The San Francisco boat could be a keeper. It was everything Marty’s salty dreams are made of—a sturdy but pretty tank built for offshore cruising, with efficiently used space, a center cockpit and gorgeous teak throughout.

As Marty quizzed the yacht broker about the rigging, engine and electrical system. I pondered the important questions: Could I really sleep in that odd-shaped bed? How soon could I replace the heinous upholstery in the salon? Why is the fridge so small?

And most importantly, who in the bejeebus would come up with such a ridiculous boat name? (Las Gloria-us. Seriously. Try saying it. Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it? I thought “Camelot” was embarassing.)

Ultimately we decided that despite the awful moniker, it was the right boat at the right price. We came home planning to make an offer as soon as we settled on a price with the guy interested in buying our boat. We even talked about moving aboard the Tayana, which started sounding more and more like a great new adventure to me.

It seemed too perfect to be true—we’d sell our boat and buy the Tayana simultaneously. And of course, it was.

Our prospective buyer was fickle. Just a week after declaring his love for Camelot, he’d found another boat in Mexico, the same type as ours, only cheaper. He was lured away by a tawdry floating siren.

Suddenly things got a lot more complicated.  We tried to figure out how to sell one boat and buy another, and haven’t come up with a solution that doesn’t either risk financial ruin or promise a colossal headache.

We could buy the Tayana and put our boat on the market, hoping to sell it at a time when sailboats aren’t topping most people’s must-have lists. That could leave us saddled with two mortgages (three, counting our house), the thought of which makes me hyperventilate.

We could rent out our house, move aboard the Tayana and try to sell our boat, but finding renters in this economy could be tough.

Or we could try to sell our boat before buying the Tayana, which would likely mean having to leave it docked on weekends so potential buyers can see it—rendering us boatless, which is unthinkable, especially now that opening weekend is less than two months away (and we can’t very well do research and reporting for Three Sheets sans vessel, can we?)

We haven’t come up with a solution yet. We’re hoping the Mexico boat turns out to be but a pale imitation of the lovely Camelot, sending the smittten buyer racing back toward Seattle.

So for now, we’re doing nothing. I’ve put my fantasies about coming home from work, sitting in the cockpit and saying hello to our neighbors, on hold for now. I’m postponing the upholstery shopping, which I’m seriously bummed about (I’d been picturing something dark, maybe an eggplant or olive; white leather would be nice, albeit high maintenance and possibly a tad guido).

Here are a few photos of the Tayana, in case you’re curious. And if you know of anyone interested in buying a well-maintained, beautiful Islander Freeport 38C, give us a shout.

About Deborah Bach

Deborah Bach is the editor and co-founder of Three Sheets Northwest. She is an avid sailor and long-time professional journalist. You can find Deborah aboard Three Sheets, an Island Packet 38, with her husband Marty and their cat Lily.

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