Alone in a room full of cruisers

April 2007

By Tom Snyder

Go to a boat show in February and you will witness a sea of romantic humanity considering an enormous new cruising hobby. Others there will have already indulged. All of these folks share a common, overlapping list of images or fantasies of what cruising will have in store for them. Here is a partial list of classic cruising fantasies, of which NONE apply to me: exotic travel, adventure and thrills, fishing, fine dining aboard, opportunities for manly behavior, being alone with nature.

Exotic Travel: That’s just not me. For example, I have lived in Cambridge as an adult since 1973. During that period, I have avoided travel. This is why I am planning a major trip at some point soon, probably to Methuen, although, it does make me anxious to think about it. Maybe Billerica. Who am I kidding? I don’t need to go all that way. What’s wrong with reading about it?

Adventure and Thrills: That’s just not me. When I have cruised with true adventurers a few miles beyond my beloved Casco Bay, they can’t wait to go ashore to see the tallest known freestanding trellis or to hike up a small mountain that once was home to General Waddington, the shortest general to ever hike without a manservant. I will always, always stay behind. A trip up a rainforesty river in an Ecuadorian pongo to see snakefish mate is nothing compared to staying aboard to count amp hours.

Fishing: That’s just not me. At the end of a day of sailing, blood in the cockpit is never a good sign. Plus, even though I know that the nervous system of a fish is about as complex as a set of car keys, I still can’t stand to see them breathe to death.

Fine dining aboard: That’s just not me. Cruising magazine galley photo spreads of arugula notwithstanding, I get excited by nifty freeze-dried food experiments – beef Wellington reduced to a disk of highly compressed Wellington essence. I applaud it. With a dancing bear, the dancing is lousy, but we appreciate the effort. Similarly, I am a substitute food enthusiast.

Opportunity for manly behavior: That’s just not me. When, on the first day of the sailing season, I bang my elbow against a winch handle, I respond with a desperate, manic, jumping, arm shaking, grimacing flourish. I don’t care who is watching. At the end of a long season of cruising, I respond to every small injury the some way. Last season, I left my wetsuit draped over the binnacle, went below to go to the head, returned to the cockpit to see a huge, swarthy man who had apparently climbed aboard. Is it politically correct to say I screamed like a girl at my wetsuit?

Being alone with nature: That’s just not me. I used to think that cruising alone was my Thoreau thing – a way of standing up to “a life of quiet desperation.” I thought so until I realized that on my solo cruises, I always quietly, desperately manage to go ashore to talk too much to waiters and waitresses. I’ve been known to tell restaurant staff all about a hernia that at first looked problematic, but then upon reflection, might be something I could live with if were willing to avoid lifting or even to wear one of those undignified belts. They do seem interested when I go on and on. During a solo cruise, I count these restaurant workers among my dearest friends.

So, if none of the above is how I fantasize about cruising, what image do I hold in mind all winter? Answer: I look forward to reading aboard. That’s basically it. At a boat show, I might say to myself, “That sloop looks like a great boat to read on.” Looking at a cruising guide, I have thought many times, “That looks like a great cove to read in.” My book bag is already loaded for this summer, and I can see from here that the top book is a history of the Basques. That will make a great book for, say, Roque Island (while someone else is reading nearby).

This is why I sail! It’s why I pay an enormous amount to shrinkwrap the boat in the fall, why I pay for insurance and bottom paint and varnish and mooring fees. To read! See why I feel alone in a room of sailing cruisers?

Tom Snyder sails out of Peaks Island, Maine.

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