As Wayne mentioned in his blog this week, we took a couple of days away from the boatyard to see one of Turkey’s most visited and photographed regions: Cappadocia, famous for the unique “fairy chimney” structures on the landscape, cave dwellings, and the underground cities first built by the Hittites around 3000 BC, and enlarged by the Byzantine Christians, the Romans, the Ottomans, and used by the Turks as food storage until they were discovered by archeologists who made several into museums.
I had started to be afraid that we would never get our chance to visit this magical place before leaving Turkey, but a surprise visit by friends made us decide to take the risk in these unsettled times. We didn’t want to go in a hot air balloon with over 20 strangers, but we were able to make a reservation for four people and a pilot.
We were visited by our Swiss friend Philip, whom Wayne has known ever since they first met in Ecuador while single handing their very different vessels: Philip was aboard his Outremer 43 catamaran Blue Bie, and Wayne was on his Bruce Roberts Custom 52′ steel cutter, Learnativity. Throughout the next ten years, they would meet up in some corner of the South Pacific. And we had the much anticipated opportunity to meet our friend’s partner, Nancy, a fascinating American woman who met Philip at the end of her two year stay in Vanuatu with the Peace Corps.
After a couple of days of local sightseeing around Antalya, we flew on a very short direct flight to Kayseri, the city with an airport closest to the Cappadocia region. There we picked up a rental car and drove for an hour to get to our hotel in Göreme, one of the small villages where there are cave hotels. Some of these are actually in caves, while most are just designed to look like caves. There are several other small towns spread among valleys in this stunning region, each known for something different.
The reason this landscape has grown into this eery Middle Earth like place is because of Mount Erciyes, the highest mountain in central Anatolia, with its summit at 3,916 meters. I saw a huge mountain out the airplane window as we approached the airport at Kayseri, and I suspect it was the volcano that erupted thousands of years before mankind settled in the area.
Several eruptions over the centuries rained thick layers of ash down more than 100-meters deep on the area we know as Cappadocia. The ash hardened into something called tuff, which is a very soft stone. Sometimes the different layers would have more hard stone in them. The oddly shaped towers came about because one layer would not erode and it would form a little hat or roof on top of the column of softer tuff, protecting it from the rain.
And yes, one of the valleys in the region was named Love Valley by a Frenchman because of the resemblance between these towers and a part of human anatomy.
So the best way to show you the stunning beauty of the area is to take you along with us on our balloon flight. And you won’t even have to get up at 5:00 in the morning like we did!
I’ve been here before. This is not my first time taking part in a new boat build. It was 1978, and I was 23 years old when my first husband Jim and I decided that we wanted to build a bigger boat, so we could make a living doing sailing charters. Jim had built boats before, and he had been working at Kehi Drydock in Hawaii just before I met him. He was a professional, so I figured, “How hard can this be?” Ha!
We named her SUNRISE, and she was a 55-foot cutter, but it took many, many long hours in the boatyard to get her there. We considered building the hull ourselves, but when we found a company in Costa Mesa, California building a Bruce Roberts design that suited us, we put our money down. We rented their mold and had their crew lay up the hull to our specs. We wanted solid fiberglass, not a cored hull, and we paid extra money to leave it in the mold to cure for 30 days.
I remember the day the boat mover truck arrived at the DIY boat yard in Ventura, California. We arrived at first light, and there was the truck driver asleep in the cab. When he climbed out, I was standing there, gazing up at the boat admiringly.
I said, “She sure looks like she’ll go fast.”
Without so much as a pause, the truck driver said, “Well, she did about 50 on the way here.”
I can’t begin to explain how different that experience was from what Wayne and I are doing with Mobius today. In those days there was no such thing as CNC machinery, and everything in the boat was cut to fit. We did everything ourselves, and there was no lovely boat shed to protect us from the sun and the rain.
We had no yacht designer to get us from that huge bare hull to a completed boat. We designed our own deck, cabin structure and interior. The price of lead was high at the time, so we bought scrap steel rods from the companies doing off-shore oil drilling, cut it into 3-foot lengths and stood them end in the keel–ten thousand pounds of them–then poured resin in to lock them in place. We built integral tanks, fabricated the mast step, and laminated the deck beams.
I worked as a waitress the whole time, but nearly every day of those three long years, I went to the yard and worked before or after my shift. I fiberglassed in bulkheads, sanded and filled surfaces for the overhead and the shower stalls, and I held the other end of the wood as Jim worked his magic on it. We did the interior in solid black walnut and cherry wood, no veneer, and I must have made tens of thousands of plugs, including for the teak on the decks.
