Last summer I paid $1,400 a month to live in someone’s back room.
Single bed. Two-burner kitchenette. Shared bathroom — even though that wasn’t the original plan. And honestly? For the Jersey Shore in peak season, that was a deal. The house rentals down there go for $4,000 to $5,000 a week. Groups of five or six people split a $10,000 monthly rental and call it their summer house. For a seasonal worker just trying to find a place to sleep, $1,400 for a back room with a pool is the reality of the market.
But when the season ended and I started thinking about coming back, I knew I wanted something different. I’m an adult. I’ve lived on my own. I didn’t want roommates, and I didn’t want to hand $1,400 a month to a stranger for a space I had no ownership over.
The idea that changed everything
Over the winter I started paying attention to how people around me were solving the shore housing problem creatively. Some coworkers had RVs. A neighbor would drive down on weekends and sleep on his boat. I looked into the RV route until I ran the numbers and realized seasonal site fees had crept up to $6,000–$8,000, and that’s before you own the RV itself.
Then at a Christmas party, half joking, I told my neighbor maybe I should just live on a boat. He laughed. Then mentioned that the guy in the slip next to him was selling his.
A full cabin cruiser. One bedroom, a futon that folds out, a full boat kitchen with two burners, microwave, sitting area. Furnished — mattress, TV, speakers, plates still in the cabinets. He was asking $13,000, down from $20,000, because he wanted a clean sale to someone connected to the marina community. Half the slip fee for the following year was included.
I had never driven a boat in my life.
Running the numbers
I have a finance background and I treated this like an investment decision, not a lifestyle impulse. Here’s what the comparison actually looked like.
The Real Cost Breakdown: Boat vs. RV vs. Summer Rental
These numbers are based on my situation in South Jersey. Always do your own research for your market — but this will give you a realistic starting point.
Cost to Buy Boat: $10,000–$20,000 RV: $10,000–$20,000 Summer Rental: nothing upfront, but you own nothing at the end
Seasonal Running Costs (6 months)
🚤 Boat Marina fees (6 months): $3,800 Insurance: $600 Winterizing: $800 Storage (off-season): $1,200 Repairs and maintenance: $300 Total: $6,700 Breaks down to roughly $1,100–$1,200 a month for your own private space that you own.
🚐 RV Lot fees (6 months): $7,500 Insurance: $900 Winterizing: $150 Storage (off-season): $1,200 Repairs and maintenance: $300 Total: $10,050
🏠 Summer Rental — what it actually looks like Option 1 — A full one-bedroom apartment with a 6-month lease: $15,000–$18,000 for the season Option 2 — One bedroom in a shared house: $5,200–$7,200 for the season Option 3 — A back room in someone’s house like I had: $7,200–$9,600 for the season
One more thing the rental market won’t tell you: many shore rentals only run May through August. If your job starts in April or goes into October — which seasonal work often does — you’re either paying for time you can’t use or scrambling outside that window.
The bottom line
The boat costs me roughly $6,700 to run for a full season. The RV runs about $10,050. A rental lands anywhere from $5,200 to $18,000, and at the end of it you have nothing to show for it. The boat is an asset. If I do three years on it and sell for $7,000–$10,000, I will have spent less than three summers of renting that back room.
How I decided to actually do it
Getting the numbers was one thing. The due diligence was another.
The seller had a survey done when he bought the boat two years prior — a 35-page document that a marine surveyor created by going through every system on the boat. He shared that survey with me and disclosed every fix and enhancement made since. That level of transparency is honestly what sold me on the boat as much as the price.
A quick note on boat surveys for first-time buyers
A marine survey is a document that will make your eyes glaze over immediately. Mine was 35 pages and I understood approximately none of it. But here’s what I figured out using common sense: go straight to the FINDINGS AND RECOMMENDATIONS section. That’s where everything that actually matters lives.
It breaks down into three parts:
1. Safety Deficiencies — things that need to be fixed before the boat is safe. Non-negotiable. 2. Other Deficiencies Needing Attention — issues that aren’t dangerous but need work. Use these to negotiate price or ask the seller to fix before closing. 3. Surveyor’s Notes and Observations — general observations about the boat’s condition and history.
At the end the surveyor gives the boat an overall condition rating:
Excellent (Bristol) Condition — mint, better than factory new, a rarity
Above Average Condition — well cared for, extra equipment
Average Condition — ready to use, no additional work needed
Fair Condition — requires maintenance before sale Poor Condition — substantial work required Restorable Condition — enough hull and engine to restore to usable condition
My boat came in average. For a 1985 vessel that had been properly maintained and recently updated — I felt good about that.
When you don’t understand something, find people who do
Here’s the part nobody tells you about buying something you know nothing about: find your people.
I had 35 pages of boat terminology I didn’t understand. So I did what anyone should do — I sent it to everyone I knew who might have a clue.
A couple I knew who bought and lived on a boat — sent it to them. A friend’s contact who ran boat businesses — cold introduced myself, asked if he’d take a look, and he said yes. My neighbor who connected us — sent it to him. My brother who has been fishing on boats his whole life — sent it to him too.
The feedback was incredible. Between the four of them I understood every single finding in that survey. One of them even sent back a list of questions to ask the seller for clarification — which the seller answered openly and happily.
Here’s the lesson: when you’re in over your head on a big financial and life decision, ask for help. People genuinely want to help. You just have to ask. Find the people with the right knowledge and lean on them. That’s not weakness, that’s smart.
The paperwork
My dad — rightfully — told me not to send a check to a stranger without any paperwork. The seller’s first reaction was to laugh and say his daughters would have said the same thing. We got a notarized agreement drawn up protecting both sides before I sent a dollar.
Always get something in writing, even when you trust the person.
The pre-season costs nobody warns you about
Before your boat goes in the water each year a couple of expenses will show up whether you’re ready for them or not.
Bottom paint — you paint the hull below the waterline every season to protect against corrosion and marine growth. My first year this ran about $500 because I paid someone to do it. Learning to do it myself is on my list this year.
Zinc anodes — metal pieces on the outside of the hull that sacrifice themselves to prevent the rest of the boat from rusting. Replaced annually.
Getting the boat into the slip — you need someone who can drive it. I paid a friend of a friend $100 to bring it in. Factor it in.
Insurance — mine is $600 a year. Get coverage before the boat goes in the water, not after.
What I actually own
The boat came furnished. Mattress, microwave, TV, DVD player, speakers, plates. I bought an air fryer, a plug-in cooktop, new bedding, and a few odds and ends from thrift stores. A few hundred dollars total.
It’s a 1985 Silverton. She’s 40 years old and in phenomenal shape. I go down in the bilge and clean it. I start the engines weekly. I do the work to keep her looking good — partly because I love it, partly because I want to protect the resale value when that day comes.
I wake up to birds. I watch the osprey nest across the marina. I have my own space, something I own, something that’s mine.
Zero regrets.
What I’d tell someone considering this
Do the math for your specific situation — marina fees vary by location, maintenance costs depend on the boat, and your local rental market may look different. The numbers I’ve shared are real but they’re mine.
What doesn’t change: the boat is an asset, not just an expense. The rental market in any tourist town will hit you in ways that aren’t always obvious until you’re already in it. I did this with a finance brain and no boat knowledge. Both turned out to matter.
Run your numbers honestly, do your due diligence on the boat itself, get everything in writing, and don’t let the learning curve scare you off something that might make genuinely good financial sense for your life.