August 11 , 2005 - IT AIN'T ALL BEER AND SKITTLES
by Michel & Jane DeRidder

	Urupukapuka Bay, Bay of Islands, New Zealand

Flying fish and billowing sails. Sunshine and trade winds. Brown-skinned girls. Rum punches. The dream is pursued by countless would-be small boat voyagers who give up the rat race, the time clock, the mortgage payments, the idiot box, the lawn mower, only to tumble out of the familiar comfort of the armchair into a frantic chase for elusive values. Life's savings that are not gobbled up by the dream yacht itself may soon be eroded by unforeseen expenses and soaring prices.

Some vessels seldom leave the slip. A few never leave the back yard. Some dreamers, led by visions of cotton sails, caulked seams, deadeyes and baggy wrinkle, spend their waking hours keeping ahead of dry rot. The idea was great, but the vessel they chose was too old or too far gone to start with, or maybe just too big. Anyhow, the leaky seams and sloshing bilges are accompanied by mildew, rust and soggy bedding...and the bubble bursts. Still other cruising hopefuls find themselves the slaves of their own electronic monsters with their incessant demands for overhauls, parts, or just a little more juice. These gadget-happy skippers can seldom cut themselves free from their 110 umbilical cords.

Michel - mechanical challenges.

A surprising number of dogged souls do manage to sail off into the unknown - in monohulls and multihulls, gaff-headed schooners and Tupperware sloops, stolid motorsailers and engineless cockleshells, converted lifeboats and megabuck money trees - each secure in the knowledge that his is the only way to go.

But many set out in untried craft with green crew, never having cruised their own home waters, not realizing that the inevitable bugs can be more readily run to earth and eradicated before leaving sheltered, familiar cruising grounds. Instead of adequate anchor tackle, they have a radio to call for help. Seasickness takes its toll. Crew members desert at each port of call like rats leaving a sinking ship. The hardy carry on only to be stricken with sunstroke, dysentery, or teak seat. Those that survive the sun, the drinking water and the damp bathing suits may succumb to coral infections and fish poisoning, more exotic certainly, but no less painful. Even shipwreck is not unheard of.

	Jane - antifouling again.

There are those who can afford to have repairs and maintenance done by professionals, who perhaps have paid skippers deliver their boats when obligations keep them elsewhere, or they may have their yachts shipped or trucked for portions of their trip when time runs short. There are well-equipped racing yachts taking part in ocean races and subsequent cruising, often with little fanfare. There are ever-increasing numbers of cruising sailors of all ages, of many nationalities, voyaging long- and short-term, more often than not happily and successfully, on boats of all descriptions and vintages and degrees of complexity - an increasing number of them with children that are being home-schooled as they travel. A good number of that great host of salty characters manage to cruise on modest budgets, sometimes working here and there to keep themselves in beans. A surprising number manage to carry on for years and thrive on the vagabond existence. Perhaps they have built their own boats. Usually they have the ability and knowledge as well as the tools and spares to do their own maintenance and repairs, mechanical and electronic as well as structural, if necessary. Those tinkerers who thrive on the challenge of keeping a boat up to scratch certainly do have the advantage. They smile to themselves when envious people say how lucky they are, for that it is not all luck, they are only too well aware.

Cruising in your own boat can seldom be done too happily on a shoestring. Maybe a modest, ingenious person can live on next to nothing, but a boat cannot. Even the simplest of yachts must have its sails and rigging and anchor tackle replaced now and then, and must be hauled regularly to have bottom anti-fouled. And this is just a beginning. The more complicated the gear, the more expensive the maintenance on a logarithmic scale. The old saying that "a boat is a hole in the water, lined with wood, into which you pour all your money" is no less true today when the hole may well be lined with fiberglass, steel, aluminum, carbon fiber or ferrocement. Cruising can be fun and challenging, but it may not be cheap or easy. It cannot be done successfully on a vision. It can be costly, uncomfortable, inconvenient, even frightening.

Vava'u, Tonga.

Our logs tell of trade wind voyaging, Polynesian feasting, dancing and singing, of landing giant wahoo and hunting wild pig and goats, of diving in coral barrier reefs and of shooting surf by moonlight, of shell leis and flower crowns, fairy terns and blue noddies, of taste sensations such as roast dog, barbecued goat, grilled booby, raw fish, marinated octopus, fresh-plucked pomplemouse.

But our logs also remind us of sail handling in fierce doldrum squalls, of bouncing uncomfortably in surgy anchorages as a result of distant high-latitude winter gales, of being driven aground on coral in the wee small hours in gusty winds and torrential rains. Our logs tell too of anxious red-rimmed eyes searching out elusive atoll landfalls, of no-no bites - most unpleasant eruptions - and of weak, aching tingly limbs after a case of ciguatera fish poisoning.

'T ain't all beer and skittles...