Flyingfish in her element
I don't normally associate most boating activities with someone's status as a waterman. Yachting, fishing, wake boarding, and water skiing aren't activities that intimately connect you with the ocean the way wave riding or diving do. Not that you can't enjoy these activities and still be a waterman, but as stand alone activities, in my opinion, they don't gain you any ocean cred. Having said that, I do think some boating activities can tip the balance in your status: paddling outrigger canoes or surf skis in open water, riding open ocean swells on a small catamaran, and being an experienced boat operator as it supports other ocean activities such as getting you out to a distant surf break or dive spot. Small boats can allow you to access ocean activities that would otherwise be impossible.
I am fortunate to have the best kind of boat- someone else's. That someone else is a lifelong friend who is extremely generous with his boat, and everything else. His motto is, "God is generous, I should be too". As friends, we are closer than most brothers. That friend is a board surfer, body surfer, skin diver, ocean photographer, and former lifeguard, as well as a skilled boat operator. That friend is Mike Johnson.
Mike's boat is a 1987 Boston Whaler Montauk, named the Flyingfish. It is 17' in length with a much lower freeboard than modern Montauks. Mike bought the boat new and finally replaced the outboard engine, with a new used one, three years ago.
Little boat, big ocean
When you stand in the Flyingfish, you feel like you are standing on an oversized stand-up paddleboard. Your feet are only inches above the waterline. When the Flyingfish skims along the top of the water, it reminds you of her namesake. The boat is definitely wet, and jarringly bouncy, in any kind of chop or close interval waves. Common sense dictates that such a boat should stay near shore. We do stay near shore, relatively speaking. Given the breadth of the Pacific Ocean, being 20, 30, or 40 miles offshore, is near shore. When we are out exploring, looking for big animals or other life, we will routinely cover over 100 miles. We usually stay within 15 miles of shore, unless we have a report of something further out. If something is further out, and weather and sea conditions allow, out we'll go. I think it takes somebody who is well acquainted with the ocean, a waterman, to make the call to head out 40 miles in a 17' skiff.
Flyingfish is an excellent platform for getting close to critters.
The Flyingfish is an excellent platform for playing in the ocean. She catches very little wind, which is critical when everyone jumps in the water to check out something cool. It is not good to have your boat blow away when you are many miles offshore, it only has to go a little ways and it disappears from view. Even if somebody knew to come looking for you, they'd probably never find you. The Flyingfish gets excellent gas mileage compared to a bigger boat, meaning more range to play. Finally, the Flyingfish is easily trailerable, so you can get a closer starting point to your destination.
Back when I still had dark hair, and I still spearfished, I shot my biggest Dorado (AKA Mahi mahi or Dolphinfish) while diving from the Flyingfish.
Over the years, we've used the Flyingfish to support scuba trips and spearfishing trips, but my favorite thing is just exploring offshore in blue water. Somedays the blue water starts 5 miles offshore, somedays it is 30 miles offshore. On a typical day we'll head out of the channel in the early morning. If conditions are good, we'll anchor a couple hundred yards outside the surf zone, swim in, and body surf for a hour or so. Then we head straight out to one of several offshore high spots and see what we can see. We go south for 20 miles or so, turn around and go north for 40 miles or so, stopping along the way to check out anything of interest. Some days we see almost nothing, most days we see one or two cool things, and somedays are amazing. We've swam with blue sharks and makos, blue, fin, and humpback whales, loggerhead and green sea turtles and several types of dolphins. We've been in large schools of skipjack and yellowfin tuna, with sharks darting in and out. During El Nino conditions, we've seen exotic fish and sea birds. Somedays kelp paddies are chocked full of fish and somedays they are barren, but they are almost always interesting.
Juvenile Treefish (Sebastes serriceps) under a kelp paddy. Fish, like boats, don't have to be big to be cool.
Unfortunately, in the past 15 years or so the sharks have become a lot less frequent, possibly due to overfishing and longline bycatch. Also, the whales have become much less approachable. They used to be curious and come to you, or at worst, ignore you. Now they are tired of dodging, and being chased by boaters so they keep their distance. Still you can find plenty of really cool stuff, some of it pretty tiny. It is one ocean after all; literally anything could come swimming by. Even if you strike out on animals, anytime you can swim down and just hang in blue water, with the bottom thousands of feet below, and the shafts of sunlight disappearing more than 100 feet below you, is an incredible experience. Sharing it with good people, who share your interests, makes it even better. If you've never had the opportunity to do this, I hope you'll get the chance, at least once in your lifetime.
I'm all packed to begin this year's bluewater season onboard the Flyingfish.
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