SUNRISE was a special boat. Jim was a master woodworker, and he did all the inlay and carvings, while I did all the finish work and the stained glass. Most anyone who ever saw the boat, remembered her.
We sailed her from California through Panama to the Caribbean, up to Florida and back to the Caribbean a few times. By the time we sold her in 1996, we had owned and sailed SUNRISE for 15 years, and raised our son, Tim on board until the day we sold her and got divorced. Sadly, Jim died a couple of years later.
Recently, I dug up lots of old photos, some of them very damaged after years of storage on board boats, and I made this little slide show about those years we built SUNRISE.
These days, Wayne and I are enjoying watching several of the YouTube channels that feature the new generation of young cruisers chronicling their lives afloat. Recently, one of them said, “I really wish I could find the original owner of this boat. I would have so many questions for him.”
That comment got me thinking. I wondered if SUNRISE could still be afloat today, 38 years later. What if her current owner would like to see that video and know more about her construction and her story? So, I went to the US Coast Guard Documentation database and looked up SUNRISE. Now, there are 90 some vessels in that database named SUNRISE, but only one of them is 55 feet long and was launched in 1981. It’s got to be the same boat.
So, I have decided to see if I can use Facebook and the Internet to track him down and get photos to see what she looks like today. Here goes.
I am trying to locate the boat owner by the name of Jonathan Wright and the boat’s hailing port is Fairhaven, Massachusetts. And below here is the most recent photo I have. It’s one that a previous owner sent me about 15 years ago. He added the hardtop and bimini and some big davits on the stern.
If any of you have seen this boat or if you know of anyone who has, please send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org.
In July 2016, we launched LEARNATIVITY, our 52-foot steel cutter back into the water after nearly a year on the hard in Fiji. The boat was looking better than ever after a new paint job, and while we loved cruising in our sailboat, we had also been working for more than a year on the plans for our new power passagemaker. As the design had progressed enough, we’d decided it was time to look for a yard to build her in.
Wayne and I knew from the beginning that we would prefer to build our new boat overseas. While we were really looking forward to getting back to cruising as soon as possible, we also were aware that the journey is as important as the destination to us. I know from experience that building a boat always takes longer than you think. We wanted to enjoy living in the place we chose to build, and since we love travel so much, we expected it probably would not be in the US or Canada. Since we would be living there for years, we hoped to find a place where we could learn a new language and culture. Also, we were hoping to find a place with highly skilled workers, but also with labor rates we could more likely afford.
Ever since we had traveled to Turkey in 2014 to do research for a book I was writing, we had had our eyes on Turkey. We loved the people, the culture and the food, so it would be a great place to live. We’d read about this area in Antalya called the Free Zone in an article in Power & Motoryacht Magazine. We knew they had skilled workers for building in wood and fiberglass, but we weren’t certain about aluminum. But we didn’t want to narrow our search too much at that point, so we researched aluminum boat building all over the world. Eventually, we came up with a list of builders.
Our yacht designer, Dennis Harjamaa of Artnautica, put together an estimation package for us that he sent to the boatbuilders on our list. In the end, our list included builders in New Zealand, Holland, Tunisia, Turkey, and later, in Louisiana, USA. We are also cold weather wimps, and while we looked at several builders in the Pacific Northwest, both in the USA and BC (where Wayne is from), we knew they could build us a fabulous boat up there, but the cost of living was high and we were hoping to find a place with a warmer climate.
Wayne decided to travel to meet with some of these boat builders and meet them face to face. In our estimate package, we had defined four stages of the build, and we were asking builders to bid on any or all of the four stages. Stage 1 is the hot works: all the aluminum hull, tanks, decks, and superstructure. Stage 2 is power away. Stage 3 is all boat systems installed with rough interior. Stage 4 is turn-key finished boat. For this trip, Wayne had scheduled meetings with two builders in Turkey, one in Antalya, one in Izmir, and another in Bizerte, Tunisia.
While Wayne was off meeting with the builders in Tunisia first, I was in Nadi, Fiji aboard LEARNATIVITY at Vuda Point Marina. We had a young Fijian man working for us to complete the last bits and pieces of our refit. He was installing the new insulation in the engine room and painting the bilges. In addition, I was writing a new book, which is my real day job and helps to keep us in provisions. As I Skyped each day with Wayne and got more and more excited about our new build, I decided to post on the Trawler Forum website about Switching from Sail Cruising to Power Passagemaker. I was asking if anyone had information about building aluminum boats in Turkey.
