I wasn’t always consumed by boats. I began my career as a book editor, a mid-career professional who accepted a well-paying position and relocated to an inland region a few hours from the coast. City life gave way to a quieter pace: editing deadlines, house hunting, small renovation projects and the steady routines of a new town. For a while it seemed like a sensible, ordinary chapter.
Gradually, something changed. About two years into that life, I glanced around my office and realized every wall was covered with photographs of vessels: a working tug, a trawler, a North Sea fishing boat, a buyboat, a pilot boat and even a lightship. I hadn’t consciously decided to curate a nautical gallery, but there it was—an unmistakable attraction to the form and function of boats, particularly workboats. I couldn’t remember when my interest had deepened or why it had taken hold so completely.
“On life’s vast ocean diversely we sail. Reason’s the card, but passion the gale.” — Alexander Pope
That quiet fascination turned into a full course correction in short order. Within a year I left my job, sold my house, bought a 30-ton, 40-foot steel boat and moved aboard. I enrolled in seamanship school and began learning everything from basic boat handling to maintenance and navigation. There was no return to the predictable life; once I felt the rhythm of the sea and the practical satisfaction of keeping a vessel shipshape, my priorities shifted permanently.
More than a decade later I still experience oscillations between brief, rational reprieves and an abiding obsession. Occasionally I entertain the thought that a seaside house might be a satisfying alternative, but that notion never lasts. The attraction to boats—especially those with history and character—remains a steady undercurrent in my life.
Case in point: this morning a friend posted a restored 1946 Sonny Hodgdon lobster boat online. She’s 27 ½ feet long, with an 8-foot, 9-inch beam and a 2-foot, 8-inch draft, powered by a classic 50-horsepower Gray Marine engine and featuring a forward cabin finished in a Herreshoff-inspired style. It was impossible not to feel a rush of longing and appreciation for the craftsmanship and history embodied in that small, seaworthy hull.
My inbox also delivered something called Shipsforsale Sweden, a newsletter that highlights a striking array of vessels. The listings are organized by type—rescue vessels, navy patrol ships, tugboats, passenger ships—and often include unusual finds such as refitted icebreakers intended for adventurous cruising. For someone predisposed to dream big, that catalog is a constant temptation and a source of endless daydreams about expedition cruising and remote passages.
Working in marine journalism for the past decade has only fed the passion. Reporting on boats, reviewing new models and writing about restoration projects means I live with the industry every day. There’s an old warning that turning a passion into a profession will drain the joy, but for me it has had the opposite effect: the work deepened my knowledge and widened my appetite. I still find pleasure in simply cataloging the vessels I admire.
Flipping through this issue, I can honestly say there isn’t a boat featured I wouldn’t be delighted to own. A Chesapeake skipjack? Absolutely. A Watch Hill 15? Without question. The Helmsman 38E looks like the perfect platform for tackling the Great Loop. I’m keen to try Back Cove’s new 34O for a run around Penobscot Bay. Even narratives of tragedy at sea—like George Michelsen Foy’s account that places me on the bridge of El Faro—remind me why people answer the call of the ocean despite the risks: a ship’s presence on the water, its crew and purpose, draw on something elemental in us all.
As a friend and fellow enthusiast—someone who has suffered the same affliction—joked to me this morning, “Well, if you’re going to be addicted to something, I guess this is one of the healthier options?” His tone left the line half-stated, but he had a point. Our shared passion connects us to craftsmanship, seafaring skills, coastal communities and the practical pleasures of being afloat.
So let’s accept this affection for boats as a healthy obsession: one that leads to learning seamanship, appreciating maritime history, and seeking out honest, well-built vessels. And if fellow boat lovers want to formalize the fellowship with a secret handshake, I won’t object.
This article originally appeared in the June 2018 issue.