The Endless Vacation or How to Live Very Well on Practically Nothing

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The most common and least expensive canoes available are made of aluminum. Forget such models for extended cruising. They're cold to the flesh, noisy on the water, too fragile for use around coral, and difficult to repair in the field. Fiberglass is warmer and quieter, but still too prone to coral punctures and sand abrasion. And wood, while quite good, needs more regular maintenance than we're willing to give it.

What you want is a canoe made of ABS plastic. Ours is a 17-foot Chippewa model (that we've fondly named Manatee, or "sea cow") made up for us by Mr. Deane Gray of the Old Town Canoe Company in Old Town, Maine. It weighs only 70 pounds, is warm to sit on and is tough.

At one time or another during the past three years, we've used a crane to pick the canoe up by the ends when it was fully loaded with 1,000 pounds of gear, left it out all night (again, fully loaded) banging against sharp coral reefs, and otherwise "put Manatee through the mill." Yet the little craft still shows only minor dents and scratches and has, to date, required absolutely no maintenance.

What's more, our ABS canoe wouldn't sink even if we could somehow manage the impossible and break her into little pieces (this particular variety of plastic always floats). And if we ever do find a way to make a major dent or puncture in Manatee's hull, we'll simply repair it — quickly, easily and right in the field — with a little kit of supplies that Old Town included when we bought the boat.

Our 17-foot Chippewa is also versatile. It has the highest bow (25") and the most center freeboard (15") of any commercially available canoe. We ordered Manatee with a full deck cover of rubberized dacron and a 55-square-foot lateen sail. If we have to, we can take the ole girl out on days when wind and waves occasionally bring a moderate amount of water over the bow, and, in calmer weather, we've used the sail to move us hundreds upon hundreds of miles without spending a nickel on an engine or fuel and without once dipping an oar into the water. And when we get to where we're going, the two of us — with no additional help — can lift the tiny boat and slide or roll it onto a beach.

In short, we owe most of our newfound freedom to our little 17-foot ABS canoe. Thanks to the craft, we can come and go as we please while "the sea supports the load, and the wind moves it along." Manatee allows us (unlike land-based backpackers) to indulge in unlimited nomadic travel without once suffering back strain. Without, in fact, even having to "paddle our own canoe,"  except for the few times when we've foolishly let dying trade winds leave us stranded some distance offshore.

And the price is certainly right! We never spend a penny for an engine or fuel, and Manatee only cost us S1,000 (as opposed to the $15,000 we were set back by the purchase of our 55-year-old 40-foot ketch). Surely this canoe is the best investment we've ever made.

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