By; Capt. Tim Ramsey
I cannot believe I’m saying this, but about thirty-five years ago, I had the pleasure of owning the most versatile boat in the world. Yes, the one boat in my history that I truly wish I still had. The one boat that rose to the surface in the mix of flats boats, bay boats, offshore boats, Jon boats and skiffs I have had. That boat was the original 13’ Boston Whaler.
The boat is legendary. Stable as a dock. Able to carry four adults and run on-plane with only a 1984 35 horsepower Johnson two-stroke outboard. Stable enough to stand at the gunwale and fight a fish. Simplicity at its finest. No thru hulls. No jack plate, power pole, anchor winch, roller, windshield, bilge pumps, or trim tabs. One hatch in the bow, mahogany planks for seats, little mahogany side console with one battery underneath, cable steering (more aptly described as pulley and plastic-coated wire steering), stainless wheel, throttle box mounted on the inside of the gunwale and a long, narrow twelve-gallon gas tank under the rear bench. It was awesome, and it thought it was much more than it was. We fished with it, clammed and crabbed with it, went exploring and bar hopping, rode waves in the inlet, pulled skiers and surfboards behind it, and even went trolling offshore.
I kept it on a galvanized Shorelander trailer that had an articulating tongue, a hinge in the middle that let me launch it sometimes off the side of the road where the jet ski’s launched. The jet ski types used to look at me funny towing the boat with an old Honda Accord sedan, but it didn’t need anything bigger. They didn’t know I was launching it on the side of the Honeymoon Island Causeway as a shortcut to go out to the 3-mile reef and catch grouper, using my handheld military compass and “Top Spot” chart to navigate.
I once entered a kingfish tournament off the coast of Jacksonville. There I was, nine miles out, fishing for king mackerel like anyone else. I had installed two rod holders behind the rear bench seat and was able to troll out and back. While I was fishing, a big Hatteras sportfish came by, and the owner yelled over to me “what are you doing out here?” I thought the answer was obvious. However, I replied “I’m looking for a farmer’s market in Tennessee.” Then he asked, “what do you do if your boat sinks?” I retorted “what do you do if yours sinks?” as I pointed at the bow of his boat where he kept a 13’ Whaler on the front deck. Quick reminder of an unsinkable hull. He then used a boathook to pass me a Ziploc bag with a couple hot dogs in it and bid me farewell. At the end of the day, I miraculously got fourth. He got eighth. Ironically, if I had gotten third, the prize was a 13’ Whaler.
Years earlier, that boat was the perfect craft to buzz tourists in southern New Jersey. We would ride along the beach, turn in when the waves went slack, race toward the beach like lunatics, then at the last moment in about ten inches of water, make a U-turn and race back out. Yeah, I know, but we were kids. We would spend the day crabbing in the back bay, wade for chowder clams, drink as many mini-Lowenbrau’s as we could fit in the boat, ski in the marsh canals, and generally goof off. Good times.
Once summer was over, we would sneak out of Corson’s Inlet, a non-maintained inlet on the southern end of Ocean City, New Jersey, and troll for bluefish seven miles down Sea Isle City’s beach to Townsend’s Inlet, then go back inside the Intercoastal. Strange going from surfing shorts and flip flops to jackets and sweatpants using the same little boat.
Little boats like that teach you things both practical and in life. I learned how to self-maintain a boat because it was small, very simple, and oddly, old enough. How did I learn to replace the engine’s manual tilt lever? Once it corroded off the motor mount and fell on the ground, I took it to the parts store and said, “I need one of these.” Then I went back and put it on. Manual shift lever? Same thing. How did I figure out replacing the weird steering cable? Remember Polaroids?
This was where I first experimented with compounding, buffing, and painting fiberglass, applying bottom paint, fixing gelcoat, reinstalling rub rails, removing rust stains, refinishing wooden seats, maintaining batteries, running wiring, heat shrinking, maintaining a trailer, and the list goes on. I also learned that back then even “waterproof” trailer lights were never actually waterproof. Remember trailer bulbs? Yeah, what fun.
This little boat also taught me about being responsible for the safety of others. It taught me how to run a boat smoothly, how to run in a chop and over wakes so people didn’t bounce or go unnecessarily overboard, the boat didn’t get swamped, roll over or punch through a wave.
The Whaler still teaches me things. Less is more, don’t tell my wife! Simpler is better. Standing on the bow back in the mangroves with a small trolling motor mounted on a paddle held in place by C-clamps with ten feet of boat behind me worked just as well as my 22 Skeeter with a powerful three battery professionally rigged trolling motor and twenty feet of boat behind me. I can pole a 13 Whaler. I am not poling a 22 Skeeter, and you can get lost in the backcountry even easier in a 13’ Whaler than in a 22 Skeeter.
The memory of that little boat and our antics in it taught me life was good back then, and good along the way. I grew up in that thing, and it was the first boat my son ever drove. He would stand behind the wheel that was waist high to him at three years old, huge grin on his face, and shove that throttle as far as it would go. He had one speed, full blast, which would describe the next twenty years of his life. That is a memory I will never forget. Now over thirty, he somehow remembers that Whaler, and man can he catch a fish. Did I say the boat is legendary? It even features in two of my mystery novels, “Unnecessary Evils” and “The Deadly Tropic Snow.”
Cinderella said it best. No, not from the fairy tale, the guys from the rock and roll 80’s “hair band.” They said, “You Don’t Know What You Got Till It’s Gone.”