Boat Tales: The Pontooning Club

Some "regular" boat owners have a difficult time understanding why pontoon owners love their boats.

by Alan Jones

A fighter pilot and a cargo plane captain were talking over the radio as they flew side-by-side. The fighter pilot was commiserating about the boring ride the cargo captain was commanding and about the cargo plane’s inability to perform like the fighter jet.

To illustrate his point, the fighter jockey jammed the throttle to full afterburner, went vertical, and did a series of thrilling, high-G acrobatic maneuvers. The top gun then said, “Let me see you do that.” Unimpressed, the cargo captain replied, “You want to see something really amazing? Watch this!” For 10 minutes, the cargo transport plane remained flying with no perceptible change in course, speed or altitude, until the fighter pilot finally broke the silence. “I thought you were going to show me something,” he said — to which the cargo pilot replied, “I did … I turned the flying over to my co-pilot, got up, visited the head, stretched my legs with a walk around the cargo bay, got a cup of coffee, and am now reading a magazine with my feet up on the dash. Let’s see you do that!”

Owners of pontoon boats sometimes suffer from the misplaced sympathy of other boaters who believe pontoon owners were leveraged by spousal coercion into buying what non-‘tooners consider to be a lake-borne minivan. Despite the protests from loyal and satisfied pontoon owners that this really was their first choice, such “neutered dog” myths persist. To help pro-pontooners in their quest to convince others that they’re not, in fact, henpecked boaters, here are some advantages enjoyed by aluma-tubers:

First off, ‘toons have enough space for you to be able to invite the whole family, including the in-laws. Fiberglassaphiles, of course, would counter that one advantage of their boats is that you don’t have room for the in-laws. Secondly, were you to feel the urge to dance on a normal-sized bowrider, you’d pretty much be relegated to keeping your feet planted and turning left and right like you’re watching a tennis match, bobbing your head as if observing someone on a pogo stick, while wagging your fists like a baby trying to direct a 747 where to park. On a pontoon, you have plenty of room to bust a move — including the spectacle of Dad trying to breakdance for the first time, much to the embarrassment of the kids. It does provide for some awesome YouTube blackmail material, however.

Many pontoon boats also have stereos powerful enough to rival those of annoying hip-hop fans who always pull up at the light next to you and vibrate your rearview mirror. As a word of caution, however, use this power for the good of mankind and remember: If you must play it at full earthquake volume at a raft-up, please … please … tune your radio to the same channel as the pontooners next to you. Just as you wouldn’t mix certain volatile chemicals in a lab, the musical combination of Montgomery Gentry’s “Daddy Won’t Sell the Farm” and Snoop Dogg’s “Still a ‘G’ Thang” played side-by-side at part-tay volume is likely to cause anyone a neurological meltdown of Britney magnitude.

While many “regular” boaters consider pontoon owners as underachieving pre-dead citizens, they fail to consider that with a pontoon you can fish in the morning, water ski in the afternoon, entertain at sunset and camp out overnight. That sort of agenda would just about kill an average ‘ glasser.

Although some pontoonados might feel a little awkward if they pulled up to a fishing spot occupied by Kevin VanDam in his custom bass war wagon, most are secure enough to confidently fish nearby. While it’s true that when the fish are biting, KVD might enjoy a slight advantage in boats, when the bite slows, the pontoonista pulls way ahead as he reclines on a couch in the shade watching the big football game while sipping a frosty beverage, hoping the fish don’t disturb his peace and quiet by biting.

Of course, you could mention the pontoon’s ease of towing, great fuel economy and stability, but why confuse someone with facts who has a mind that’s closed tighter than a monkey’s fist on the last banana?