ABOARD AN ARGOSY TOUR BOAT in Elliott Bay, a winsome 10-year-old boy looks to the pilothouse, a gleam in his eye.

“Want to come up?” asks the captain. The boy nods. “Come on up.” The captain points out a worn chair and double-handled lever. “Crawl right up here. You want to drive the boat? Grab this thing right here. Push it that way. OK, now let go. See out there how the whole boat’s moving? Yeah, you did that. Now, push it that way. There we go. You didn’t even crash. I’m so proud of you.

“Oh my gosh, you just ran over a salmon.”

Classic seafaring shtick, honed for nearly half a century. It enchants every time.

Meet Paul Dudley, better known by a ludicrous yet felicitous moniker: “Mooselips.” He worked for the old Seattle Marine Aquarium in 1975-76, moved to Seattle Harbor Tours (now Argosy Cruises) in 1978 as a sidewalk barker and in 1979 as a deckhand, graduating in 1982 to captain.

Skippering summer waterfront cruises, Dudley dresses the part. But on select mornings, escorting boatloads of kids from Pier 55 to 106-year-old Camp Sealth on Vashon Island, he’s ablaze with color. Tie-dyed from headband to jacket, pants and shoes, a rainbow cape fluttering behind, microphone in hand and in perpetual motion, he’s a nonstop josher and pied piper.

Dudley’s jovial journeys derive from his Bellevue High School years as yearbook editor. “I was the guy who was always, ‘Wouldn’t this be a great moment? We’ll look back on this one day, and it’ll be incredible.’ ”

For decades, doubling as a professional photographer, the Poulsbo resident has created memorable moments. He’s especially proud of having volunteered since 1984 to work Argosy-sponsored party cruises at Vashon-based Camp Goodtimes for children with cancer and their siblings.

Dudley today entertains children and grandchildren of adults he first entranced as kids. “It’s cool to see people tearing up when they see me.” Winking, he says, “I’m not sure it’s because they’re sentimental, or because they’re so sad to see how much I’ve aged.”

“Look at this,” he gestures from an Argosy pilothouse. “My office is 100 miles from north to south. Not many people have orca whales swim through their office. … It takes such little effort to turn an ordinary day into an extraordinary day if you put a little oomph into it.”

On an August morning, as hundreds of parents wave goodbye from Pier 55 to a Dudley-piloted boat full of camp-bound youngsters, one mom sighs: “They’re going to have so much fun. They’re the luckiest kids.”