Call me Captain. Not because that’s my official name – no one ever bothered to slap a decal on my stern or ceremoniously christen me with a bottle of champagne. But it’s the name I hear the most when folks are aboard. “Captain, can you pass me a drink?” “Captain, hit the anchor!” “Captain, you missed the turn!” Over time, the name just stuck. And frankly, I’ve grown into it. For a 22-foot Sun Tracker with sun-faded seats and a broken fish-finder, being called Captain suits me just fine. Quite frankly, I’ve hauled enough coolers, cousins, and chaos to earn it. But out here on the bays, names matter less than stories. And mine? I’ve got plenty.
I spend my summers exploring every salty twist and sunlit turn of Indian River and Rehoboth Bays. Docked most days at White House Beach, I’m a faithful cruiser, snack bar, sun deck, and sunset chariot. For me and the family I spend my days with, we’ve got our rhythms, our favorite routes, our secret spots – and some tales the tide keeps just between us.
Take this one day last June. They arrived just after breakfast – coolers packed with subs, watermelon chunks in Ziplocs, and that trusty bag of Cheetos that somehow always makes it, orange-tinged crumbs smushed under wet toes and all. The crew climbed aboard: The youngest with her braid and sun hat, her teenage brother playing DJ, and the grown-ups in sunglasses toting Yeti cups. They untied my lines, trimmed down my engine, and said the magic words.
“Ready for adventure?”
Always.
The best part of any day starts the moment I’m released from the slip. The quiet push-off from the dock, the soft thump of flip-flops on my deck, the cooler lid squeaking open for the first drink of the day. I ease out into the narrow, winding marina tributary – engine low, no wake, just a gentle glide past rows of bobbing neighbors unlucky enough to be smattered with droppings from our flying friends above, their surfaces speckled like Pollock paintings, and plastic herons on pilings mindfully watching as we pass. The smell of sunscreen mixes with salt air, and the excitement hums beneath every ripple. We all know the rules here: Take it slow, don’t rock the neighbors, and wave like you mean it. The warm waters of Pot Nets Cove to our left, sea grasses blowing gently along the narrow shoreline, and the ever present sound of music cranks through the air, the beat getting louder and louder as we approach Paradise in the distance.
Ah yes, Paradise Grill. A neon mirage tucked into the shoreline off Long Neck, with tiki bars, palm trees, and flip-flop-wearing locals who dance like no one’s watching (because usually no one is). I love docking there – music pulsing, boats nestled into slips, the smell of crab fries drifting over the dock, summer paycheck-seeking teenagers slinging gasoline from retractable hoses to anxious boaters needing a fuel-fill-up before a sun-soaked day on the water. I’m just a humble pontoon, but at Paradise, I feel downright ritzy.
We headed out past the channel markers through Indian River Bay and into Rehoboth Bay. Dewey’s waterfront bars beckoned across the bay, but we didn’t answer the call. It was low tide, and the shoals were showing off again – those sneaky sandbars peeking above the surface like curious seals. One of the kids asked if they could hop off and run around. So we dropped anchor, and they leapt into ankle-deep water on what felt like a private island, building drip castles, and dragging beach chairs into the shallows like they owned the world. Neighboring boats compete for space around the perimeter, some tethered together like 6-packs of Coca-Cola, rednecks and wealthy tourists alike cast aside their differences, just for the day, all in uniform pursuit of the same longing, to crack open aluminum cans of the day-drink of their choosing like their lives depended on it. Dogs zipping through the gentle surf, ducking between bikini-clad partiers singing loudly to whatever music blares from a boat speaker, like they’re walking on water.
Out past them, speedboats zoomed by, flinging kids across the wake on tubes that screeched and bounced like popcorn in a skillet. The kids screamed with joy and a dash of fear while parents waved from the stern like nothing could possibly go wrong. I watched them with a mix of admiration and relief – I don’t do high-speed. I’m the slow cruise, the float-and-chill, the let’s-see-what’s-around-this-bend kind of vessel.
We eventually looped around through Massey’s Ditch, the busy boat highway connecting Rehoboth Bay to Indian River Bay. It’s always a tight squeeze with boat traffic, but I know every ripple, every buoy, every current tug. Around the bend, we could see the silhouettes of boats gathered near the Inlet, lines cast into the current like prayers. The anglers, sunburned and patient, were locked in that eternal bay battle – man versus fish, hoping for a keeper, maybe a flounder fat enough to brag about at the marina.
And off in the distance to the west, behind the haze of sea breeze and gulls wheeling overhead, we could just make out the outline of the chicken plant. It’s not scenic, but it’s a landmark all the same. You’re never really lost out here if you can spot the chicken plant – you’re just temporarily adventuring.
