Maybe it’s just me, but is there something missing on the water these days, what with all of our convenience and instant gratification in this modern chapter of American history? To me, it is a small wonder every time I find myself afloat—fishing, cruising, whathaveyou—and wanting. Why is it that we can get whatever we want whenever we want it on demand on land, but not so much as a simple bare necessity on the water?
Before anyone hits me with something to the tune of “You crazy kids today just want it all,” or a similar retort to postulations of youthful entitlement, know this: Once upon a time, my grandfather—a member of the Greatest Generation, could bark over the VHF from aboard his Chris-Craft and call for beer, ice, cigarettes, a sandwich, and even a popsicle or Italian ice for my mother. A barge, pontoon, or some similar vessel with ample deck space to accommodate a floating convenience store would amble over and serve up the goods right over the rail.
Surely, I can’t be the only one who feels betrayed by such a supposedly civilized society during these moments of stark realization that, no, as a matter of fact, no vessel by sea or air is going to come to my salvation. Neither Jeff Bezos, nor Jack Ma, nor anyone else is going to bring reinforcements, refreshments, or forestall my return to land.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate everything atavistic about being at sea. I have, after all, been known to spend days and nights on end aboard simple, open dinghies with nothing but a few gallons of water, a case of warm beer, and the blade of a dive fin to carve up whatever fish or crustaceans I could procure below. I’m no stranger to spartan living conditions.
But these days, I have a family. Call me soft, but I have a landlubber of a wife and a son who before I know it, will be demanding replenishments of glacially chilled beverages without interruption of an already-all-too-precious day of fishing. And come that time, he, you, and my decrepit bag of bones deserve to be served. Get me the finest, coldest beer available to humanity right here and now, railside. And yeah, I bet my family won’t be the only ones, either. Where is that good old American spirit of ingenuity and industriousness?
Now this is not to say that there aren’t some boats offering goods and services on this big, blue marble. There are pontoons anchored on lakes and in backwaters from the Pacific Northwest to the U.S. Virgin Islands. Florida has a handful of boats purveying goods along its Gulf Coast, a small island in Massachusetts’ Elizabeth Islands chain dishes out an impressive array of New England classics by launch. Most impressive to me from recent memory though, is a South Korean fishing boat that doubles as a floating sushi kitchen, slicing fresh-as-can-be sashimi and pouring soju. There are also bars galore throughout the world’s tropics and I have been fortunate enough to pass by many of them, but pass them by, I did. They blast music too lewd and loud, and most are stationary and therefore don’t perform deliveries. I can appreciate their utility. But I don’t want to veer from my scheduled programming during my precious time at sea: Staying well away from it all.
What I want, and what I think isn’t an unreasonable ask, is the thorough and dependable service we get just about everywhere else on this planet at the touch of a screen, on the water. A mobile, aqueous delicatessen, mercantile, bodega, country store with old-fashioned service, a VHF radio and maybe a modern card reader is fine by me.
I’m no businessman, but some savvy, budding, or bored entrepreneur somewhere could sketch up a plan to start simply but satisfactorily enough, no? So again I plead: Is a case of beer, a sandwich, a block of ice, a bag of charcoal, and maybe some fresh bait too much to ask? Maybe. But it seems downright un-American to me when this sort of mercantile enterprise existed long before you, me, or my grandpa. We could all benefit from command of flotillas picking up where our forefathers left off. And, while I prefer to shop with mom-and-pop outfits, at this point I’ll take anything. The odd passing skiff with a sparse offering of soft drinks, potato chips, and candy bars would do. So, too, would a chain of rinky-dink tiki boats that would otherwise draw my immediate demurral. A drone-to-boat operation? Sure. One caveat: I will not be paying for any lost or waterlogged goods.
This article originally appeared in the August/September 2025 issue of Power & Motoryacht magazine.
