When he was 11 years old, his

dad bought him his first real boat, an

11-foot catboat. It was very

old, in bad shape, but it sailed.

And you might say it was the

first Next Boat. Before that, you see, the

boy "sailed" pieces

of sheet metal he liberated from construction sites

around St. Petersburg, Fla.,

his childhood home in the war years.

His truly first boat was a

rowboat some fine scallywag hauled up out of

the mud and sold him for a

dollar. That would have been about 1940, when

for a little boy, a dollar

was a small fortune. The rowboat was so

waterlogged, it never floated.

So the old catboat looked mighty

good to a youngster. But as anyone knows

who has truly been owned by

boats, never far from his mind was the Next

Boat. The Next Boat would be

a little bigger. It would have real sails

and rigging, maybe an actual

anchor.

And it did. And of course in

no time, all he could think about was the

Next Boat. So it went, Next

Boat after Next Boat -- 12 or 15, he

estimates today, squinting

and counting them off, whispering their names

on his fingers.

One or two were rowboats, but

most were sailboats. A few he built

himself, one a 16-foot fiberglass

day-sailer, assisted by his second

daughter Alice, and then a

larger wooden sailboat. He also built a kayak,

a sort of sailing surf-board

hybrid called a "sea-flea," and a

strip-planked sailing dinghy

that he finished like fine furniture.

None had an engine until the

last two that he bought, each named Alice

for his faithful mate. After

the first of those, it was "The Next Boat I

buy will have a diesel in-board...."

And that Next Boat seemed indeed

to be the pinnacle of the dream: a

24-foot Helms sloop intended

for Serious Sailing. That was the one he

took down the Chattahoochee

to keep for a year in Pensacola, then Panama

City, then Apalachicola.

Somehow, Serious Sailing --

meaning blue water cruising, out of sight of

land -- never happened, and

the Alice was relocated to the Lake Walter F.

George, finally berthing at

Bagby State Park Marina just above the dam.

In time, even the three-hour

ride to the marina seemed arduous. The

weather could be perfect in

Fayette County but too hot or windless at the

lake. Hurricanes happened while

he was out of town, and he agonized over the safety of his boat, felt

owned by it.

was also beginning to wonder why he had

thought pulling up sails and

wrestling with whipping sails was so much

fun. Dehydration in an open

cockpit in broiling sun had somehow lost its

charm, and the lake was mighty

confining.

Then came motor-cruises with

friends on the Chesapeake Bay and the

Intracoastal Waterway, and

two canal cruises in France and Wales. A whole

new idea was taking shape.

On rented canal barges -- a

30-foot small work-boat replica in the

Bourgoigne Canal and the Sohne

River, and a 56-foot narrowboat in the

Llangollen Canal -- he discovered

the pleasures of seeing the countryside

The advantages are many: a

leisurely pace off the tourist path, combining

both transportation and accommodations;

never having to wonder where he'd

spend the night; close encounters

with swans and thirsty cows and egrets;

an intimate look at farms and

villages, where fresh bread, fish, cheese,

wine, and salad greens were

always available.

Obviously not all the charms

of Europe translate to American rivers and

canals. Here the land next

to the water is privately owned; there boaters

and strollers have unlimited

access to the public towpath that parallels

every navigable waterway. Here

rivers are often foul; in Great Britain

strict laws keep most waterways

reasonably clean, although less so in

France.

So it was that his thoughts

turned again to the Next Boat.

The Next Boat would be a trawler-type

boat -- think "Little Toot" or

Nordic tugs. It would be large

enough to live aboard for long stretches

of time, yet small enough to

haul by trailer to an interesting waterway

-- think the Chesapeake Bay

with historic rivers like the Potomac, the

James, and Choptank. It would

have a quiet and efficient engine -- think

steering from inside out of

the rain and sun.

The search began, by car and

Internet. At the same time, Sailing Vessel

Alice was put on the market.

Talk about mixing emotions: anticipation of

the Next Boat its sale would

make possible, the sorrow of losing a

beloved companion of 14 years.

She sold. The day was torrid

when he motored upriver 20-odd miles to a

marina in Eufaula where she

could be hauled for the new owner. A

dead-south wind and a bent

prop blade kept her speed down to less than

three knots -- a six-hour ordeal

in full South Georgia sun. He grieved, he cursed, he felt relief.

And for the first time in 58

years, he did not own a boat.

More later....

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