A few days ago, after a ridiculous day of smallmouth fishing on a remote Adirondack lake, I found myself rowing a 14-foot jon boat back toward its resting place along the bank. The boat moved with all the grace of a loaded cafeteria tray.
That long, awkward row gave me plenty of time to consider the jon boat and the strange combination of admiration and resentment it inspires.
Jon boats are not elegant. They are not especially comfortable. They row terribly. They slap against waves, announce every dropped pair of pliers to the entire lake and possess roughly the same visual appeal as a livestock trough.
They are also one of the most useful boats ever made.
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