Inflatable Fishing Boat Memories

My dad was an outdoorsy guy through and through. The farther from society, the better — hunting, fishing, and camping were his peace. And while I didn’t inherit his love for hunting or fishing exactly, the love for the outdoors? That’s something we had in common.

There’s something grounding about it — being away from the noise, the pressure, the day-to-day. My dad understood that. I understand that.

When he passed, I inherited a couple of his favorite things: his kayak, and the legendary Seahawk 2 — an inflatable fishing boat that had clearly seen some action.

I’ve taken the Seahawk 2 out three times now. And every single trip has been… something else. Let’s just say, if you’re trying to get somewhere in that boat, patience is not optional. You need it in bulk. I like to think I’ve got more of it than my dad ever did. Maybe.

Still, I’ve found myself mid-river, soaked in sweat, going in circles, completely over it. The oars don’t cooperate. The river current doesn’t help. And the brush along the bank? Absolutely no mercy.

Every time I’m out there, I can’t help but wonder — how did my dad handle this thing?

He had a bit of a temper when things didn’t go smoothly. I can picture him so clearly — a few beers in, trying to paddle this blow-up boat that just wouldn’t listen. I imagine him going in circles, cussing at the river, maybe even chucking an oar. And honestly? The mental image makes me laugh every time.

But maybe I’ve got it wrong.

Maybe he wasn’t fighting it at all. Maybe he was out there at sunrise, anchored somewhere quiet, casting his line in total peace. Calm. Content. Where he felt most like himself.

Who knows?

What I do know is that he’s been on my mind every single time I’ve used that boat. Not just because it belonged to him, but because of the way being out there — messy, ridiculous, peaceful — makes me feel connected to him. Like somehow, we’re sharing something in that wild little struggle.

That said… I think I’m ready to retire the damn thing.