I never understood the appeal. Forty-six years later, I’m coming around.
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My parents took me to the Tall Ships back in 1980. Their decision, not mine, but since it meant missing a day of sixth grade—it was held on a school day—I was not one to argue. We were on a vacant upper floor of some downtown office building overlooking Boston Harbor with no fancy seating area, T-shirts to buy, or official binoculars to rent. The only food being offered was quiche, the official dish of 1980.
If this was supposed to be an entrée into the world of sailing…it didn’t work. I watched the boats, but made no requests of, “Can we get one? Can we? Can we?” on the ride home. And nothing has changed. I never got ensnared by the bewitching powers of the salty mistress that is called the sea, for the sea has meant the beach and that has meant walking without shoes (no) and taking off my shirt (really no). Oh, and I tend to get queasy. Not exactly a combo that makes me say, “Yeah, I’ll deal with parking to watch some of my triggers.”
I mean, I get that boat people need their festival. But why are the rest of us supposed to care when the Tall Ships show up every 4 to 12 years? I know that we’re a proud seafaring region, but the event is niche at best and not the least bit friendly for casual spectating. If you want to get close, you gotta be on a boat, and that’s way too much all-in. When we do anything, even if it’s something we love, we still want the ability to say, “Gotta go and beat the traffic.” And really, this is just a procession, a marine beauty pageant, if you will. However impressive, there’s no jockeying for position, no video replays, no trash talking, no prop betting. What kind of celebration of America is that?
But it’s possible I’m missing something—especially since another great American tradition is not considering every angle. So I asked an expert about the draw. “Now that they’re obsolete, they’ve become a thing of wonder,” says Graham McKay, boat builder, captain, and executive director of Lowell’s Boat Shop in Amesbury. “People create a lore of the sea and Tall Ships.”
Ooh. Creating lore. That’s another great tradition. I can totally do that. I like looking at old cars and imagining I’m tearing down the highway with no worry about my safety or license points. Motorcycles? Those were a hard “no” growing up, but I can be dangerous in my mind. So a boat? Sure. I already see a new me. I’m hearty and rugged in my crisp blue windbreaker as I hoist up a jib or something else nautical. I’m coming about and doing something else nautical, but then, even in my dreams…I smell quiche.
Yeah. Gotta go.
First published in the print edition of the June 2026 issue, with the headline, “Mast Confusion.”
