Why Do We Own Boats?

Alliance - Beaulieu River July 2026

It strikes me as utterly bizarre every time we leave our home berth and venture off for a day, a weekend or a week or two away on Alliance that there are hundreds of boats we pass on the Hamble River that either never seem to move or get taken out so infrequently that it makes me quite sad and wonder why they are there at all.

It doesn't seem to matter whether they are sailing yachts or motorboats, small cruisers or impressive gin palaces. Every marina has them. Boats that appear to have become permanent fixtures. They sit quietly in their berth’s week after week, month after month, seemingly going nowhere.

Let's face it, moorings aren't cheap. A berth on the Hamble comes at a premium, particularly in one of the larger marinas, and there are plenty of those. Add in insurance, maintenance, fuel, servicing, lift-outs, antifouling and all the other expenses that quietly empty your wallet throughout the year, and boat ownership starts to look like an exercise in financial madness.

Yet still they sit there.

You would think that on a gloriously warm, sunny mid-summer weekend some of these forgotten dreams might burst into life, but often they don't.

There are tell-tale signs.

The Hamble grows weed on boat bottoms unlike almost anywhere else I've come across. It's scraggly, stubborn and incredibly fast growing. It's the aquatic equivalent of bamboo. You think you've won the battle one weekend, only to discover a week later that it's returned with a vengeance. I'll save our ongoing war with Hamble weed for another blog because that's a story all of its own!

But heavy weed growth tells its own story. Boats that don't move soon begin to advertise the fact.

It always makes me wonder.

Were these boats bought with dreams of exploring the South Coast? Perhaps even crossing the Channel one day? Did their owners imagine lazy summer evenings swinging peacefully at anchor or weekends pottering up rivers and into quiet creeks? Or are they simply holding on to memories of years gone by, when life was less hectic and getting away for a weekend was easier?

Perhaps life has just got in the way.

Work becomes busier than expected. Children grow up and weekends disappear into football matches, dance competitions and family commitments. Elderly parents need more support. Health changes. Grandchildren arrive. Before long another season has passed, and the boat has hardly left her berth.

I don't judge any of that. If anything, it makes me feel rather sad. Sad for the boats, certainly, but more so for the people who own them. Because somewhere along the line, the dream that persuaded them to buy the boat in the first place has quietly slipped into the background.

The economic insanity of boat ownership is easy to calculate.

If you only manage two or three weeks away each year, together with the odd spring or autumn weekend, the cost per day is eye-wateringly expensive. No accountant would ever recommend it as a sensible investment.

But perhaps we're measuring the wrong thing.

This weekend reminded me exactly why we continue to own Alliance.

Hubby and I slipped away very early on Saturday morning to watch the Round the Island Race, and what a spectacle it was. Nearly a thousand boats spread across the Solent, colourful spinnakers filling with the breeze, crews busy at work and sails decorating the horizon in every direction. It's one of those fabulous British summer sailing events that never fails to impress, no matter how many times you see it.

We accompanied the fleet as far as The Needles before peeling away and making our own plans. We dropped anchor in Alum Bay for a few glorious hours, protected from the breeze by the colourful cliffs, while the organised chaos of the race carried on in front of us.

It's amazing how quickly everything changes once the anchor is down.

The engine falls silent.

The constant vibration disappears.

The only sounds become the gentle slap of water against the hull, the occasional cry of a gull overhead and the quiet clink of crockery as you make another cup of tea.

Time slows down and all the things that normally demand your attention simply fade away.

Emails can wait.

The grass doesn't need cutting.

The washing machine isn't beeping.

Nobody is expecting anything from you.

For a little while, the world carries on perfectly well without your involvement.

There is something wonderfully therapeutic about sitting quietly at anchor with nowhere else you need to be. Watching other boats come and go. Sharing lunch in the galley. Simply enjoying each other's company without the usual distractions of everyday life.

Later that morning we headed across to the Beaulieu River and picked up a visitor's mooring buoy for the night.

Again, life slowed down.

As the evening settled over the river, the day visitors gradually disappeared, the tide ebbed out and the river returned to its peaceful self. The frantic pace of modern life seemed a million miles away.

No television.

No news.

Just the gentle movement of the boat, the occasional splash of a fish, birds calling from the riverbank and the satisfaction of knowing there was absolutely nowhere else we needed to be.

It's funny how one night aboard can feel like a proper holiday.

You sleep differently on a boat.

You wake differently too.

The first thing you notice isn't traffic outside the bedroom window or the list of jobs waiting for you. Instead, it's the soft light creeping through the curtains, the sound of water gently lapping against the hull and the knowledge that the kettle is only a few steps away.

It isn't luxury in the conventional sense.

It's something much better.

It's peace.

For those of us with busy lives, that peace is becoming increasingly precious.

We're constantly connected these days. Phones, emails, messages, social media and endless notifications all compete for our attention. We tell ourselves we're relaxing, yet somehow, we're still connected to work, to home, to responsibilities and to everyone else's demands.

A boat has an uncanny ability to disconnect you from all of that.

Perhaps that's one of the greatest gifts boating gives us.

Perspective.

Sometimes it's enough simply to drift gently on a mooring buoy, watch the tide change, enjoy a quiet meal together and recharge batteries that no charger in the world can reach.

And that brings me back to all those boats we pass on the Hamble.

Perhaps their owners are simply waiting for the right time.

Perhaps they're waiting until work calms down, until retirement arrives or until life somehow becomes less busy.

The trouble is, life rarely does become less busy.

If this weekend reminded me of anything, it's that boats don't need to cross oceans or complete epic adventures to justify their existence. They don't even need to leave the Solent.

Sometimes all they need to do is carry us away from everyday life for a couple of days.

A quiet anchorage.

A peaceful night on a mooring buoy.

A glorious sunset.

A slow morning with a cup of tea in the aft deck.

A chance to reconnect with each other while disconnecting from everything else.

Suddenly, the cost of the mooring, the maintenance, the insurance and even the endless battle with Hamble weed doesn't seem quite so outrageous after all.

Because perhaps we don't really own boats to travel.

Perhaps we own them to escape.

2026 Round the Island Boat Race - Photo taken from Alliance