The phone call came early (too early) in the morning. "Hey Nick, I found a boat I'm interested in, I've got the keys and I'm going down to look at it this afternoon, the owner will be down later, can you come with me?" "Uh, sure, but I'm not a surveyor ya know . . ." "I know, but you have the same boat, and you learned all this crap the hard way, so can you come and help me out." It's hard to argue with flattering logic like that, so I agreed, and 2 hours later I'm standing in the cockpit of another Catalina 27 just like mine. Only it wasn't just like mine. That's like saying a woman's a woman, and I'm old enough to know the folly in that. We stepped down into the cabin and he's beaming like a kid with a fresh stick of gum. "She's in good shape, uh?" I look around and yes, the boat is clean, tidy and smelled good too, like she was prepped for being sold, like they all are, but hey, not so fast there, the flaws are here and I'm out to find them. I set about looking for all the things I didn't look at when I bought my boat, because I didn't know any better and I had the burning hots for a boat and just handed over my money. I was a seller's dream, but, after reading the C-27 e-mail list for four years, here’s where I am going to get my revenge . . . I jumped all over the deck and it's solid bow to stern. I looked over the standing rigging, 3 to 4 years, at most, I thought, with the new spreader brackets and U-bolt upgrades already installed. Everything below is backed up with aluminum plates. So far so good. The bulkheads knocked solid where I banged on them and the mast support post showed no rot either top or bottom. She's an outboard model and the motor started quickly and shifted into gear and all that and the prop moved the boat. She had a decent main and an almost new working jib. After an exhaustive half hour we sat in the cockpit and opened some beers. "The price is right, I've got the money right here, what do you think?" "There's one more place we need to look. The bilge." I swept away the carpet, and before I could lift the bilge cover we both stopped short. Almost the entire cabin sole is covered with spider like cracks. They each radiated out from central points. And they were all over, even in the head. "Movement?" "I don't know. I never saw or heard anything about a cabin sole being cracked like that, something else must be wrong and the forces are being transferred down here." We looked at that for a long time (sole searching) before looking in the bilge which is dry and clean. The keel bolts are stainless and fine. "You got me," I finally said replacing the carpet and returning to our beers. A few minutes later the owner showed up and he's a big man, a bear really, and he's smiling. "I like you two already. You brought your own beer." He then stepped down into the cabin and opened the Norco reefer and grabbed himself a cool one. "How long have you owned this boat?" I asked. "Oh," he said, draining his beer in almost one gulp, "about 15 years now," and without missing a beat he placed the now empty can down on the cabin sole and squashed it with a mighty slam of his foot. "Do you have any questions?" "No," my friend said, "I'll take it . . ." Nick "Julia Bell" C-27, #86