Those of us who read these posts on this forum know that it is an international group. There is a vast amount of knowledge among the group, and I was a bit tentative when I posted. I was hoping mostly about making a connection with another cruiser who knew of boats that were being built in Turkey. It never occurred to me that builders would be reading my post.
The difference in the time zones between Fiji and Turkey is huge, and Wayne and I could only Skype in early morning or late evening. I remember checking my email at the same time Wayne was in Antalya, and there was an email from a builder I’d never heard of who was also in the Free Zone: Naval Yachts.
I saw your ideas about your plans to build an aluminum boat in Antalya in a forum. We are aluminum boat builders in Antalya Free Trade Zone, center of boat building industry, and also we give engineering and design services as well. We are currently building our aluminum hybrid motoryacht: GreeNaval 45. I don’t know what is your status now about building a boat but please feel free to ask your questions. Your contribution is very well appreciated as a sailor with enthusiasm.
please find us : www.navalyachts.com and www. greenaval.com
Talk about serendipity! Wayne was in Antalya at that very moment. He had finished his two days of meetings with the other builder, and at that time he was asleep. His Sunday morning would soon be dawning, and he was expecting to leave in the morning to start the drive up to Izmir. I forwarded the email to him and somewhat doubtful that they could make a connection on such short notice – and on a Sunday, to boot.
When Wayne awoke the next morning, he saw the email and wrote back to Baris:
“My wife Christine just forwarded this Email from you and as luck would have it I am in Antalya right now and very close to the Free Zone. However I am about to leave and drive up the coast to Izmir to meet with some other boat builders up there. I am almost out the door and going to leave Antalya in a few minutes however I would certainly like to take advantage of being here to meet with you personally if you happen to be around this morning?”
Amazingly, Baris checked his email a few minutes later and answered. He arranged for Wayne to go to their yard that morning, and they showed Wayne around their sheds and the different projects they had underway.
They next time we Skyped, Wayne was bubbling over with enthusiasm for both of the yards in Antalya. We felt so fortunate that he had been able to connect on such short notice with Baris and Dincer, the partner brothers who own and run Naval Yachts.
It was months before all the bids were in, and we continued to work with Dennis on all the thousands of small design details that go into making a boat. In October, we left Fiji and sailed to New Zealand where we met with Dennis and had a meeting with the New Zealand builder. Eventually, we narrowed it down to the two builders in Antalya, and one year after the first visit, Wayne flew back and met some more.
In the end, on March 15th of this year, my birthday, we signed a contract with Baris and Dincer Dinc of Naval Yachts, the builder we chose due to serendipity and the help of the Trawler Forum.
In early September of 2016, Wayne was off on his second boat-building-related trip to Turkey with his bidding package from Dennis in hand, while I returned to LEARNATIVITY in Fiji by myself. We had left the boat in a hurry( to return for the birth of a grandchild) just days after putting her back in the water, and things on board were a mess. I spent my first night back aboard sleeping on the settee because our bunk’s mattresses were removed and the plywood half pulled up while the rest was covered with tools, paint cans and boat bits.
During my first days back as I tried to get the boat sorted out and get our Fijian helper Ben back to work putting insulation in the engine room, I noticed a post on the Dashew’s Setsail website saying that they were heading up to Fiji in their own newly launched FPB-78-1, COCHISE. There are only a few places to clear in to Fiji, and I suspected they would soon be coming my way. Two days later, that proved to be true. On my evening walk out to watch the sunset with my dog Barney, I sighted COCHISE anchored outside the entrance to Vuda Point Marina.
The next day, I kept watch, hoping that I would be able to meet them if and when they came ashore. Finally, the yellow inflatable RIB came ripping into the harbor, but instead of tying up and staying, Steve dropped off Linda and a couple of other people, and he took the dinghy back to the boat alone.
I decided it was now or never. Our dinghy was out on loan with a friend, so I ran back to LEARNATIVITY and pulled out the bag containing our inflatable tandem kayak. Quickly, I put the bits in to support it, and with the help of the foot pump, I managed to get the boat and seats inflated.
I didn’t really think I would be able to meet Steve, but I knew I could get close enough to take some photos that would make Wayne so envious. I grabbed my little Olympus underwater camera, a hat, a paddle and my dog, and we took off on our little adventure.
