‘We found our dream boat on a farm’
Nic Compton shows how he returned a scruffy Victoria 26 to a seaworthy condition after it spent six years in a Basingstoke barn
It was mid-March when we first saw the second-hand Victoria 26 in a draughty barn outside Basingstoke. She was not a promising sight: the hull was stained from the waterline upwards, the bottom was covered in some grey/black paint of dubious origin, the decks were covered in dust, and the mast and spars lay bundled together over the boat.
All that was forgotten, however, when we went below and saw her cosy wooden interior, with unexpectedly comfortable accommodation for four people all cleverly packed into her 26ft hull. It was a good quality fit out, in almost perfect condition. The engine too was a dream – a 20hp Beta fitted in 2001 with only 140 hours on the clock – not to mention the hot water calorifier, fridge and diesel cooker (the last two admittedly not working).
What is it that persuades you to buy one boat and not another? In our case it was definitely the quality of the fit out and the investment in what I would consider ‘luxury’ items but which suggested the boat had been cared for and had money spent on her. With no way of testing most of the mechanical and electronic gizmos, let alone to sail her and try out the rig, we had to take it on trust that, if someone was willing to fit a £1,000 diesel cooker, then they would look after the rest of the boat. It was a hunch that proved largely, if not entirely, correct.
We’d started looking at boats a few months after selling our Romilly 22, back in August 2017. To start with, we had enjoyed the freedom of being boatless, but eventually remembered that one of the major reasons we’d moved to Devon was to go sailing more, and that by not having a boat we were betraying that original ‘contract’. (Actually, the real contract was that if we moved to the country, my wife would have a dog and I would have a boat, but that’s a whole other story.)
We’d learned various lessons from our brief ownership of the Romilly 22 which we applied when looking for our next boat. We needed ‘proper’ accommodation with four berths, standing headroom, a galley, and separate heads. The boat also had to have a steady motion, to give my wife and kids confidence, and yet not be too boring to
‘The boat had to have a steady motion to give confidence, yet not be too boring to sail’
sail for me. There was another important consideration: we had a vague plan to go down the French canals at some point, which automatically limited the draught to 5ft 6in max, and ideally under 5ft. With overseas travels in mind, we also wanted to be able to abandon the boat, possibly for months at time, which meant it had to be the kind of boat we could lock up and not worry about.
Oh yes, and we wanted all this for under £10,000, please.
I’ve always been partial to double-enders, and even before we’d sold our Romilly I spotted a Frances 26 for sale in Weymouth. We snuck off one day to have a look at it, and Anna loved the airy, modern interior, while I liked the familiar, seaworthy design. Our Romilly took longer than expected to sell, however, and by the time we had sold her, the Frances was gone.
Once the Romilly was sold, I spent more time than was strictly sensible scanning websites for boats. We ended up looking at about a dozen boats, including a Contest 29 (my wife loved the retro interior), a Trapper 400 (a nasty crack between the keel and the hull ruled her out) and a Spirit 32 (well outside our budget, or we might have been tempted). We got quite hooked on Twisters for a while, before concluding the only ones we could afford needed too much work. We also looked at several wooden boats, but ultimately the ‘abandon’ requirement ruled them all out.
Eventually, I searched (yet again) for a Frances 26 online and spotted a Victoria 26 (a development of the Frances, with extended coachroof and cabin) for sale in Hampshire. There were no pictures in the ad, but the boat was said to be ‘stored under cover near Basingstoke’.
A boat in a barn has several possible connotations: it might be a complete wreck or it might be a hidden gem, but the chances are you’ll get a cheap boat – in return for not really knowing what you’re buying. And so it was with our new acquisition, which had been out of the water for six years. We agreed a price which was half the asking price of any other Victoria 26 on the market – but without having run the engine, tested the electronics or even looked at the sails. Perhaps we should have been more wary, but I’m not sure it would have made much difference in the end…
Boat transportation
Having agreed a price, our immediate problem was how to get the boat from Hampshire to the South Coast of Devon. Incredibly, the previous owners had turned this mini-ocean sailor into a trailer-sailer with a hardcore combi-trailer, complete with a tabernacle and gin pole to raise and lower the mast. They’d cruised the South of France, Ireland and Scotland with this arrangement, and it seemed like too good a set-up to ignore. The only trouble was the trailer was designed to be towed on a ‘fifth wheel’ hitch, which we didn’t have, but we figured we could find a way around that. So we agreed to buy the whole package.
Now anyone who has had a boat moved by road will know that prices vary wildly from one company to the next. We were quoted from £700 to £1500 for moving the boat, and eventually settled on CK Commercials in Dawlish who supplied a low-loader with crane for £840.
And so, on a grey day towards the end of March, less than two weeks after we’d first seen her in that draughty barn, the boat arrived at a small yard a couple of miles from the River Dart near Totnes.
Avocet Marine is more used to servicing and repairing small speedboats and motor launches, and the arrival of a 26ft yacht required a few low branches on the lane to be lopped. In fact, it proved to be the perfect venue for the kind of low-key refurb work we were about to undertake.
It was a five-minute bike ride from my house, and owners Martin (Snr) and Martyn (Jnr) Pomeroy provided expert support and advice without charging the prices of the big boatyards in the area.
