The story of C's Choices....

Once upon what now seems a long, long time ago in a place far, far from winters in Chicago, we owned a sailboat.  We were living in Stuart, Florida, and the boat was a 28 foot Islander.  Sunflower was a handsome thing, cute even.  We had learned to sail with her, and somehow began planning to take her across the Gulf Stream to the Bahamas.

We at first planned to go for a few weeks, then somehow, by degrees and with the urging of cruising friends, it somehow grew into "the season." 

This meant the winter.  The rule was to cross the Gulf Stream about Christmas and return in May.

The rule indicated that the 28 foot Islander was not big enough, did not have the right gear nor equipment nor creature comforts nor, nor, nor...  "We need a bigger boat."  Cynthia announced.  "Bigger."

Having your wife want you to buy a bigger boat is not an everyday occurance.  I was soon on the phone to our friend Dick, who was a sailor,  a cruiser, and a boat broker.

"Dick, it's Jim.   How'd you like to sell Sunfower for me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry... "  was his reply.

When I asked why, he explained that the usual reason that someone in the midst of planning a cruise would want to sell his boat is due to problems between husband and wife.   I explained that the only problem we had was that Cynthia wanted a bigger boat.

That cheered Dick up, but then "wants a bigger boat" is a phrase that brokers have illicit dreams about.   He was immediately cheerful and helpful and within a few hours we had answered dozens of questions about things our prospective boat must have, couln't have, could have, should have.

The questionaire was plugged into the computer and a long list came forth.  We applied some fiscal responsibility and the list shrank to about 50.  The next three or four weeks were spent visiting boats, working outward from Stuart, north as far as Cape Canaveral, south as far as Miami, west to Tampa and St. Pete and Fort Meyers.

From Stuart there is no east but water and that's what we wanted the boat for. 

Every morning we would get up and meet Dick and go look, or if Dick had other business, we would go look at boats he had arranged for us to see.  At first Dick and I would gleefully clamber over the boats, noting this and that, checking off items on our checklist, qualifying the boat on it's design, mechanics, rigging, maintenance.  Only to discover that Cynthia had come, looked, debarked, and was now waiting in the air-conditioned car.  Sometimes she didn't even go below, other times she would climb down the companionway, look around once, and climb back out.

We learned to wait and see if she was at least oing to look at the staterooms, the head, the storage...

Finally the morning came when after breakfast I simply sat and read the newspaper.  "Where are we going today?"  Cynthia asked, anticipating Mr. Gates.  "What boats Are we going to see?"
 

"Nowhere.  None.  There are no move boats to see.  You've rejected every boat Dick could find for us to look at."

"Well, that can't be.  Get on the phone and tell Dick I want to look at more boats...."

As an escape, I drove over to the office and told Dick that Cynthia wanted to see more boats.  None of the ones we had looked at would do, none of them was acceptable, as he well knew.

One of the things you must understand at this point is that Dick is a gentleman and a cruiser long before he is a boat salesman.  Dick has never knowingly offended anyone, for any reason.  He is, in fact, one of the world's two or three nicest guys.

So you understand my discomfort when Dick took off his glasses and began rubbing his face up and down over his cupped palms, saying, in slow cadence to the rough massaging of his face, "Tell Cynthia....   that all boats....  are compromises...there is no...  perfect boat.... "

After a cup of coffee and some wishful thinking, we came up with a few boats we could look at that were basically repeats of already rejected models, but with minor difference. Within a week we'd found a boat, a 34 foot Hunter sloop.   Cynthia had already declined two other 34 foot Hunter's, but every few years Hunter changes the internal layout and the 1986 model met her approval.   A  bit of negotiating and she was ours.

The name on her transom was Quantum Solace.   That simply would  not do.   It just seemed awkward to Cynthia and Jim was pretty sure he wanted more than a quanta of solace from sailing.

One evening after working on the boat most of the day, getting it ready to cruise and occasionally tossing possible names around, we went to supper with Dick and his wife Carol.  The discussion, of course, was all about our new boat and our plans for the cruise and our dilemma over the name.

"What else could it be," asked Dick, "but C's Choice?"

And it was.   Generally still is.