There was no sign of anyone on board when I first arrived. I figured since they clearly had guests on board, he was probably enjoying having the boat to himself for a few hours. With Barney as my scout on the bow, we paddled in closer, and I began to take some photos. And then Steve appeared out on deck. He climbed down onto the swim step aft and then stepped into the dinghy. He wasn’t happy with the way the small boat was tied up and bouncing in the wind chop.
Now normally, I am fairly shy and not the most social person, but I figured this was a moment I couldn’t afford to pass up. I paddled in closer, he looked up and smiled, and I shouted hello. I told him I was admiring his boat. He sat down on a pontoon, and when I paddled alongside, he grabbed my kayak’s lines.
What struck me most at first was how unassuming he was. Clearly, there I was as a fan, but he made me feel comfortable right away. While he does speak with self-assurance and authority, he was also open and friendly and kind to this stranger. Fortunately, I know someone who knows Steve from way back when they were young men sailing outriggers off Malibu Beach, and when I told him about our shared friend, Steve recounted a story about a delivery they had done together in winter sailing south from New England. And so we began swapping sea stories like cruisers do. We laughed together when I told him that I had first sailed to Fiji in 1976 on a boat with no electronics, not even a VHF radio. He said something about how his RIB —rigged with forward facing sonar, a GPS chart plotter, VHF, etc.— had more nav gear than early boats he had sailed around the world. After a while, he graciously mentioned how much he was enjoying our talk. He explained that it had been four years since they’d been cruising, and he missed swapping sea stories with other cruisers, especially one who had been around back in those old days.
I mentioned that we had met Stedham on the FPB-64, ATLANTIS, too, and we talked for a while about how many miles the owners of the different 64s had covered. Eventually, I worked up to courage to tell him that my husband was off on a trip to Turkey and Tunisia with bid proposals for a long slender passagemaker we planned to build for ourselves. We talked for a while about building in different places in the world, and he spoke about all the US materials and supplies that he had brought into New Zealand because he preferred certain American suppliers. I asked him if he knew of Artnautica and the designer Dennis Harjamaa. He said he had heard of the LRC 58 being built by Dickey Boats that had recently been in the Auckland Boat Show. And of course, because he is Steve Dashew, he went on to explain how much better the FPBs were. For Steve, the FPBs will always be the best boats on earth, and he certainly does have the experience to back that up (and the marketing expertise). But, by the same token, I think he respects that we will learn so much through this building process just as he has learned from every boat build.
After we said our good byes, and Barney and I paddled our way back to the marina, I made myself a little wish. I hope that one day MÖBIUS and COCHISE will be anchored side by side in some far off bay, and we can invite Steve and Linda over for a drink. I would like to think that he would be rightly proud of the impact he’s had on the design of ocean-going powerboats.
It was Christmas, 2014. We were anchored in the lagoon of an atoll in the Marshall Islands, Majuro, off a gorgeous little motu called Eneko. That was to be only the second Christmas that Wayne and I had spent together.
We had met just over a year earlier, when Wayne commented on my author blog, Sailingwriter. I was living aboard my sailboat, a Caliber 33, in Merritt Island, Florida after recently returning from the Bahamas. Wayne had been single handing his big steel motorsailer, LEARNATIVITY, out in the Pacific for about eight years, and he was currently in Fiji. We started up a conversation via email, which led to Skype calls and eventually to my flying out to Fiji for the passage up to the Marshalls. We’ve been together ever since.
So, back to that Christmas when one of the gifts Wayne gave me was the ebook Voyaging Under Power by Robert P. Beebe and Denis Umstot.
I can remember thinking, seriously? Powerboats? I started sailing as a kid and I learned the word “stinkpot” early on. I’d been a passagemaking sailor since my first job as a delivery cook from La Paz to Long Beach in 1974. Two years later, I sailed across the Pacific in an Islander 44 and spent the cyclone season in New Zealand with the man, James Kling, who would later become my first husband. That boat had only one piece of electronics—a home-built Heathkit depth sounder—and not even a VHF radio.
I learned how to how to use a sextant, how to survive hand steering with a tiller on a 4-day passage when our wind vane broke. I learned to love our Aries wind vane that never let us down. We sailed back to California via Fiji, Samoa, the Line Islands and Hawaii, nearly all against the wind. I’d worked on our bigger charter sailboat in the Caribbean, sailed on deliveries, and for the previous nine years, I had been sailing solo on my own little boat up and down the east coast of the US and out to the Bahamas. At that point, I’d been sailing for more than 40 years, and it was one of the reasons I fell in love with Wayne—he shared my love of sailing.
