For the First Time Ever, Boat Beers Not Worth It

How in the actual heck is it now August? 2020 has given zero fucks to all of our sanity, but at least it knows to hurry the hell up already.

It's been a pretty good summer, all things considered. Brent and I have been smart about things reopening, using the guidelines and best judgement, and most recently, drove down to Rhode Island to see a friend and get some time on the water.

My friend Dave invited us fishing, but I heard "boat" and pictured myself out on the water with enough sunscreen and beer to last the weekend (or you know, an afternoon). This didn't pan out exactly like I thought it would.

Brent, Dave and I are on the boat after they launch it in the water while his dad parks the truck with the trailer. I crack open a beer and ignore the strange look from Dave; it's barely noon, but that's never stopped me before. His dad joins us and we're ambling down the shore, past the breakers, and finally out into the ocean where we can "open her up" as I keep saying.

Dave's dad "opens her up" and I immediately lose half my beer. I use one hand to grip the side of the boat and another so I don't lose my beer, although since it's mostly spilled all over me by now it wouldn't have been the worst thing. The water is choppy AF and we're airborne at points, coming down hard on the waves. It would have been awesome if I wasn't terrified I was going to fly out of the boat b/c I only had one hand to hang on b/c my other hand was holding my beer. Now I know why Dave gave me the strange look. 

Once we're a few miles out, we kill the motor and set up the fishing poles. Rather, Dave and his dad do, since I've never fished a day in my life and am happy that now I get to do what I came here to do: drink on a boat. Dave's dad puts me to work though, and I figure it's the price we pay for getting out on the water. Would you believe me if I said I caught three fish? Beginner's luck, maybe, but I was on a hot streak. The first two were big enough that they kept them in the cooler they brought along for this very occasion, but the third one we threw back. I think they were a 10 inch flounder and a 15 inch bass, but I'm telling people it was a 40 foot marlin, obviously. 

After the fish stop biting, we head to Block Island for stationary beers. I don't know if it was b/c it was an island and all bets are off, but they were definitely following their own, nonexistent, rules. We sat on a crowded patio, servers whisking by with masks not covering their noses. There was a bar on the beach a few yards away, teeming with people, no masks in sight. The atmosphere was one of a typical summer afternoon, people all too happy to leave the global pandemic back on the mainland.

On August 1st, a travel order went into effect for Massachusetts. They released a list of states where you could travel freely; outside the "safe zone," you're expected to self-quarantine for 14 days or risk fines. The list included all other New England states, New York and New Jersey as safe. Yesterday, the governor removed Rhode Island from the list; maybe he was at Block Island on Saturday, too.