“Eight knots and the truth,” a salty type said to me one recent morning as we ogled a steel-hulled, 60-something-footer in her slip. I nodded and listened as he related a chat he’d had with the boat’s owner/captain, who told him they had made their way from Dana Point, Calif., to this marina in Stuart, Fla., bound for Maine. They planned to summer there (I’m envious of those who use seasons as verbs) before heading to parts unknown.
“She told me they’ve only refueled once since leaving Dana Point,” he related. It was a fact that I found incredible, yet fitting for a boat that likely ferried 2,500 gallons of diesel in her belly. Thinking back on our brief chat, and the many boats that have graced these pages during…
