Proteus Archives - Page 2 of 2

The shakedown of Proteus…

Before simply doing, one cannot know certain things. And beyond any other fear, the fear of the unknown is the Chief of Fears. A shakedown cruise on a new sailboat in new waters as a new sailor… it is a time to dispel fears.

We sailed almost 700 miles of learning. And more was learned in these past few weeks offshore than nearly 15 years of sailing and racing inshore. For that matter, the first day out crossing the Thames Estuary, we almost doubled our mileage that we had previously sailed in a single day with Proteus. And the firsts just kept on coming. Here’s a few things we learned from the shakedown…

Proteus is capable

One of our greatest concerns was not quite knowing how far is “too far.” But after handling gale-force winds (and crazy high gusts) and, on occasion, four meter seas, it is becoming apparent that the Hunter Passage 42 is a well-built yacht. How big of a wave can it handle? How much water comes into the cockpit after breaking through a cresting wave? How high can the winds be before that second reef needs to be put in?

Had we been sailing in a mild winter day in the tropics, I’m not sure we would have known such things. We needed to surf a breaking wave over the bar into Salcombe Harbour. We needed to run before the wind in an Atlantic gale. We needed to sit on a Cowes mooring ball and feel the motion of the crossing tide and the winds against us. And we needed to dodge all those silly crab pots in the cold, clammy darkness and have the dolphins lead us into the harbour. How else would we have known these things?

High-latitude winter sailing sucks

If the theme of this post is “find out by doing”… then I know what I don’t want to do anymore of: sail above 50ºN in the winter. Most of the time it feels like sailing inside of a sock in a broken washing machine. It is wet. It is cold. It is dark. The weather windows are measured in hours rather than days. And the weather can be quite severe for many days on end. The south coast of England is absolutely beautiful, but we did not see much of it beside what was visible during the 7.5 hours of daylight. A 0600 departure time left us with two more hours of total darkness, then about an hour of dawn-ish blur, followed by only about six hours of usable daylight – with the sun skimming along the southern horizon – then a rather lengthy dusk and twilight… to total darkness around 1630 or 1700.

It is no wonder we were the only boat in the harbour and harbour masters kept telling me: “Take any available spot, we’re not busy this time of year.” We were the only crazies out in December moving a boat on the English Channel.

Some people love it. Some people swear that sailing in places like Scotland and Norway is unbeatable. And even though Proteus is built for a certain amount of high-latitude sailing – having so many redundant heating systems on board – there’s only so many layers of pants you can put on while out on deck. Still, there’s a reason why “they” always say of high-latitude anchorages: “We had the place to ourselves!” even in the middle of the summer. It just isn’t enjoyable enough to want to keep submitting ourselves to the bad parts…

…speaking of which:

Seasickness is miserable

Again, I blame the season on this one. I know, it happens to everyone at some point, but a combination of the Atlantic swells and the darkness and the wind direction and the inconsistent motion makes for a perfect storm of conditions to unsettle the most concrete constitution. It hit Lynn the worst, but we both suffered from it at least a few minutes on almost every passage. Particularly around nightfall when everything gets good and disoriented, that Blah Feeling would set in.

Sucking on things like peppermints and Fisherman’s Friend was surprisingly effective. Also, the Dramamine/Bonine pills would hold it at bay. Now we’re moving on to the Scopolamine patches. I really can’t imagine normal seas being so upsetting, though. I can only hope that 40ºN will see those patches in the medicine bag along with our third layer of socks.

Interesting thing we learned, though, is that if you eat easy-peeler clementine oranges while you’re seasick… it makes it far more pleasant when it comes back to visit.

Keep thy waste tank under control

Whether you take the far offshore option and pump overboard or take the far grosser option and pump out, one must – and I stress: must – keep away what we call “The Phantasm.” One night, a certain of our party simply flushed the forward toilet… and the resulting tiny pressure release (burb) actually caused a smell so violent and evil that it literally woke me up… in the aft cabin with the door closed.

What is the reverse of “Batten down the hatches!”?

Now, I don’t mean to be indelicate, but I’ve traveled in some places where I have experienced some wildly disgusting things: a blackwater tank surpasses all. The next day we took care of the issue and have been very careful about it ever since.

On a similar note, vinegar is amazing for keeping toilets clean. And it keeps away the Phantasm (for the most part). But it is vinegar… it is good for everything.

Things break

And maybe it is not that they “break” as much as they “wear out.” When you purchase a 20 year old boat, you’re also purchasing all its problems along with all the things that are reliable about it. Before our Transatlantic in a few months, I have a multi-page list of things that are going to be fixed, adjusted, updated, replaced, or just slathered in lubricant.

For example: the Hunter Passage 42 was built with no red lights. And, of course, 20 years ago, LEDs weren’t something that could be found on the consumer market. Finally the price is coming down and it is affordable to replace old bulbs with completely new low-amp LED fixtures.

