Ahoy! Don't call me Ishmael

No one loves looking at the ocean more than I do.

I am particularly fond of crashing waves and spouting whales.

Another benefit of an ocean is fresh seafood.

Waves, whales, seafood -- these are among the reasons my wife and I have spent so many vacations on the Oregon Coast since we first discovered Highway 101 in 1972. For the past 15 years or so we have rented the same house perched so close to the water's edge that the picture windows on three sides of the living room get crusted over from the saltwater spray at high tide.

One of my regular chores while we are there is to wash the windows, sometimes every day. That's a small price to pay for the view. And it shows you how much I like looking at the ocean.

Being on the ocean?

That's another matter entirely. I am famous both for the intensity and duration of my seasickness while aboard any vessel in heavy waves. I've been known to -- well, you know what happens when you're seasick -- while riding a ferry on Lake Superior.

Years ago, when we lived in New York, I had a boss who organized a fishing expedition every October off Montauk, the eastern tip of Long Island, to catch bluefish. As sick as I was, I always managed to catch plenty of fish. Go figure.

Growing up in the Ozarks over yonder didn't offer a whole lot of opportunities to develop seafaring skills. I remember one outing on Clearwater Lake before I was a teenager. My stepfather, two uncles, four cousins and I climbed into a 14-foot aluminum johnboat powered by a 7 1/2-horsepower Evinrude outboard motor with two life preservers aboard that summer day. Halfway across the widest part of the lake, the front of the johnboat caught the wake of a passing ski boat. The aluminum seats slipped from under us as the boat took a nosedive to the bottom of the lake. We were all rescued and lived to tell the tale. Over and over.

But you can see -- can't you? -- why I might not have been inspired to join the Navy.

A few times -- I can count them on one hand -- my wife and I have taken a cooler filled with picnic supplies to a lakeside marina and rented a boat for a sunny day. At first, I wondered if the marina operator would question my boat-handling skills. No one ever did.

A couple of years ago we rented a pontoon boat at a Kentucky Lake marina. I thought maybe I should have some special instructions, what with the barge traffic and all those buoys.

It's curious to me that marina operators want to see your driver's license when you rent a boat. As far as I can tell, boating and motoring have few similarities.

When I was asked to produce my driver's license in order to rent the pontoon boat, I told the young fellow, "I hope you don't expect me to parallel park that thing."

He did not laugh.

I asked if there was anything I needed to know before heading out into the main channel of the lake.

"Don't run out of gas," the fellow said.

Where's the gas gauge, I asked.

"Ain't got one."

So how will I know when I'm out of gas?

"The boat will stop."

I couldn't argue with his facts or his logic.

I'm glad to hear Missouri will require, starting next year, boat operators to have permits. Because I'm old, I don't have to take the training. I think I might anyway. I might learn how to tell when the fuel tank is nearly empty.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.