We followed the channels toward the Assawoman Canal, that narrow, winding cut where I hold my breath (figuratively, of course) as I squeeze past kayakers and crabbing jon boats. Trees lean in overhead, the water turns still, and for a moment it feels like the world slows to my speed.
By late afternoon, we were all a little pink and a little salty. The little one curled up on a towel on my bench seat, half asleep with her hand trailing in the wake. The playlist shifted to slow Jimmy Buffett, and the sun stretched long shadows across the water. My family cracked a few more drinks. Someone said, “This is the life.”
And you know what? They were right.
Because out here – whether it’s the sandbar or Paradise, tubes or tides, fish or chicken plants – I am the Captain of these bays. I carry the memories, the laughter, the sunburns, the secrets. And as long as there’s a breeze over my bimini and fuel in the tank, I’ll keep cruising toward the next Delaware daydream.
BOAT DAY BUCKET LIST
Whether you’re out to explore, entertain, or just anchor and chill, a pontoon day on the bays calls for a few can’t-miss stops and experiences. Here’s your local’s guide to making the most of it:
Start at Indian River Marina
Grab your last-minute gear or bait at Hook ‘Em & Cook ‘Em Bait & Tackle, fuel up at Indian River Marina Gas, and you’re off. This is your go-to spot for a smooth launch into Indian River Bay when you’ve towed your boat from somewhere else (public boat launch available) plus, the perfect spot to end the day if you’re lucky enough to experience the thrill of the fish hitting the hook. Bring your fresh catch at day’s end for the best full-service fish cleaning and filleting around.
Dock & Dine at Dockside
When you need some grub to keep you going (errr, to offset the day-drinking) or just want a change of pace: Tie up and dig in at Dockside Marina Bar & Grill – a favorite for its laid-back vibe, cold drinks, and bay views. This little sandy oasis can be accessed when landlocked via Delaware Seashore State Park but snag a spot in the marina at one of the restaurant’s public slips for diners (availability very limited!) for the ultimate experience.
Anchor at the Sandbars
When the tide’s just right, the sandbars near Rehoboth Bay rise up and call the party. Stake your spot, float around, or just people-watch – it’s like a floating beach day. Pack your waterproof speaker, Spikeball net, and join the vibe.
Cruise to Paradise Grill
A quintessential stop in Long Neck, Paradise Grill offers dockside drinks, live music, and all the energy you didn’t know you needed. Pro tip: Arrive early to grab a slip – it fills up fast on weekends.
Drop a Line or Pot
From flounder to blue crabs, these bays are brimming with bites. Bring your own gear or stock up at Hook ‘Em & Cook ‘Em before leaving the dock. Just be sure to follow DNREC’s guidelines for acceptable fish to keep vs throw back. Get the guidelines at eregulations.com/delaware/fishing/tidal-seasons-size-creel-limits.
Meander the Assawoman Canal
Wind through this narrow, tree-lined canal and discover a peaceful side of boating. Keep it slow and enjoy the quiet – a perfect breather between more bustling stops. Bonus points for brave wanderers who make it all the way to the Little Assawoman Bay in Fenwick.
Explore an Exclusive Island
Burton Island, located inside Delaware Seashore State Park, is a quiet nature preserve and island unto itself. Adventure on a 1.3-mile loop trail, picnic areas, swimming beaches, and even a disc-golf course. Take in the diverse coastal habitats and feel like an exclusive member of a club – the island is only accessible by boat or ferry!
Wander down the Lewes Canal
Find the mouth of the Lewes Canal at the north side of Rehoboth Bay. Take it slow and cruise around every bend to make your way to Canalfront Park in Lewes, or stop off and tie up at Irish Eyes or Wheelhouse for a scenic bite by the water. Plan your timing accordingly, it’s about a 45-minute one-way trip.
Catch the Sunset from the Water
There’s nothing like watching the sun sink below the horizon from the bow of a pontoon. Drift near Cupola Park or float in the middle of Rehoboth Bay and let golden hour do its thing.
Find a Private Beach
If a day of solitude with your toes in the sand is what you seek, sans annoying tourists, let your boat be your chariot. There are many small, sandy beaches along the shorelines of Rehoboth Bay (Raccoon Point is a local’s favorite), pull right up to the sand and drop anchor. Unload the beach chairs and enjoy what feels like your own private beach.
Provisions Check
Pack sunscreen, towels, water shoes, snacks, drinks, a trash bag, and your favorite playlist.
No Boat? Try This.
Want to live the pontoon life, just for a day, but lack an actual pontoon boat? You’re in luck. Concierge services, like @theOctolounge, offer the ultimate boat-day experience
