll give you the other $2 plus tax"

"Going, once ... going, twice ... going, three times. Sold to this kid with the cane! Congratulations, son."

The kid stood there kind of dumbfounded. I'm not sure if at that moment he thought himself lucky or conned into something. At that point, I was fairly confident that with a lot of hard work, and a backyard, the Thunderbird could be brought back to life.

The Columbia 24(?) went in a like fashion. She started with bids for $1,000 and finally sold for $20 to one of the guys who was spinning the flywheel on the Dreadnought. One less guy to bid on the Dreadnought, I thought.

We moved down the dock a bit, flooding the old wooden docks with all of these men.

Butterflies were churning butter in my stomach. But it was time for the power cruiser. I found out at this point that it was an old Tullycraft. They apparently have a good reputation. The bid got down around $40 before two guys started bidding on her, and went back up to $125 before the fellow who had just bought the Columbia also won out there, too.

Then my stomach really did the turning. How many of these guys are here to bid against me? We only had so much money. It might be iffy as it was.

It was time for the Dreadnought.

The auctioneer climbed aboard, and stood just to one side of the stay-sail stay. He was about to start. The marina manager reminded us that this boat was going to start at $5,000, as it was worth at least that. With that, the auctioneer started.

"Who will give me $5,000?"

No one said anything.

I figured, "Why start now, when the others had gone down?"
 
"Will anyone give me $5,000?"

The marina manager, again, stood up and said that the boat was worth way more than that, and this boat was not going to be going down in price.

"I will," someone said.

"Who will give me $5,100?"

"Well, here goes," I thought, and raised my hand.

"Who will give me $5,200?" the auctioneer asked, looking at the first man.

He raised his hand.

"$5,300?" he asked, looking at me.

I nodded and raised my hand.

This continued one hundred dollars at a time.

Finally the other man hesitated. What does this mean? Then he raised his hand and nodded.

Another hundred dollars and all eyes were on me. I agreed. But the other guy kept on bidding. At one point, I remember pausing myself. And I remember distinctly thinking, "What will I tell the kids if I were to go home without the boat? Can I really tell them that it just got to a point where I thought it was too much money? We aren't near our limit yet." So I kept bidding, too.

Then, I made the bid that was $100 short of our limit. "Can I go $100 over? What if our limit is his, too? What now?" and I realized the auctioneer was asking for the second time if the other man wanted to bid at the next $100 mark. I looked over at him. He was looking down at the water, as if in thought. Slowly he raised his head, looked at the auctioneer and shook it no.

I couldn't believe it. We had a boat. I stood there in shock.

I was slapped on the back. I shook hands with the other bidder. I was slapped on the back by yet another person. While shaking my hand, the marina manager told me to come see him when I was ready. A marine diesel mechanic handed me his card. A yacht broker handed me his card. Then I was standing face to face with a large man who obviously worked with his hands, his mind, his entire being.

"Do you know what kind of an engine you got there?" he asked.

"I noticed that it is a Sabb, but other than that ... no."

"Let me show you. You have the same kind of set up that we use on the tug boats."

He took me below, told me how this Sabb engine was made in Norway and Sabb differs from the Swedish Saab. "This is a direct drive engine, just like we use on the tug boats. There is no transmission, just a clutch. There is no reduction gear. You have a 10 horse power engine that probably is giving the same torque as a 50 horse with a 10:1 reduction gear. With the veritable pitch prop you can do anything. What you just paid for the boat is equivalent to what the engine, the shaft, prop - everything down here - goes for on the market. Just your winches on deck are probably worth 1/2 of what you bid. You got yourself a good boat, Son. Now ..." he proceeded to instruct me as to how to check the compression, his recommendation of using Murphy's Mystery Oil to lubricate all the seals and rings, how the engine oil should be black "if its gray that means water got in and you got other problems ..." and more things that I've forgotten under the deluge of friendly information. I've since forgotten this gentleman's name, but I have not forgotten him.

As we came out from below,  Dad was talking with two other fellows. One of them gave us his card and said if we needed any help to give him a call.  I thanked the tug boat captain. The remaining man introduced himself and wrote his name on the back of the business card. He knew the previous owner and some of the history of the boat. We were very appreciative of this information.

After paying the marina, I wished Dad farewell. I walked back down the dock, stepped aboard and called the L. to share the good news.

Then I just sat there, in awe.

There are still days that we can't believe Merganser is ours, or rather that we are her next caretakers. What a blessing. What an honor.