The Boating Barrister

Once, a long ways back, a wealthy client complained to me. It was about his family member. “All he does,” he snarled in indignation. “All he does, is sit on a beach and read.” He was behind his desk, golf-course casual with the bumper’s edge of a six-figure car peeking beneath the blinds behind him. He was rolling a shiny shackle in hands, wanting some convivial concurrence from my side. It didn’t come because I don’t do…

By John K. Fulweiler, Esq. The “Biscayne Bay Boil” is what my daughter renamed the cursed Biscayne Bay chop. We spent four days in late December at the Orange Bowl Regatta in Miami, Florida watching our spawn bronco-bust her Opti through something like 13 races. What a fun event, and hats off to the Coral Reef Yacht Club for their enthusiasm and organization. With luck (and provided, I’m told, the snack bar continues to serve the sine…

Here’s a lazarette’s worth of things boaters would do well to remember: Sailing isn’t a sport…not in the way most of the 50 states understand sports. Foiling hulls will never catch on en masse with the recreational boater. It’s not the cost of the boat. It’s the upkeep. The buoys are there for a reason. Sail because you love it, not for any other reason. Wearing a brand name is one thing; wearing a store’s brand name…

By John K. Fulweiler, Esq. The boat show was a hoot. I drank some beer, strolled the docks with the best looking woman in the show, and feigned interest in boats so expensive it made my eyelids hurt. It’s not that I don’t like goals, but to steal a Chris Hitchens sort of analysis – there’s probably a special place in the afterlife for anyone who pays somewhere near a million for a plastic boat with four…

By John K. Fulweiler, Esq. I’ll hold a sweaty beer in my hand and watch these runabouts tear around Narragansett Bay like they’re on PCP. My memory is the only things I used to see rip up waters like that were the Cigarette-style rigs throwing 100-foot rooster tails. Now, it seems even the simple-looking center console can travel at speeds of 50 miles an hour! Who cares whether it’s “advancements” in the manufacturing or powering technology, it’s…

By John K. Fulweiler, Esq. Jesse James likes him a lobster roll. You know him…ex-husband to Sandra Bullock, denim-wearing, flattop-rocking, chopper-making TV personality. I was slugging a Diet Coke and lobster roll when he sat down next to me, both of us with a Newport harbor view. I’m no fanboy and so I ate and ran, leaving him to perspire in his getup (he hadn’t yet broken out his Nantucket Reds). But what if Jesse decides to…

By John K. Fulweiler, Esq. Let me ask you a question. It’s a morals question, but not the kind that’s any fun. It’s a question lathered in maritime facts, but it’ll work just as good as if we were talking about forty acres and a dead mule in Minnesota. Maybe the question should give way to the narrative, ‘cause the narrative probably has the lesson and it’s the lesson I’m meaning to clear off the wharf and…

By John K. Fulweiler, Esq. I am not a gunslinger. I’m not a hired gun. But, if you’ve suffered an injury or a loss in the maritime setting and want or need someone to remedy the situation, I’m for hire. I won’t win the case for you, but I’ll help you win. You’ll supply the facts and I’ll supply the attention to detail, the organization and the forceful press of argument. And, damn, I’ll put the time…

By John K. Fulweiler, Esq. You can’t recreate your youth watching YouTube, but it’s fun to watch the adventures of some of the younger sailing couples. You have two groups. You’ve got the couple representing the kind of genetic fortitude and talent that settled the mighty West, and then you have everyone else. You see, Riley & Elayna of Sailing La Vagabonde can sail and dive and spearfish and make new friends at each port of call…

By John K. Fulweiler, Esq. At the diner where the spring wind comes whistles across an empty harbor and riffles the menus, the waitress called the guy seated catty-corner to me “Greg.” Problem was, and it turned out not to be, his work shirt was embroidered with “Nick.” It’d be hard to miss that red threadwork, making me muse the shirt was borrowed or he wasn’t the kind to take offense at being called the wrong name….