Living on board had countless perks, and I shared many of them with you on a daily basis. The freedom, the closeness to nature, the simplicity, it truly feels like living the dream. But, as with all things, there was another side to it. Life on a boat made us vulnerable. Things broke, wore out, and sometimes disappeared altogether.

When we are at anchor, our dinghy isn’t just a convenience; it is essential. It is our car, our bike, our lifeline to the shore. Hendrickje was all that and more. We had chosen her carefully, selected her motor, and given her a name that held meaning: after our main vessel Simon Hendrick, and also after Philou, whose middle name is Hendrikje. She had become a part of our small floating family, and she had served us well.

The day we lost her, we had just returned from a long hike. Ironically, we had been discussing the “what if”, what would we do if something ever happened to her? A few hours later, we had our answer. She was gone. Whether she had been stolen or had come loose and drifted away didn’t really matter in that moment. What mattered was that she wasn’t there anymore.

At 11 p.m. that night, we went out to search. Mostly, I think, to feel like we were doing something, even though deep down we knew how slim the chances were. Searching in open water, in total darkness, without moonlight, is almost hopeless. Eventually, we returned to our anchorage, poured ourselves a drink, and sat with the loss. It wasn’t just about the dinghy or the cost. She had meant more to us.

But life at sea also taught us resilience. The loss hurt, but we knew we had to move forward.

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A few days later, we are taking action. Not having a dinghy simply isn’t an option, we can’t anchor without one. So, first, we have filed a report at the police station. That alone took us two visits to different bureaux and three hours of waiting. Still, it was necessary, especially since Hendrickje had no official registration.

We strongly believe that the chance of her having come loose is greater than that of her being stolen, which means there is still a (small) possibility she might be found. To support that hope, we needed to link her identity to our main vessel, Simon Hendrick. The only way to do so is by creating an official file, and so we did, repeating to ourselves: be patient, we have time 😉.

In the meantime, the search for a new Hendrickje has began. We agreed that the choices we made a year ago worked out well, so we aim to find a similar set-up: a 2.70–2.90m dinghy (the maximum our davits can handle), with an aluminium V-shaped double bottom, and a 9.9 Yamaha engine.

We prefer to buy second-hand. The boat is used intensively, and buying new feels wasteful. We also don’t feel the need for a more expensive hypalon version, since we estimate a maximum lifespan of about four years with the way we use it.

So we dived into some online desk research. We found a few second-hand options in Mallorca, and we visited four shops in Ibiza to compare and get a better feel for the market. No decision has been made yet, but we are heading towards Mallorca, hoping we’ll have more options there.

Honestly, it still feels strange to even think about replacing her. It feels like a part of our boat life is missing, like we’re functioning with one arm tied behind our back. And of course, it’s not something we want to spend money on…

So during our passage to Mallorca, Edwin couldn’t stop scanning the horizon, eyes sweeping the endless blue like a radar. Part of him still hoped we would spot Hendrickje drifting somewhere out there, as if she could somehow have survived the odds and made it this far. But of course, she didn’t. The sea is vast, and we knew the chances were near impossible. Still, hope has a funny way of lingering.

Once we arrived in Mallorca, we shifted our focus fully to the search. We rented a car and began touring dinghy dealers across the island. The first one we visited seemed promising. He had a couple of second-hand options and a new AB dinghy made of Hypalon, paired with a used engine. The deal was tempting, especially for the quality, but even with the attractive discount, it was above the budget we had drawn up. We had already decided that Hypalon was a luxury we didn’t need. Plus, we were starting to learn that everything, absolutely everything, is more expensive on these islands.

For a brief moment, it felt like we were on the right track. But it wasn’t the one for us.

I was ready to call it quits for the day, overwhelmed by decision fatigue and the whole ordeal, but Edwin wasn’t. Thankfully. He pushed forward, motivated and methodical as always. The next day, we hit the road again and visited every shop we could find. Our online digging had led us to Highfield dinghies, which seemed to have prices more in line with Northern Europe (which, around here, counts as a bargain). The first Highfield we saw in person turned out to be a perfect match, within our nonexistent budget, as we like to call it, but reasonable enough to consider and in stock. It was a 2.90CL, just within the davit limit, and ticked every box.

The only piece left was the engine. Edwin had his mind set on a Yamaha, whether new or used. New quickly proved too pricey, so we headed to an outlet in Palma called Mercanautic, highly recommended, by the way. That’s where we stumbled upon something unexpected: a brand called GOII, essentially a Yamaha under a different label, new but priced like second-hand. The only drawback? It was black, not our favorite. But hey, it’s what’s inside that counts.

After lunch (and a brief moment of silence to let it all sink in), we looked at each other and just knew: this was it. We had found our new Hendrickje.

A 2.90-meter Highfield with a 15HP two-stroke engine. Premium build, bigger than the last, all brand new, more HP and—amazingly—within the same budget we had spent a year ago. Somehow, after days of uncertainty, making such a big purchase didn’t feel stressful anymore. It felt like relief. Like solving a puzzle. Like coming home with a new crew member we hadn’t known we were ready to welcome.

She’s not just a boat. She’s our connection, our mobility, our freedom. And it feels good to have that back.