I have realised that dinghy cruising is more than the classic middle-aged man's folly, it's a grasping for wildness that beats on the heart of us all.
I often wonder each dawn as I sit here on my back deck, two teens still asleep, 80 acres spread before me part noose around d my neck part buffer from the insanities of suburbia, about whether I will ever again live a seasteading life. But this morning in the wake of listening to a Jim Brown podcast in which old guys muse on whether the Constant Camber 37' is as good as the Searunner 34', I realise that I will never go a seasteading again. The reality is that trading in all my chips for a swapping vessel is hard enough, but having the bucks to shell out for annual slipping, mooring fees, engine overhauls and so on is both unlikely and undesirable.
So, I ask myself, what is it about dinghy cruising that feeds my appetite? The answer is complex, but one aspect I'm tuning into this fine morning is that it offers man a link or outlet for his wild drives. Buried deep inside many of graying, girth-expanding fellows lays a wildness that manicured couch lawns, flat screen tv's, fast internet or a new car, cannot touch. It's that drive that has us yearning for the beautys, fears, discomforts and freedoms that only dinghy cruising can offer. That little box under the tarp at the bottom of the garden can launch us into situations beyond our making, all in one day we can be thrilled, contented, soaked, scared and slightly mad without the (ex)missus, kids, neighbours, employers or government departments knowing a scrap about. It's that little bit of f you world that burns within getting some air time.
