“We don’t know what we’re doing until we’ve done it." - Wendell Berry

James Jackson

RETURN FROM DELAWARE CITY I got a ride home from Delaware City from another charter owner. He’d called while Louis and I were still inbound. He wanted to borrow a couple of my child-sized life jackets for his charter... Type I's and Type III's. I had them on board so he came to meet me, pick them up, and gave me a ride home in return. I spent the night and the next day with my family... gymnastics, breakfast, a stretch of quiet time at home filled with toys and tangled routines, then ballet rehearsal in the afternoon. I was watching the clock to time the tide while trying not to make the countdown obvious. That kind of time pulls in both directions... getting ready for a trip while not wanting to leave. The things that need doing never line up cleanly with the moments you’d rather spend time in. That evening, the three of us drove back down to Delaware City. We had dinner together, then headed to the dock. Louis and his wife were still there when we arrived. It's funny how sometimes it's not about planning it's just people who are around boats often enough to end up in the same place. They’re our marina neighbors. Friends, too. And for a little while, standing there on the dock with lines in hand and gear half-stowed, it was boating community. The Wharton Sailing Club has an incoming president, and he’d reached out earlier in the week. Last year’s group sail had gone well, and he was interested in doing another. In the course of conversation he'd asked what I was doing and I told him I was making the run from Delaware City back to Philly that evening. He asked if he could join me for the trip. I let him know it would be a long one... underway around seven, not tied up until after one. He was in. My daughter shifts gears completely around boats. Confident, in command. While I was looking for the Wharton Sailing Club president-elect, she spotted a looper couple returning to their boat after dinner. She didn’t hesitate. She began boisterously peppering them with questions: “Do you want to see my boat?” “Can I see your boat?” “Can I pretend to drive?” “Can I push the buttons?” “I’m calling you,” she said, holding the VHF mic, looking straight at the husband. She had full permission before we even realized what was happening. I don’t know that adults ever tell her no in those situations. She made friends fast. When it was time to go, Cassie offered Louis and his wife a ride back to Philadelphia. They packed into our car. Hugs were given at the marina gate, goodbyes were said over the gap from the dock to the side of the canal where the car was parked. I cast off just as they pulled away. The river was calm. Clear sky. Light breeze. Steady traffic. We talked most of the way: sailing, politics, business, family. All of it. I'm not shy about my opinions and I don't feel like any topics need to be off limits on my boat. Commercial traffic was active. It always is in that stretch. I’ve been running AIS, so most of the big ships call me by name. One hailed me early... easy exchange, no friction. Another came through with less patience, asked me to move in closer to shore, tighter than I’d prefer. I adjusted course and brought us within a boat length of the docks. Keeping that close to the shore means avoiding moored container ships, barges, and random sandbars... more than what the charts show. Once they passed, I worked back toward the edge of the channel and kept on. The wind had come up to around five knots true, about 120 degrees off the bow, so we decided to raise the main. We'd been running the jib off and on as the wind speed and direction lined up with our course. It seemed steady enough and out of a good angle to grab an extra knot or two with the main. The Dutchman reefing system is new to the boat. I made a mistake. In the dim light, I unclipped the spare halyard from where it had been stowed, but didn’t realize I’d also unclipped it from the loop on the pennant the Dutchman is rigged on... and which is the only thing going back to the boat from that end of the halyard... I joyfully hoisted the halyard, and it ran free... nothing attached. I realized what had happened just in time to stop it before it reached the masthead. But not soon enough to be able to reach it from the deck to bring it back down. It wrapped once or twice into the upper rigging. We tried to retrieve it underway... different angles, different tools... but couldn’t reach it. I left it alone and kept going. You come around Horseshoe Bend and there it is... Philadelphia, stretched out before you. Towers and girders, the long span of bridges holding weight above water that does not stop. The cargo cranes, the washed-out amber of sodium lights bleeding into sky and river. A city glowing green and gold. A view of the city that has been imagined more often than people have actually seen it. Before you're willing to admit it you've fallen in love with it. She's all steel and grit and water, and she doesn’t care if you’re impressed. We reached the marina a little after one. Once tied up, we got to work on the halyard. My crewmate helped while I rigged two gaff hooks together and fished for the line. Patiently, awkwardly, and eventually with just enough luck, I caught it and pulled it back down. Cleaned up. Covered what needed covering. Coiled the lines. The air was still. The boat didn’t move. I was asleep within minutes, and didn’t wake up until the light started creeping through the forward hatch.

Boat & Crew

First Light

O'Day, 322

James Jackson

Owner