Aging Into, Not Out of Boats

Feeling Fine and Still Building Stuff at Age 82

Over years of editing alongside Josh at Small Craft Advisor, we’ve both read a lot of copy on the “aging-out-of-boats” theme. Stories with headlines like “My Last Boat,” “The Last Sail,” or even—as many of you might recall—a tale in which the author, in final paragraphs, burns his last boat to the ground.

Poignant stuff, especially for those of a certain age who might soon—but not too quickly, please—face medical challenges, frailties, balance issues and other horrors.

The old-guy subject bubbled up because I turned 82 today. The sun’s been out, anchored sailboats have been pivoting slowly in the harbor, and for me personally, life’s as good as ever imagined at this stage of geezerhood.

I know I’m damned lucky, and only semi-delusional when I say this: I’m still aging into boats, not out of boats. It feels like I’m slipping back to where it all started as a kid, in the smallest of boats. (But then came the frenetic middle decades of adulthood—the upsizing of job responsibilities, mortgages, overhead pressures, and yes, even boats. I never imagined saying this, but for a lot of reasons I’m sort of glad to be old right now.)

The long, slow downsizing as been a gift. Five years ago, selling my share of the last owned house, I worked almost two years restoring a vintage 30-foot motorboat that we then spent 2-1/2 years happily and comfortably living aboard. That was RAVEN, shown below.