You live on a WHAT?

When I became a boater, I was convinced that my new identity would reinforce my quirky & eccentric image. It definitely did that but that was only a part of the story. Like most of us, I’m fascinated to know how others perceive me. Perhaps I’m wrong but it’s my impression that most Muggles see boaters as objects of either mystery, envy or fear.

The mysterious element is most obvious when I am traveling through a busy lock with a curious crowd -  perhaps Broadway Market on a Saturday or Camden on any day you care to pick. 

In my early days of boating, the gawping eyes and camera phones stroked my ego but, once that novelty had worn off, it started to annoy me. I went through a fairly lengthy, self-righteous phase of dramatically taking photographs of everyone on the towpath who pointed a phone or camera in my direction. Ironically, those who seemed most surprised were usually the Japanese tourists. (I’ve always wondered how they’d cope visiting an Amish village).

Nowadays, I have developed my shepherding skills and learned to harness the enthusiasm of any onlookers. While the lock is filling / emptying, I can  be seen at my most charming - chatting away, and answering questions. Once the lock is set, as a special treat, the spectators - with the kind of eagerness usually associated with an unexpected  wild dolphin swim - heave and sweat away at the gates as I drive off into the mire.

The envy component is perhaps the most obvious one. The relaxing, floaty boaty life - that spiritual, life extending escape from the burdens of traditional living - is a perception that lulled many boaters to move onto the water in the first place. That was certainly my motivation. One of the first lessons I learned, however, was that not everyone had been ‘seduced’ onto the water. Many boaters have told me they had been driven to the lifestyle through financial problems. I remain an idealist though. As far as I’m concerned, this is a lifestyle upgrade - perhaps, for me, because it was a choice. ‘Angry Boater’ mode or otherwise, my boating reality has always be experienced through that filter.

Those who behave towards boaters with fear, oddly, are sometimes other boaters.

Last summer, I had a strange encounter on the Oxford Canal. I was in a lock and another boat was waiting to come the other way. The other boater was standing by the gate, helping me work the lock. We were talking amicably until he asked where my home mooring was and I told him that I didn’t have one.

“It’s all about to change for YOU,” he practically shouted. “ I’m on the boater’s forum and you’re not going to be doing THAT for much longer.”

I am not sure what aspect of not having a home mooring he objected so strongly to but I stayed friendly, tried to empathize and  introduced myself. When I asked him his name - and what forum he meant  - explaining that I was curious to learn more about his predictions for my future, he turned even more red and snapped, “Don’t you be worrying about THAT!”

It was probably the first time I’d had cause to reflect on a ‘Them and us’ dynamic existing amongst boaters. I wish I’d gotten to the bottom of his angst but I didn’t. All I can do is hypothesize.

Obviously, he had a home mooring but what was his resentment? 

Did he hate the fact that he was paying for a marina and I was free from that burden? 

Or was he expressing his own fear of living on the cut full time? 

When I started boating, I lived in a marina and, like many of my neighbours, I soon became institutionalized. I paid a lot of money to stay there, partly because I was scared. I believed it was better to be here - jammed between other boats - than on the scary outside. I even recall reading a British Waterways’ pamphlet which referred to the cut as “bandit country,” which reinforced my desire to stay exactly where I was.

Moving onto the cut full time, for me, was a gradual experience. For 2 years, I plucked up the courage to travel in the summer months but I still continued to pay for winter moorings. Eventually, however, I unplugged my shoreline for good. 

As for non-boaters, the fear-factor is sometimes manifested through a perception that living afloat is either lonely, unsafe, unsanitary or uncomfortable. Of course, all those fears have some justification behind them. Ultimately, it depends on your boat,  what you do and how you do it. Living afloat isn’t for everyone. Sometimes, it’s challenging.

For me, that’s the appeal. I’ve learned new skills, faced my fears, become more self reliant and explored beyond my comfort zone. It takes more effort to live like this. The reward for that effort, however, is that I now feel so much more alive and, for the first time, I have an emotional connection with my home.  I love living in different places, being around other boaters, feeding swans by hand from my side hatch, sitting on a beanbag on my roof in the summer with a book and a bottle of wine, exploring different towns, cities and villages and setting my own pace and destiny. 

As for that boater I met on the Oxford Canal, I’d still love to know what that was about. As he’s “on the boater’s forum,” perhaps he’ll read this. If that’s you, don’t be a stranger.

Joel

Jan 22nd, 2013