In 1997, never having set foot on a sailboat, I cast off with a self-proclaimed adrenaline junkie who filled my head with alluring promises of romance and adventure. He failed to mention midnight to three a.m. solo watches, squalls, numerous trips to the top of the mast, non-functioning autopilots, and other inconveniences that threw a kink in paradise. Somehow we survived those years together, on two different boats, neither having more than five hundred square feet of constantly moving living space. This is my story of those years--the four months I spent on my glorious yacht and the forty-four I spent on his damn boat--so put your clock on island time, kick back with a rum punch (or two), and come aboard.
