Finding your perfect boat has never been easy. During the pandemic, it’s even harder to kick the proverbial tires.

I’d just finished writing an article and eased myself on the sofa next to my husband, his back arched over a laptop screen. Glen was searching for the perfect boat to take us around the Great Loop; a counterclockwise, coastal and inland circumnavigation of the eastern United States. The boat needed to be seaworthy, comfortable, and possess twin diesels with low engine hours that sip instead of gulp… The computer screen eerily lit up Glen’s face and turning to me, “Take a look at this one.” Back-paging a few clicks, he handed me the laptop and I saw a not-so-new white trawler on the screen before me.

Months of social distancing and holing up in our mountain cabin had us yearning to go out into the world. After all, what could be safer during a pandemic than cruising friendly waters of the eastern United States in our own floating bubble? America’s Great Loop had been on our list of life desires ever since we finished an around-the-world sailing voyage. Living landlocked put that dream to sleep, and shopping for a suitable Loop boat was our first step toward dusting off the cobwebs. Burning the midnight oil, we weigh the pros and cons of various boats and designs; trawler or motor yacht, one engine vs two, and price points of different makes and models. Glen lit into the search with fervor, trying to get us into the “perfect boat” despite a slim selection in our price range.

“This could be the right one.” He said it with intensity and conviction as I ran my eyes over the list of specs. Glen pointed out a few stats under the Propulsion section.

“Advance to the interior photos,” I said, squinting in the dim light of the screen.

Unimpressed by the cave-like sleeping quarters, I shrugged. “Power boats are supposed to be a lot roomier than sailboats. What about the one you showed me yesterday? It had a stateroom layout where you have enough room to make the bed and get dressed. And a living area w a table where I can write. It had a propane stove and oven. And an aft deck for fishing. It looked very livable.”

Shaking his head, “That boat had a filthy engine compartment, a sign of poor maintenance. And I prefer more power — that boat would be lucky to cruise at 6 knots with full tanks. I’d like an engine that could move us out of bad weather or scoot fast across the open water sections of the Loop.”

I sighed. On our sailboat Glen trimmed sails to eke the most speed possible out of the wind conditions.  Now we would rely solely on engines for power, burning fuel at alarming rates depending on speed.  But at least we were making progress. At the beginning of the search, Glen spent days drooling over sleek, late model yachts too large and rich for our budget.  But the boat on the screen looked like a compromise between my desire for livability and Glen's search for mechanical soundness.

“Okay, let me know what you find out from the broker,” squeezed Glen’s thigh and climbed upstairs to my writing loft. Besides, maintenance would fall on Glen's shoulders and neither of us were keen that he spend the coming year in a cramped engine compartment.  The final decision rested on the condition of the boat.

The next day I heard Glen speaking to a broker in Florida. What looked like the perfect Great Loop boat floated at a dock on the other side of the country. My finger traced the distance between our home in northern Arizona and the boat we wanted to inspect in the Florida Keys. “It’s so far…let’s try and find the same make and model someplace closer,” shaking my head at the thought of sitting strapped into a vehicle for four long days, unwilling to risk flying at the height of the pandemic. “Here are some sister ships,” I said, surfing the internet. “One in Texas, one in Louisiana and another in Alabama.”

Calls about those boats were met with, “There’s a sale pending on that boat,” or, “It’s already sold.”

“Can you tell us the accepted offer?” I asked about a promising candidate.

“No, other than to tell you it was very close to the asking price. There is a shortage of boats during the pandemic. Everyone wants to get out of the house. I usually sell 12 to 15 boats a year and have already sold 12 this month. Boat surveyors are backed up for weeks. Good luck!”

Sales of vacation homes, RVs, and bicycles soared after the first months of the pandemic. It looked as though boats too were in demand. It made sense; the Great Loop offered a way to maintain sanity while exploring the eastern United States. Hopefully, once the vaccine rolled out we could include Canada.

The broker in the Keys declared the trawler would go fast. Buyers were making deals based on virtual inspections over video and a survey. Having bought and sold three sailboats, we did not even consider buying a boat sight unseen. The only way to kick the tires, do a sniff test for mold and diesel in places it does not belong, and get the real feel for a boat is to get aboard.

We had witnessed how badly things could go buying a boat without inspecting it in person. During our sailing voyage we based out of New Zealand during the six months of tropical cyclone season in the islands. On the dock in Auckland we met an American couple who bought a boat based on photographs and well written ad copy. The 62-foot steel ketch they purchased sight unseen was rusting badly. The boat required a complete refit, which ended up costing them almost as much as the price of the boat. Whatever happened, I did not want to be that couple. Despite the trouble and expense, we needed to physically inspect the boat. Glen parlayed with the broker, unwilling to send a deposit without clapping eyes on the vessel.

Turning Up the Pressure

“I won’t take the boat off the market but will tell other prospective buyers that someone is coming out to look at it.” Fair enough.

The next morning, Glen and I drove off in our 24-foot RV, armed with audiobooks and a positive attitude. A hurricane had just devastated part of the Gulf Coast, rerouting traffic to the north with long delays. The broker in Florida called to see if we were really on the way, catching us in bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic of downtown Dallas.

“Someone else called about the boat,” said the broker. “Just checking to make sure you are driving down. I’ll hold it. See you in a couple days.”

Driving 12 hours a day we made it to the Florida Keys in record time. Stiff from four days of sitting, I felt like a robot walking awkwardly down the dock, aiming toward the trawler from the photos. Eyeing the boat from the dock, Glen and I paused. It did not look anything like the ads. Chalking, discolored gelcoat, rusted metal fittings and a chunk of fiberglass broken off the transom. None of which was visible in the photographs. My heart sank. Glen and I looked at each other. No words were needed to know we had driven across the country for nothing. I opened the door and we walked aboard, instantly taken aback by an overpowering smell of mold, diesel and the cloying odor of pine deodorizers trying to mask the truth.

The best I can say is, it was a great lesson. After that experience, we expanded our search.  After all, we were close to Ft Lauderdale, the boating capital of America.

Our mad cross-country dash paid off. Star Dust, a Meridian 368, will be our floating home as we explore the eastern United States by water on the Great Loop.  She needs a little love and lot of work, but we can live aboard while fixing her up.  Right now we are checking off a list of gigs, and before long, will join record numbers of like-minded adventurers on the Great Loop in 2021. Hope to see you out there and hear your own boat-buying story.