Grieve Like a Man

The Boat: Chasing Adventure, Finding Healing

When folks think of boating, they picture adventure—chasing salmon on the West Coast, hunting moose from the bow, or hooking lake trout and rainbows in the deep interior of North Central BC. For me and my crew, it’s all that and more. The boat’s our ticket to the wild, a floating camp for multi-day trips, minimum 100 miles, where we chase good times and make memories. But it’s not just about the fish or the game. Over the years, I’ve learned that boat’s also a sanctuary—a place where tough guys let their guard down and heal. Here’s what I’ve seen out there.

Picking the Right Crew

I ain’t a guide, and I don’t plan on becoming one. These trips are my holiday too, so I’m picky about who comes aboard. No ding dongs who get sloppy drunk and go nuts, or complainers who sour the vibe. It’s usually my inner circle—the usual suspects, repeat offenders who know the drill. Sometimes they bring a guest, but we talk it out first. Never had an idiot on the boat, and if we did, it’d be one trip only. We’re here for the good stuff: adventure, laughs, and tight bonds.

Close Quarters, Big Talks

Our boat’s small, so you’re in close quarters for days—patience is non-negotiable. Out there, surrounded by water and wilderness, something shifts. We’re all in our 40s now, and every guy’s carrying something heavy. Society tells us to be tough, bottle it up, don’t show weakness. You lose a parent, a sibling, or face some other catastrophe life throws at you, and you’re expected to be the strongest guy in the room—for your kids, your spouse, your family. I’ve had guys on my boat who’ve lost brothers in car wrecks, and suicide or other horrific circumstances, or parents to old age or cancer. They carry that weight most of the time they keep it to themselves.

But out on the water, nature cracks you open. Away from the noise, with just the lapping waves and the wind, guys start talking. They spill their guts. I’ve seen strong, calloused men—hunters, workers, fathers—break down in tears. Lost a dad and had to stay strong for mom? It comes out. Held it together for the kids after a tragedy? That comes out too. And you know what? It’s okay. We’ve all been there. We hug the guy who’s hurting, let him get it off his chest. No judgment. Everything stays on the boat—a sacred rule.

The Boat as a Vessel for Healing

That boat’s seen it all: epic salmon runs, moose hunts, and many happy hours, but also the deepest, darkest secrets. It’s been a vessel for more than just adventure—it’s carried us through pain. I’ve watched men heal out there, not because of the boat itself, but because the wild strips away the bullshit. You don’t need a boat to find this. A few days camping with buddies, surrounded by trees and stars, does the same. It’s about being in nature, raw and real, with people you trust. I’ve seen it with my own eyes: the wilderness heals the soul.

Reflecting on the Wild Ways

Looking back, I’m grateful for every mile we’ve logged, every fish caught, every story shared. That boat’s a blessing—not just for the good times, but for the healing it’s helped bring. We’re getting older, and we all hold something back. But out there, we let it go. If you’re carrying a burden, find your people, get into the wild, and let nature do its work. It ain’t about the boat—it’s about the space it creates.

Lyman Miller

If you enjoyed this consider checking out my You Tube channel https://youtube.com/@lymanswildways?si=H35sgKA4OjZuWD54