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Buying a boat , fantasy or reality?............

Published by: Ships for Sale, on 25 AUGUST 2020.

Mariann av Donsö

Mariann af Donsö was built for one of Sweden's larger shipping companies as a representation ship and nothing has been spared in terms of quality and maintenance.

Midships and in the bow there are 4 cabins with a total of 10 beds. All cabins have toilet and shower. In the stern a spacious lounge with both sofa groups and space for dinner.

Despite her 15 years, her condition is as new, which is largely due to the hull being hot-dip galvanized during construction. She was dry docked in the spring of 2020, new antifouling was applied.

Feel free to walk through the ship in our VR tour function, look at pictures and documents on www.shipsforsale.com!

PRICE: EUR 1.100.000

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Its worth looking at the 360 degree tour , stunning , the engine room would keep me busy for hours.
 
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That's what an Army pension pays for.

The boat and Moet are extra, of course.
 

Diogenes' limp

Old-Salt
I reject your foul insinuation, sir!


*sail before steam, my arse! Wouldn't hurt to look behind you at least once every hour would it, you Musto draped 'mariner'!*
Friday night - weapons free - Gin palaces = the self-entitled bike riding lycra louts of the sea -

No one, but no one, should be permitted to drive a gin palace until they have pre-qual hours weeks in a sailing boat. Just like experienced motor cyclists make better car drivers.

stands by for incoming.

P.S. Displacement hulled motor boats do not count as gin palaces. They can be the water borne disability scooters for geriatric sailors and are generally more mannerly and seaman-like of conduct.
 
There's a company that sells off end of life vessels they get for fcuk all from companies that pay them to take it away , it then becomes " an amazing opportunity to buy this sought after abandoned sewage tanker " it never ceases to amaze me who buys this wafer thin worthless condemned wreckage.

 
Friday night - weapons free - Gin palaces = the self-entitled bike riding lycra louts of the sea -

No one, but no one, should be permitted to drive a gin palace until they have pre-qual hours weeks in a sailing boat. Just like experienced motor cyclists make better car drivers.

stands by for incoming.

P.S. Displacement hulled motor boats do not count as gin palaces. They can be the water borne disability scooters for geriatric sailors and are generally more mannerly and seaman-like of conduct.
Incoming - - I had a motorsailer before I became a stinkpot driver. Actually, I'm a Stinkpot Captain; Son is the Quartermaster or whatever they call the fellow who gets the bloody thing onto the pontoon without crashing into various visiting pouffy big French Yachts. They deserve it, anyway, bloody foreigners.

Sails are for Vegans. And Youth. Both are contemptible categories, so don't lecture me, and anyway, my bloody boat is supposed to plane, and would if I could get the bloody trim tabs to work properly. It's the tides, and currents and whatever, I'm told.

(Gin is prohibited by Rule No1 on my boat, which reads: "Whisky. Good Beer. Red Wine"
That is all.)
 
Friday night - weapons free - Gin palaces = the self-entitled bike riding lycra louts of the sea -

No one, but no one, should be permitted to drive a gin palace until they have pre-qual hours weeks in a sailing boat. Just like experienced motor cyclists make better car drivers.

stands by for incoming.

P.S. Displacement hulled motor boats do not count as gin palaces. They can be the water borne disability scooters for geriatric sailors and are generally more mannerly and seaman-like of conduct.

They’re just jet skis with ideas above their station :)
 
Friday night - weapons free - Gin palaces = the self-entitled bike riding lycra louts of the sea -

No one, but no one, should be permitted to drive a gin palace until they have pre-qual hours weeks in a sailing boat. Just like experienced motor cyclists make better car drivers.

stands by for incoming.

P.S. Displacement hulled motor boats do not count as gin palaces. They can be the water borne disability scooters for geriatric sailors and are generally more mannerly and seaman-like of conduct.
They’re just jet skis with ideas above their station :)

My F43 is 43' of planing-hull majesty.

If it had a lip, it would curl it in a sneer *attach Smiley Face here, which I can't seem to do as some bright spark has 'improved' the site*
 

Diogenes' limp

Old-Salt
Incoming - - I had a motorsailer before I became a stinkpot driver. Actually, I'm a Stinkpot Captain; Son is the Quartermaster or whatever they call the fellow who gets the bloody thing onto the pontoon without crashing into various visiting pouffy big French Yachts. They deserve it, anyway, bloody foreigners.

Sails are for Vegans. And Youth. Both are contemptible categories, so don't lecture me, and anyway, my bloody boat is supposed to plane, and would if I could get the bloody trim tabs to work properly. It's the tides, and currents and whatever, I'm told.