Sailing is ACTUALLY enjoyable

In nearly 700 miles of sailing the entire south coast of England from Ipswich to SE Ireland, we only have had ideal conditions twice for a combined total of less than six or seven hours (or so). Coming out of Brighton, we had beautiful conditions with actual sunlight and full sail. Also for a few hours sailing by the Needles out of the Solent and toward Portland Bill, we actually felt the sun. The rest of the time – weeks worth of time – was conditions that ranged from mildly depressing to literally vomitous.

But for those little glimpses of time without full foulies on, it was truly enjoyable. And, not to sound like a fair-weather sailor, but… I mean, come on. When seven foot seas become the average rather than the exception, it makes it difficult to be functional let alone enjoy the ride. Of course, there are going to be good days and bad days on board, but the amount of Suck involved appears to be substantially more profound in the high-latitudes.

It is possible to eat well

I think a common misconception that we have heard put to us many times as a question is: “What do you eat?” On this trip, we regularly had tortellini, fajitas, or any number of pub foods with real fresh fruits and veggies on the side. Our gimbaled stove can handle about 30º of heel before maxing out which should take care of most normal tossing. We do eat quite a bit of soup or cold-cut sandwiches, but I think we do pretty well considering the prevailing conditions.

It is really (REALLY!) hard to see at sea

I’m not necessarily referring to the simple fact that it is dark: it is a profound, deep darkness that crosses into the physical. Not to be dramatic, but I mean it: you can just about feel the darkness. If you see a light, it is anywhere from a few feet to a few miles away. And often, you’ll watch the light for hours and hours as you approach it. Is it a boat? How big is it? Why are two buoys when there should be three; where’s the other one!? Is that the leading light? Is that light green or white? The cruising newbie in me was not fully aware of the amount of awareness it takes to move a 42ft yacht in a straight line from “here” to “there” beyond the horizon. Now I understand.

And don’t even get me started on the fog: 100ft visibility in a seaway is freaky.

Everything takes more effort on passage

There’s nothing inherently difficult about sitting at the dock. But practically everything is more difficult underway. Wanna stand up? Nope! Wanna go to the toilet without falling in the floor? Nope! Wanna get warm? Yeah, right! How about making a sandwich? Get the mustard all over the cockpit! Tie a simple bowline knot? Have some random intense nausea in 3…2…1…

But seriously, if not dealt with or taken into account, passages like this can be frustrating just due to the amount of effort it takes to do simple tasks. The mood onboard can quickly sour when frustration is allowed to fester and overflow. It is worth being careful for more reasons than just avoiding injury.

We miss Proteus… and worry about her

Proteus is not some unorthodox vacation house, it is our home. It has nothing to do with the fact that we have the world’s most comfortable bed and we get gently rocked to sleep every night. Nor is it related to the amazing variety of locations she takes us to. Being away and hearing from the guys taking care of her is like hearing from a child at summer camp. Or maybe it feels like we had to tie our puppy to a tree and leave it for a month. (Yeah… “awww…” is how we feel, too!)

It is a very strange feeling, in all honesty. But how would you feel if you left your house for a month? More than simply, “Oh, did I remember to turn the gas off?” we deal with thoughts of, “Oh, I wonder if a rope will break and she’ll float away?” or, “I wonder if we will return to her with the floorboards floating?” Owning and maintaining and living aboard a big yacht like this requires us to look at the situation as if we are caring for a living thing. She needs to be fed and kept warm and secure. I think some look at owning a yacht is equivalent to owning a car or a pleasure boat typically found on American lakes: it is wildly different.

Conclude…

Sailing is far from moving a boat. But before actually doing it, I had no idea how far from “moving a boat” this stuff actually is. Sailing and passagemaking is an enormous combination of things, both comfortable and uncomfortable. Nobody should be under the impression that it is all easy or relaxing: it is a lot of work.

I cannot wait to get back on the water…

Between the storms: Ramsgate, Brighton, Cowes, Dartmouth…

By: Noah D.

Since our last post from Ramsgate, we’ve been clocking up the mileage. Ramsgate… past Dover in the wee hours of the morning… to Brighton briefly… then a brisk blow into the Solent and a stay at a buoy in Cowes… and finally, a really long haul all the way to Dartmouth in which we dodged crab pots, fishing trawlers, and motorsailed against the current to get us on the Dart River around 0330 in the morning.

For the past few days, we’ve been reveling at the beauty of this place. Ye who hast never been outside of London has never been to England.

I, now, am the sailboat out at sea that is seen from Brighton, from the Portsmouth ferries, from across the twinkling hillsides of Dartmouth and Kingswear. Out of season and miles from shore, we are the sailors who are continuing on our way long after the sun goes down.

