Remember when you were a kid, and you returned home to an interrogation by your mother?
“Where were you?”
“Nowhere, ma.”
“What were you doing?”
“Nothing.”
And you were being completely honest. You had just been enjoying the nowhereness of wandering and enjoying, whether it was at the playground to see what was going on or just to inspect an anthill.
I’m a fallen-away pilot who switched to soaring when I found myself spending too much time chatting with air traffic control (which sounded just like my curious mother): “Where are you going? What are you doing?” One of my favorite things about flying, aside from looking down on crowded freeways, was the “$100 hamburger.” That’s pilot-speak for getting into the air for no particular reason.
It actually means flying a light plane for an hour or so to another airport, which, like all small airports, has a restaurant. Calling it a restaurant is probably being generous—most were barely diners, and some were hole-in-the-wall walk-ups. You’d buy a burger and a Coke, sit talking to other pilots for a bit, and then fly home. Back then, a burger, a Coke and a refuel was about $100, and well spent.
So, my question to you dear boaters is: Are you having any $100 burger outings? I don’t want to sound like anyone’s mother, but there is something restorative about going nowhere and doing nothing. Cast off the lines, get away from the dock, and go find an anthill to explore.
Perhaps it’s a cove that you’ve never visited (or that you’ve been to a hundred times). There might be a marina with a restaurant (probably not a cheap burger) that offers free docking for patrons. Go. Sit. Enjoy.
Sure, hanging out in my slip at the marina can also be enjoyable—sprawled on the aft deck or on the bridge, feeling the breeze, all good times. Having owned more boats than I admit, I know the pleasure of just being aboard while tied up, sipping a cold one, perhaps watching other boats struggle to dock.
But I also know that it isn’t long before I have nagging prods at my brain. I know I could enjoy the brewski while sanding that coaming that is losing its varnish. I’ve already bought the line. I could be splicing new docklines.
And thus, my getaway turns into doing work I hadn’t planned to do. At least, not for a while. And it isn’t that $100 burger. It isn’t going nowhere, doing nothing.
We live in a 9-to-5 world, filled with must-dos and don’t-
forgets. We have little time that isn’t scheduled. If you have children, there is soccer practice or ballet lessons or, for iffy students like me, math tutors. Adults are fitting in meetings, calls and all the other hodgepodge that pays for the marina slip and other minor stuff, like the mortgage and food.
What I liked about the $100 burger flights was that they were unplanned and, as such, full of joy. A wandering kid discovers a caterpillar or a strange spiderweb. A wandering pilot finds little airports lined with hangars filled with interesting people and even more interesting planes.
Sadly, air traffic control eventually took away the option of wandering for its own sake, but that hasn’t happened in the boating world. Get on the boat, light up the engines, cast off, and you’re in a state of freedom. It’s best if you have no plan. Just go nowhere. Too many skippers (you know who you are) seem incapable of doing nothing. They have to put waypoints into the GPS, get out a chart, or make a plan. That is the antithesis of the $100 burger.
Being on the water is the whole point. Invite friends along. When they ask the mom questions, just say, “I don’t know, but it’s going to be a nice day.” Tell them you’re taking the boat out for a spin, and ask if they want to ride along. And even if you do have a waterfront pub in mind when you cast off, stay open to other distractions. You may pass a great sandbar that seems to have your name scratched in it. A bistro you’d never noticed. Whatever.
The whole point of the $100 burger is to enjoy your boat in its natural element. Then you can return, and, when anyone asks where you went and what you did, you can honestly answer, “Nowhere. Nothing.”
This article was originally published in the March 2023 issue.