(Gin is prohibited by Rule No1 on my boat, which reads: "Whisky. Good Beer. Red Wine"
That is all.)
Sir, these Sub Lt Phillips impressions cut little ice in this context, for you have exposed the inescapable reality, as a former sailor of a motorsailer now turned to the darkside, you are fully aware of the extent of the intrusions on the peaceful enjoyment of the waters your passage now creates.

Therefore you will likely be either amongst the 10-15% of stink pots handled in a considerate and sea-manlike manner, for which I, and such as I, thank you, or you will be amongst the barbarians.

But if you are amongst the barbarians, then it will be out of pure malice and jealousy for past glories as you are, by dint of your previous experience, denied the excuse of blind ignorance that characterises the vast majority of over-engined, chrome plated, Essex-interiored, bloated margarine tub drivers. In short - Sir, you would have no excuse.

The jury though is still out on semi-displacement trawler type cruisers.
 
Provided always that the wind doesn't blow hard enough to make the surface into those inconvenient lumpy bits that shake the ice in the ice bucket so hard it sticks together and the hull booms like a Ginger Baker on speed set! :D

It'll be grand - I can drop the trim tabs and reduce the power, which allows the Long Haired Bo'sun to nip down to the galley and rustle up some bacon sarnies and a couple of cold ones from the main fridge so that we can sit up on the fly bridge and watch as you spend 3 hours on a beam-on tack before you can have a recuperative can of cold beans :)
 

Diogenes' limp

Old-Salt
It'll be grand - I can drop the trim tabs and reduce the power, which allows the Long Haired Bo'sun to nip down to the galley and rustle up some bacon sarnies and a couple of cold ones from the main fridge so that we can sit up on the fly bridge and watch as you spend 3 hours on a beam-on tack before you can have a recuperative can of cold beans :)
Fair point, except that you have had to slow down so much that the mast is still visible, cutting its steady passage through the rising seas, three hours on and on and on and on just as far as we wish to go.

Mind you, personally, I'll call a truce long enough to accept your freshly made bacon butty before pushing on, I'm not proud. And, when I think about it, you do have a point, bacon butties tend to feature the morning after a heavy passage for raggy types, it's usually something in a pan when on passage.

Damn, did I just make a concession to a stink pot driver? OK, to redress the balance:-

(it would be entirely mealy mouthed to tease that the beam reach is, for a heavy displacement sail boat, the fastest and most satisfying point of sail - it's God's own gift to passage making, the pressure in the sails keeps the boat at a constant heel as it rises and falls steadily to the beam on waves and holds maximum hull speed and other technical wibble).
 
Fair point, except that you have had to slow down so much that the mast is still visible, cutting its steady passage through the rising seas, three hours on and on and on and on just as far as we wish to go.

Mind you, personally, I'll call a truce long enough to accept your freshly made bacon butty before pushing on, I'm not proud. And, when I think about it, you do have a point, bacon butties tend to feature the morning after a heavy passage for raggy types, it's usually something in a pan when on passage.

Damn, did I just make a concession to a stink pot driver? OK, to redress the balance:-

(it would be entirely mealy mouthed to tease that the beam reach is, for a heavy displacement sail boat, the fastest and most satisfying point of sail - it's God's own gift to passage making, the pressure in the sails keeps the boat at a constant heel as it rises and falls steadily to the beam on waves and holds maximum hull speed and other technical wibble).

Fair point - you're going to need some fresh provender to bite down on as, once you reach your berth, it'll take you hours to ensure that your lines are correctly Flemish Flaked :cool:
 

Diogenes' limp

Old-Salt
Fair point - you're going to need some fresh provender to bite down on as, once you reach your berth, it'll take you hours to ensure that your lines are correctly Flemish Flaked :cool:
Talking of flaked lines reminds me, the Marina Master's office, Douglas Isle of Man has an annual prize for the worst example of mooring lines at the MANX GP invasion. The photo display is really quite something.

And a dit to redress the earlier inexcusable lapse in standards by fraternising with the enemy, just last month swinging at the penultimate seaward visitor's buoy, Millport, Great Cumbrae, on a calm sunny Sunday. With the last buoy vacant.

The strops are long and substantial with a pick up buoy, 10 tons max. No wind but enough tide flow to hold the pick up extended. Very smart 38' gin palace, with the typical family/friends group and gold medallion bedecked driver dominating from the fly bridge, approached with far too much way on, overrunning the pick up strop, buoy down the port side and pick up buoy along the starboard, until brought up solid as the line snagged on underwater gear. After an entertaining hour, a knife wielding teen was thrown coerced over the side to cut the line and the boat limped away, back to Largs Marina, still trailing the pick-up buoy.

It is a grand thing to be confirmed in ones prejudices of course - (Somehow they didn't look like the bacon butty type)
 

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