All Good Things Must Come to an End

 

  I was going to write this post when I first got back from Hoonah, but life, and death, got in the way, and I've delayed doing it until now. I couldn't very well put off writing about the death of my good friend and fishing companion Fagan, so it took priority.  Then I had multiple projects that needed tackled around the house, so either I didn't have the time or the energy to do another post until now. So, here it goes.

Last year I had made up my mind to sell the Bonnie J. My body was having a harder time keeping up with the demands of  wooden boat ownership, and though I was reluctant to sell on the one hand, I knew it was time. I put a price tag of $10,000 on it and hoped for the best. There were two interested buyers at the time. Both of them wouldn't have the money until the end of the fishing season or tourist season, as one of the prospective buyers worked at the cannery. I knew the one fellow, and while I wasn't sure that he would come through, he and his father came down and begged me not to sell the boat out from under them, so I waited until the end of the season, only to find out he'd bought a different boat. While I was mildly upset, I was glad on the other hand to have a chance to fish one more year.

I flew down to Juneau on June 10, thinking I would catch a flight over to Hoonah that same day. What I discovered was that the twenty minute flight was going to cost more than the jet from Anchorage to Juneau costs, so I opted to stay with my granddaughter until I could catch the ferry two days later.

Back in May, while I was still in Wasilla, the Hoonah harbormaster called to let me know that the bow of the boat was down in the front, and had to be pumped out. He took care of it, but of course I was left to deal with the mess when  I got to Hoonah. All the water from the bilge had flooded the bow for about five or six inches, so the pots and pans in the lower cupboard had standing water in them and the residue from the bilge was covering the floor. As soon as I got to town I  had to start cleaning up the mess. 

Before I had left in the fall last year, I'd hooked up a battery charger, hoping to keep the bilge pumps going as needed. When I arrived at the boat, I saw the futility of that. The window had leaked onto the fuse panel and corroded it so badly that everything was green and the contacts were falling apart, thus no bilge pumps, which of course accounted for the water in the bow. That was just the beginning of sorrows.

I had a cushion on my chair because it was starting to break down and the springs were poking me in the ass. I came in one day and looked at the cushion and saw what looked like otter crap on it. What the heck? How could an otter have gotten in? Well, needless to say, I tossed the cushion and resigned myself to being goosed by my chair. 

I hauled the boat out the next day and began the grueling work of having to sand, caulk and paint the boat, trying to beat the rain. The sun stayed out for the better part of a week, and I sanded the boat down to bare wood before priming it. The days were long and exhausting, and all the climbing up and down the ladder and working in the heat took a toll. It was the hardest time I've ever had since my days on the farm.

After I'd been hauled out for about two weeks, I figured I'd wash my bedding. I'd been sleeping at Jen's house and it hadn't been a concern, but I assumed I was coming to an end to my time being out of the water, so I wanted to start sleeping on the boat. I went to my bunk and saw my pillow and stared for a moment wondering what the heck was going on. There was a big stain on the pillow case. I looked at my hatch cover overhead searching for a leak. Not seeing any signs of leakage, I grabbed the pillow thinking I would wash it. When I reached for my sleeping bag, I felt something inside. What the... It's amazing how many thoughts can flood your mind in a very short period of time. At first I thought I'd left my flashlight inside the bag, although why or how I didn't know. Then I thought I'd left some rolled up socks or a shirt in there. I picked up the bag to shake it out when  a cat shrieked and flew out of it. I yelled, it yelled and we parted ways. It ran under the bunk where I couldn't get to it, and I ran to the top of the steps, shaken by what I initially thought was an otter. I called the harbormaster to ask if the gal in the stall beside me had a cat. He checked in to it and found out that her friend was missing one for about two weeks. That blasted cat was on my boat for two weeks without my knowing it. It had nothing to eat, and no water except bilge water to drink. The bottom line is he came and got the cat and I threw out the pillow. Sometimes I feel like I'm a character in a Far Side comic.

After a few weeks of exhaustive work, the boat looked good, all painted and zinced and I figured I'd drop the price to $5,000.00 and take the loss. When we launched it, everything looked good. By the time I got to the stall, there was water coming down both sides of the shaft alley. I went back and hauled out again and stayed in the slings, hoping to find the leak. I found a small hole that would explain the water, so I cemented it up and went back into the water the next day. Again it looked good until I got tied up. So for the third time I hauled out. I reefed out a lot of caulking and re-caulked and sealed the seams, even ones that didn't appear to be leaking. I'd made up my mind that if it still leaked, I was going to give the city the boat, unless I found someone else who wanted it. When I launched yet again, the bilge was dry and  the bow was dry, but the pumps were still coming on every thirty minutes. Apparently the garboard seam was leaking, something that wasn't a problem until I had hauled out. I think the racking back and forth of the boat by the travel lift caused the issue. I wasn't willing to put any more time or money into it. I was thoroughly exhausted and overwhelmed by the whole issue. 

I happened to mention to Jara Goins that I was going to give my boat away, and she called her husband Jason. As it was, their fifteen year old son has a hand troll license and they thought the boat might be something that he could use as he got older.

Jason has property in Oregon with Douglas fir growing on it, and he and his brother have a sawmill that could mill the wood, so they could at least have the materials on hand to replace planks. He's familiar with diesel engines and has a good attitude about issues that come up. I was upfront with him and let him know what I had been dealing with. He seemed to take it all in stride, so for the mighty sum of one dollar, he bought the boat, complete with fishing gear, tools, fuel, electronics, totes, pots and pans and whatever else I had accumulated in the thirty three years I owned her.

Some people have mentioned how generous I was to give away the boat. Granted, it would have been nice to have gotten some more money for it, but I would have had to stick around Hoonah and advertise it, and then there was the ongoing problem with the leak. I didn't want to try to piece it out. It had an aluminum mast, poles, hayrack, fuel tanks and water tank, plus a Furuno video sounder, and radar and an Icom VHF radio. I probably could have gotten something for all of that, but then the boat wouldn't have been worth anything. It was better to give it away as a package and know that it will be taken care of and fished for a few more years than to see  it torn apart and pieced out.

For thirty three years I fished the Bonnie J. I've poured countless thousands of dollars and man hours into it. I had some of my best days on board and some of my worst. I may not have any money to show for my time and effort, but I've got a lifetime of memories.