Not plain sailing, but a "solid adventure"

Tired of spending rent on tiny rooms with nothing to show for it, Luke de Villiers, 25, threw in the towel. In 2011, in his final year of studying towards a Bachelor of Industrial Design at Victoria University, he bought his first yacht, with the intention of living aboard it as he finished his degree. It wasn’t plain sailing at first, but the experience led Luke to his first job after uni, as a yacht designer for Fitzroy Yachts in Taranaki. He told Elle Hunt his story.

So it started in my third year of uni, when I was 23 and renting a room in a flat of eight guys in Mount Vic. And when I say “a room”, I mean “a closet”.

After expenses and rent and food, I was $180 bucks out of pocket each week, which I grew tired of – having to pay someone else’s mortgage without gaining anything in the long run. I started looking at caravans, or campervans, but quickly realised that there was nowhere in Wellington I could park one that wouldn’t end up costing just as much as rent.

At the end of this year, I worked up in the ‘naki for summer, and my mate took me out on a regatta. It was my first time on a yacht, ever – I grew up in the desert in South Africa, so, needless to say, yachting wasn’t a big sport in my little town. I got home after the regatta, went on Trade Me, and bought my yacht the next week.

I went to the bank, told them my idea, and got a personal loan to pay for the yacht and do her up.

Adventure #1: The Learning Curve

I trucked the yacht down from Auckland, an old 1956 28ft kauri plank clinker – a slow and wide lady, but beautiful. I spent the whole summer doing her up with every cent I earned.

I sorted a crew to sail her down to Wellington at the end of the summer – a boys’ trip and a solid adventure, too. We were naïve and our judgement was seriously impeded by the idea of being new age pirates.

We put her in the water, and I waited for the tide to come up. Up it came, with water bucketing into every gap of the boat, as was expected till the planks swelled and she sealed up.

After a week of bucketing out water and an hour of sleep every night, she sealed up, and we were ready to set sail. I phoned the boys and we started rigging her up, only to realise that tightening the mast pushed the keel away from the bottom of the boat, letting in more water than before.

I finally came to grips with the challenging and unique situation I was in. I had no money, but a loan; nowhere to stay, but paying berthing fees; and no boat

Knowing this was the end of my yacht, and my dream to be a sailor, I wanted to get at least one sail out of her. We hoisted the sail and took off for a trip, with the electric bilge pump going constantly, and one of the boys on the hand pump. We sailed for about two hours before beaching her as high up as possible and craning her out.

I cut the lead out of the keel and sold it – recovering about one-tenth of the amount I’d lost on my adventure – and salvaged everything else I could before I let a hippie-natured fellow take her out to his farm, where he was going to turn her into a cottage.

With nowhere to stay and no money, I had to get to uni before classes started. I packed everything into my jeep and headed down to Wellington. I was already paying berthing fees, but had no boat.

Adventure 2#: Stella Marais

Staying in my car in my mate’s backyard, I finally came to grips with the challenging and unique situation I was in. I had no money, but a loan; nowhere to stay, but paying berthing fees; and no boat.

I realised that I could either give up, and slot into another cheap closet somewhere, and start slowly paying back the loan – or I could try my best to find another boat, having learned my lesson about doing things on the cheap.

Out of sheer luck, I stumbled upon Stella Marais, a 24-foot 1986 Beach Comber 2, down in Christchurch – a ridiculously cheap buy, not that I knew what was cheap and what wasn’t for yachts. I knew it was make or break, so I went for it, with the help of a loan from my very generous parents and whatever money I’d manage to salvage from my failed first attempt. I snuck down to Christchurch and towed her back up to Wellington, where I had a berth at Evans Bay Marina.

I don’t think I realised at the time how lucky I was: she needed no work and was perfectly set up as a bachelor pad. It had a small fridge just big enough for a carton of milk, a block of cheese and some ham; a freezer that stored a week’s worth of meat; a gas cooker and grill; and a little basin – all well within reaching distance from the table.

There was a small single berth down the back and one double-V berth up front.

I was spending $60 a week on berthing fees, which included hot showers, shore power and a dingy locker, and $40 on food. Even after the loan payments, because I had no TV, internet or any other expenses, I was getting by with less than I had in any of the years I’d paid rent.

I knew I was onto a winner, and I was absolutely stoked about it.

I met some interesting people on the boats around me – in no other place will you find such a variety of individuals than a marina of live-aboards. There were 20 boats with people living on them permanently, including a young couple with a little daughter, who became my alarm in the mornings as she sang while leaving for school.

I learned more about life living in Evans Bay than in the previous three years at uni, and I also managed to pay back the loan and save some money

Then there was the grumpy old fellow who thought everyone was against him, and would tell you the same story every weekend, and Dog Man Pat, who lived aboard with his two beagles.

My favourite by far was a Pom who told me about the most amazing adventures he had sailing over from England. He was doing up his boat to head back on one final adventure; I would say he was close to 70 years old. 

I loved hearing the different whistles of the booms as the wind travelled past them. I knew I was home, and it stayed my home for two-and-a-half years. In that time, I learned more about life than in the previous three years at uni, and I also managed to pay back the loan and save some money.

I loved every second of living in Evans Bay, even running to the showers on those ice-cold mornings, when it was pouring with rain and blowing those gusty southerlies Wellington is renowned there, just to get there and discover both were already in use.

Even those moments made me know that I was doing something different, and being me, which made everything worth it – the failures and the successes.

And since yachts had become a passion of mine, everything I did for my industrial design became aimed at yachts from then on.

After I finished my honours degree, I started writing my proposal for my masters, which was about new materials and production methods in yacht construction, but before I could send it in, a mate sent me a link to a job that I might be interested in.

I applied and now I’m a designer for Fitzroy Yachts in the mighty ‘Naki. I could never have turned them down it was precisely what I wanted to do, and it’s in Taranaki, which is my favourite spot in New Zealand – so I packed up and left my boat behind.

The job was only meant to be for three months, so I was planning to head back down to Wellington after summer and continue with my masters.

I managed to convince my brother, who lives in Taranaki, to let me to pitch a tent on his deck, and I lived in that for three months over summer, and another two months after, never knowing when the job would end. Actually, now that I think about it, it’s been over a year since I started working there.

I’m now living inside after the tent starting leaking – not ideal.

I went and fetched my boat about three months ago, and she’s in my drive way at the moment, just waiting for summer.