As I enter retirement, my interests are changing. My obsession with serious mountaineering and technical rock climbing has relaxed to easy climbing at the local crag with the old crew and walks in the woods. I ride my bicycle more than I have since college; I like the movement. And I no longer have much interest in cruising far, or really any big adventure. I’ve been there, seen that, and proven all that I need to.
I find myself more interested in the motion and the feel, and less attracted to the scale and commitment required by big adventures. I’ve also learned that Baloo had it exactly right . . . at least for an old guy like me:
“And don’t spend your time lookin’ around
For something you want that can’t be found
When you find out you can live without it
And go along not thinkin’ about it
I’ll tell you something true
The bare necessities of life will come to you.”
Boat shows feed two-footitis. It’s their purpose. They nurture the human need to impress neighbors. They dole out shame if your boat moves with the waves and isn’t as comfortable as a suite at the Hilton.
They fully understand the Walter Mitty in many of us and feed the dream of a world cruise will transport you away from the office grind. As a result, people are funneled into boats that really aren’t best for the kind of sailing they will actually do. And so as the crowds at the boat show gawk at every boat that is two or four feet longer than the one they have, I find myself fascinated by nimble, smaller craft.
Selling my PDQ 34 catamaran last year was like selling a family home full of memories. It had been a gathering spot. There is a also loss in prestige; somehow I was less successful as a man, a personal failure because my boat is little now, even though for me a boat was never about money. It was a tool for cruising. Possessions are a stupid way to measure yourself or life, really, but we are trained to accumulate them as proof we have moved upwards. Is moving down giving up? It shouldn’t be.
The older I get, I also hate seeing waste. It’s just so … wasteful. My cruising bug satisfied and my interests refocused on day sailing, the big cat was all wrong and I feel smart that I sold her before I became burned out and she declined from disuse.
I didn’t come to sailing because I wanted to go far. I came to sailing because I enjoyed the interaction of wind and waves, being close to the water, and being outdoors. Cruising is something that happened for 15 years, triggered by the joys of discovery I could share with my family and child. But I can’t say I ever loved a cruising boat. And so I’ve returned to my sailing roots, piloting something small and nimble that feels the wind. I love my F-24.
What is it like having a smaller boat again?
- There is still maintenance, but the maintenance is easier to manage.
- I can enjoy sailing in lighter winds and smaller waters. Tacking is fun again.
- There is just as much to think about when sailing, and that’s good. It’s a performance boat, with lots of strings to pull, but she’s calm and safe if I reef early.
- I no longer worry about resale value. I need to keep her safe, nimble, and reliable, but not polished unless I feel like it.
- There’s no guilt if she sits for a few weeks, a month or even several. In actuality, I sail her more often, because it’s easier to jump aboard and go. I still sail in the winter—that’s what drysuits are for.
- I can trailer to faraway places if I want to, but I don’t. She’ll live in a slip.
I’ve become the classic old guy, wearing a flat hat and tearing around windy roads in my Spitfire with the top down. She won’t fit the whole family, but she fits me, my wife, my daughter, and a picnic basket.
I like the new size of my life.
Drew Frye is the technical editor of Practical Sailor. He blogs at www.sailingdelmarva.com.