The Merits of Madness

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It always seems that a storm rolls into Annapolis, Md., just in time for the United States Sailboat Show. Held in October, the annual exhibition is the nations biggest sailboat-only show.

Until this year, my favorite show was in 2006, when a 40-knot gale whipped into town, and the floating docks rolled like a Nantucket whaler with her decks awash.

With the wind and spray lashing the show tents, boat buyers defiantly carried on, one hand groping for a lifeline, the other grasping the credit card.

This year’s storm was of a different sort. There’s something eerily soothing about a large crowd of people ogling new boats while the world markets go into a death spiral. During the shows opening day, five televisions in the waterfront bar Pusser’s Landing tracked the Dows precipitous plunge. In one fell swoop, my boys college fund and any hope of retiring before I’m deaf as a post were carried off in an avalanche of debt. To my surprise, the people around me seemed preoccupied with only boats.

By all appearance, sailors were dealing with the economic storm of 2008 the same way they survived the slippery docks in 2006. They were buttoned down, but happy-sipping dark-and-stormies, thumbing through cruising guides, checking sightlines from the helm of 50-foot sloops. They were talking about chartplotters, EPIRBs, anchors, and turnbuckles, anything but the world outside. They were, like you and me, a little bit mad.

These days, there is something to be said for dementia.

Which leads me to Evans Starzinger and Beth Leonard, whose tireless work in the remote fjords of southern Chile yielded our reports on heavyweight anchors for challenging situations and cold-weather gloves in this month’s issue. While most sailors dream of tropical islands and warm breezes, these two-time circumnavigators thrive in some of the most challenging cruising areas of the planet.

“I don’t like the heat,” Beth explained two summers ago when the pair had paused in San Francisco. Being a sub-tropical sailor, I have a different take on ideal climate, but I couldn’t argue with her reasoning.

Certainly there are land-lubber types who think that beneath this passion for charging past the 50th parallel lies an element of madness. But I’m sure that even the chronically seasick find inspiration in what Evans and Beth are doing—especially today. As the Great Recession turns our quest for fortune ashore into an empty folly, the dream to “just sail away” doesn’t seem so crazy after all.

Whatever storms may lie ahead, I am buoyed by this thought. Cruising sailors are an independent lot. Give us a boat, some water, and food, and we’ll be fine for weeks at a time. Let the rest of the world think we’re wing nuts. The mess we’re in belies the truth: The loony bin, as any sailor knows, begins just north of the high-water mark.

Darrell Nicholson
Editor

Darrell Nicholson
Practical Sailor has been independently testing and reporting on sailboats and sailing gear for more than 50 years. Supported entirely by subscribers, Practical Sailor accepts no advertising. Its independent tests are carried out by experienced sailors and marine industry professionals dedicated to providing objective evaluation and reporting about boats, gear, and the skills required to cross oceans. Practical Sailor is edited by Darrell Nicholson, a long-time liveaboard sailor and trans-Pacific cruiser who has been director of Belvoir Media Group's marine division since 2005. He holds a U.S. Coast Guard 100-ton Master license, has logged tens of thousands of miles in three oceans, and has skippered everything from pilot boats to day charter cats. His weekly blog Inside Practical Sailor offers an inside look at current research and gear tests at Practical Sailor, while his award-winning column,"Rhumb Lines," tracks boating trends and reflects upon the sailing life. He sails a Sparkman & Stephens-designed Yankee 30 out of St. Petersburg, Florida. You can reach him by email at practicalsailor@belvoir.com.