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At our church, we talk about respect for life from conception to natural death. Calm down, calm down. I’m not going to go all Franklin Graham on you or advocate for the defunding of Planned Parenthood. I’m not going to get into a hate filled, pro-life, pro-choice debate in this column. God knows we have enough of those poison arrows aimed at one another today. My good friend, Dean Young, has warned me about referencing politics and religion in this column on numerous occasions. You can crawl out of the foxhole now, Deano. I ain’t going there. But when I think about that respect for life, I can’t help thinking about boats. Boats? Really? Yeah, boats. Throughout their lives, there are people who just don’t give them the respect they deserve. They are ignored, neglected, and abused, causing premature illness and demise. Some folks just have no business owning or operating a handmade boat.
From conception, handmade, custom boats are in a class by themselves. Conceived by two people—the customer and the designer/builder—an enormous amount of thought and trust go into the initial dance between them, not unlike a courtship. Plans are made from dreams, some practical, some unrealistic, as the miracle of the creative process begins. There will be moments of consensus and moments of disagreement along the way. Gestation is defined by a multitude of variables and birth, or launch, will come when the boat is damn good and ready. Each custom boat is born with a soul, given to it by the craftsmen who created her. That soul can remain pure or blacken over time with bad choices and apathy. From the moment of the initial launch, the boat will be subject to the forces of nature, and it is up to the customer and his or her hired help to provide the care and protection needed for a healthy life. Like concerned parents, when a new boat leaves the nest, the builder breathes a proud, apprehensive sigh of relief. This is where things get tricky. When a son or a daughter journeys out on their own, there is no way to fully predict what might be in store. Much has to do with fate and much has to do with acquaintances. As a parent, you know when someone is a good fit. It’s the same with custom boats. The builder is intuitively aware of who will treat her right and who will run her on the rims. In my 50 years of boat building, I have known a handful of owners who understand the stewardship and the privilege of owning a handmade boat. Within that time, I have worked with a handful of great captains who understood this as well. These are the men and women of this industry who shine, command respect, and to whom I will forever be indebted. The rest of them just don’t seem to get it. “It’s mine, I paid for it, and I’ll do what I damn well please,” is pretty common. Or: “All I was doing was running along in a two-foot chop and that stringer shattered.” “We were just fishing and the isolator studs sheared off.” “The brightwork doesn’t need another coat. We just did it last year.” Here’s one of my favorites: “This boat just doesn’t raise fish.” That certainly can’t have anything to do with the human beings aboard and their ability to perform the job they were hired to do. No, it’s the boat. I can’t get my girlfriend to dance. I don’t feel like teaching her, so I’ll just ignore her.
Budgeting for proper care and maintenance is a matter of respect as well. Everyone wants to belong to the Big Boy Club. Few of us have the qualifications for membership. Whether wood, FRP composite, metal, or any combination of such, boats are extremely expensive to maintain. If you don’t possess the financial torque to own and maintain a handmade, custom boat, it’s OK, you’re in good company. Ninety-nine percent of the world’s population will never be able to afford one either. Unfortunately, there are folks out there that can’t or won’t admit that. If you can’t make the payments on that car, if you can’t afford the maintenance on that waterfront home, if you can’t afford the operational cost of that airplane, if you can’t afford that trophy husband or wife, don’t go there. The ability to afford the cost of ownership is the most important prerequisite for membership in the Big Boy Club. Some among us who can afford the high cost associated with boating are just bad stewards and “cheap bastards,” a term often used by my father to describe this arrogant negligence. Some people sneak in the back door of the club. Like a bad marriage, the neglect and abuse we see in the service yard is heartbreaking. I swear, sometimes I can hear a boat crying for help and we end up crying together.
This negligence in boat care and maintenance seems to increase with the age of the boat. With people, the doctor visits and pharmaceutical requirements escalate as we get older. Most folks have an inherent drive for self-preservation. Boats rely on people for that, and it is the responsibility of owners and crew to see to it that structure, systems, and finishes remain healthy. There are boats of ours that are 50 years old and older that are still well maintained and as solid as the day they were first put to sea. Sadly, there are many more that have been abused. They have deteriorated from a cumulative lack of respect from a string of owners who hired counterfeit hacks or foolishly thought they could handle the compulsory attention to detail themselves. Like machinery, people, and pets, as any boat ages, more attention to maintenance is required, and it seems that the Big Boy Club membership committee has been asleep at the wheel. Would you purchase a historic landmark building and let it disintegrate? Actually, there are laws and ordinances against that. Would you marry an aging supermodel and deprive her of her regular doctor visits and cosmetology appointments? If you acquired a 1967 L88 427 Corvette, would you drive it down the railroad tracks, park it on your lawn, and let the grass grow up around it? Hell no. Then why do some people abuse their boats as if they are beating them into submission? Why do they let their once proud girl just sit there and fall apart while tied to the dock?
The selfish disregard for these symbols of art, engineering, and craftsmanship is becoming more common with the apparent extinction of the gentleman sportsman. No doubt it has something to do with our instant gratification and throwaway culture. Whether the cheap bastards realize this or not, custom boats belong to the world and are part of our historical record. This may sound like a snobbish exaggeration, but any serious owner of a Monet, Van Gogh, or Picasso understands that great art belongs to the planet, and he or she is simply a steward, a benefactor, with the privilege of caring for and maintaining something timeless. From conception to natural death.
This article originally appeared in the August/September 2025 issue of Power & Motoryacht magazine.
