A few months ago, my wife Quinn and I were trying to figure out an adventurous yet relaxing Christmas family getaway with our 16- and 20-year-old son and daughter. We wanted nature and escape from technology. We live right by Folly Beach, South Carolina, so a coastal getaway wasn’t flipping the switches. We considered Sedona, Bryce Canyon, and Asheville, but decided not to be cold. Then, an idea. We’ve been informally partnering with our friend Carolyn on her 25-foot 1972 SeaCamper houseboat. “Let’s take that up the Intracoastal toward Myrtle Beach,” I said.

The problem was, Christmastime Lowcountry weather can be a crapshoot. Then, I remembered that Carolyn had rented a Florida houseboat for a manatee-filled trip with her teens on the St. Johns River. She pointed us toward DeLand’s Holly Bluff Marina and a cool 48-foot houseboat. The two-cabin River Time came with everything, including a huge kitchen sink. The price seemed fair, and the nice Holly Bluff lady said to bring our paddleboards and snorkels and overnight alongside manatees at Silver Glen Springs. Sold.

A vertical, eye-level shot of a lush Florida shoreline lined with towering cypress trees heavily draped in gray Spanish moss. The pale, thick trunks of the cypress trees rise directly from the water's edge, interspersed with smaller green palmetto bushes and leafy shrubs. In the foreground, the clear, vibrant green water of a natural spring reveals the dark bottom underneath, contrasting with a partly cloudy blue sky visible through the treetops.

While cruising new waters, Quinn and I hoped to gain deeper insight into what we might want in an overnighter as our maturing kids, sadly, travel less with us. Carolyn’s restored, monorail-shaped SeaCamper is formidably capable. It’ll sleep four—tightly. It boasts a wet head, dinette, galley, and a rooftop for lounging. Its Evinrude-driven tri-hull hits 31 knots. It’ll run offshore, access stupid-shallow water, and is easy to dock and trailer. It’s perfect for where we live, but it is pretty small. I’ve driven plenty of big, modern liveaboards for Power & Motoryacht, but a ponderous, flat-bottomed, 7-knot houseboat would be a first.

At Holly Bluff, we gawked at River Time’s living/kitchen/dining/helm combination, lounge-chaired rooftop, and a comfy, covered forward lounge deck with gas grill. There was, however, an annoying genset. It powered the fridge and thus we’d need it 24/7.

Casting off, I immediately realized that River Time would be way more of a handful than anything I’ve tested for Power & Motoryacht. Want to turn? Crank the wheel hard over, wait, and then when it responds, counter that inertia with a half turn the other way. Eventually Lucy, Fritz, and I more or less got it. We also iced our massive cooler at a marina a few miles upriver, silencing the genset unless we needed hot water or the electric range.

A wide-angle interior shot of a spacious, modern houseboat cabin with a man piloting from the lower helm console on the left. The open-concept living space features warm wood-look flooring, white ceilings with a ceiling fan, and a full kitchen in the center with light sage green cabinets, a kitchen island with barstools, a black refrigerator, and a microwave. In the foreground, a glass-top dining table holds an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, while a flat-screen television is mounted on the wall to the right. Windows throughout the cabin reveal views of the surrounding open water under an overcast sky.

During a sublime sunset cruise north up the tea-colored St. Johns, mullet and bass leaped, eagles soared, and the occasional manatee kept us alert. Passing old fish camps and through ethereal Spanish-moss-lined live oak and cypress forests, it was Jurassic Park meets Flipper. A couple of hours in, we found a little feeder creek and clumsily nudged River Time into a lee and dropped anchor. The bass weren’t biting, but neither were the bugs. The burgers were awesome, the chardonnay was as oaky as the forest, and a hilarious game of family Scrabble was just what the doctor ordered. Occasionally, a boat would run past, but this was the peace we’d hoped for.

Rising early, we made for Silver Glen Springs via Lake George. A 6-knot noon breeze made the passage manageable, but River Time would surely be a handful with more wind or chop. Silver Glen is among few Florida springs you can cruise right up into. Thus, idling in on this holiday Tuesday, we found 30 jet skis and 20 boats from center consoles to houseboats beached or anchored in the gin-clear water. Beer flowed. Salsa, Buffett, and Metallica blared. Not a manatee was to be found. I gingerly backtracked for a quieter anchorage just inside the springs’ entrance and as the day wound down, yahoos paraded out, manatees glided in, and paradise appeared. We snorkeled and paddleboarded the sand-bottomed headwaters. There, a park docent said loud music is supposed to be prohibited, but with overlapping jurisdictions, some days are pure Mad Max. “Imagine three times the boats and people,” she said. “I’ve seen people literally jump on the manatees’ backs.”

Back on River Time, pasta and a glorious rooftop sunset awaited. We traded barbs with our smart-assed kids, laughed, and discussed futures that are approaching too damn fast. Lucy had been studying abroad over the previous six months, so reconnecting before she headed back off to the University of South Carolina was priceless. As the sky darkened, a few fish toyed with our lures, but none hit. Then, the bedtime horde arrived: a stream of skiffs, crews armed with cast nets, gigs, spears, and generator-driven banks of 1,000-watt floodlights. This wasn’t sport, it was shooting fish in a barrel—with a cannon. With Quinn and the kids in the quiet cabins, I took living room hide-a-bed watch. Supreme satisfaction was gained in blinding a few captains who ventured close, thanks to a 10,000-lumen spotlight I’d packed.

A medium, eye-level outdoor shot of a young woman and an older man standing close together on a shoreline under a cloudy sky, smiling for a photo. The woman, on the left, wears a light blue t-shirt with text ending in "...GLES MER", a camouflage baseball cap, and has her blonde hair styled in two long braids. The man, on the right, leans his arm casually on her shoulder while wearing a black long-sleeve rash guard or wetsuit top and dark shorts. In the background, a large piece of gnarled driftwood rests in the shallow, tea-colored water, which stretches out to a flat horizon, with the edge of a paddleboard visible on the bottom right.

The next morning, we were again gifted still, warm waters to paddle, snorkel, and manatee-gaze. Then, easing back onto the St. Johns, the first battalion of beer-fueled spring-bound jet skiers roared past.

So what did we learn? First, before a Florida winter “getaway,” do your research. Scores of others want a watery getaway too—and some are a–holes. Second, despite them, our trip was epic and it sharpened our focus on the ideal overnighter. I’ve pondered a more traditional Bertram or a Chris-Craft, but to get the SeaCamper’s interior space, you’d need 30-plus feet. We’d want something much smaller than River Time for maneuverability, quick cast offs, and trailering when hurricanes loom. It should run shallow on outboard power with enough generator-free lithium for an air-conditioned night at anchor. During our trek, the family enjoyed postcard weather up top, while I mostly drove down below, so I’d definitely want a flybridge for socializing. The conclusion? For now, we’ll stick with the SeaCamper, though a Solara Sportbridge sure would work too—so long as it packed a truly blinding spotlight. You never know how that might come in handy.

This article originally appeared in the May 2026 issue of Power & Motoryacht magazine.