“The two happiest days for a boat owner are the day you buy a boat and the day that you sell the boat.” I truly understand that old adage but selling our family boat was more difficult than I had anticipated.
The marine market was depressed at the time, and we don’t live near a large body of water where people routinely buy and sell boats. After about eight months with the boat parked on the side of a busy highway, we finally sold the boat in February of 2012. That’s not the difficulty I’m talking about.
I’m referring to the sentimental attachment my family had to our boat, Jester’s Pearl. The boat was an essential part of the Martin summers and provided a lot of great experiences and fond memories, even influencing our daughters. Emma and Maggie, young women now, are certified PADI scuba divers. Emma earned a degree in marine biology from the University of Tampa and a master’s degree in marine science with a concentration in coral reef restoration at James Cook University in Australia. She currently works in the Virgin Islands doing coral outplanting work.
It was a sad sight; our little center console, Jester’s Pearl, ‘blindfolded’ with a 10-foot banner and the words FOR SALE in all caps, looking hauntingly abandoned on the side of the road. We didn’t enjoy seeing the boat like that and when driving by one day my daughter Emma asked, “You’re not really going to sell the boat, are you, Dad?” It put a lump in my throat. My wife and daughters cried when I called to tell them that I had just sold Jester’s Pearl. I didn’t want to sell the boat either, but we only used the boat once during the summer of 2011, and our priorities were changing.
I purchased the boat, a used 1997 20-foot Bayliner Trophy 1903 center console, in the spring of 2002. My daughters were ages seven and 10. For nine years they grew up on this boat during the summers enjoying day trips to the Chesapeake Bay, Potomac River, Lake Anna, and longer vacations in North Carolina and the Florida Gulf Coast. We had some good times exploring, watching dolphins up close, snorkeling, cruising, and always stopping at the waterside restaurants for some great seafood lunches. The kids really seemed to enjoy this “boating” thing.
For the years that we had the boat, I would trailer it to Annapolis, MD, for spring servicing. This introduced us to Annapolis and Eastport, and we began to explore the area—the waterfront, the Severn River, Sandy Point, Truxtun Park, Spa Creek, Back Creek, and the Naval Academy.
When you have a boat, you should make a commitment to being a boat person, and a boating family. When you do not live near a large body of water and have no dock to park your boat, you become a trailering boat family. This means that many weekends of the summer you drive and tow your boat to the water.
The Lawn Can Wait Until Monday
It was not unusual to drive two hours to the Chesapeake Bay, Lake Anna, or the Potomac River. On many occasions our boating neighbors and their kids would join us; two, sometimes three, boats, in a caravan, traveling to the water. We would have a great day of cruising, tubing, and rafting up for lunch. Later that evening, once we arrived home, usually meant that somebody was hosting a party in their backyard… yep in a yard beside a boat, on a trailer parked in the driveway.
There are a lot of great memories from our boating days. Our border collie Skye quickly became a “boat dog” and accompanied us on all boat trips. Over the years of boating around the Sarasota area the dog grew somewhat attached to “Moochie,” a dolphin that was a local legend in the waterway between Sarasota and Venice, FL.
For many years, there were two well-known dolphins that would prowl the waterway around the Blackburn Point Bridge north of Venice. The locals named them “Moochie” and “Beggar” because they would swim out to passing boats and mooch or beg for food.
The story of Moochie and Beggar is local folklore on the waterway; seems there was some sort of a traveling carnival side show that had a dolphin act. Eventually the side show went bust and two dolphins were subsequently dumped into the Intercoastal Waterway.
Our experience was with one beggar dolphin that we sometimes called Beggar; most times we called him Moochie. Over the years during our summer boat trips, to our delight, we encountered Moochie on more than one occasion.
Skye seemed to remember him from summer to summer too. Moochie sort of became Skye’s boat dog buddy. We never fed the dolphin, and we never let Skye in the water with the animal, but you could ask Skye, “Where’s Moochie?” Skye would jump up, his front paws on the gunwales of the boat, and bark and whine for the dolphin like they were old schoolyard pals. And, sure enough, the dolphin would soon appear and swim up to the side of the boat, cock his head, look at us with that piercing eye and chirp and squeal. Skye barking and howling and the dolphin chirping and squealing back and forth made for some very entertaining boat trips. (RIP Moochie… the beggar dolphin passed away sometime in September 2012).
Therapeutic Maintenance
I took good care of our boat, Jester’s Pearl. I would tinker with the boat just about anytime I had boat fever. I replaced the steering cable twice, the VHF antenna twice (don’t ask), a new stereo, two bilge pumps, one compass, and a new blue bimini. I could spend all day cleaning and polishing and generally puttering about. To me, tinkering with my boat was therapeutic.
