Late last year, my husband Peter found the boat of our retirement dreams. A boat that was every bit as “old” as we are!
Our new-to-us Wasque was built in Martha’s Vineyard in 1980, just a few years before Peter and I were married in Wilmington, Delaware. Since then, our tracks have run a parallel course. She spent her life under several owners trolling coastal New England, while we raised three amazing kids (haha, our “owners”) with an abiding love for the Chesapeake Bay. Our paths were destined to meet!
On a trip to Newport, RI last fall (he had helped transit a boat doing the Newport-Bermuda race), Peter fell in love — again. This time (as before?) it was her curves that first caught his eye. The teak combing around the cockpit, her generous lobster-boat design, and her deep blue hull was a head-turner. At 32′ with a 10′ beam, our Wasque cut a fine figure. He called me excitedly. “I’ve found our boat.”
My engineering husband worked tirelessly with the brokers, hired a surveyor and did his own sleuthing. Some issues were identified — who doesn’t have “issues” at our age? — but the nuptials went ahead anyway. Just before Christmas, we acquired title, and our pretty Wasque went into the shed for winter repairs.
In Connecticut. 252 miles from our Virginia home.
Just as Peter and I began married life as commuters — he was stationed on a submarine out of Norfolk, Virginia while I worked in DC — so our new relationship is held together by the congested lanes of I-95. Every weekend the sub was in port, Peter would drive the four hours to get to DC by late Friday — only to leave at “0-dark-30” Monday to slide into the Wardroom by 7am for Captain’s watch.
What we do for love!
Now, 40 years later, we’re doing it again. On a good day, we can make it to the boatyard in seven hours, but other days it can take an aggravating eight (or more)! But the continuous rush hour of DC-Philly-New York, and the long painful slog up Connecticut’s Merritt parkway, is worth every trying minute. When we finally arrive and walk stiffly to the dock, we gaze out in the mooring field seeking her comely shape. Nestled between the newer and bigger (and way more expensive) boats, our Wasque bobs with joy at our return! Or so I like to imagine.
We hope to bring her down to the Chesapeake soon, but we’re still learning the ropes. If it takes 8 hours at 65 MPH to drive to Connecticut, it will take days (and lots of good weather) to bring her south at 6 knots. Sure, Peter used to drive a nuclear sub, but this old girl with her diesel Volvo engine takes a special touch. Just like getting married, you really don’t know what you’re in for.
Come with us … as we launch out in love and adventure.