James Jackson

“The sea is the same as it has been since before men ever went on it in boats.” - Ernest Hemingway Repair log #1 - July 2022 - Bringing First Light Home She was on the hard when I found her... up on stands, quiet, clean, a little faded. But not abandoned. You can tell the difference. Some boats rot into the yard. This one was just waiting. There were signs she’d been loved. Soft floor mats in the galley and at the helm... where you’d stand the longest. A custom dish rack and microwave shelf over the sink, built like someone cared about life aboard... about cooking, moving, being at sea... it mattered. Her lines were coiled well enough, nothing frayed, no mildew funk in the cushions. Whoever owned her before me wasn’t careless. They just ran out of time, or wind, or maybe both. It creeps up on you quietly... someday you won’t be able to keep up. In those moments when you're pondering your new-to-you boat’s life, you see the hands that cared for her before, growing older, slower, letting go. One day you’ll make your last upgrade, hang your last lines, and start ignoring the leaks instead of fixing them. When you buy a boat from someone who cared, you feel your own calendar pages flipping. You know you’re just the next steward. You know the clock is ticking. I cleaned her up. Reinstalled the canvas. Put on fresh bottom paint... temporary, quick and dirty, but enough to launch. I overhauled the rudder, which had water seepage that could’ve turned cancerous if I’d let it. Now it doesn’t, thanks to countless hours with a shop vac howling in my ears and a sander in my hands, layer after layer of fairing compound and fiberglass. I replaced what needed replacing. Ran the engine. She started fine. Everything ready. Getting her in the water took more labor than I’d like to admit. Paperwork. Rewiring. Checking hoses and systems I barely trusted. Crawling into corners I hadn’t learned to hate yet. But eventually, she floated. The first few miles felt like a victory lap. Wind on my face. Sun on the deck. Wheel in hand. She tracked true. The shakedown started... what doesn’t work and you know it, what doesn’t work and should, and what works surprisingly. But when I throttled up... nothing. Four point seven knots. That was all she had. No vibration. No alarming noise. Just a dead zone where horsepower should’ve been. I stared at the wake... flat and apologetic. Checked the exhaust. No smoke. No stink. No drama. But she wasn’t moving like she should. I leaned on the throttle. Nothing changed. It was like dancing with someone who forgot the steps... beautiful, familiar, but just a beat behind. I made it to Philadelphia. A little slower than planned. A little more anxious. I didn’t know what was wrong yet. But I had a boat beneath my feet, the whole river ahead of me, and the promise of real sailing days still to come. Friends. Family. Sunlight on the water. That’s what I’d come for... and I wasn’t letting go of the plan just yet.