on the one hand

On the one hand sits a nice, shiny production boat. A Jeanneau or maybe a Catalina with all the amenities that come with such boats. A house-sized interior. Great big aft cabin. Shiny wood. Big airy portholes. A swim deck with hot and cold showers. Definitely the choice for the majority of time you spend at anchor or the dock. Lots of room to pass around a pitcher of gin and tonics. This is not however, a boat that likes to be out of sight of land. This is not a boat that welcomes six foot following seas. This boat subscribes to the Tuck Tail And Run school of foul weather management. That's great in the San Juan Islands. Not so much in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

And on the other hand sits a burly bluewater brick shithouse of a boat. Pacific Seacraft. Island Packet. Lots of other names that I can't even afford to type their names in a blog entry, let alone purchase. Beautiful lines. Overhung sterns. Full keels. Skeg-hung rudders. Small sheltered cockpits with high coamings. A tight interior riddled with handholds and lee cloths. This boat subscribes to the Is That All Ya Got? school of foul weather management. Six foot seas feel like home aboard this boat. This is not the boat that holds cocktail parties. You're in the middle of the Atlantic. Who's around to have a cocktail party with anyhow?

I've identified the ends of spectrum and love them both for what they are. What I don't know how to identify is the middle range. We're not sailing Cape Horn here. But sailing to Mexico is well within reality. Or Hawaii. Bermuda. Europe. And when we get there, I think we'll mix up some gin and tonics and spread out in the cockpit.

Still no closer to knowing what I want to buy.