The Walter Mitty boats

JUST ABOUT EVERY MARINA I've ever seen has had its share of Walter Mitty sailboats. You know the ones. Rugged little boats, classic designs, bronze portholes, bowsprits, full keels, even gaff rigs. In short, boats designed to withstand the rigors of an ocean passage — and owned by people who are never going to take them over the horizon.

Why do such people buy such boats? Why are they content to plod along solemnly half a mile off the coast, being passed by modern light-displacement boats filled with young, laughing crews, and then hightailing it back to port before the light fails?

Why do people fall in love with Flickas and Pacific Seacraft and Westsail 32s when they really should be sailing featherweight fluff like Jeanneaus and Beneteaus?

My guess is that no matter how unlikely it may seem, we like to think we have the freedom to sail around the world if we want to, and we need a boat capable of doing it. It may not be logical, but if ever a really big emergency should arise, these are our escape vehicles. I'm talking earthquake, flood, war, political turmoil, economic disaster, even nuclear warfare.

There is something fascinating about owning a small, self-contained home complete with everything to support life and able to travel away from land, with all its woes, and take you to a safe haven across the ocean.

That's why the Walter Mitty boats have solid-fuel stoves. You can always find driftwood to burn in them. They have sextants on board in beautifully varnished wooden cases, and copies of Mary Blewitt's book on celestial navigation in case the GPS system goes down. They have wind-vanes for self-steering and high-cut twin jibs for running in the trades. All their standing rigging is a size bigger than normal. They have small cockpits with large drains, and full keels with maybe a hint of cutaway up forward.

Such boats evoke a visceral emotion, a direct connection to the age-old tradition of the sea. Such boats will look after you when the chips are down; and the way things are going these days, you never know when the chips might come tumbling down.

And there's something else. They look good. They look as if they were made to do a job and do it well. They look as if they were shaped by the sea for the sea. And if you ever need to take advantage of that, they're ready, willing, and able.

Today's Thought

We must expect everything and fear everything from time and from men. 

— Vauvenargues, Réflexions

Tailpiece

Nothing succeeds like a parakeet with no teeth.
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