And, let me tell you… I’m not sure I understood darkness until I sailed at night for the first time. This is darkness you can feel. Even a large city on the horizon casts no glow far enough to reach Proteus. On a moonless sky, you can only see the deck of the boat and practically nothing else. Luckily, we had the moon with us crossing from Portland Bill to Dartmouth, but not so from Ramsgate rounding Dover. True darkness and miles from shore.

Ferries, I understand now, are sneaky: gigantic oceanliners, they can go from being a tiny spot on the horizon to filling your view in minutes.

But we have had some seriously good sailing days. Coming out of Brighton, we were under full sail and making great time. Also, leaving Cowes and sailing through the Needles, we almost touched 10kts over the ground with a four knot tide. Had we a little more wind, we could have easily hit double digits.

Now, we are waiting for the dreaded “Weather Bomb” to move through. It has dumped literally 50 foot waves into far northern Scotland. Some places have flashed into three digit windspeeds up north. Disgusting. But tomorrow, we will be moving on from this amazing place that we have really fallen in love with. Leave, we must.

Our clothes are clean and we are warm and fed well. The winds howl outside for a few more hours before we head farther west. Next, we are headed for Lands End and the 140nm passage in open ocean to Ireland beyond. Our time in England has drawn to a close.

For that, stay tuned…

We crossed the Prime Meridian, btw. We’ve done it dozens and dozens of times, of course, because it is in London. But this time, we sailed across… Proteus is now in The West.

Oh, and I don’t want to forget to mention: we were boarded by the Border Force! Right off Portland Bill, we saw a ship that inspired the comment: “That looks a lot like a battleship.” Well, it was a Border Force patrol boat. About that time, they launched a tender that quickly intercepted us. They boarded and we had a nice little chat, they checked all our papers, and left us in peace. Honestly, it was a rather pleasant experience and the crew was utterly professional. Of course, we had to wipe off a few heavy bootprints off the teak, but they’re doing their job and we were just passing through.

Final days before entering the largest pond…

By: Noah D.

Four more days.

I suppose, other than the constant days out sailing in all manner of conditions, it does not feel like we’re about to leave for a 700 mile trip to Ireland on Sunday. We’re getting tons of work done on the boat, making a few minor upgrades (like a super-high volume bilge pump) and getting things serviced (like our life raft). But we would be completely remiss if we didn’t attempt to keep our home feeling like a home.

Lynn has gotten Proteus into the holiday spirit by decking us out with some lights and our Christmas decorations (sans tree). She has said regularly that this boat is our home and it should look like we live here. There is nothing stark or sterile about it. It is lived in. And loved. And loved in.

But, finally, the first leg of our trip to the USA is coming up fast. And part of that process from the beginning has been getting “certified.” You might have seen it on the Twitter if you’re following us there, but I got my International Certificate of Competence from the RYA. It required a day of hanging out with our new friend Mick Meadows from East Anglian Sea School and running dozens of practical and theory exams.

Lynn says that she is not nervous about the coming passage. She says that she doesn’t know why she should be nervous. All the things we have done over the past few months have been driving toward the beginning of this trip. And it is here. I’m only nervous – maybe “nervous” isn’t the right word at all, though – because it is the beginning of something that I have dreamt of doing for as many years as I can remember. We are examples of setting your mind to something, surrounding yourself with good friends and good family to help you on your way, and then actually going and doing what you say you’re going to.

It is all about the doing.

I had never touched a sailboat before I bought my first tiny dinghy for a couple hundred dollars: a 12 foot sloop rigged Alcort Puffer. The old harbor master (Ernie) at Browns Creek Sailing Marina in Guntersville, Alabama, helped me set it up for the first time and get it into the water. Then, with me sitting in the boat and him standing on the dock, he briefly said things like, “Put this here… do this… hold that… do this when this happens and when this happens do this…” Ernie then shoved me off the dock and walked away, and that’s where my life sailing began.

Now we are about to kick ourselves off a dock in England and sail across an ocean that was once considered to be the end of the known world less than a millennia years ago. The scale of Ernie’s impromptu, “Put this here… do this when this happens and when this happens do this…” has multiplied immensely. Such is the nature of all life, is it not, and the evolution in the life of man? All start in a small pond – perhaps even a puddle – then move down the stream into the lake, then onward, each time looking at the next body of water as being a million miles wide and almost as deep. This time, though, we and Proteus are entering the realm of the largest pond: a realm in which even the biggest fish cannot fathom its vastness. We sense the presence of this next step drawing near. And this Sunday, after one year, two months, and 15 days in England, we will be kicking off the dock with as little pomp and circumstance as we arrived, and setting off to sail home in the west, somewhere beyond the end of the earth.

To see what happens next, I hope you’ll stay tuned…

The better direction planning…

By: Noah D.

