When we were "able-bodied", and just dating, I told her I had a couple of boats. I knew then it didn't do much for her, she barely mentioned it.
TheCuban had her reservations.
She'd grown up in Key West, so fresh fish and lobsters and all sorts of sea-life was literally at her back door.
She'd been on stinkpots, go-fasts, fishing boats, and some other vessels able to transport all types of goods and services, so my pathetic excuse for watercraft didn't impress her much. I mean really, no neon paint scheme? No twin or triple outboards? what, no seatbelts?
I spent all of 10 minutes removing the sailcover and casting off, motored out of the marina, quietly, shut the motor down, and raised the sails.
The "whoosh" of the main and jib filling, the slight creaking of the lines and fitments was oddly "comforting" I'd say by her demeanor. A slow, even smile overtook her face. No words were spoke, but this was different for her.
We spent more than a few days and weekends lazing about, going nowhere slowly, going to the same places every weekend, dropping anchor in the same little cove & she'd be stretched across the rear lazerette, planning my demise I suppose by reading the latest whodunit, or true crime novel. She never cared about sail trim, if we were pointing or if we were healing at 10, or 20 degrees for that matter, just warn her if her iced tea is going to spill.
She quickly learned that the sailing world is on "Cuban" time too, meaning, if we tell friends we'll meet tham at the destination on Saturday, we'd be there... Saturday... sometime. Saturday. And thats as close as you're gonna get from us.
Every so often, I'd squirt some SPF something down whatever was exposed, and all was right with the world.
She told me she was having second, third and fourth thoughts about this hole in the water I called a boat. Her experiences had been pounding waves, so noisy you couldn't hear your self think, having to raw knuckle it just to get off shore, the smell of raw fuel permeating everything you own, and this was different.
This, was nice. This was... yea, nice.
After that first day, the silence, the rythmic lapping of the waves on the hull, the ability to go into the cabin and close the door on a proper bathroom, and, come up to the cockpit holding an ice cold beverage of choice...
well, she could "make do". LOL.
Her favorite to spend the weekend was the Freedom 33. It had an easy motion, easy to handle, and we could party like rock stars. It was the boat to take our less than waterlogged friends aboard. Plenty of room for all sorts of shenannigans.
And I think it was bigger than her first apartment.
Her favorite to spend the day was the Catalina 27. She knew it was easier for me to handle, and she knew she could sail it in a pinch. It was big enough for just us two, small enough that we were close, but not too close.
Then, I did sumpin' stoopid. LOLOLOL
read about it in "hersailnet".
there are enough photos of her all over the place.