Well, We’re Boat People Now

We didn’t move here just to admire the lake from a distance.

If we were going to live here, we were going to be in it.

So, we bought a boat.

The pontoon—purchased last January at the somewhat chaotic Salt Lake Boat Show—finally arrived last week. Timing felt right. Early season. Quiet water. Just enough sun to convince you it’s warmer than it is.

Our maiden voyage was less “champagne christening” and more “figure out what this button does.” Equal parts orientation and mild concern. But nothing sank, no one panicked, and we made it back to shore with both dignity and the owner’s manual intact. A second outing with a friend confirmed what we suspected:

This was a very good idea.

The Joys

A good sweatshirt and a little sunshine can carry you a long way.

There’s something about having the lake mostly to yourself—like you showed up early and were let in before the doors officially opened.

Add in good music. Easy conversation. A dog who thinks this is all perfectly normal. A charcuterie situation that’s… adequate at best.

That’s it. That’s the formula.

The water was that unmistakable Caribbean blue—the kind people think you’re exaggerating until they see it themselves. The mountains reflected back like they were in on it. Even the clouds felt intentional.

We’ll take as many of these quiet days as we can get before the season shifts. Before the boat ramp gets busy. Before the lake gets louder.

The Stuff Still to Figure Out

There’s the part where you’re on the water.

And then there’s… everything else.

We don’t have a marina slip (yet), which means we’re firmly in the “trailer it in, trailer it out” phase of boat ownership. A humbling place to be.

My official role has been established as Boat Trailer Backer-Upper.

A skill I did not previously possess. Or even aspire to.

Turns out, reversing a trailer is less about confidence and more about geometry and not overcorrecting every five seconds. I am currently working on both.

The good news: I’m motivated.

The bad news: I now have access to an alarming number of YouTube videos.

There’s helpful advice, and then there’s a deep catalog of people demonstrating exactly what not to do with a boat. Both feel educational in their own way.

Also worth noting: we now own a boat garage that is… not large enough to house the boat. That’s a separate story involving measurements, optimism, and a flexible definition of “close enough.”

What’s in a Name?

At some point, you have to name the boat.

It’s a rule. Or at least it feels like one.

We’ve cycled through a long list of contenders. Some clever. Some terrible. Most rejected quickly. The right name hasn’t shown up yet, which suggests it’s probably not something you force.

It should feel like it belongs.

Something we can say without irony:

“Welcome aboard the _______.”

We’re open to suggestions. Thoughtful, questionable, or otherwise.

For now, we’re just getting used to the idea.

We’re boat people now.

Still learning. Still figuring it out.

But very much here for it.