.jpg)
The year before he retired, one year ago, he mentioned to his wife he thought he’d might like a boat.
She said, “Great, be a good hobby for you.” Now having never owned one, he got to looking at them on the internet, reading about motors, trailers, sails, anchors, bumpers and the like.
And the like he happened upon was a wherry, two oars, easy to trailer, no engine to fuss about, be shoulder powered. Told the Mrs. he found what he was looking for and out the Minnesota door they went. Home two weeks ago from the east coast, with his wherry. And may I say it’s a looker.
Sixteen feet, slides on and off the custom trailer like butter off a hot ear of sweet corn. And the inside of the wherry is just as golden, the lacquer, in or out of the sunshine, looks like honey. The ribs of the boat as uniform as you’d ever hope to see.
The boat’s magic is when the winds of the day are slight. It can zip across a bay, soundless, tiny wake, and turn on dime when headed back.
It looks fun, trying it for the first time, no RPMs rev’n in my ears, it’s a pleasant way to boat for sure. No hand on the tiller, you’re gripped tight to the longest set of birch oars this wood tick has ever seen.
I said to my Mrs., “We should get one.” She said, “Don’t you think we own enough boats?” I said, “I feel like I’m definitely 16 feet short.”
--The trout whisperer
