By Mike McCorkle
I grew up on a small lake in Iowa, where boating was a way of life. Back then, it meant waterskiing, not fishing. My early attempts at angling involved bullhead and carp from the shoreline with nightcrawlers. Safe to say, it didn’t exactly hook me.
That changed after I moved to Florida during my sophomore year of college. The family boat followed, and one day, while on a date with my future wife, she spotted the lake-worn bowrider sitting in the garage. “You have a boat?” she asked. “Let’s go fishing.”
That moment changed everything. With her leading the charge, we converted that bowrider into a makeshift fishing boat and began exploring the nearshore waters off Clearwater. Before long, we upgraded to a lightly used 23-foot Contender, our first “real” fishing boat, and started running offshore into the Gulf targeting kingfish and grouper.
A few years later, now married, Joanne and I moved to Islamorada, bringing the Contender with us. It didn’t take long to realize we needed more boat. We stepped into a 38-foot Ricky Scarborough express, an ideal platform for the time. Easy to handle as a couple, and a true billfish magnet. That boat raised countless sails off Islamorada and produced multiple blue marlin while trolling the waters off San Salvador, Rum Cay, and Cat Island in the Bahamas. But as any boater knows, the search for “just right” never really ends.
We moved on to a 48-foot Buddy Harris day boat, an ambitious project that I stripped down to the frames and began rebuilding myself. Being a carpenter, I thought I had it covered. Turns out, boatbuilding is its own beast. I sold her before completion. Then came a 36 Yellowfin powered by triple 350s—fast enough to reach Cat Cay and clear customs before the bar even opened. Fun? Absolutely. But where’s the challenge in that?
So naturally, I went the other direction and bought a 60-year-old Rybovich. Let’s just say it put my carpentry skills to the test. (We won’t even get into the 58 Viking project.) All of which reinforces one simple truth: there is no perfect boat. Until maybe now.
We recently purchased what we hope will be our final “big” boat, a 2020 37 Freeman. She lives on a trailer, making her easy to launch for weekend use. In the winter, we sailfish in the Keys; in the summer, we’ll island-hop through the Bahamas. This is my first catamaran, and while the handling has been a learning curve, the ride is exceptional: nimble, dry, and incredibly seaworthy. Powered by quad 300 Mercury outboards, she topped out near 70 mph on the sea trial. For now, I’m cruising comfortably at 35 mph while learning her tendencies, getting roughly 1.1–1.2 mpg, with expectations of similar efficiency at higher speeds.
She’s built to fish with three livewells, a transom bubbler for shrimp, and a custom freezer plate installed in one of the drink box coolers, perfect for carrying rigged baits on extended Bahamas runs. Dual trolling motors hold position impressively, even in 30-knot winds, which will be a game-changer for kite fishing short-handed.
The layout is equally impressive. Wide walkways from bow to stern, elevated forward access for the anchor and trolling motors, and a clean helm outfitted with dual Simrad displays. Lighting is extensive with spreader lights, under-gunnel illumination, and underwater lights for good measure.
Most importantly, this boat fits how we actually use it. We’ve moved away from the “floating condo” mindset. Larger sportfish boats are incredible, but the maintenance and complexity no longer make sense for how we fish and travel today. With outboards, we can run shallow to cast-net bait, pull up to a sandbar, and keep maintenance straightforward.
Yes, we’ve traded overnight comfort for simplicity, and planning trips takes a bit more thought. But that’s a trade we’re happy to make. Joanne and I are excited to put this boat through its paces this spring in the Keys and prepare for a full summer of island-hopping in the Bahamas.
After a lifetime of boats, we may have finally found our version of the “perfect” one. For now, anyway.
