There’s something strangely intimate about buying second-hand goods. You’re not buying an inanimate object that’s box fresh from a warehouse in Milton Keynes; you’re acquiring something that has earned soul. The scuffs, dents and inexplicable modifications all hint at stories you’ll never fully know (but should probably ask about, if only to avoid being fleeced). Once yours the unspoken agreement is simple: don’t waste it - just add a few decent chapters before passing it on again.
After I published The Dad Who Built a Treehouse, my mate Gus in Australia messaged me on LinkedIn (which is how friendships function for middle aged men in 2026) with a photo from his recent adventure. It was dripping in Outside Kids energy.
In the shot a couple of barefoot dads are outnumbered by kids paddling a curious-looking contraption down a dreamy golden waterway somewhere beautiful; a Huckleberry Finn adventure seemingly forged through creativity, a couple of cold ones and the simple joy of fatherhood. Once I learned the backstory it only added more layers to an already very wholesome cake.
It all began with a Facebook Marketplace search - the place where pre-loved treasures live and wonderful, occasionally weird interactions with the Great British public take place. I’d urge you to put on your misadventure hat and have a sniff around for something fun to conspire over with your kids.
Hint: Look for possibility, not gear.
So Angus, how did you first come across this contraption, and what made you stop scrolling?
I was deep in a Facebook Marketplace spiral, looking for a cheap canoe to explore the creeks and rivers around the Northern Rivers. I spotted two massive yellow fibreglass canoes nearby for $200. Way more boat than I needed, but way too cheap to ignore.
When I arrived, the seller, Frank, took me into his shed. Canoes hung from the ceiling like trophies from a life spent exploring waterways. He explained that he could no longer paddle due to a rare neurological condition and was clearing out his collection.
The yellow boats were tucked under the house, dusty and enormous, nearly five metres long each. When I asked about selling just one, Frank laughed and said if I took both, they were mine for $150.
He then mentioned the alloy cross-beams, and suddenly this wasn’t just two canoes, it was a floating platform. A double canoe. A catamaran.
A canoemaran.
What did Frank tell you about where it came from?
Frank explained that the boat had been custom-built 16 years earlier for a British family with three kids, one of whom had a disability. They paddled the full length of the Murray River - all 2,500 kilometres of it - raising money for the Special Olympics.
Suddenly the raft made sense. It was an ingenious watercraft, purpose-built for an epic mission, a low-cost family adventure along one of the great Australian rivers. My mind was now racing with ideas about how my family could keep the dream alive and go on an adventure of our own.
What was the maiden voyage?
We launched at Sandon River, a beautiful river mouth campground on the north coast of NSW. A quick test paddle showed the canoes skimmed effortlessly over the shallow water as the tide dropped. By the time my mate Matty arrived with his four year old, we were confident enough to wrestle the alloy bars into place, load the esky, a stove and some slow-cooked brisket nachos and pushed off as the sun started to drop, still half-expecting something to go wrong
Once moving, it was far more stable than expected. We realised we could move freely around the boat, paddling in any direction, and before long the dads had fallen into long, synchronised strokes while the boys tried to keep up. We were channelling some kind of primordial, communal Viking watercraft knowledge we didn’t know we had in us.
Did it all go to plan?
When we slowed down to approach one of the sand islands that had emerged with the low tide, there was a big splash. Colty, Matty’s boy, had fallen overboard and nearly gone under the boat when Matty yanked him out of the water. In the turmoil, my son Koa slipped off the esky and I was just able to grab him by the life vest before he went under too.
We all looked at each other and had a moment of realisation that we were on a boat without a guard rail, with toddlers, and we should probably be paying more attention. It turned out that Colty had jumped off the boat intentionally to swim to the island we’d just reached. The adults were more rattled than he was.
Everyone was fine - we let the boys know they needed to stay on the boat until we said it was safe to jump off. Then we cooked the best Mexican ever, made infinitely better by the fact we were eating it on a floating platform in the middle of a river.
Do you think Koa will remember the raft, or something else entirely, from these trips?
Koa loves camping, probably because it means he’s hanging out with his friends, but also because he knows I’m there with him, not distracted by work. He definitely remembers the raft and already associates it with camping. He’s always asking when we’ll take it out again.
Hearing a toddler confidently explain what a Canoemaran is to confused adults never gets old!
Compared to something brand new, what does second hand gear seem to invite in kids?
Being only $150 out of pocket meant that if it didn’t work, it really didn’t matter. The fact it does work, and works as well as it does, makes it even better knowing it was such a bargain. It also means we’re not precious about it, which gives the kids more freedom and takes the pressure off everyone.
Because it’s so unique, it also feels like uncharted territory. There’s no manual telling us what it’s meant to do, which invites creativity. I’ve already been eyeing off cheap second-hand sailing rigs to see how it might go with a sail and rudder, and I’m curious to try it in the ocean on the right day. There’s even a bracket for an outboard motor, which opens up the possibility of island hopping and using it as a fishing or spearfishing platform. There’s plenty of storage, and I’ve bought some longer stand-up paddles for it and a king-size swag to roll out on the platform as a canvas cabin.
It’s proof that you don’t need to spend big to create meaningful adventures. You just need to get out there and see what’s possible.
If another dad was worried about things going wrong outdoors with their kid, what would you say to them?
There’s a trope in outdoor adventure that the trip doesn’t really start until something goes wrong, and there’s a lot of truth in that. The intention isn’t to avoid difficulty, it’s to work through it. That’s where the reward comes from.
The joy isn’t just in getting to the place to do the thing. It’s in the preparation, the small hardships and the creativity required along the way. Doing that with your kids is full of lessons for them, but it’s harder for you too, and that’s what makes it special.
Overcoming things together is where parenting starts to get really enjoyable.