Am I a Boat Person?

Y'all, we got a boat.

Friends on Facebook are probably sick of me posting photos like these (ha ha! I'm posting more photos of my family boating! #madeyoulook #cantstopwontstop #didiusethesehashtagscorrectly)

Having a boat seems like a very adventure-y thing to do and to post about on this here adventure-logging blog. So here we go.

When I met Jon, he had a sailboat. On our first date, he told me all about it and about some of his sailboating adventures. I enjoyed the stories, but the interior monologue I had going included things like:
*Wow! A sailboat!
*If this goes anywhere, I'll get to go on a sailboat!
*Oh shit. If this goes anywhere, I'll have to go on a sailboat.
*Uh...I'm prone to seasickness.
*What if I hate the sailboat?
*What if we are perfect for each other in every way except the boat comes between us?
(Remember, this was all on the first date.)

Well, there were many more dates, including a moonlit ride in the dingy around the harbor where the sailboat would eventually be moored (it had not yet been put in for the season), which provided evidence that the boat was very exciting and important to Jon and increased my anxiety about the boat coming between us.

Eventually the sailboat made its way into the ocean and I made my way onto the sailboat.

Much to my surprise, I kind of liked it. I took Bonine every time and never felt sick. Of course, we always went out on bright, sunny days. And it wasn't 100% fun and games. The thing about sailing is the need for wind. When there was no wind, we motored around at a very slow speed. When there was a lot of wind, we heeled right over and I freaked out. True sailboat people love this feeling. I did not pass the true-sailboat-person test.

Also, going sailing is a big process. We could get the packing of gear down pretty well--Jon had worked out a lot of those kinks in the years before he knew me--but we had to drive to the marina, schlep our stuff to the dock, drain rain water out of the dingy, pile in, putt-putt out to the boat, load the boat with our things, prep the boat (battery, hatch doors, sail prep, etc. etc. etc.), tie off the dingy, drop the mooring, and then s l o o o o o w l y motor out of the harbor into the relatively open water of Casco Bay. Then maybe we could sail. The sailboat is not a speedy way to get anywhere. Running on the motor, it took a good two hours to get from Freeport to Portland, under sail, longer, what with the need to zig zag to get just about anywhere.

And now, a math problem:

The process of getting ready + my fears of there being too little or too much wind + finding the oomph to complete the process and quell my fears + a kiddo with a schedule of her own adventures to manage = very few boat days.

We finally faced the inevitable, that we were not using the sailboat enough to warrant the amount of money it costs to maintain one (maintenance, mooring fee, putting it in fee, taking it out fee, hauling it fee, and so forth).

If I made a very short list of the worst days in Jon's entire life, the day he sold the sailboat would probably be nearish the top. The man loves to boat.

So of course I promised that I'd support us getting another boat eventually.

Enter camper, trip to Disney, new house, and many, many house projects.

Exit boat dreams.

Except not really. I always knew we'd get a boat again someday.  Jon was less convinced. He's a gemini, so his fatalism wasn't surprising.

On Don's boat in Boothbay

Imagine his luck when a friend of ours took us for a spin on his center-console motor boat on a visit to Boothbay last summer. Suddenly, I wanted a boat. Badly. It was so cool on the water and so hot on the land. For the rest of the summer, I kept saying things like, "Gosh, it's hot. This would be a good boat day" and Jon kept hearing me say "we should buy a boat."

And here we are with our own 23 ft center console with a t-top.

This produced a whole new crop of fears for me. Now we had a boat to trailer, which would mean "putting it in" and "taking it out" each time we wanted to use it. My visions of this process included pick-up trucks getting sucked under the water, or me driving the boat into the dock (or jagged rocks because SCARY!). I fretted about it for weeks during the looking-and-buying stage.

But what's a fun adventure without me fretting about something?

Turns out (thank goodness) it's not that bad of a process. And I am proud that it only takes us on average five minutes to put in, and maybe five and a half or six to haul it out.



Does all of this make me a boat person? (Nah. Let's not get carried away, on the tides or otherwise.)