“If you know whence you came, there is really no limit to where you can go.” - James Baldwin

James Jackson

Some nights on a voyage feel just like what you always hold in memory. Lines tied boat to boat, a comfortable calm anchorage, and dishes still warm on the drying rack. @louistenebruso and his wife had invited me over for a meal aboard @Indefatigable. The kind of dinner that says, we’re a ways from home, but tonight we’re in our place. Afterward, we wandered up to Rummur Lounge, a welcoming and quiet salon tucked in the drawing room of the classic Inn at the Canal. They serve rum with care and style. With calls to the gods of alcohol like Hemingway, and to the classics like Manhattans... unapologetically. Poured and passed quietly to each patron like a secret file from a double agent. We made a loose plan to leave at dawn. No Admiralty orders. No negotiated timeline. Just coffee, weather, and see-what-it-feels-like. At 05:00, it was calm. Gray sky. No rain overnight, but it hovered out there somewhere. I pondered the forecast. With recent cuts to NOAA staff and budget, the predictions are a little less precise. It said we had a window... but not a promise. I made the call to wait for Café on the Bay to open. A breakfast sandwich and strong coffee aren’t just calories. They’re fortification for a damp day. I didn’t want to start without both. Louis was already committed to heading to Delaware City for bottom paint repair. I hadn’t decided. My original plan was Philadelphia. Straight home. But as we pushed off and eased East down the canal, the wind and mood turned uncertain. We filmed each other’s boats for fun... two hulls quietly slicing through morning light. Then I checked the radar again. A wall of weather was building over Philadelphia. Dense, fast, and darker than forecast. There were hints of thunder buried in the Doppler. Going forward would’ve meant steering straight into it. And for what? Ego? Timeline? So I peeled off with Indefatigable. Told Louis I was in. He relayed word to the dockmaster in Delaware City, who asked us to delay for an hour. No problem. We killed time sailing big, lazy tacks across the width of the Delaware, near Pea Patch Island. Fort Delaware watched from the shore. Brick and iron, standing quiet, remembering harder storms than ours. That hour was a gift. Not wasted. Just slow. Just water and wind and two boats moving without urgency. We tied up in Delaware City just as the first drops began to fall. By the time the lines were fast, the rain had gone heavy. Visibility down to half a mile and falling. You don’t always get to outrun the storm. But if you do, it usually means you paid attention... not that you moved quickly. Today wasn’t a fast day. It was a right day.

Boat & Crew

First Light

O'Day, 322

James Jackson

Owner