“If everyone’s worst problem was thrown into a pile together, you might have trouble getting yours back.” ~my mother

So long ago that I can’t even find it, I wrote an article about plans. The gist of it was that, if I had done exactly what I intended to do with my life immediately after graduating high school, I would have been letting myself down. I could have never expected what I’ve done at my mere 28 years of age.

Now… …over the past few months, and in an uncharacteristically forward thinking act, Lynn and I have been developing a plan for the next few years. Let’s call it “The Three Year Plan.” This plan included staying in England for Lynn to finish her degree. This would allow us to both get visas that would expire in approximately three years (end of 2017). She would go to school; I would work. We would sail and live on Proteus during this time, save money, and get ready for the moment when we would sail away at the end of our “England Years” and spend a little time (or a lot) doing some serious cruising.

As of now, all that little plan is breaking down. Proteus is fine. We are fine. But my visa is not.

Essentially, a relatively obscure fine print in the vast tome that is the UK Immigration Law is preventing me from getting a visa with Lynn. She can get a visa. I cannot. She can stay until 2017. I cannot. But, in her words, “I don’t care where it is. Where you go… I go.” There is a chance that I could sue to remain with her; however, the success of such a thing in such a legalistic society is quite remote. Pleading with a judge based on “…but, we want to be together because… love!” only works in Disney movies, not immigration court. These appeals also take a long time to go through. There’s a slightly higher chance that I’ll meet a miracle man (or woman) and someone will hire me, qualifying me for a different type of visa that is separate from Lynn’s. These other visas are based, by and large, on qualifications and the amount of money you make in the job that someone promises you.

But these chances are exactly that – chances – and we must prepare for contingencies. All things change for those who wait.

A new direction…

The foundation of the Original Plan – of which Proteus is a major part – is still solid. More than solid, actually. The unforeseen visa dilemma, though, has gutted the middle part of the plan. Like the long Tetris piece perfectly fitting to complete and vaporize a whole four-row section all at once, the “three year” part of this plan has vanished and everything above it has fallen to meet the base. Sailing away from England in the Winter is becoming a distinct reality.

Not only a distinct reality, but a matter of days away. Over the past few weeks, we have fully moved our entire existence into Proteus. As recently as yesterday, even, I closed out our small storage unit and got rid of the final few items that could not fit in the boat. In a few days, the final few things tying us to the UK will dissolve and we will be a little island of our own. The first week of December, we will be sailing Proteus out of the UK and into a non-British country (Ireland) before Christmas. After Christmas, we will begin our trek home… and that is where things get exciting.

Sailing plans are normally written in sand, as the old saying goes, but we have established a tentative schedule. For now, the end of our route is definitely a return to Haiti, the uber-beautiful Ile-a-Vache. We should be there sometime in late-Spring. And then – eventually – we will see what we find after that point. We’ll likely find jobs doing something and Lynn will finish her year or so of school…

…and then… I suppose there are no limits to where we could go. I feel as though we are entering the serendipitous realms of such storytelling sailors as World Tour Stories (who just had a similar abrupt change of plans), White Spot Pirates, Matt & Jessica (also changing plans), Delos, and so many others. We rather aspire to similar good fortune in their travels.

And finally, it must be said, when all this stuff started going down, Lynn and I discussed having two bedrock-solid factors in our lives: each other… and our Proteus. I hope you’ll stay tuned… because there’s absolutely no way of knowing what is coming up next.

“Remember that sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck.”
~Dalai Lama

Out and about (sailing) on the Orwell River…

By: Noah D.

Now that our time in England is winding down, Lynn and I are spending most of our time on Proteus. And, every chance we get we are going out of the Prince Philip Lock and onto the River Orwell.

And today was the best yet. Not only did we really get to put the giant genoa up for the first time – the previous trip was motor only because the furling equipment wasn’t 100% put together yet – but the day was just beautiful. The previous day (Halloween) was one of the warmest on record for the UK. And a brilliant sky. It continued into today…

The above photo is colored a little weird because it was shot through the heavily-tinted skylights. But it gets the point across how enormous the headsail is.

And, no, we didn’t put the main up yesterday because we are sorting some technical issues out with the stack-pack sail bag. Even so, with only the genoa up, we were pulling at 5kts in just over 10kts air. I was quite surprised, actually. It was pushing us much faster than some of the 20ft-30ft boats out on the river, too.

But, it is not about the speed. It is just about getting out on the water and spending time with the boat. We’d be out again today, but I’m sitting watching the rain fall onto those same skylights. Proteus keeps us dry and warm.

Stay tuned…

In the water at last: Proteus relaunching…

By: Noah D.

Proteus has now been in the water a full two days. Finally.

No joke, I’m sitting here at the salon table trying to work and I’m being gently rocked to sleep. The lines are creaking. The wind is whistling lightly. Yeah… two days.

