O The Creatures You Will Meet!

Flying Squid
I found this gem of an article in the paper today. Whereas I am still a little uncertain as to its provenance and whether or not it is a practical joke, it made me wax nostalgic for the skippy fish that used to shatter the surface of Gulf waters. Startled by what must have seemed from underwater a leviathan silently cutting through the waves, they would rise in fleets and clatter away from our gliding hull. Most mornings underway we would find a few stiffening corpora, winged fins outstretched on the deck. Despite our best efforts, our aging Siamese cat would have nothing to do with them, and they were summarily buried at sea. Though I have no intention of going as far afield as the Sea of Japan, my imagination is captured by an image of ranks of lavender squidlets, propelled like squirt toys on a jet of water, speeding across calm seas on gelatinous wings. Remembering the hard crack that the bony flying fish made as they smacked the hull, I easily conjure the wet slap that would result from such a collision with a flying squid. My mental menagerie is expanded, and I add the flying squid to the ranks of creatures that, while I may never see them in person, endlessly inhabit the warm waters of my dreams.

Revelation!

It only took five solid days of rain. Okay, so being stuck in a strange house with two odd dogs and the world's fattest cat on a mountainside about 25 miles from my own home helped some. But you become impatient. "Revelation?" you say, with eyebrow lifted and that little bit of a smile that you get when you are humoring me. Yes. Revelation. Obviously, if you have stumbled upon (or been invited to) this blog, you know of my affection (affliction?) for sailboats. Especially during cold, wet, brown, snow-less North Carolina winters. (Your toe is tapping. Where was I going with this?) Yes. Revelation. One word.
Catamaran.
Oooo. I just got chills. Yes, catamaran! In my few years as an actual sailor, I confess that I rather looked down on them. They were so... light. We lived on our beautiful Shannon 50, dark, mysterious, serious cruising vessel that she was. Smallish ports designed to keep out the seas (good luck with that), lovely oak and teak paneling designed to make you feel like you were at home on the Pinta, and just enough room in the berth to make you feel very tall. She was lovely. But catamarans! They were broad! Bright! And good Lord, they had a real bed in them. Several, as a matter of fact. What Puritanical urge made me look down on them, I have no idea. Probably the same one that made my buy my tiny little house on the mud slope because it had nice stained glass windows. But I digress.
Cruising catamarans seem to be a relatively new breed. Most of the ones I have perused today have been built since the mid '80s, and I confess, rather look it. Spacey is the first word that comes to mind. They look more than a little like a bright white fiberglass Geordi la Forge or a nautical version of the Guggenheim. But my innately classical sense of style (no snorting, you) is overwhelmed by the second word that comes to mind. Spacious. And the third. Bright. Sunlight everywhere! O, dear me! One can see OUTSIDE from INSIDE. And really, isn't that a good half of what cruising is about? Hanging on the hook in a new harbor, puttering about making supper, humming a Jimmy Buffett tune, and LOOKING OUT at where it is your dream has carried you? (Okay, except that bit about the Jimmy Buffett tune.) Every one that I looked at today (like this one) whispered, "Buy me. I'll take you back to the Dry Tortugas and beyond."

Now all I need to figure out is how to sail one.