Caught between heaven and hull

Before I try to sell you the opportunity of a lifetime, some truth in advertising:

They say the two happiest days in the life of a boat owner are the day he buys the boat and the day he sells it.

You be the judge.

Six years ago, three partners and I set out from the Alamitos Marina in Long Beach on a 22-foot sailboat we had bought for $800, or $200 apiece.

It was no yacht, in other words. And we didn't even make it to the breakwater before oil began gushing down the shaft and the motor froze. Rather than do the sensible thing, which would have been to sink the boat and swim to shore, we got towed back to port and bought a new motor that cost exactly twice what we had just paid for the boat.

Smart boys, no?

A year later, having learned not a whit, the same four musketeers decided to upgrade to a boat named Interlude, which cost us $1,100 apiece. We were departing Alamitos on yet another maiden voyage when I observed, with great pride, that the motor was pleasingly quiet.

With good reason.

It had shut off, and we were soon drifting uncontrollably toward a bona fide yacht. One of my mates practically lost a leg fending us off, and now we were floating backward toward the concrete wall at Joe's Crab Shack, providing great entertainment for Sunday diners. With no time to spare, we got the motor started and averted disaster.

Why risk such embarrassment with every voyage, and why stay in the game when a replacement part the size of a safety pin costs the same as airfare to Hawaii.

Because I have a thing for salt air and open sea. The love affair began when I was a boy in the San Francisco Bay Area, and summer vacations were in Santa Cruz and Monterey. I knew I wanted to live close to the water someday, and my favorite thing about greater Los Angeles is that someone had the good sense to put it between mountain and sea.

We've sailed Santa Monica Bay, floated down to Redondo Beach for lunch, and crossed the channel to the quiet side of Catalina, where the water is turquoise and the land virtually unspoiled. We've seen schools of dolphins along the way, and always envied the folks who live the quiet life in the tiny beach town of Two Harbors.

It's also fascinating to watch the world's economy at work off the coast. Oil tankers cruise past us with high-priced crude, and container ships steam in from Asia packed with answers to the U.S. demand for cheap goods. One of these years, I'm going to visit a toy factory in China and follow the shipment across the sea and onto the trucks at the port, writing about all the lives along the route.