When is Smaller Better?

9-16-2017, rev. 8-1-2024

Human nature--or at least American nature--is to covet and to believe that bigger is always better. But if that were true, I wouldn't get so much enjoyment from my thrice weekly bike rides. My theory with rode vehicles is that fun is inversely proportional to size:

• Skate board or in-line skates. I haven't been on skates in a several years, not since I injured my knee. Maybe it's time. I have several pairs.
• Bicycle. 
• Sporty car
• SUV
• Van
• Winnebago
• Semi-trailer

 Actually, the last two are fun for the first little bit, just for the adventure. Each has certain utility. But if I just want to head out for a few hours of smiles, the bicycle wins, hands down. I even switched from SUV (Subaru Forester) to sporty car (Mazda 3 hatchback) a few years ago, and I'm loving it (and the 43 MPG doesn't hurt either!).


 For the last six years, this aluminum and carbon toy has helped keep me in shape. And it is fun.

Does the same hold true for boats? I think it does, perhaps even more so if we include the difference in maintenance requirements. Big boats are work. And even more than the bicycle-to-RV continuum, small boats teach sailing, while large boats teach systems. Everyone should learn to sail a small boat first.

Not counting a few rentals, my first sailing experience was eight years with a Prindle 16 beach catamaran. When the wind gets up, small, over-canvassed boats are strict teachers regarding sail balance, trim, sea state, and situational awareness. Of course, I couldn't leave well enough alone, and I eventually added hiking racks and a bow sprit for a chute, making her quite the rocket.

I got married, decided to get something just a little more group-friendly, but still lively. The Stiletto 27 is really just a beach cat on steroids, just as fast and only a little more stable. This is not a boat to learn sailing on; capsize is possible, and unlike a beach cat, you can't just flip her back on her feet and laugh it off. She taught me more conservative sailing and introduced me to cruising. Although her accommodation were primate, she took us on some long trips (weeks), germinating the cruising bug. Although she was not as nimble as the beach cat, she was still quick to tack, would motor at 12 knots, and we once hit 23 knots with the chute up. Scary. And fun.

Soon I had real cruising ambitions. A larger boat--my current PDQ--would accommodate the family and some of my daughter's friends on long trips in a reasonable level of comfort, and with a fair turn of speed. Motoring is only 7.5 knots and sustained sailing is generally 7-10 knots (not surfing), but we can maintain those speeds for 10 hours, because she is much less tiring to drive. In fact, her stability is so great she is on autopilot 95% of the time. I measure wind speed by a gauge on the dash and direction by wind vane, not by the wind in my hair. She's comfortable in a near gale in the winter, but now I'm insulated from the actual sailing. And yet in a good blow she does come alive, and 9 knots to windward is not unusual. She can really drive.

But it's not like riding a bike. The intimacy is lost when a boat becomes large enough for cruising. In bad weather we want to be insulated from the elements. We call that comfort and seaworthiness. 

The next boat, just month after writing this, turned out to be a Corsair F-24, which I had coveted since the first came out. It looked like fun. It is. I consider it my daysailer for grownups. Lots of strings to pull, easy enough for one person but easy room for 2-3, fast enough, weatherly and fast to tack, yet stable and seaworthy enough.  I'm going to keep her for a while. I might change the waters rather than my boat if my abilities change.