The author in the small, but functional, cabin of his Cape Dory 25, Vesper. Photo courtesy David Roper
August 2024
By David Roper
Small rooms or dwellings discipline the mind, large ones cause it to go astray.
– Leonardo da Vinci
This February, when I bought Vesper, a 43-year-old Cape Dory 25, I thought I would miss many of the “conveniences” that were on my “big” boat, which I sold this winter. But something happened. I began to relish her littleness, and what went with it: the simplicity of this new vessel. At first, I thought it was just me at this point in my life, a point where I didn’t want to worry and fix stuff that could break. I wanted fewer things to worry about. Then I posted this picture on social media, just because I thought it was kind of cute. Instead, I had stumbled into a world that seemed to relish small and tidy. Within a day, 407 people had endorsed the “littleness” with comments such as, “Wow! So tidy.” “Love the minimalism.” “What else do you need?” “Beauty doesn’t need space.” “I’m envious.” “Engines break; sails sail home.” Odd, I mused. Boat people seem to be especially attracted to what’s really small and simple, or what’s really big and complicated. In my case, the simple was giving me the peace I yearned for.
Here, for example, is what can’t break, because on Vesper it isn’t there. Electrical system. There isn’t one. No 12-volt anything. Vesper’s “energy grid” consists of an 8” long, 1,500-amp lithium portable power bank rechargeable through USB. This, in turn, is able to recharge my handheld VHF, my Garmin handheld chart GPS, my Bose portable speaker for music running off my cell phone, my cell phone, Vesper’s portable running lights (clipped on as needed), and even the battery powered cabin lamps (when it’s too hot for the paraffin ones). Most of this fits in a small teak rack on the bulkhead. And there’s no alternator needed for the simple, reliable Yamaha four-stroke outboard that sits unobtrusively under the stern hatch; even the motor doesn’t require 12-volts because it’s a pull start. Speaking of the outboard, without an inboard, there’s now no issue with stuffing box, shaft alignment, exhaust system, starter, alternator, fuel filters, fuel tank leaks, etc.
For water, there’s a refillable, portable potable water tank with a hand spout that conveniently terminates over the sink. No reliance on electric pumps for the sink either, no risk of lift pumps failing or being left on and draining the battery and tank. And filling the water doesn’t require a dockside tie-up. I can just row (yes, I still actually row a dinghy) it ashore and fill it at home.
Finally, gone is a dreaded head and its holding-tank system. I’ve always had an aversion to bad cabin odors on boats, not to mention the idea of sleeping over 20 gallons of “waste matter.” So, a little high-end RV porta potty does the trick, and takes up very little space. No leaks. No odor.
Sure, you wouldn’t want to live aboard or do extended cruises on Vesper. And there’s not full headroom in the cabin – though, as Herreshoff said, “a man only needs headroom to put on his pants in the morning” – but it all works for me and where I am in life.
So I wonder: how much stuff do we really need before it begins to eclipse the essence of our initial quest: the simplicity of just getting out on the water to relax, to be free from worry, to be content?
Many years ago, deep Downeast on Chang Ho, another Cape Dory 25, a friend and I encountered a man who lived a very simple life in a yurt that he’d built deep in the woods. I was so impressed that I wrote a long piece about him in “Cruising World” magazine and later it was included in my book “Watching for Mermaids.” We’d found him sitting on a log at the water’s edge, not far from his yurt. He seemed completely at peace, intently watching a soft yellow caterpillar that moved slowly along his forearm. When I asked him about his simple life, he replied: “Civilization, in the real sense, consists not in the multiplication of wants but in their deliberate reduction. This alone promotes happiness and contentment.” I was amazed by this profound thought of this wizard in the woods. “Wow. Did you just come up with that saying?” I asked.
“Well, no. Some guy named Gandhi said it first,” he replied, smiling.
And then went back to gently stroking the caterpillar.
David Roper’s new novel, “The Ghosts of Gadus Island: A Story of Young Love, Loss, and the Order of Nature,” is now available. Dave is the author of the three-time bestseller “Watching for Mermaids,” as well as the sequel “Beyond Mermaids” and the novel “Rounding the Bend.” Buy them at Amazon.com or roperbooks.com.
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