We’ve been living in treehouse mode for about two weeks prior to our launch a couple of days ago. And for that time, we’ve had all the usual amenities on shore power except for the air conditioner (which we use in reverse cycle for heat and dehumidification) and normally flushing toilets. Oh, and it feels just like a treehouse: climbing up a ladder and a 15ft drop to the ground from the deck.

All things considered, though, it was a relatively nice way to move in. It made everything fairly convenient (except the climbing the ladder thing) and we both got a taste of what it was like before we had to worry about all the other things like keeping the boat tied to the dock and making sure it doesn’t sink.

The Relaunch

The relaunch, though, was one of the more bizarre things I’ve seen in a while. It isn’t that I’ve never seen huge boats being driven around by marina hoists – I grew up around this stuff – it is just that I’ve never seen MY boat being driven around by marina hoists. Any boats previously have just been large enough to drive around on a trailer and just back down into the water in a slipway. Alas, no more. It is on the scale of a minor industrial operation to move this boat.

All of Lynn’s and my “stuff” was being carried around and then dropped into the water.

But Proteus handled it as if it was no big deal. Just another day at the office for her.

Wow, now that’s a game face…

Coming into the berth for the first time.

Interestingly enough, with both water tanks full (150 gallons) and a full tank of diesel, Proteus still sits a few inches above her waterline. It is kind of nice to know, actually! Literally everything we own is in the boat and its cumulative weight (plus the two of us) doesn’t make much of a difference.

I’m interested to see what happens when we load up for a jaunt across the oceans.

A Little Jaunt

Proteus relaunching was such an exciting thing to witness, but simply floating is not the purpose of a boat. Without so much as a stitch of sail on the pole – it was only about 4-6kts of wind yesterday, anyway – we went a couple of hours down the river here and back to our berth. We called the Prince Philip Lock controller on Channel 68 and out we went!

One thing we found out about Proteus‘ cockpit dodger is that the front screen is a little difficult to see through. At times. It isn’t fogged at all, it is just a little glare-y and wrinkled. It would not be a problem if we were not looking for buoys. In the middle of the ocean, it probably will be just fine. That being said, my first major purchase or physical modification might be a hard dodger/windscreen.

That’s about it, though. I suppose the most exciting visual is the huge Orwell River Bridge. And some waterfowl. We went about halfway down the river to 52ºN and turned back, ahead of the rain. A total of 9 miles. I hope you’ll stay tuned for when we hit double digits. And triple digits. And quadruple digits. It won’t be long.

Stay tuned…

Proteus, the name…

By: Noah D.

The minute we had settled on the Proteus name, I got the vinyls made. They’ve been sitting in a box for almost the past month, but got the old name off and put the new name on.

Of course, they are a little larger than USCG spec, just to make sure. And we also settled on putting “Guntersville, AL” on the transom as our home port. A little home-town pride, perhaps? Definitely a conversation starter in a British marina.

The vinyls are just perfect – though simple – and spectacularly done. I shopped around a few different companies and opted to go with the uniquely named Funky Monkey Boat Graphics company. They’re a UK company and apparently have a great quality for a fair price.

I did my own design, though, and, if you blow up the photo, you can see there is a little drop shadow on there. Not exactly complicated, but the drop shadow uses a global light originating from 45 degrees forward of the bow: the drop shadow “drops” towards the aft of the boat on both sides… and on the rear, the drop shadow is directly underneath.

Simple, really. And probably nobody is going to ever notice it. Not all of design is making pretty logos: sometimes it is just thinking through its destined location.

In other news, we’re still on the hard and have been delayed a few days for technical difficulties with the marina hoist. When it comes to lifting our home, I’m not complaining that they take a little more time to get it repaired properly.

Stay tuned…
-Noah D.

Moving aboard…

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By: Noah D.

Pardon the lack of posts these days, but… we’ve been finally moving things aboard Proteus.

Honestly, I’m being better about posting to Twitter (@sailelement). And much of it I blame on the lack of stable internet for the moment… but that shall be rectified soon. Now a few nights in and we’re getting settled.

The exciting part is that everything will have its place. Finally. And if it doesn’t have a place, it doesn’t stay. It is starting to be an effective purging device for “extra stuff.” Moving aboard should be a liberating process, I think.

The shame of it is that we were expecting to put Proteus into the water this week, but due to the annual maintenance of the marina hoist, we have to wait a bit longer. Maybe a couple of days? I’m not complaining, though: when lifting 24,000lbs I really want the lift to work.

Otherwise… even though we are a few more days as a treehouse, it will allow for a few more projects to get done before the splash. For that, stay tuned…

On buying and registering a boat as an expat…

By: Noah D.

Now, there is absolutely no reason to take what I am about to say as any sort of legal advice. This is simply a record of my experience with the fact that I am a US citizen living in the UK on a visa, purchasing a boat in the UK, with the intent to keep (and use) the boat in the UK for an extended period of time… and then go sail it around the world. Eventually.

