Ed. note: To mark our fifth anniversary year, we're catching up on some of the stories that appeared in our early issues. In June 1998 Don Lippoth of York, Maine, told us of his decision to douse his sails and buy a power boat. Here, Don fills us in on what has happened since.

Anxiety, concern, depression, roller-coaster emotion, resignation. What do these symptoms have to do with boating in general and sailing in particular?

Everything.

When the bones start to ache and you visit your doctor more often than seeing your favorite ad for Metamucil on TV, you begin to question the advisability of being on a boat and instead consider seeing your psychiatrist.

For a dedicated sailor, the thought of quitting or buying a powerboat, when the former is only slightly more repugnant than the latter, causes shock waves that set off the clinical feelings listed above. A lot of sailors cross the line and say that it is really good Ð buying a powerboat, that is. But is it the truth or resignation?

After 40 years of sailing my own vessel, I reluctantly admit that five years ago I caved in and bought a 32-foot diesel weekend cruiser. It was fast and handled seas quite well, but I always wondered what would happen if that noise stopped. Would it quit in a convenient place, allowing me time to fix the problem, or would it be just when I need the problem least? Or, worse than that, would the icemaker give out before our new friends left the cockpit (12 feet by 15 feet) with drinks and hors d'oeuvres in hand? Oh, the agony of getting old.

Hey, wait a minute! I am getting older, but I'm not old. My 96-year-old mother-in-law says old is 10 years older than she is. I like that. So what if my ankles hurt and my knees are not what they used to be? So what?

So early in my powerboating days I had a brilliant idea: Why not find a coastal cruiser with no bridge deck to climb over and no steep ladder to negotiate onto the cabin sole? What about all that new navigational stuff? Not to worry Ð it's waterproof and can stay with me in the cockpit. So how about a sailboat with a club-footed jib, or better yet, no headsail at all? If I could find a sailboat like that it could mean, "Happy days are here again!" Why not give it a tentative look-see?

While sitting aboard our boat in Boothbay Harbor with a plethora of new friends (remember that 12-foot-by-15-foot cockpit, icemaker, drinks, and hors d'oeuvres?), we all started to assess a really big catboat moored next to us. It had a wishbone rig, was big with a deep cockpit. Was it the levity of the occasion, the booze, or just gross misjudgment that caused us to guess that it was between 36 and 38 feet?

When the owner came by, we ventured to ask the size. Thirty feet, he told us. Are you kidding? Really? How does it sail? Really? HmmÉmaybe I should take a closer look. My heart told me maybe, just maybe, I should see what was available on the market.

One of my sailing friends happens to be a yacht broker who took me under his wing and told me that he had one listed right here in Maine. He assured me that this geriatric boat would never make me sad about its performance and would actually probably sail better than I could ever have imagined.

I looked at the boat in a barn at Robinhood Marine Center in Georgetown at the same time as other prospective buyers and found myself being a little angry that they would track dirt onto what would, I was sure, become my new boat.

We put our powerboat, Departure, on the market and sold it in two weeks. And, yes, we bought the Nonsuch 30 with the wishbone rig, cleaned up the dirt, launched it and sailed happily into the sunset. Well, almost.

After the first sailing season I could get the boat into "the groove" more often than not. I considered her the easiest boat I had ever sailed, but the hardest boat I had ever sailed properly. I am still occasionally found with the sailing manual in hand, trying to get used to the wishbone rig. Use the topping lift? Use the choker to shape the sail? How much of the sail should be on the wishbone for this wind and this point of sail?

One thing I learned from the manual is that when you have the sail all the way out on the mast in the extreme front of the boat, with a mile of sheet out there, and you are horrified to see an unintentional jibe coming, as the captain you should find something important that you must do below right now and let the crew fend for themselves.

"Phew, that was really something, eh? You've gotta anticipate those jibes, you know, or someone will get hurt!"

One of my good friends Ð he used to stay and drink my booze even after the ice ran out Ð wanted to name my newfound love Fat Lady. He wanted to add some musical notes all around the transom as in the opera saying, "It's not over till the fat lady sings." There is room for this comedy on the transom, and he would have been able to read it easily and often while sailing.

However, we named the boat Departure, first because the powerboat was a departure from sailing, and now this is a departure from powerboating, yawls, and sloops. Not to mention that on the blankets and our jackets we had Departure already embroidered, and it would be hard with these old eyes to pick out all those stitches.

After a while, along with diminished eyesight, a slower step, a little extra weight in the wrong places, and, last but not least, gray hair, came something really positive. Mr. Press-On-Regardless gave way to the ultimate cruising pleasure. No wind? Foggy? Storm coming? Wind from the wrong direction? Let's wait for the conditions to change, as they always do in Maine. Let's go walking, heaven forbid. Let's go explore this island. Let's poke around in our pram, get some odd jobs done, and truly get into the rhythm of the boat.

This past summer we spent six weeks at one stretch on the boat, then took two weeks to do essentials (pay bills and mow the lawn). Then we returned for another three weeks.

People ask, "Oh really? Where did you go?" "

"Everywhere and nowhere; wherever the wind blew us." Isn't that great?

The transition from almost-constant clinical symptoms to a smile that is difficult to erase is quite an accomplishment. I think I will take some pictures I have of the boat and go talk to some of my old sailing friends who also succumbed to what we all feel is inevitable: powerboats.

They may not realize it, but they too could be saved and be free as the wind again.

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