10/22/2026
Every fall, somewhere between the Travelift and the shrink wrap, a boat gets two feet shorter.
Nobody measures it. She comes out of the water, goes up on the stands between two bigger boats, and for the first time all year, she looks small.
By the time she’s wrapped, there’s a listing open on somebody’s phone at eleven at night.
By Thanksgiving, there are opinions about beam.
By the boat show, there’s a spreadsheet.
They call it two-foot-itis, and fall is when it’s contagious. There’s no cure. There’s only a bigger slip.