Contrary to what the forums would have you believe, it is not rocket science to purchase a boat overseas. The whole process is merely checking boxes. Is that an oversimplification? Not really, to be honest with you. All that matters to the guy checking all your documents is that you have all the boxes checked.

The problem comes with knowing which boxes to check. And, good lord, are they spread far and wide.

Purchasing a Boat

A boat or yacht, for the most part, does not fall under the typical categories of purchased goods. I say for the most part because in some instances a boat is a “possession”… in some places it is an “asset.” But lets not get bogged down in that quite yet. The thing to know is that purchasing a large(ish) yacht is somewhere between buying a house and buying a car. It is not a house because it is fully mobile, but it is not a car because it is even more mobile than a car and is governed by different laws (mainly related to international conventions). In more ways than not, you may compare a yacht purchase with the purchase of a private aircraft.

A US citizen can purchase a boat in the UK. Or practically anywhere in the world, for that matter. The exchange rate is fickle, but that’s one of the things that any expat will grow accustomed to. I strongly suggest dealing with a reputable broker, like our friends at Burton Waters in Ipswich, UK. A good broker can be your best friend in a complicated issue like this. They’ve done it hundreds of times and will do it a hundred more.

Dealing with a broker feels a little like dealing with a good name-brand car dealership. There should never be any high-pressure sales tactics or shady business going on. But the negotiation process will feel similar. My last car, bought new, cost literally less than a fifth of what Proteus costs, but the whole process seemed familiar and was handled in the same way. Offers are made, counter-offers are discussed after going behind closed doors with the business manager, etcetera etcetera.

The biggest factor with international yacht purchases will be the fact that you will be almost certainly turned down for a mortgage or a loan from a UK agency. As a US citizen on a visa, you’re just too much of a risk. (…unless, of course, you’re making heaps of money.) For all intents and purposes, wherever the money is coming from (personal loan, equity, boat mortgage) you’re going to be paying cash for it as a huge bank transfer. (NOTE: Lending agencies like BoatUS often have a policy in their fine print of only loaning money to boat purchased in the USA. Keep this in mind.)

Otherwise, the process is extremely similar to buying a boat anywhere, even at the boat dealer in your home town. After putting a security deposit down, you sign your “intent to buy,” you get the survey done from a licensed marine surveyor, you do sea trials, you agree to the terms of payment, you make the payment, you finalize the transaction, you get the paperwork and the keys to your new – or new to you – yacht.

Value Added Tax (VAT) and Sales Tax Considerations

The European Union and the European Economic Area have this thing called VAT. It is akin to sales and use taxes in the USA. However, what people have difficulty understanding is that VAT is a transaction tax tied to the importation of the thing (boat, camera, table, etc) into the EU/EEA. Thankfully, the powers that be have made this VAT a one-time thing when it comes to boats. So, with your purchase, you get a little piece of paper – essentially a receipt – that says that the VAT is paid on your boat and, as long as you do not keep it out of the EU for a really long time or resell it outside the EU, the VAT PAID status will stick.

Proteus, though she is a USA-built vessel, had her VAT paid by the previous owner when it was registered in the UK after being kept in Guernsey. (Guernsey, in the Channel Islands, is not technically in the EU.) That means that the boat is already imported, so the fact that the yacht is changing hands to a US citizen is largely irrelevant as far as HM Revenue is concerned.

We will get our comeuppance, however, when we decide to eventually move Proteus to the USA. On arrival – not on documentation or registration – the customs official is likely to have his hand out for us to pay a 1.5% import tax on the purchase value of the boat. That said, we MIGHT have some alleviation with this because the boat was originally built in Florida, but… I’m not going to get my hopes up.

Registering a Boat

Again, contrary to what the internet forums would have you believe, yacht registration mustn’t be so complicated. Nor must it be done with anxiety or lived with with insecurities. In brief, an American citizen cannot legally register a yacht in the UK. People out there will tell you that “As long as you have a UK address, nobody every checks.” Be that as it may, do you really want to gamble that? And there’s another factor…

The most important thing in dealing with registration/documentation is to have everything “look right.” And, by “look right” I do not mean doing anything to deceive anyone. This is what I mean: “A US citizen, with legal authority to live/work in the UK (visa), is on a boat which he legally owns and is legally imported into the European Union (VAT paid) and is legally registered with the US Coast Guard and the state in which he legally resides.”

Perhaps I’m being too by-the-book, but there is just so little to be gained from deceiving anyone: I could not care less about anecdotal evidence on forums. And, when cruising around Europe, I don’t want to be dreading the customs official raising his eyebrow at my helter-skelter registration paperwork.

