Eventually, I gave up on the prospect of the boat being taken away. Numerous boat-minded people pronounced the boat dead in the water: no engine made it unappealing for restoration, the miniscule amount of recyclable material rendered it unprofitable for salvage, the vast fiberglass top and water soaked interior prevented a firey destruction.

My fate resigned, I initiated plan D (for Desperation/Destruction). My cousin yanked the boat onto dry land with his behemoth pick up truck, and soon, with the assistance of my enthusiastic nephew Jacob, we began to systematically reduce the boat to its component pieces. With screw gun, hammers, sledges, pliers and wrenches, we gradually whittled down this monstrosity to its smallest parts, and then those parts were broken, beat, or bent into still smaller. I eventually borrowed a sawzall to cut the fiberglass shell into chunks small enough to fit inside my garbage cans. Over the course of the next several weeks, my friendly neighborhood garbage man carted away the boat a few hundred pounds at a time. (Hail to the world's garbage men and women!)