Right. This isn’t going to make sense and I’m not sure how to even begin explaining it but, I’ve had a fear of water most of my life. Well water generally and the ocean specifically. I’ve been dumped by big waves, tumbled and pinned to the sand by big males in the surf when I was little, I’ve nearly drowned in a swimming carnival when I inhaled my ponytail, I’ve been overrun by adult teachers down a waterslide at an amusement park on a school excursion. As part of a swimming exam, we students had to tread water for 20 minutes fully clothed. Other kids wore light summer dresses or shorts and singlets. My mother dressed me in jeans, a woollen jumper and sneakers. I felt I was trying to float a ton of saturated fabric by constantly kicking out all of my oxygen.

My family’s regular picnic spot was on the banks of a jellyfish abundant lake in which we were encouraged to swim but be ever watchful for those stingers. I grew up with scary stories of shark alarms and attacks and a permeating fear of every unknown thing in the big blue ‘girt by sea’ Australian upbringing. Needless to say, every encounter with a large body of water had a sense of dread attached.

Despite all that, I can swim. I’ve never thought myself a particularly confident (or willing) swimmer but I atleast have the ability to keep myself afloat for twenty minutes fully clothed in winter attire.

So when my mate M crushed his leg in a bike accident and was facing down a life of pain, uncertainty and no job security, a conversation borne of frustration and longing changed everything.

When it became apparant that M was feeling a bit lost I asked
“well, what do you want to do with your life?”
he answered “Sometimes I want to buy a boat and sail away”
This may seem like someone describing an escape from reality, and I’m fairly certain there was more flippant searing in that uttered statement, but I responded with
“Well, Why don’t you?”

I mean, really the only thing stopping anyone is their sense of security or responsibily or ‘add any old reason here’.
What about a sense of adventure? Of the extraordinary making the mediocre more entertaining.
M and I started making jokes about how he simply had to live on a boat now; he had ruined his land-legs and only had his sea legs left.

It was resolved. We’d sell everything we had and give this crazy thing a red hot go.

Right, so that’s sort of how it started, theoretically. Other useful information is that M was a sailor and a Shipwright, so although I knew nothing about anything living in or on the water, I had my best mate of 20 years to guide the way. I guess all he needed me for really was someone to do the legwork!

So off I went, looking at boats and educating myself about what to expect when you’re inspecting. I’m an artist and have been most of my life, I assumed I could do that anywhere, once I figured things out. All I wanted was a roomy, airy, liveable studio, gee I laugh at that now. M and I went to check out a Beneteau that had been treated harshly, raced hard and cracking at the joints. It was a nice looking boat and may have made a decent floating studio but I really knew nothing of boats so all I could do was put in my two cents and trust M the boatbuilder.

On M’s 40th Birthday, we took a long dinghy ride the length of Pittwater (North of Sydney) to Careel Bay where M pointed out the boat we came to view. I honestly thought he was pointing to yet another mouldering heap, you know the kind, something that needed work and a lot of love.
He shook his head and resumed his pointing to Veritas. I was gobsmacked. Astounded. Not what I was expecting but I guess what I’d been hoping for. Here glided a graceful beauty, showing off the shapelier aspects of the hull (Nice arse!).

This was not a boat I’d have to ‘fix up’ from day one that I’d slowly grow to resent for all the time, effort and money it would swallow.

That was not this boat. It was definitely love at first sight for M. I was a more skeptical customer, though very willing to admit I knew sod-all. Veritas means truth, afterall.

Well Happy Birthday M, it’ll be hard to top this present so I’m just going to quit whilst I’m ahead.

Seven weeks later we moved aboard. ‘Truthboat’ as some friends affectionately refer to it, was now home.