So, all that said, here is what is legal for an American expat, buying and registering a boat in the UK. When you have all your paperwork (title, bill of sale, etc), document the boat with the USCG and register the boat in your home state with a US address. It takes a few days to get the paperwork through, but it isn’t too hard. You’ll have to claim a name and home port and have these inscribed on the hull. And the USCG will give you a documentation number that must be affixed to the interior of the boat somewhere.

Secondly, registering your boat in your home state shouldn’t be difficult considering the fact that most UK visas are not technically “residency” visas, meaning that you will maintain some legal residency in the USA. Most people stick with their parents for simplicity – and cheapness – sake. Anyways, to register the boat in your state, all you have to do is take the paperwork (bill of sale, title, etc) to the county courthouse and register it just like you would a little fishing boat or a daysailer. You’ll be given a sticker and a registration number. Here’s where it gets different: the sticker goes on the boat in a conspicuous location, but the state registration number is actually NOT LEGAL to put on a USCG documented boat. (I think it is better anyway: keep those ugly-ass numbers off the hull!) The only numbers that go on the boat is those that the USCG gave you for the interior. Mine are next to the nav station, glued on tightly.

As for off-shore registrations or LLC’s? Personally, I’ve never been to the BVI, but I could easily register my boat there. Still, some people swear by them as a practical alternative. I can’t help but feel like it is a tax dodge. I also don’t see it as “simple” because of all the following cost and tax oddities involved. The cost and frustration and legal maneuvering is definitely higher (at least every option I saw was). Is it legal? Yeah, I guess. But you might want to be careful next time you’re bemoaning Big Business CEOs for tax sheltering in the Caymans while your boat is flying the flag of Macau…

Insurance Matters

You guys slay me with all your non-insured boats out there. I tend to be a bit of a free spirit, but it just seems reckless. The problem comes from the fact that a US registered boat won’t be getting insurance from small-time UK insurance agencies anytime soon. I mean, it only makes sense. And not all US insurance agencies are going to insure a boat 5000 miles away. Your choices are limited.

Personally, we are with Yachtline. There are others, but we are more than pleased with them. They’re a major company, and I believe they’re backed by heavy-hitter Lloyd’s of London. And they’re very fair about our cruising range: pretty much the entirety of northern Europe and the British Isles from Brest to the Elbe. We pay less than 1% of the surveyed value of the boat per year for full coverage and liability. Paying a little bit (tiny, in the grand scheme of yacht ownership) a year or risk completely losing a six-figure boat that we love as much as Han Solo loves the Millennium Falcon? I just cannot justify the risk.

Another factor that came in to play was that I lacked my official International Certificate of Competence. Some insurers I talked to was wary of me because of this and a few gave me insultingly high quotes accompanied with severe range restrictions. If you’re an expat with a big boat in international waters, you’re certainly entering into specialty insurance and some insurer’s prices reflect this. I’m working on taking the RYA tests all the way up to Yachtmaster Ocean (even though I’ve been on the water most of my life), so at least that’ll be one more thing that cannot be held against me.

Accessory Registrations

Just like most places in the world, you’ll need your VHF registered with the FCC (for the US) which is accepted in the UK. This is one of those grey areas, too, but keeping all the registrations in the same country just feel a little less fishy to the guy checking your papers. The FCC has a surprisingly straightforward application process (for a government agency that regulates a very complicated thing). You should be able to get your call-sign and MMSI number with minimal suffering.

I mentioned it earlier in my insurance negotiations, but… The thing that is accepted everywhere, and I personally recommend, is all those licenses and yachtmaster classes to put towards your International Certificate of Competence. The RYA itself is a veritable treasure trove of information on all things boat education and, as a member, you have unlimited access to all their resources. There are tons of private (but RYA authorized) training centers in London alone. My personal favorite is CitySailing. Paul, there, has been amazingly helpful and I cannot recommend it enough.

Believe it or not, if you have a state boating license (required to operate a boat in most US states) it is looked upon somewhat favorably by the powers that be internationally. It certainly is not an ICC – not even close – but it is better than nothing!

Conclusion

In the end, it all comes down to the fact that you have a very expensive thing, capable of moving across international borders, and there must be a certain amount of regulation involved. The idea behind having such a ridiculous thing as a passage-making yacht is to actually use it and make some passage. Sailing under a US flag and having everything on board match that US flag will go far in making some little tiny South Pacific island customs agent feel like everything is above board. Have a US citizen ride in on a boat registered who-knows-where with a bunch of other things that don’t match…? Tell me, why shouldn’t you be detained for 4 hours while all the numbers are run through their Windows95 computers on a 56k dialup modem…?

As everything is in the internets, take everything with a few grains of salt (even this blog!), and go out there and figure it out yourself. Don’t take my word for it. Here’s a few links that will help you on your way:

MarineTitle.com – A Reference for US Coast Guard documentation and state registration information
US Coast Guard Documentation Center – information and forms for USCG documentation
HM Revenue & Customs – Sailing your pleasurecraft to and from the UK
US Customs & Border Protection – Importing a boat for personal use into the USA
Small Ships Register – Registering a boat in the UK
International Certificate of Competence – how to apply for an ICC

What is in a boat name…?