So when he asked me to read a book about crossing oceans in a stinkpot, I was stunned. At that point, though, I was behind on a deadline to finish a novel that was due in May. I promised him I would read it as soon as I’d finished my book.
As it turned out, I finished that book and shipped it off to my editor just a few days before we left on passage to sail down to Fiji for the start of the southern ocean cruising season. During my off watch time, I read Beebe’s book for the first time. Somewhere about the middle of the book, I became intrigued. No coincidence perhaps that the middle of book coincided roughly with the middle of that 1800 mile passage across the equator, i.e. the doldrums, and I was finding it a luxury to have 700 gallons of fuel. There were challenges to this idea of crossing oceans under power that I had never really considered, and many of Beebe’s points were valid. While the wind is free, what it takes to catch the wind is not. And sailors motor much more than they like to admit. In order to go faster in a displacement vessel, you need a greater waterline length. We were already sailing in a 54-foot motorsailer, and our maximum speed was only about 8 knots. If we wanted to go faster, what we needed was something long and lean and more efficient. Once you start looking at building a boat over 60 feet, the cost of putting a sailing rig on it is enormous. What if we put that money into fuel instead?
I had lots to think about on that passage.
On the very first day we met in person, Wayne introduced me to the new line of boats that Steve Dashew was building. We went for a walk around the boatyard in Vuda Point, and there in one of the cyclone pits was a boat called BUFFALO NICKEL, an FPB 64. As a long time sailor, of course I knew who Dashew was, but I had not followed this move of his to power. Even then, I’d thought it was a cool-looking boat. My first husband had built a 38-foot aluminum sailboat for a customer in Hawaii back in 1977, and we both had been long admirers of unpainted aluminum hulls.
Serendipity had already played a big part in Wayne’s and my meeting, but when we arrived in Fiji to clear in, there in Savu Savu was another FPB 64, and this time I set out to meet the fellow and get a tour.
The owner turned out to be a very nice guy from Washington state, Stedem Wood, owner of FPB64-8, ATLANTIS. He graciously gave us a tour and put up with our hundreds of questions for several hours. Hearing about his trip from New Zealand to Fiji that took him just over five days really got me to thinking. What would it be like to be able to do 9-10 knots regardless of the wind direction?
Of course, serendipity was not done with me yet. We left Savu Savu and slowly cruised our way out to the Lau group. There, we met Marie and J.P. Dufour on the 20-meter Malcolm Tennant power catamaran DOMINO that had been featured in Beebe’s book. Again, we were invited aboard and given the grand tour. These folks had built this big cat themselves in Paraguay, and they had so many fascinating stories about that adventure. They were also strong advocates of power cats as ideal cruising passagemakers. They spoke of the ability to do 20 knots when needed, and we watched them retrieve the anchor a few days later and the way J.P. was able to spin that boat around with the twin screws was something to watch.
At some point out there cruising through the Lau group of islands, Wayne tentatively brought up the subject.
“What would you think about us building a power passagemaker?”
I took a deep breath and thought back to 1977. My first husband had asked me a similar question back then. We had cruised the Pacific on an Islander 44 that he had built from a hull and deck. Jim was then proposing that we find a mold and have a 55-foot hull laid up to our specs, then build the rest ourselves. I was only 24 years old at the time. What did I know? I said yes. There began a grueling routine of working days in the boatyard, nights as a waitress, seven days a week. Those three years were the longest of my life. I came to say, partially in jest, that purgatory must be a boatyard. You never get out. When we did finally launch that boat that became our home for the next 14 years, I said silently under my breath, Never Again.
And yet, there I was smiling at my new husband, nodding and saying yes.
We had lots of time to talk and dream as we cruised Fiji, but the more we read and talked, the more convinced we both were that this was something we wanted to do—and could do.
Eventually, we made our way back to Vuda Point where we hauled LEARNATIVITY out and started on what would become a full year’s refit. While we were there in Vuda, Stedem arrived on ATLANTIS, and I enjoyed catching up with him. While we had covered about 300 miles sailing around Fiji during the cruising season, ATLANTIS had been up to Palau and back covering well over 3,000 miles. And he certainly didn’t look exhausted. Then, while all the sailboats were sitting in Vuda Marina waiting for a good weather window to head down to New Zealand, ATLANTIS took off. He didn’t need favorable winds, and he would be able to get down there between the infamous low pressure systems that stalk boats on that passage.
That was it for me. I was sold. We decided to move over to the dark side.