Water Everywhere
- Nick Bischoff
- Apr 10
- 6 min read
From a very young age, I was introduced to the beauty and freedom of the ocean. With my father's career centered around the marine industry, we were constantly on or near the water. Although I don't recall my time as a two-year-old living in Honolulu, Hawaii (1967), I know from photo albums that most of our activities in Hawaii revolved around the water. This makes sense, considering we were surrounded by water (Hawaii is a state comprising 137 islands). You could say that from an early age, salt water (and sometimes fresh water) runs through my veins.
After relocating from Fairfield, CT, traveling across the continental United States, and then halfway across the Pacific, we arrived in Hawaii. We rented a house on the renowned Kalaniana'ole Highway, near Diamond Head, a dormant volcano. Below is a picture of Diamond Head taken from Waikiki Beach. The house was magnificent, almost beyond description, thanks to its views of Diamond Head and Mamala Bay (pictured below)
In October 1989, I had the opportunity to visit Hawaii and tour the home. I remember the dates clearly because it coincided with the Oakland, California earthquake, which occurred during the World Series. Specifically, it hit during Game 3 between the San Francisco Giants and the Oakland Athletics. I was watching the game live from Honolulu when the broadcast was interrupted. It was a devastating earthquake, and the USA hasn't experienced anything like it since.
Curious about the home's location, I called back home and got directions from my mother. Upon arriving, I pulled into the driveway, only to be halted by a large wooden electric gate. Undeterred, I got out of the car, climbed onto the hood, and peered into the spacious yard. A voice greeted me, "Hello, can I help you?" Looking down, I saw an older man gazing up at me. He was tending to his beautiful flowers. "Excuse me, I'm sorry for intruding," I said, launching into my one-minute elevator pitch about who I was and why I was there. He responded, "I was overseas in the Army when my father rented the home to your family. He spoke fondly of this big family from Connecticut. Would you like to come in and see our home?" "Really, are you kidding me? I would love to," I replied. "Well, jump off your hood and back up so I can open the gate."
We received an amazing tour of both the exterior and interior of the home. The owner was extremely kind and patiently answered all of my detailed questions. The property featured a long dock that resembled more of a pier, but docking boats there was impossible due to the coral and shallow depths. At the end of the pier, which stretched about 300 feet from the backyard, was a "blue hole." A blue hole is a large cavern encircled by limestone that rises to the surface, resembling an abyss into the earth's core. It is teeming with various marine life and served as our swimming spot. Unfortunately, I couldn't enjoy it because I had not learned to swim yet, but I often visited it with my siblings to watch.
One day, I was playing with my metal bucket, which had a long rope attached. I would throw it into the water for fun and pull it back, hoping to catch something. On one particular throw, the momentum of tossing the bucket carried me along with it into the water. I began sinking quickly. My oldest brother, Terry, didn't hesitate and immediately dove in after me, rescuing me from the abyss. I suppose it was a frightening experience for everyone except me.
In 1970 we moved back to Connecticut to a charming small town located at the confluence of the Connecticut River and Long Island Sound. Old Saybrook is a historic Colonial town that was established by John Winthrop, Jr. in 1635. As a young boy, I cherished living there, particularly enjoying our boat yard next to Black Swan Marina and the Amtrak Warren Pony Truss. The noise of a high-speed train racing over the tracks at any hour of the night often lulled a young boy to sleep. Call me crazy, but I enjoy the sound of an approaching train to this day, and never mind waiting at the crossing for it to pass.
At the age of five, I was deeply involved in life on a working boat yard. When my parents bought the property, the marina was in a state disrepair. I would describe it as a rustic place, with unstable docks and infrastructure, but the location was fantastic. Surprisingly, fifty-six years later, the marina still exists, as does the house we grew up in. We lived on the second floor of the house, while the ground floor once housed a restaurant that had not served a french fry in years. My five siblings and I loved using the restaurant as our playroom. We were fascinated by running an imaginary restaurant business. Often, our clothes would smell like fryer oil after spending time there, serving milkshakes and burgers to imaginary customers.
Similar to our experience in Hawaii, my father was working at pioneering the fiberglass Pacemaker Yachts brand to the market. Holiday Mansion Houseboats also were offered for sale. So, when we were not in the restaurant flipping burgers, we were exploring these wonderful boats that we had in stock. I was fascinated with these "yachts". I never could have imagined what was in store for me when fifteen years later I graduated from college and went to work for Boston Whaler Boat Company.
If I close my eyes, I can still smell the resin wafting up from the bilges of those brand-new boats, transporting me back to 1970 and a time of innocence. It was an era when we could freely explore the marshes, riverbanks, and railroad tracks around the marina without a care. We were adventurers then, and when we weren't in school, we were placing pennies on the tracks, building forts, and fishing for bluefish, sea robins, flounder, and catfish. Catching blue crabs along the riverbank and on the dock pilings was a lot of fun too, and eating them was the highlight. The smaller bluefish, known as "snappers," would always bite best under the dock's spotlights at night. Catching snappers on bamboo poles always felt like reeling in giant tunas, and we would catch dozens! Do you know how many snapper blues it takes to feed a family of eight? About two buckets' worth!
As the youngest of five boys, I was heavily influenced by each one, and learned the ways of the world through Terry, Greg, Jeff, and Warren. Next to our property and just between the marsh and the railroad tracks was a small canal where there was a bulkhead that small boats would tie beam to. One afternoon, my brother Jeffrey and I were playing Huckleberry Finn, as we borrowed a portable float raft to float down the canal. We used the pilings, and the boats railings to "monkey" our way down the canal, working ever closer to the Connecticut River. As we reached the end, we were immediately swept into the river. It was not long before we were floating downstream and towards the mouth of the river, and into Long Island Sound. Next stop. Long Island, NY!
I was lying flat on the raft holding on for dear life with one hand and frantically paddling with the other hand. Meanwhile, Jeff is standing up and screaming at the top of his lungs, "help, help!!" as the marina slowly grew distant. I was terrified and afraid that Jeff's jumping up and down would flip the raft. We both were good swimmers, but we were no match for the mighty Connecticut River. It was not long before one of the guests at the marina noticed us on the open water and ran and got my father. We were really cruising as we were now in the shade of the Warren pony truss that spanned the river. I looked up in amazement at this bridge and thought how cool it would be to have a train cross over us at that moment. Squirrel!
While it felt like an eternity before help arrived, my Dad swiftly took control of a new 29' Pacemaker, untied the lines with my three other brothers, and rushed to rescue Huck Finn and his brother, who were now drifting in Long Island Sound. I am happy to say that all's well that ends well.
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