The Cruise is Dead, Long Live the Cruise

Meeting with the crew

Every cruise ends sometime. Years ago when we first started I had imagined that we would cast off the dock lines and go forever. Instead we came back within months rather than years. Obligation's short leash tugged at our plans. If only we had had a longer leash we could have pushed further, seen more, walked on emptier beaches. That was so naive.

Looking back I now understand that those years would have melted away whether we came back or not. Our first venture would be over, no matter how long that leash. Fortunately that first Bahamas venture was only the first chapter in a much longer sailing novel.

This summer's Cape Cod adventure can only be remembered. A winter's journey starts from here. I'm single-handing for a while, indulging in the bittersweet feeling of being alone under way.

Learning a new tune

I can work on the same tune a thousand times without wondering whether this might be getting a bit repetitive. Crew meetings are short. No compromises, no adjustments for others' needs.

And, alas, no one to clink a celebratory glass on landfall. It cuts both ways and I find that solitude makes companionship a precious contrast. I shall miss her terribly.

The Bahamas beckon. Long live the cruise.