After we docked our boat at the Turtle Beach Marina in Siesta Key, I would spend the first day of vacation getting the boat ready for our day trips. One morning, a fellow boater on a pristine blue hulled Grand Banks Eastbay 38, tied up at the end of the dock, walked by, and complimented me on how nice my boat looked, “What year?” he asked. “1997,” I said. “Looks like you take good care of her.” I looked up, smiled, and humbly replied “thank you, sir.” Moments like that are important…
My daughters would occasionally assist with my therapeutic maintenance, which helped establish the captain/crew relationship. With time, they became decent crew members, slowly remembering everything that they had learned the year before. They were now knowledgeable and physically strong enough to launch the boat without much direction. We do not drive the boat on and off the trailer preferring the “slow and controlled” method of floating off and guiding the boat with dock lines.
On one particular trip to Florida, launching at the Turtle Beach lagoon did not go so well. While backing down the launch ramp, the tires went over a rock ledge resulting in the trailer getting hung up on its frame. Then, as we floated the boat off the trailer and tied up at the dock, one of my daughters noticed water squirting out of the side of the boat. The new bilge pump was doing an exceptional job of pumping 1500 gallons per minute out of the bilge. Of course we had not put in the drain plug. I grabbed the plug, jumped into the water, and ordered someone to get me a crescent wrench.
I was chest deep in water at the back of the boat, furiously tightening and hopefully not cross threading the drain plug. For the moment I had forgotten about the trailer which was still hung up on the rock ledge.
My oldest daughter, Maggie, who was watching me, said “Dad.” I ignored her. Again, she said “Dad.” “Just a minute, honey,” I replied. Then I heard, “DAD, LOOK BEHIND YOU!” Now, if you are standing chest deep in any body of water whether it’s salt water, a bay or ocean, a freshwater lake, or a mountain stream and someone says, “look behind you” (we have all seen those movies) and especially in Florida, you should probably take notice.
I spun around with a raised eight-inch crescent wrench expecting to see a fin, maybe a small alligator?... more likely a turtle or manatee. And there they go! The condo keys had floated out of my pocket and were slowly drifting away. Yep! That little green and white floater buoy key fob was doing a great job keeping the keys from sinking.
Don’t forget about the trailer… We were in about four feet of water, starboard side to the dock, and the bow of the boat was almost over the axle of the trailer. My dock lines are 25 feet long, and luckily I have extras.
I tied two dock lines together and looped the eye splice over the portside bow cleat. Then I instructed my wife, Neile, to take the leading end of the line, dive down, and loop the end under the trailer axle and bring it back to me.
My plan was to run that end of the dock line through the starboard cleat and hoist the trailer up using the bow of my boat as leverage. I pulled the dock line, and the bow would dip some. I pulled more dock line, and the bow would dip again. Each time, the trailer rose up, almost floating. Neile, in the driver’s seat of the SUV, would simply pull forward fast enough while the trailer was “floating,” clearing the ledge so that the wheels settled back down on the ramp. This little piece of ingenuity worked like a charm. I released the end of the dock line, and the SUV pulling the trailer, free of the ledge, drove out of the water and up the boat ramp. A rare moment at a dock when you wished people were watching. Yep, a lot of great memories.
Harsh Reality
After deciding to sell our boat in the fall of 2011, a couple of interested people called and sounded like good prospects. Surprisingly, I had some difficulty discussing the boat with them. Unbelievably, I was a motivated seller, but there I was facing the reality of selling our first family boat. It seemed like some sort of betrayal, and I wasn’t feeling great about the whole idea.
Jester’s Pearl was a good boat. She was family adventures, long vacations with no worries, and short weekend escapes with good friends. We enjoyed being a boating family, and my kids embraced the boating culture, too. They loved cruising on the boat, and they learned things as boat kids. They understand that being a boating family is somewhat of a privilege and that we see things differently from the water. We get to be closer to the marine environment, above as well as below the water line. We prepare and organize for trips differently than other people. We pay close attention to weather, tides, and water depth.
We take notice of news stories about ships, surfers, and shark bites, because we have a sea-loving connection to them. We arrive at dockside restaurants by boat when other land-locked patrons seemingly look at us with envy. Jimmy Buffett songs have meaning and make more sense to them now. We can cruise and anchor almost anywhere we want, jump in the water, play on a secluded beach, and then pull up the anchor and cruise somewhere else.
Why did selling our boat have such an effect on us?
Our little center console was a big part of the Martin summers. Jester’s Pearl was our first family boat and had brought us many years of fun and pleasure. Like many first-time experiences those memories are etched in a special place in our hearts and minds.
She had become a member of the family, and we had developed a heartfelt connection to her; an emotional attachment as a child has to a favorite old toy. And we were just not quite finished with that part of our lives.
So, the boat was sold to a guy who has some property in Chincoteague, VA. I thought that would be a good home for that little center console. He likes to fish and take his grandchildren for boat rides. Maybe someday I’ll call him just to see how she’s doing… maybe he might be ready to sell her.
By G. Steven Martin