He sauntered into the old saloon made from the timbers of a whaling ship, a tall, grey-haired man in a muted green shirt with a palm tree print and enough gold jewelry to beguile a band of pirates.

Tucking a $100 bill under a hand towel folded on the bar, he announced that he was buying a round for the five people perched on barstools, where we were nursing a couple of bloody marys.

“I’m celebrating,” he said, smiling beatifically. “My mother-in-law died last night. I’ve been trying to kill that bitch for 29 years.”

When the laughter died down, the man told us that he’d had eight wives and fathered 32 children in his native Jamaica. “We didn’t have electricity on the island,” he explained. “We didn’t watch television. So we fucked a lot.”

Well then.

After buying a few commemorative t-shirts from the bartender, the man strolled out to enjoy the remainder of a glorious Sunday afternoon, blissfully unburdened.

Heinold's First and Last Chance Saloon, whose notable past patrons include President William Howard Taft and Robert Louis Stevenson.

Let it never be said that there’s no fun to be had in Oakland. On our way from to the airport to fly back to Seattle yesterday afternoon, we made a detour to the city to see Jack London Square, a touristy area on the waterfront once frequented by the famed author and native son.

Nestled incongruously between the area’s chain stores, restaurants and glassy office buildings is a tiny cabin modeled after London’s spartan quarters in the Yukon. Next to it is the historic Heinold’s First and Last Chance Saloon, built on the site in 1883 from the timbers of a scrapped square-rigger. London reportedly spent a good amount of time in the bar, taking notes for his novels and soaking up the stories of shipmates and stevedores.

The saloon looks much like it did then, its original stove and gas lights still in place, the ceiling blackened from decades of smoke and creosote. The floor has sloped precipitously since the pilings under the building settled after the great San Francisco earthquake of 1906. It seemed only fitting to stop in for a drink, which turned into two, thanks to the largesse of the murderous son-in-law.

What does this have to do with boats, you wonder? Absolutely nothing. But it rivaled boat shopping, the real reason for our trip to San Francisco, as highlight of the weekend.

We flew to San Francisco on Saturday to check out a boat in nearby Vallejo. It occurred to me on the way there that if we keep flying around the country like this, we might as well just go sailboat shopping in Tortola and make a vacation somewhere a little more exotic out of it.

Nonetheless, the trip was worthwhile. It’s impossible to tell what a boat looks and feels like from photos alone, and seeing the layout of an Island Packet 38 in real life answered a lot of questions we had about whether we liked the layout (yes), whether IPs are really as spacious down below as people say (definitely) and if it would make a good liveaboard (probably).

Here’s a photo of the exterior:

 And one of the salon: 

It’s a nicely designed boat in fairly good condition, heavily outfitted for offshore sailing and priced accordingly. Naturally, right after we’d booked our trip to San Francisco, we found the same type of boat for sale in Michigan for less.

The Michigan boat is appealing on several fronts—it’s only been in freshwater, had just one owner and was lightly cruised, got new sails a few years ago and got good marks on a recent survey. It was also outfitted with absolutely nothing, which means we could trick it out exactly as we’d like. That’s definitely a plus.

Marty’s going to look at the boat on the way home from a business trip very soon. I’ll stay home and save the travel fund for more interesting destinations.

We’re hoping one of these boats work out. If not, we should probably take a hiatus from the sailboat search, which can get expensive and time-consuming. But I know that wouldn’t last long. The very next sunny, breezy day we’d be jonesing for some time on the water and once again scouring the boat listings.

On the flight to San Francisco, we sat next to a fisherman, Eric, who talked nonstop about the intracies of the sport and his insatiable thirst for it. He described a few of the techniques he employs, such as brining bait in saltwater and injecting it with herring oil to entice fish. He talked about the thrill of catching a 100-pound halibut and the grueling hour and a half it took to reel it in, about the indescribable pleasure of meditative hours spent on the water.

He had a phrase for his level of obsession. “I’m pretty messed up about fishing,” he told us.

We get you, buddy. We’re messed up too.

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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