The Anchovies Know The Way

If you know anything about boating, you’ve probably heard the often-used trope “The two happiest days in a boat owner’s life are the day they purchase a boat and the day they sell it.” If you can read between the lines, this past September, we closed on the sale of our dear Contigo.

This is not to say that we were thrilled with the sale. Or that it was an easy decision. Relief mixed with tenderness is a more apt description. We put Contigo on the market in the late spring of 2025, after contemplating a sale for almost two years.

We had several sale discussions when we were off Contigo; we felt it was best not to talk about it in front of her. Engaged in the delight of traveling abroad, not worrying about weather and enjoying the amenities that come with land living (such as on-demand hot water and laundry, to name a few), it was easy to contemplate, even dream about, life after cruising. We had started to travel more on land, had bought a car, and were spending time in Stonington, Maine with friends and family. There we were able to still get our water fix via a new-to-us Boston Whaler (christened Good Year, a nod to its excellent year of manufacture (1984)), but also ground ourselves within the confines of a house and a community that didn’t change with every anchorage.

Furthermore, if you have ever owned any hard asset, you likely understand the feeling of always having part of your mind worrying about it. This is especially the case with boats. The constant exposure to the elements means the longer they sit, unused, the more problems that crop up from (seemingly) nowhere. 

The irony was not lost on us that we had moved aboard Contigo to simplify our lives. Somehow, life’s complexities had crept back in. We were at least conscious enough to recognize this, and after too much time off Contigo, we felt a growing tug, an emptiness of something that was missing. The intensity of land-living started to outweigh the conveniences. Adventure, the quiet and tranquility of nights at anchor, the simplicity of it all when we were just cruising from port to port. When we would return to the boat after weeks away, the Contigo sale conversations dissolved. We would walk down the companionway and know instantly that we were home.

But over time, while still respecting our emotional attachment to Contigo, we started developing a more objective perspective, slowly coming to terms with the fact that our recent life choices did not reflect two people who wanted to pursue more adventures on the water.

Contigo had become part of our family, and, we believe, never let us down. It was precisely this feeling that led us to conclude it was only right to close this chapter, before the dream soured and Contigo was spending more time in a yard rather than on the water, in limbo while we explored different modes of travel and adventure.

The act of buying Contigo was far easier than the decision to move onto the next chapter, which is just now starting to take shape. In early 2025, we both read a memoir called “Cabin,” in which the author artfully and hilariously tells the story of purchasing a dilapidated cabin in the Cascades to use as a weekend retreat. His (mis)adventures resonated with us. In the book he very accurately portrays the highs and lows that arise from seeking not only adventure, but also simpler living that requires a strong sense of self-sufficiency. And despite the challenges, frustrations, and dead ends, he beautifully articulates our same sentimental feelings for a structure that others would label as inanimate. Just as the author felt his cabin, “Wit’s End” had become more than just wood and nails, Contigo, along with our inboard 55 horsepower Volvo Penta “Sven,” “Anchorman,” “Herr Auto(pilot),” and dinghy “Booey,” are beings to us, more than the sum of their parts, who have both taught and protected us.

What I (Conner) felt most touching, however, was the author’s comparison between his work as a copywriter, which required him to email correspondence that theoretically touched thousands of people each day, and his work on Wit’s End. The big renovations, small upgrades, his attention to detail: though on a smaller scale versus his day job, he believed his endeavors would create a deeper connection with whomever inhabited the cabin after him, a bond that would easily dwarf anything established through his email campaigns.

Aren’t we all (sometimes desperately) searching for that type of connection these days? Our painstaking efforts to keep Contigo looking new and the upgrades we gave her are things we could not take with us, nor did we want to. There’s contentment in believing that the love we put into her will be part of what delights future owners.

It was precisely this feeling that led us to pass on our two anchovies, magnets we had placed on the starboard side of the companionway, to the next owners. Their small size belied their importance. The family friend who gave them to us and who followed our travels from afar is sadly no longer with us, but we believe his adventurous spirit infused the anchovies, who continue to swim forward, eagerly seeking the next adventure.