By: Noah D.

“I think the act of naming something implies, very simply, that you’re not alone. We give names to things so we can talk about them. Once there’s a word for an experience, it feels contained somehow—and the container has a handle, which makes it much easier to pick up and pass around.”
~John Koenig (from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)

The closest I’ve ever been to naming a child was when my sister named her cat. But that did not take too much deliberation, because she had been settled on ‘Dinah’ forever.

But naming something is a significant moment. It becomes the weird, specific sound that comes out of someone’s mouth that someone else hears and connects a brain spark to a real, physical thing in the world. Or it is the little particularly-arranged little squiggles on paper that cause a person to see a massive “other thing” somewhere else. In the case of a dog or a cat, it is something you’ll yell out the back door. In the case of a human, names can set a kid up for bullying or to become the next power player. In the case of a boat, it can either make people raise an eyebrow in curiosity, in indifference, or in commiseration.

I’m fascinated by Plato’s concept of Forms. I had a comparative religious philosophy professor simplify it to a simple (but very Socratic) question: “At what point does a table cease to be a table?” At some point, you will no longer consider a table-like object a table. Maybe it would be too small and be a stool. Maybe it would be too large or have solid sides and become a desk or a counter-top. But whatever you think of as “table-ness” is in your mind somewhere with boundaries (even if they are rather blurry at times).

Naming a boat takes on a slightly different slant. It is already a boat, of course; but when a boat gets a name, it then becomes what everyone else sees even when you (as the owner/skipper/master/captain) are not present. (And, when you are present, you get grouped in by your boat first and the people who are on it only if they know you personally: “Oh, that’s John and Jane of the _______!”) Far be it for anyone to judge, but you must admit, if you have spent any time around any marinas anywhere in the world you will likely see more than one boat with a truly ridiculous name.

So, Lynn and I have settled on a name. If you’re reading this blog, you obviously know that Proteus is written all over the place for no other reason. I’ve been consternating my soul for some time now about it. I wrote long lists of names, hunted the internets, and called up all manner of references and descriptions to come to just the perfect name. Lynn came up with one: “Proteus.”

Before you think there was any strong-arming or argument involved, let me tell you who/what Proteus was. Proteus was a mythological deity of the sea, oceans, and great rivers. But, more than that, he was the shepherd of the sea creatures and keeper of the wisdom of earth. Kings and conquerors sought Proteus because he apparently was so wise that he could foretell the future. To evade his pursuers, he was known to shape-shift into any number of natural things. From this, the term “protean” is derived, with positive connotations of versatility, flexibility, and adaptability.

Of course, the name must be Proteus.

For our purposes, and the reason why it is such a great name for our boat, Proteus is an ideal to aspire to rather than some past conquest. We are expats and travelers, sailors and wanderers. We are choosing this strange life consciously, not because it is convenient or because we can easily afford it – neither actually – but because we aspire to more than just what is “standard” or “average.” We are not taking the path of least resistance or “settling down” into whatever whirlpool sucks us in. We say: “We want to see the world.” So we will go do whatever it takes to do that. The purchase of our boat put every coastline on the planet within reach.

To be completely honest, the previous name of the boat (seen in the banner above) was not horrible. “Oscar” was actually my grandfather’s name. But a number of factor’s precipitated our decision to change the name: one being that the former owners’ new boat’s name also is related to Oscar, and we just did not want to have two Oscars in the same marina. We will be going through the proper denaming/naming ceremony, of course, to stave off any bad superstitions that might hang around. And it is kinda fun to smash champaign onto hulls…

Finally, there are a number of mega-yachts and older vessels around named Proteus. There’s even this weird thing that everybody freaked about when it pounded around San Francisco Bay a few years ago: the original incarnation of the WAM-V was named Proteus. But we were hard-pressed to find many Proteus-es (Proteii?) out there in the registries. We know of one sailboat (a beautiful Oyster 655) sold a few years back, but her name may have been changed since then.

Basically, we just wanted something that, if the boat could speak, she wouldn’t be ashamed or mumble her name quietly when asked. Because we sure will be proud of her. If you look on BoatUS’s Top 10 Most Popular Boat Names list, you might see what I mean. There really are people in the world who spend tens of thousands of dollars on a boat and then paste “Aquaholic” to the hull. Seriously.

For further reading, there are a few more posts around the internet regarding naming boats, but two of the classics are Bumfuzzle’s “How to Name a Boat” post and John Vigor’s “How to Rename Your Boat” or “A Simple Denaming Ceremony” which may or may not have become standard reading for newcomers to the boat name world.

Stay tuned for the results of the ceremony…