Cosmetic work
Our first jobs were mostly cosmetic. A couple of hours’ work with a pressure washer had an immediate and transformative effect, showing the potential that lay under all that dust. Next we tackled the staining on the hull – the result, the previous owner told us, of being left on a mooring on the Hamble, though it looked more like she’d been moored next to a leaky oil refinery. There are all kinds of fancy cleaners for gelcoat, but our quick-and-dirty solution was a 5-litre container of oxalic acid (cost £18). We mixed it one part acid to about 20 parts water and applied it with a sponge. After a few minutes, we scrubbed the surface with a heavy duty scourer and, hey presto, most the staining came off. A few stubborn patches needed a second round, but ultimately the process was 100% effective – a very satisfying few hours’ work!
Oxalic acid does have to be used extremely carefully, as in some situations it can damage the gel coat as well as being harmful if it comes into contact with your skin. Also, there are probably other products which are more friendly to the environment, though my initial research suggests oxalic acid degrades extremely quickly and therefore doesn’t cause any long-term damage.
Once we’d got rid of the staining, it was time to cut and polish the topsides. We used Mirka Polarshine 35 polishing compound on a G-Mop sponge head attached to a rotary polisher. Although it’s only the second time I’ve polished a fibreglass boat, it was quick (if tiring) work with immediate and gratifying results, as the 28-year-old hull took on a mellow, creamy glow. We then applied Meguiar’s marine wax by hand. By the end of three days’ work, the hull looked practically as good as new.
The next stage in her transformation was painting the sheerline and waterline. I guessed the existing maroon colour was probably the original two-part polyurethane paint which had worn incredibly well. I was therefore reluctant to use a one-part paint, even though there was a much greater choice of colours and we could probably achieve a better finish with it. It’s hard to argue with the durability of two-part paint on a GRP hull. The solution in the end was to use a two-pack paint from our old friends Jotun – which I’d used previously on my skiff (see PBO June 2018). The main catch with Jotun paints is they are only available in 5lt cans, which means although it’s half the price of normal yacht paint, you do end up with a lot left over!
In fact, using the two-pack proved much harder than I’d imagined, as it dried incredibly quickly and ‘dragged’ the brush leaving horrible brush marks. My first attempt on a sunny (though by no means hot) day was so bad I had to sand it down and start again. At my second attempt, I took Martyn’s advice and mixed in a small amount of thinners, applying the paint with a small roller followed by a large brush to flatten it. Even that wasn’t foolproof: after an hour or so, the roller started to disintegrate, leaving tiny bits of fluff on the surface. It pays to change your roller regularly.
We had an interesting time working out where the waterline should be. The previous owner had already told us it rose up at each end, banana-fashion, and I could see traces of seaweed which I assumed was the real waterline. I sighted the waterline with a ruler and drew lines across photos of the boat on my computer, all of which suggested the ‘seaweed line’ was correct. Using that mark, however, would have meant lowering the waterline at either end by about 4in and raising it amidships by about at inch, something I was nervous about doing until I’d actually seen the boat on the water. We ended up with a compromise: lowering the boot top at each end but keeping the existing waterline amidships.
Feats of engineering
On the engineering front, Martin immediately spotted that the prop shaft was loose, suggesting that the bearing needed replacing. Because of the size of the engine, however, it was impossible to release the prop shaft with it in situ. Instead, Martin had to take the propeller off and pull the whole engine out into the saloon to give access to the shaft coupling.
This extra work proved a blessing in
‘I was surprised how responsive the boat was – even more when we clocked up 5.4 knots’
disguise, as it turned out the rear seal on the gearbox needed replacing too. And while the engine was out, Martin was able to replace the ancient anode, which was otherwise inaccessible, and reconfigure the cathodic protection system. By the time he’d finished polishing the propeller and shaft so they shone like new, the whole set-up felt solid and reliable.
Launch day
And so, one bright morning towards the end of April, less than a month after she’d arrived in Devon and six weeks after we’d first set eyes on her, Ronja was swinging from Chris’s crane once again. We found a perfect launch spot opposite Baltic Wharf in
Totnes and, to my relief, the waterline was only slightly banana-shape.
The engine positively purred as we motored down the Dart to her new home near the village of Dittisham. We spent our first night on board and were delighted to have an ample supply of hot water – though less pleased when the heads leaked over the cabin sole.
The next day we motored downriver and out of Dartmouth into a lumpy sea and not much wind so we set full sail. The Maxi Roach mainsail with its Easyreef roller furling system was not a thing of beauty, but I was pleasantly surprised at how well it set. The genoa was another matter as the only way I could get the roller furling to work was with a slack halyard, with predictable results: a saggy luff.
I was surprised at how responsive the boat was – I had expected a sluggish but steady ride – and even more surprised when we clocked up 5.4 knots to windward without trying.
I’m not a fan of an in-mast furling mainsail, but there was no denying it did make it incredibly easy to adjust the sail area to suit the prevailing conditions – all without leaving the cockpit, something my wife thoroughly approved of.
Our first sail had shown some of the strengths and weaknesses of the new boat, and we had plenty to sort out before we set off on our first cruise. But at least we were back on the water again, sailing as a family. Where to next? Falmouth? The Scillies? Brittany? The Med? Or perhaps we’ll just go to Salcombe to start with…