Logbook: Missing the Boat
Taking the summer off from boating as we welcomed our newest crew member, a happy and healthy baby named Caleb, was a difficult decision, but in those sleepless days/weeks/months after he arrived, I came to feel vindicated that not putting the boat in was in fact the right decision. Convincing my wife that heading out on the water with a toddler and a newborn, and oh yeah, I forgot the dog again, would have taken the deft prowess of a hostage negotiator. If I did put the boat in, there’s no doubt its bottom would have grown more grass than the Augusta National Golf Course.
But just because I knew it was the right decision doesn’t mean it wasn’t a challenge, or that a boat-less summer was without its own unintended consequences. Without boating as an outlet, I found myself in search of other pastimes. The first was gardening. With a new mouth to feed I decided to try my hand at planting apple trees and tomato plants. Let’s call this my homesteading phase. I ended up with a Cortland and a Granny Smith tree beside my tomato plants. Not a patient man, the trees and plants I bought were already of fruit-bearing age; all I had to do was plant them and carry them across the finish line, or so I thought. I was out there everyday watering those damn things. I saw some success with the tomatoes, eventually willing a couple to grow large enough that I could make enough sauce to cover about half a can’s worth of SpaghettiOs.
Then one of the apple trees sprouted all of three apples.
“Why are they lumpy?” Connor asked while I watered them for the second time that day. “They’re supposed to be that way,” I said.
“Why do they have spots?” he replied.
“They’re Dalmatian apples, stop asking so many questions.”
Connor and I split the one apple that reached full term. It tasted–and kinda looked like–an Amazon box.
Desperate to shelve my horticulture skills and get back on the water, I dusted off my old inflatable paddle board and snuck out onto the Connecticut River. My first outing was amazing. Blue skies, a warm gentle breeze, little fight from the tide. I was one with the water again. I enjoyed it so much I went out again the very next day; moderation not being one of my strong suits. Tide against wind, boat wakes and the inherent balance of a new-born baby deer all conspired against me. That little outing cost me my iPhone and my pride. Neither could be repaired. Strike two on the hobby front.
Then came my camper phase. Somehow during the first weeks of middle-of-the-night feedings, YouTube decided to algorithmically serve up a series of off-the-grid truck/van-life videos. Through blearing eyes, tiny Caleb and I sat in our pajamas and watched these adventure-filed videos one-after-the-other as the first rays of morning mercifully peeked through our living room window. I think now that those videos of guys sleeping in vans during a blizzard appealed to me because I was envious of their slumber. I’m sure a psychologist would have a lot to say about this hobby fascination, but don’t judge too harshly, I was in a fatigued and fragile state!
One summer evening after picking Connor up from daycare, we sat out in the driveway right beside our shrink-wrapped Bertram (another simple, but favorite hobby) when Connor asked when the boat was going back in the water. He said that he wanted to be back at our marina and to go back to the beach on Block Island. “Man, you and me both, brother,” I said. Not wanting to blame his new sibling, I told him the boat needed some work but that it would be ready for next summer (not in and of itself a lie). He paused for a few seconds and said, “O.K. I’ll help you fix it, Dad.” Unlike my gardening and stand-up paddling hobbies, I knew then that I was doing something right. The comeback tour can’t come soon enough.
See you on the water,
Dan
[email protected]
@danhardingboating
This article originally appeared in the January 2025 issue of Power & Motoryacht magazine.
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Source: https://www.powerandmotoryacht.com/column/logbook-missing-the-boat