|M/V Serendipity deserved a brochure to strut her stuff for the right prospective buyer.|
They say the two best days of boat ownership are when you buy and when you sell.
I don’t buy it.
Our first day was almost too surreal to be our best day with her—too good to be true. Serendipity came to us as an unexpected gift—a bit of a miracle from some dear friends, “Tom and Diane” (not their real names), at a time we needed rescuing (see page 26 in 48 North for more about that). She was more than a boat—she represented hope, friendship, home, and adventure. Together we spent idyllic summers on the river off of our favorite beach and explored Puget Sound and British Columbia in summer and late fall. The rest of the time, Serenditiy provided a roof over our heads in a real estate market we could no longer afford to rent in, much less buy. Serendipity took good care of us, and we did our best to return the favor.
|We wanted Serendipity to go to a good “home.”|
“Dash” and her friends, fell in love with her; we could tell she’d be in good hands.
Oh, and selling a boat in a hot market in COVID is bizarre.
Yet Wayne and I are sun-lovers. Last winter, we house-sat to get more light than we could in Serendipity‘s winter covered moorage, also getting in the furry friend time (with kitties and puppies) we couldn’t otherwise get in our nomadic life. Nonetheless, we made a pact to leave the Northwest before winter came around again. Visions of chasing summer by hopping hemispheres danced in our heads. New Zealand, here we come! Or so we thought.
Then COVID-19 hit travel came to a standstill and house-sitting along with it as well as most countries banning US visitors. After much angst, we realized we want to return to the tropics. Serendipity could not take us there.
It was time for us to head off to our respective next adventures. We checked in with Tom and Diane who gifted Serendipity to us. We felt like their adopted kids; they felt like my surrogate parents. They knew our selling Serendipity would make our next adventure happen; they fully supported that.
|A couple of planes regularly buzzed our boat off Collins Beach, Sauvie Island, Oregon.|
Ultimately, our next adventure is returning to sail the West Indies, once those of us from the US are again welcome to do so. We predict that will happen by winter 2021.
|“The Spaceship;” a cement trimaran at Collins Beach, Sauvie Island, our favorite clothing-optional beach.|
Not our next boat, but “moored” in a place we love.
Before that happens, we need to find our next boat.
|A sweet summer eve, touching toes watching the moon rise, anchored off Collins Beach, Sauvie Island/|
|Moonrise as seen from the deck of m/v Serendipity, off Collins Beach, near Portland, Oregon.|
|Watching the freighters go by from m/v Serendipity, off Collins Beach, near Portland, Oregon.|
Boat traffic on the Columbia River makes for an ever-changing view,
even when you mostly stay anchored in the same spot.
Because our goal is to sail in the West Indies, it makes the most sense to us to find a boat in a good location to get us there.
|Keith, my favorite kayaking buddy in Oregon. We paddled the waters around Sauvie Island, especially the Gilbert river area and the surrounding lakes. Kayaking, we saw oodles of eagles, osprey, herons, kingfishers, and large flocks of pelicans. I said goodbye to two of my kayaks this year. Both went to adventurous owners, thrilled to take their new-to-them kayaks out to play.|
These days, that location is Florida.
|Handsome canoe tied off at our weekly summer stopover, St. Helens Oregon’s city .|
|Tom and Kay of Alaskan Seadution. Wayne followed their trawler exploits online |
up into Alaska and up the Columbia River, where it merges
with the Snake River and goes all the way to Lewiston Idaho.
We met in St. Helens Oregon at the public docks.
Still, we knew saying goodbye to Serendipity would be bittersweet.
|Wayne lovingly refinished all Serendipity’s teak decks. |
That and her other brightwork drew lots of oohs and ahs.
Watch for an upcoming digital link to my article in 48 North on Wayne’s deck restoration.
Saying goodbye to friends and family is always hard too, though with COVID, a bit easier given we were saying goodbye to connections largely stymied by the pandemic anyway. As always, I view goodbyes as an invitation to say hello again who-knows-where.
|Collins Beach, Sauvie Island, the volcanically blown top|
of Mt. St. Helens, Washington in the background.
As Terry Jacks sang “We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun. But the wine and the song like the seasons are all gone.” Saying goodbye to summer and our favorite spot and the community there is a little death.
|In our eight-month stint in Florida, this sailboat is the only item|
I purchased there that came back with us from our furnished apartment.
|Tom and Jan in Olympia Washington. |
Tom built a beautiful Ferro cement sailboat now in Guam.
They flew off to return to her October 1st.
Tom’s grease-stained pants were earned fixing up a vintage car.
|Diane and Tom in British Columbia, Canada,|
where I first met them, aboard their boat which became ours.
|Tigger stakes claim on my Mac, as only a kitty can do. Our nomadic life does not lend itself well to pets, |
so when we get in time with kitties and puppies, it’s a rare treat.
|Our new-to-us temporary digs. I refer to it as “a large storage area on wheels.|
It’s a 34′ 1995 Holiday Rambler Vacationer.
|Michael Hoy took this photo from the mast of our last sailboat, s/v Journey|
when we were in the US Virgin Islands. We plan to return to in our next sailboat.