Waterbeds
Looking for a cushy berth? Rent a Md. houseboat for a waterfront weekend.

By Linton Weeks
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Work to do, bills to pay, obligations to meet -- but in my mind hung a two-word sign: Gone Fishin'.

My wife, Jan, and I booked a houseboat on the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay, flung an overnight bag into the station wagon and sped toward the Saturday morning sun.

There are other places near Washington where you can rent houseboats -- Smith Mountain Lake in Virginia and Stonewall Jackson Lake in West Virginia, for example. But we were looking for something quick and quirky.

Jan wanted rest and read-laxation. I just wanted to land a fish. Nothing fancy. Get a cane pole, bait the hook, plop it in the water, see what I could haul in.

Two houseboats -- the Ark and the Dove, both for rent -- are permanently moored at the end of a pier at Fisherman's Dock in Edgewater, about 15 miles from Annapolis. We were assigned the Dove, the larger of the two. It sat in a peaceful cove among reeds and marsh grass. Perfect. Got there a little after noon.

I should have known something was amiss when I asked Ellen Croteau -- who owns the dock and the houseboats with her husband, Todd -- if people ever caught fish off her pier and she cheerily said, "They catch lots of crabs."

In our little houseboat, which had a queen-size bed, a sleeping loft, a tiny kitchen and a bathroom, we felt a million miles away from Washington -- though we were only an hour east. The houseboat was comfortable in a no-frills way. It was like camping out. We were there on a very hot night and suggest you go when it's somewhat cooler. The air conditioner worked pretty well; the shower did not. There were too many ants and not quite enough modern conveniences. The toilet, called an Incinolet, is actually an electric appliance that uses high heat to reduce everything to ash. The one mirror on the boat was above the toilet, and Jan remarked that they should move it.

There were some old books to read, a couple of board games to play and a CD player with a Willie Nelson disc nearby. "Perfect," Jan said. From the looks of the guest book, people have really enjoyed staying here.

On Saturday afternoon, Jan went her way and I mine. For lunch I stopped at Sam's Market, which advertised a full-service deli and live bait. Sure enough, the market offered up ham-and-cheese sandwiches, and near the door there was a small fridge full of bloodworms and night crawlers. But I saw no cane poles to put them on.

I tried a couple more shops in the area. No luck.

It's a wonderfully funky place, Edgewater, with marinas and fishy place names like Turbot Landing and Skiff Cove Road. Even the Episcopal church on the corner of Highway 214 and Carrs Wharf Road, less than a mile from our houseboat, was St. Andrew the Fisherman.

Near Sam's I noticed a store that had a bunch of nets out front. The woman inside the Peninsula Farms bait shop was selling tomatoes and crabs. There was some fishing tackle on the wall but no poles. I asked her where I could get one and she pointed to a burly bearded fellow who was unloading a truck. "He will know," she said.

"Kmart," he said. "Three lights that way. About the only place I know that might have a cane pole."

Even Kmart didn't have a pole. They had rods and reels and lots of crab nets but no cane poles. So I surrendered to what the area does have.

London Town, a short drive from the houseboat, is a lovely Colonial ferry port on the bay. Lost for decades to nature and neglect, it is being restored by architects and archaeologists. You can tour the 18th-century William Brown House, decked out as a tavern and residence, and poke around the gardens, woodlands and shoreline.

I checked out the pastel Adirondack chairs at Chesapeake Spas on Solomons Island Road and stopped at several roadside yard sales. Next time I plan to paddle out to the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center, a short glide from Fisherman's Dock.

The deck of the houseboat was so peaceful, I sat there and read until Jan was ready to go to supper. At Ellen's suggestion, we found a classic German restaurant, the Old Stein Inn, a few minutes away. We sat under lanterns strung across the beer garden and ate a plate of sausages and cheese while listening to the Heimat Echo Band -- bass, drums and accordion -- play polkas and drinking songs.

Still thinking about fish, I asked Lee, our waitress, about the catch of the day and she said there wasn't one. So I ordered chicken salad; Jan had delectable crab soup.

She turned in early. I stayed up and read some more and worked a crossword puzzle. Our little one-room houseboat rocked occasionally. The next morning we got up early and went canoeing. We slid one of the Croteaus' boats into the water and glided around the coves of Cadle Creek, just off the Rhode River, as the sun rose.

A mother duck and four ducklings beelined by us on the water. We saw an osprey and heard some geese. Something jumped in the water, reminding me of why I had come here in the first place.

The Croteaus have lots of boats, boccie balls and a gas grill visitors can use. I sat on the deck and watched as the sailors arrived and set sail.

The morning was leisurely. Shopping, finding a Starbucks, reading. We didn't make any phone calls. I didn't fire up the laptop.

Checkout time was 11. We left before that. On the way out of town we stopped for lunch at the Yellowfin Steak and Fish House, just across the South River Bridge in Edgewater.

I ordered a delicious-sounding sandwich and, when asked how I wanted it cooked, I said, "To perfection."

It was. And as I gazed out on the South River, I bit into the blackened tuna. It was juicy and well-seasoned. I had finally found what I came for. It tasted fishy.