The end of a cruise always means mixed feelings for us.

We walked into our townhouse last night and looked around, as if seeing it for the first time. It looked huge.

“It seems too big,” Marty said. “It feels decadent.”

By American standards, our place — around 1,300 square feet — is a small home, hardly decadent (though it could reasonably be argued that having both a boat and a home is decadent). There are probably houses in Texas with closets bigger than our entire home. But after being on our boat for two weeks it felt different, as it always does. Lily, our cat, wandered around looking slightly confused, as if she wasn’t sure where to go first.

Me, I felt like I’d been dropped somewhere luxurious, with closets I can easily hang things in and drawers I don’t have to shove my clothes into. A shower (actually, two) that doesn’t involve flip flops, coins or hairballs of unknown origin. A flushing toilet. HEAT. An oversized, front-loading fridge and — oh, the bliss — an icemaker.

It’s always a novelty to get home. I’ve missed the creature comforts over the past couple of weeks — even, I have to admit, the couch and TV (with two episodes of Mad Men recorded and awaiting our viewing). But my enjoyment of these things makes me worry that maybe I’ve become too spoiled and comfortable to become a liveaboard at some point in the not-too-distant future, that when the time comes to leap from my comfort zone into the unknown, I might hesitate. I hope that’s not the case.

On the other hand, our feelings about returning home were decidedly mixed: excitement tinged with a little sadness about our cruise coming to an end, about leaving behind the adventure of being on a boat and waking up every day with the possibility of new surroundings and experiences. We’ve spent the past two weeks immersed in a world we love. Some days were passed quietly on the hook, enjoying our surroundings. Some were spent at marinas, where we met other cruisers and traded boat stories. We’ll be writing and posting more about where we went and what we did in upcoming days.

There’s an undeniable attraction about returning to the routine. Most of us are creatures of habit, and I’m looking forward to reestablishing my usual daily routine — going to the gym, working the rest of the day, making dinner, seeing friends. Being home provides a reassuring structure to life. We don’t have to worry that our house will drag anchor of the middle of the night and end up on shore, or that a thru-hull will suddenly fail and the house will flood. The wind can howl outside and the walls and roof surrounding us won’t give an inch. Not surprisingly, we both slept the sleep of the dead last night.

But of course, the daily stress of safely managing a boat and successfully making passages quickly give way to the longer-term — and more mundane — preoccupations of life at home. And while the relative safety of home provides a comforting level of security, the predictability of daily life, at least for me, can become stifling. The element of the unknown and an innate wanderlust are a big part of what make sailing so appealing to me. For Marty, the challenges of being out in the elements and dealing with nature are inspiring.

But for now, we’re back on solid ground and feeling a little wistful about the unofficial end of boating season. We plan to use our boat as much as possible this month and next before embarking on some winter projects, but the arrival of Labor Day makes it impossible to ignore the fact that summer, which was particularly fleeting this year, is quickly coming to an end.

How was your 2010 boating season? Did the weather dampen your cruising plans? What were the highlights of your boating experiences this year? We’d love to hear from you in the comments section below.

About Deborah Bach

Deborah Bach is the editor and co-founder of Three Sheets Northwest. She is an avid sailor and long-time professional journalist. You can find Deborah aboard Three Sheets, an Island Packet 38, with her husband Marty and their cat Lily.

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