I wasn’t always an editor of a yacht magazine. No, like many of you my foray into the working world began … humbly. Despite what my GPA would have you believe, my college experience was pretty promising; I was the editor of my college paper and boasted internships at a couple well-known newspapers and magazines. I was feeling like the cock of the walk at graduation.
Unfortunately, the media landscape at the time—not unlike today—was challenging, even for someone with a big head like mine. I could only find one outlet that would actually pay me for my writing (shout out to Boating Times Long Island). At $70 per story, I was forced to find additional means of employment. Karen’s uncle—the same one who owns a Tiara that I’ve written about before—helped me land a job working in the Sunnyside Railyard in Queens, New York. I was hoping for something in the communications department but instead landed a role looking for sinkholes as the company drilled, one inch at a time, a tunnel connecting Queens to Grand Central Station. So, while my friends worked at the beach or outdoor restaurants, I stood in a railyard, waiting for a sinkhole that never came. I felt like the world’s lamest lifeguard. And to make matters even more cruel, while standing on a railroad platform for nine hours straight, I needed to be accompanied by a sanctioned flagger. To bring this picture into focus: Another guy and I would stand on an empty platform in boots, a vest and hardhat, all day long, waiting for something, anything to happen. My dreams of being a famous magazine editor were dying with the rumble of each passing train.
After a couple months of struggling, I amassed enough vacation time to join my family on the boat for a couple of days as they cruised up the Erie Canal with our family friends. This was the first multi-day boat trip Karen was invited along for. The sunshine, the water, naps in the cockpit, with each nautical mile I felt my soul return to my body.
The trip up the canal was a far cry from many of our other summer treks to more traditional cruising grounds. There were few pools, restaurants or pubs with sea shanties, and certainly no mudslides or saltwater taffy shops, but what it lacked in stereotypical boating charm the canal made up for in character. More often than not, we would stay at barebones marinas where the sole attraction was a walk into town. The towns along the Erie Canal were sobering. Beautiful brick Main Streets were filled with empty storefronts. You could clearly see that these were once proud manufacturing outposts that had fallen on hard times and were now depressed.
Still, along the way we met countless interesting individuals who were nice as the day was long and we got to experience a slice of American life that we were not previously exposed to. With no attractions to speak of, our families would pass the time by throwing a football, swapping stories over a beer or slowly grilling dinner and sharing a laugh.
Feeling more and more rejuvenated, I picked up an old habit of writing nightly entries in a small blue notebook (my original logbook) chronicling our trip. It felt good to write again, even if it was just for myself. I can amazingly still remember how I wrapped up the series before heading home to the reality of the railyard: “I’ll never forget the people I met, and the memories made as we cruised in the wake of history up the Erie Canal.”
When I returned home, I published my entries on a long-forgotten blog and on a whim sent it to the editors I worked with the previous summer at Yachting magazine. I didn’t get a response for months. But one random Tuesday about six months later, the new editor-in-chief, Mary South, replied to my blog telling me that she had an opening for an associate editor if I was interested in interviewing. The rest … as they say … is history.
As the Erie Canal celebrates its 200th anniversary, Senior Editor Owen Burke wrote a fascinating piece about this iconic waterway in our May 2025 issue. It’s amazing to think how many boaters have travelled through the Erie Canal and how this feat of engineering gave birth to the Great American Loop—and at least one unforgettable career.
See you on the water,
Dan
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@danhardingboating
