Bragging Rights

Mariners. Yachties. Cruisers. Wanderers. They’re an odd lot. Chefs, scientists, carpenters, mechanics. They ply their trade wherever the wind and seas take them. Dissidents, outcasts. Most eschew bitterness and celebrate their freedom. Unbounded by social constraints, they do what they want, when they want and with whom they want. Even families participate. One couple I met raised a brood of six on a vessel no bigger than a lap pool. Those kids have a heckuva good life. Every port always has a few "boat monkeys" hanging around and within minutes off they go like old friends getting into mischief. 
The adult problem is addiction. These folks are obsessed with their boats. You’d think conversing with seafaring world travelers would be mesmerizing. What caused them sell the condo, flip off the boss, shoot the kids and bring the pooch? I expected long conversions into the wee hours about people encountered, knowledge gained, insights gleaned. 
Instead, it’s anchors. I listened for two protracted hours one evening while the size, shape, weight and type of holding mechanisms was earnestly discussed. I was half-dissolved into a pile of sticky ooze when a quarrel about the shank size almost resulted in a fistfight. 
Any boat part will do. Families have broken up over disagreements about hull types. An entire day can evaporate over a debate on paint. (Contention over the copper content often brings out the worst in people.) The Poet Laureate could be an onboard guest, but the topic would be fiberglass cleaners. Nor is any item too small to merit a good going over. I prepped dinner one evening while screw types were vigorously argued. The forehead-level dents in the galley wall are there to prove it.
The certainty in which these opinions are delivered is remarkable. I pity any “newbie” who gets snagged in one of these "discussions". Education is not the object here. Anyone who ever admitted to a lack of dead certainty about anything would likely be set upon. 
My own highly opinionated conviction is that this bravado masks an underlying fear. Maintaining a boat is difficult. Things are always breaking, often at very inopportune times. You can baby your windlass until the cows come home; when it’s ready to go, kiss it goodbye. Plus, there’s an elephant in the room. Mother Nature. She’s always out there and wearing all her colors. Hurricanes, water spouts, boat-sinking squalls that appear out of nowhere, she has a deadly repertoire‘. She can wreck your well laid plans (and boat) with just a whisper. One guy I met sailed a twenty-eight foot boat across the Atlantic. He spent a year cruising the Greek Isles and the Dalmatian Coast. Then he sailed back. A day after arriving in South Florida he was safely anchored up the Miami River. A storm hit. Lightning struck. The boat burned to the waterline within minutes. 
Everyone understands the risk. They just don’t like to talk about it. So they boast and brag about their preparedness, while silently shitting their pants.
I’ll continue attending these gatherings in spite of the hubris, making sure I sit near the door. I’ll nod obligingly and keep the wise-cracks to a minimum. This is the life I’ve chosen, at least for now. And these wonderful, flawed individuals are the ones who populate it.