Before I could tow the boat home, I needed a place to put her. Luckily, my neighbour up the street had recently bought a marina as his retirement project, and he was fixing it up with his kids. I gave them a call, and his youngest son — who remembered me — picked up.
“I just bought a boat,” I said. “Any chance you’ve got space?”
“No problem,” he replied. “All the slips are full, but bring her down and we’ll store her on land.”
Perfect. That gave me time to prepare the boat properly, and when a slip opened up, I’d be ready to launch.
The Tow Begins
Now, Lake St. Clair to the Grand River off Lake Erie isn’t exactly a straight shot. Add in a long weekend, unpredictable weather, and a 27-foot boat on a 30-foot trailer, and you’ve got yourself an adventure.
Fuel consumption was the first surprise. My truck was working hard, and the diesel gauge dropped faster than I liked. Being thrifty (my wife calls it cheap), I found an Indigenous-run gas station along the way. Let me just say — hats off to them. Affordable fuel, friendly service, and a setup that saved me. With the boat standing nearly 10 feet tall and 8 feet wide, I needed an outside pump where I could pull straight through. If I’d had to back up with a lineup behind me, it would’ve been a nightmare.
This was my first lesson in navigating with a boat — and it wasn’t even in the water yet.
The Long Haul
The trip was slow. Real slow. Between traffic, weather, and the GPS bouncing us on and off the 400-series highways, my average speed was about 60 km/h. We stopped for dinner, which delayed us even more, and I started to feel that creeping “range anxiety” — not for an electric car, but for my truck. Every time I pushed the speed, the fuel gauge dropped like a stone. A preview, I figured, of boating life to come.
I called the marina to let them know we’d be late. “No worries,” they said. “We live on site. We’ll be here.” That eased the stress a little.
The Final Turn
As we got closer, traffic built up behind me. You know the feeling — you’re stuck behind someone towing something massive, crawling along at half the speed limit. Let’s just say I got a few “salutes” from impatient drivers, some with only one finger.
Finally, the marina came into view. And of course, the entrance was a sharp turn, on an incline, with cars trying to get out while horns blared behind me. Perfect.
I slowed to a crawl, swung as wide as I could, and with the grace of God and the patience of a saint, I made the turn. For a moment, I worried the boat might tip, but once we were through, it was smooth sailing into the yard.
The boat was home.