When I bought her, she was a wreck. A divorce casualty sitting on the hard in Deltaville, bird nests in the boom, electrical tape holding a shroud cover together. I slept in a sleeping bag on the cabin sole for three months, rewiring, rebedding ports, learning the geometry of her spars by heart. The Farr 36 OD is not a forgiving boat. She was designed to win races, not coddle amateurs. Every time I turned the key, she dared me to be better.