How I became a Welsh coalminer (or, more accurately, how I learned to play one on TV). Part I.

Admittedly, just about everyone I know has sent me a message asking, "WTF?" and "Where the heck are you?" I figure it is time to pony up with the details. Today's topic: How Simon and I bought a concrete boat and ended up living in Wales. This will be a long post as I need to back up about a month, where the story really begins.

The last week of March, after Simon and I looked at Polar Bear II and before we looked at Sharinda, we were combing through dozens and dozens of ads for yachts within our limited budget. Simon wanted a project that we can partially rebuild ourselves, but not such a large project that we'd be consumed by it for the next several years. I wanted something that floated and would bring me closer to the equator. (OK, Simon wanted that, too.)

On a Saturday afternoon, he looks up from his laptop and exclaims, "I've found a 55 footer concrete yacht! It looks like a real bargain!"

"Ha-ha," I replied. "Concrete. Bargain. Good one."

"I'm serious. You can make a yacht out of concrete."

He had my attention now as my feeble mind fought to grasp the concept. "You're joking," I protested weakly.

"No," he said, "they float just like steel or wood. They make strong boats and are more likely to survive an accident than fiberglass." And that is how our strange trip towards a ferro-concrete boat began.

We contacted the owner of the homemade 55 foot ferro-concrete boat. He was in Grimsby and had an accident that prevented him and his wife from fulfilling their lifelong dream of cruising around the world. The boat had been their pet project for twenty years and was 75% completed when he had to give it up. It was a sad story. "This is a good example why," I told Simon as we drove to Grimsby the next day, "we need to get out and sail the world now rather than waiting for someday. Someday may never come."

It was cold and snowing that day. Grimsby was about a five hour drive from London and an industrial wasteland. (The pubs were also all out of food, for some bizarre reason. Every time we walked into one, we were told that they had run out of food. No joke. We ended up at a McDonald's by the motorway and eating in the car with the heater blasting.) "Grimsby is grim," Simon joked.

We toured the boat, which had great potential but was a huge (and I mean HUGE) project. Simon was excited at the prospect but I was overwhelmed by it. You can see my doubt as I peered into one of the cabins which was still a pile of wood. Still, we put in an offer for asking price. Unfortunately, we were outbid.



Grimsby wasn't a waste, though. We began reading about ferro boats voraciously and learned that they offered everything we wanted in a boat. They made strong, stable yachts. They could be abused a bit and didn't require the same maintenance that wood yachts require. They didn't have the same osmosis problems that fiberglass yachts have. They were closest in nature to steel boats, but with slightly less rusting problems and more flexibility in the hull. They were the rough and tumble 4-wheelers of yachts, capable of bringing us around the world in heavy seas. They were also cheap because the material is misunderstood by most yachties. They are not suitable for racing around because they are heavy. They also have the downside that they are frequently made by amateurs in their own backyard, so quality can vary widely. Many insurers are afraid of them and few surveyors know how to judge them. For everything you've ever wanted to know about ferro boats, go to www.ferroboats.com. Still, we were intrigued.

I quickly found a listing for an ugly 38 footer in north Wales. Her name was Julie Anne II and she had real potential. She had the double aft cabin, length and pilothouse that we wanted. In the pictures, though, she was Spartan and my girlie side protested. Simon, however, was again very excited. He particularly liked that she had a bilge keel with two feet on the sides that create a sort of tripod so that the boat could be parked in shallow waters, or even dried out, without supports. We sent an inquiry, but got no response. We telephoned and were told that she had been on sale for a year and promised more information by email. They even told us that they were dropping the asking price from £13,500 to £11,000. But still, they never sent us the information. As it was an eight hour drive to north Wales, we weren't willing to drive up there without hard facts on the build, equipment and history of the yacht.

In the meantime, I found Sharinda and my girlie side rejoiced. She seemed meant to be, as we were able to organize a surveyor, haul out, and a sailing crew on extremely short notice. (The plan, as an aside, was to haul her out on spring tide, when she could get pulled out of her mud berth, have her surveyed, paint on new anti-fouling quickly, return her to the water, and sail her around to the Thames, where we would berth her on Simon's father's mooring. With only a few days before springs and all the surveyors and cranes booked, we thought it was a miracle when a surveyor had a cancellation and the yard was able to fit us in last minute.) Unfortunately, the survey found that she had extensive rot that was concealed by epoxy filler and a lining on the inside of the hull. To be seaworthy, she required approximately £20,000 in repairs, on top of all the electrics and equipment that were going to cost us £10,000. We quickly decided to pull out of the deal.

But, Sharinda, although an expensive lesson, also turned out to be a valuable experience. Alas, our surveyor, who was able to work with us last minute only because of a cancellation, turned out to be the only ferroconcrete qualified and experienced surveyor in all of England! Peter N. Davies was an experienced, sage old man with the gift of gab. He was all around very knowledgeable and impressive. I think he may be the same Peter N. Davies who is a professor emeritus in maritime history at the University of Liverpool, but I can't say for sure. I base this opinion on several comments he made about his work and education (partially at a major university in Chicago) and the fact that he owns, with his brother, several historical square rigged ships, that are still sailing today. (Which, coincidentally, Simon worked on for a couple weeks a few years back!) Anyway, it was like we won the surveyor lottery.

Mr. Davies was concerned that our experience with Sharinda would put us off boats and offered lots of advice on what we should look for in purchasing our vessel. When Simon asked him what he thought about concrete boats, he lit up like a Christmas tree and that is when we learned of his experience in their construction. "Nothing wrong with them!" was his response. He told us a few things to look for, what build history he needs as a surveyor, and added that he was quite impressed by ferro fishing boats built by Roy McCartney in Ireland. He even charged us only half of his fee (as we quit a bit early, once Sharinda became an obvious loss), but he did so out of kindness. Grinning like Cheshire cats, Simon and I drove to Wales on the spot.