Most of us discovered the sublime pleasures of boats and the sea early in life, either on our own or through friends or family. I come from a line of inland mariners who, I assume, passed a love of boating down to me by way of DNA. It’s been a part of my life as long as I can remember. Even if you’ve come to it later on, I suspect you’ll find that it’s hard, if not impossible, ever to leave it behind.

I honestly can’t remember my first boat ride, but I do recall youthful days spent fishing with my grandfather. He owned a 6-horsepower Evinrude outboard, which he’d load in the trunk when he’d take me fishing. Typically, he’d drive us to a lake where he’d rent an aluminum boat, bolt on the motor and take us out for a shared adventure.

As a kid, I loved few things more than getting my hand on that tiller and setting out across the still water in the early morning, Styrofoam cooler loaded with soda and sandwiches, anticipating loading up a stringer of bass, bluegill and catfish. Even if the fishing didn’t work out, the getting there and back was worthy of the sleep I’d lose the night before just thinking about it. To this day, I sometimes experience the same restless anticipation when there’s a boat ride in the cards the next day.

My first boating experience in salt water was fishing on a head boat off Virginia Beach during a family vacation. I remember hanging over the rail, hauling up some small fish of indistinct description. Being on the sea for the first time was magic. Even feeling queasy from the diesel exhaust and the rolling didn’t deter me from stamping that as an enduring positive experience.

Canoe racing and recreational paddling occupied some of my time in high school. I also recall evenings buzzing up and down the Ohio River with an older neighbor who had a musty wood runabout and needed someone to share it with. He always had rods on board, but we rarely fished. He preferred drinking beer while I drove the boat. He did teach me how to properly sink an aluminum can—something I thought was cool at the time, but naturally am embarrassed by all these years later.

During my first couple of years at college in Michigan, I found myself suddenly and inexplicably obsessed with sailing. That craving came to fruition when I took a break from school and moved to Boston, mainly because, to my mind, that great city and its coastal environs epitomized several centuries of sailing history and tradition, both commercial and recreational. In short order, I found myself learning to sail on the Charles River, becoming a living part of the famous postcard scene with Beacon Hill and the gold dome of the Massachusetts State House in the background.

That led to more aggressive, obsessive sailing in New England and beyond. I eventually earned a journalism degree and set off on a career that brought the two passions together. My marine magazine life has afforded me countless once-in-a-lifetime experiences around the world on numerous types of boats, large and small, power and sail. I’ve spent quality time on the water with my sons, one of whom possesses a 100-ton master mariner’s license.

Once, I talked to a guy on the dock while he prepared his classic sailing yacht for a trans-Atlantic race. He told me he’d just had his teak deck replaced and the yard had asked him what he wanted to do with the wood. He was getting on in years and had an idea: Why not make a foldable, stowable coffin out of it in the event that he expired while at sea? The yard guys agreed to do it and asked him whether he wanted any portholes installed. For obvious reasons, he declined. He ended up not needing it, but I loved that he was prepared to take his passion all the way to the bitter end.

My passion for boats and boating has never left me. I’m pretty sure I won’t be packing a stowable coffin when I sense the end is near, but I do know I’ll be a boat guy till death do us part. I’m betting you will too. 

This article was originally published in the Summer 2023 issue.