Last Friday, I was sitting at the Yacht Club getting things ready to open when I got an email forwarded to me by my wife. For those who don’t know, we’re life and business partners. (More on that another day.)
Now, I get a lot of emails from her. She’s the operations/detail person in our partnership, so a mountain of “stuff” crosses her desk. She does a great job shielding me from most of it — because the more data I get, the more my ADHD takes me sideways.
But this one surprised me — not because of what it was, but because of what it represented.
Ten years ago, we left our life in Los Angeles and moved to a town of 1,100 people, knowing absolutely no one. Given the general PNW skepticism of folks from California (especially L.A. or San Francisco), we decided to keep a low profile. Even as we acquired businesses, we avoided press releases, interviews, or any publicity. We didn’t want to be seen as “flashy.” As a result, we weren’t part of the political or social power structure. We were just… normal people.
Then, last year, we opened a new business that had most people scratching their heads: a yacht club. In a town where many rely on food pantries and government assistance, I’ll admit — it didn’t make a lot of sense on paper.
But we believed in the vision. So we bought the oldest commercial building in the county, built in 1887, and fully renovated it. And in typical small-town fashion, we got flamed for it. People worried we’d drive up property taxes. The guy painting the outside of the building got berated more than once by passersby.
When we finally opened in July, we didn’t throw a party. We didn’t do press. We just quietly unlocked the doors and waited for people to wander in, curious enough to ask what it was. That gave us a chance to tell them about our mission.
We still got flamed — on Facebook and by local bloggers. But we let it pass.
Then people started to show up. Memberships started rolling in. By February, we had 70 paid individual and family memberships — about 120 people total.
From the beginning, our goal wasn’t to turn a big profit. It was to give back. We offered free sailing lessons on Saturdays. Hosted Magic the Gathering for teens on Thursdays. Played Bunko. Had live music on Fridays. We created a 501(c)3 foundation to fund family and youth programming. We even started a boat-building and repair class at the local high school.
Why? Because sailing is a part of my DNA. My family has been sailing since 1670. My house is filled with photos of my grandfather, my father, and my kids all doing it. I’ve spent more than 50 years in this sport, and I believe it’s lost its way.
In the 1970s, sailing was a middle-class sport. We raced Sabots with our friends and learned real independence. Now it’s become elitist. It’s a shrinking sport dominated by gated yacht clubs and overzealous parents chasing Ivy League dreams.
We wanted to flip the script. Our club is open to the public. We welcome walk-ins. Most of our members had never sailed before they joined.
So, when I got that email forwarded from my wife, it stopped me in my tracks.
It was from the Pacific County Economic Development Council. Each year, they recognize standout local businesses. And this year? We were nominated as one of six “New Businesses of the Year.”
A yacht club.
I was blown away. And incredibly proud — not just of our team, but of our community for embracing something different.
Sometimes, as entrepreneurs, we forget: people don’t always know what they want until they see it. There’s risk in that. But there’s also incredible reward.
This venture may never be a financial windfall. But emotionally? It’s been one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever done.