Confessions of a White Knuckle Cruising Spouse–1

Once upon a time I married a man who liked to mess about in boats. He had a dream of cruising the waters of the Eastern United States and maybe the rivers of Middle America, when the time was right.

In 2015—thirty-four years later—we completed that trip.

It took us from the Gulf Coast to the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway, into the Chesapeake and Delaware bays, and on up the coast of New Jersey into New York. The Hudson River took us to the Erie Canal and from there we crossed Lake Ontario into Canada’s rivers and lakes. We crossed Lake Huron, went down the east side of Lake Michigan and into the Illinois, Mississippi, Ohio, Tennessee, and Tombigbee Rivers.

It was a five-thousand, two-hundred-mile trip and it took us eight months.

This is a blog that relieves the trip with a few additions: what was good, what was bad, and what I learned.

At the time my friends thought I would be living la dolce vita, cruising from place to place in a cozy little 32-foot boat, anchoring off picturesque spots, sipping wine at sunset.
Here is the truth. This was not my idea of fun. Nobody cooked my meals or handed me an appetizer on a dainty napkin. There was no maid or laundry service. The boat was a floating house with all the chores that go with living aboard.

But my husband wanted to cruise and if I hadn’t agreed to go, he would have either gone alone or hired someone to go with him.
At the time, my over-imaginative brain told me it would be a blond bombshell in a bikini who whipped up gourmet meals in a microwave while singing Jimmy Buffet songs in perfect key.

I haven’t fit into a bikini in years, my cooking is okay, and I can carry a tune. I figured that counted, so I agreed to go despite a minor little drawback.
I’m afraid of the water.

Gut wrenching, knuckle-blanching terror ties me in a quivering knot every time the wind comes up. When we’re in open water and the boat rolls from side to side or bumps through troughs and spray, I wrap myself in a virtual ball and pray for deliverance to a safe harbor.

But every adventure has a beginning and I will begin to recount mine next week. Hope you’ll stick with me because it was one hell of a year.