Or is it really living the . . . cliché?

I’ve written ranted before about the saying that “cruising is boat work in exotic locations.” It’s a saying I particularly dislike because it seems to imply that all you ever do is work on your boat, with “work” meaning anything from scrubbing the toilet or reorganizing the pantry all the way to replacing rudder bearings or an entire engine. The ratio of “fun” to “work” had better skew to the “fun” side to overcome the challenges of life afloat.

Sure, there are always projects to be done. This is a harsh environment which takes its toll on everything from sails to wiring to mechanicals. Sometimes you (cough) tip the dinghy over and take the outboard for a swim. Sometimes the freshly-serviced winch stops engaging, making raising the main much harder than it needs to be. You deal with these as they come up.

Sometimes the boat projects are a result of knowing the little upgrades that will make life aboard so much better it’s hard to fathom. Or they’re a result of pride in ownership, and the projects you’re doing are beautifying your space.

Sometimes you actively choose to put off bigger projects for when you’re actually cruising. We’ve done this each time we’ve pushed off the dock; each time it was because the project was not on the “must be done to leave” list.

On our first cruise, back in the mid-1990s, the big “not quite done” project was the dinghy. Jeremy had mostly built a sweet Acorn wooden dink we named Soca in the spare room of our small apartment in Houston, and it was serviceable when we set off in October of 1994. Final touches, like the bow fender, the floor system, and the rope handhold along the top of the gunwales, were not done until we were in Naples with family at Thanksgiving time.

When we set off with the kids in 2009, the water maker was not commissioned. We were heading south along the ICW, with water easily and cheaply available at any fuel dock. It wasn’t until Florida, when we were at a family dock for a few days, that we got the magic water machine plumbed up and running.

Last winter, we set sail from northern Maryland in November. That the awning for the boat was an uncut, unshaped rectangle of canvas waiting its bout with the sewing machine felt fairly unimportant in the grey, sun-free days that are higher latitudes in winter. When we arrived in the Caribbean at the beginning of December, though, that project quickly hit TOP on the priority list. So Jeremy took the materials to shore to lay them out, brought them back to the boat for sewing, and voila. A successful boat project done in paradise. The view was way better than the one from the boatyard.

This winter, we again set sail from northern Maryland in November. It was a frantic push to get ready to go, and included arguably the biggest “undone” boat project to boot - replacing the stanchion posts. All of them. All twenty eight of them. We’d started the work in the yard, honing in on the super leakers that admitted water into critical spots aboard. Spots like our bunk, the galley, the clothes locker, the quarter berth where electronics are housed. We’d hoped we could get away with replacing only a few, but it quickly became apparent that they all needed attention. So we replaced 15 of the 28, and shaped the remainder in prep for installation in the islands. After a few weeks of stuffing a t-shirt to stop newly-found drips along the worst of the remaining ones, we finally had a decent stretch of weather to tackle another batch, in a place that made it easy to move around for protection from whatever winds were forecast.

Maybe the “cruising is boat work in exotic locations” is a bit like being able to work remotely, where the view makes up for some of the sting of not being able to solely focus on play. We’d certainly rather have done those most recent seven stanchion posts in Eleuthera than in Pasadena; now we’re sitting in Pipe Creek, in the Exumas, which is our chosen location for tackling the rest.

Still, any idea that ALL we do is work on the boat is crazy. We’ve had multiple days of glorious sailing. Days exploring the settlement of Rock Sound in Eleuthera or circumnavigating deserted islands on foot. Breathtaking views of beautiful water. Days where the only “boat projects” are making dinner and doing the dishes.

For a few days? We’re living the cliché. Cruising sometimes is boat work in impossibly beautiful locations. I’ll take it.