Glen Justic

So there I was last weekend, not at the helm of my fine vessel but instead paying almost $40 to spend an afternoon at the Water Mine Family Swimmin' Hole, a unique blend of fun and hell a few miles outside of Washingon.

It was fun because it is a waterpark, and my young sons had never been. It had big yellow intertubes and a chlorinated river with a current running around the place, allowing me to at least float above the water on a boat-like device.

It was hell because – it's a waterpark. I waited 30 minutes for a neoprine pizza and ate it in record time as the children chanted for water time. I then waded for hours through puddle-deep water, like Godzilla towering over a tribe aquatic muchkins.

All the while, I'm wondering why I'm such a boob. Why couldn't I have gotten the boat back in the water? I mean, I run a boating magazine, right? There are many reasons here -- rain chief among them -- and I got to think about each and every one in detail as I spent Memorial Day hauling kids up and down the water slides.

I worked all the angles, and no matter which way I cut it the final analysis came up, "I'm a boob." This was some mean pennance. Hell hath no fury like the karma awaiting the guy who botches his boat launch.

But the kiddies loved it – and at least I got wet.