My first adventure in a boat

[Note: Capt. Kirk is on leave for a while. In the meantime, enjoy a version of this classic from our archives.]

Since the invention of the wheel, our society has been increasing in speed of travel. A trip across the United States territory used to take months or years — if you even made it at all. Small communities were the norm. Neighborhoods had boundaries and kids were watched by all the neighbors for protection and discipline.

The boundaries in my hometown of Lakewood, Ohio, were the end of the street we lived on. One end was a busy main street and the other was a park with swings, seesaws, monkey bars and other fun things that today are considered too dangerous for some children to use. We all knew who lived where, what kids to watch over and what neighbor would rattle our ears if we misbehaved.

Corporal punishment was a way of life — not bad, or performed out of hatred or anger, but to teach us lessons that we would never forget. Our parents backed up the neighbors and trusted each other in this regard. Yes, it takes a village.

I was one of those kids that liked to explore the boundaries of our neighborhood. I would take my little red Western Auto bicycle and go down to the end of the street, taking the sidewalk into forbidden territory. I discovered that by going just a little further past my school that I walked to each day (St. James — yes, Catholic), I entered a whole new world.

There was a valley with a huge park and a boat ramp with lots of fishermen and bait and tackle. The Rocky River Park was a great place for exploring. I would hike through the woods and fish and even wade in the water, feeling like Davy Crockett or Daniel Boone. I would hang out by the boat ramp and watch fishermen and families launch their small boats. Some had fishing gear, some had water skis, some had old tire tubes being pulled behind the boat with their kids bouncing along behind them, having fun in the water. Of course, I didn’t actually get to see them going fast, as the boat ramp was on the river.

The river led to Lake Erie about three-quarters of a mile downstream, out of sight but not out of mind. I thought to myself, “How can I get there to see this wonderful ‘new world’?” I could borrow a boat! But no. A 7-year-old kid can’t do that. But I could build one!

Then, along the banks farther upriver, stuck in the bushes, was an old cement mixing tub. It was about 6 feet long, steel, turned up at both ends just like a barge. Perfect! Well, almost. There were several holes in it, so I patched them over the next few weeks with whatever I could find.

One day, using a board for a paddle, I launched it into the slow current. I was on my own boat — going slow, true, but moving with visions of Columbus or Lewis and Clark or MacKenzie spurring me on.

However, my dream was over almost as soon as it began. My first adventure in a boat also turned out to be my first shipwreck when the vessel quickly sank, forcing me to swim to shore.

There’s a bright side to the story, though: I told my dad about my failed exploits — and he responded by purchasing our first family boat, a 1951 Fiberglass MFG with a whopping 35-horsepower Johnson.

We had many good times on that boat. Thanks, Dad. This is why, even today, there is nothing — absolutely nothing — so much worth doing as messing about in boats.

Fair winds; calm seas. ¦

— Capt. Dennis Kirk and his wife, Nancy, are avid mariners and outdoor enthusiasts currently living in North Port. Since the 1970s, their love of nature in Southwest Florida has allowed them to experience the dream of writing about their travels and adventures of sailing, fishing and flying.

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