It was a grand and glorious
day. The sun was shining, the
birds were singing and spring
was in the air. Well, at least it
wasn't raining at the moment.
This is, after all, the
Northwest. And it was the day
for painting out the mortgage
stripe. The bank no longer
owned any piece of my boat.
The mortgage had been paid
off and I owned her free and
clear, lock, stock and barrel.

Well, maybe. After all,
Sundown had been built in
Canada. And although she
was now documented by the United States Coast Guard and had been certified by the United States Congress for commercial work, it was not entirely clear to me that she was in fact all mine. In the old days, in England and her colonies--I begin again--within the British Commonwealth, it was at one time the case, so I have been told, that the Crown retained one sixteenth ownership in every vessel. The purpose of this provision was to permit the legal confiscation of any boat needed in time of war. You've just got to watch the British every step of the way.

Actually, I really didn't think that in 1993 the British navy would have had much use for Sundown.

As I was saying, in the old days of abundant salmon and active fisheries up and down the Northwest coast, with salmon canneries in almost every town and port, most of the seiners were owned by the fisheries companies: Nel Bro, Canadian Fisheries, Alaskan Seafood, and the others. Each of these companies adopted a distinctive primary color and identified their boats by painting a recessed stripe along the side. That way, a skipper could tell who were his friends and who his enemies. Moreover, each fishing season, a certain portion of the skipper's pay was applied to his equity in the boat. In a good fishing year, the skipper bought more of the boat--in a lean year, less. In most cases, it took double digit years to pay off the company and to own one's own boat. However, when that did happen, it was a proud and happy day for the skipper, his family and his fishing buddies. They gathered, consumed beverages, and painted out the mortgage stripe. Frequently these proud boats were passed down from father, to son, to grandson, and they continued to fish the cold waters of the Northwest.

So, recognizing the significance of tradition, we also gathered, consumed beverages, and proceeded with the ceremony of painting out the mortgage stripe. Finally, I owned Sundown.

Over the next few years I got to know Sundown pretty well. I knew much of her planking because I watched as planks were replaced. I began to understand her mechanical systems. I discovered ancient bits of her history as I looked into, behind, and under various lockers. I learned many of her eccentricities--when to clean the furnace, how to use compressed air to blow out the oil supply line to the galley range, how to manage her rigging and stop her leaks.

One summer, as I headed north, I radioed ahead to friends that we were on our way. Over the radio, I heard Susie call out to her partner, "Buddy, Sundown is coming and she's bringing Joseph." A realization that had been growing deep within me suddenly came to the surface: I really did not own Sundown after all. I was only her temporary caretaker and guardian.

Sundown was built before I was born. Long before I discovered the Pacific Northwest, she had explored her waterways. In her navigation locker were charts fifty years old with pencil drawn headings, charted by her previous skipper, Capt. Bowles, who had skippered her for almost thirty years. Her planking of yellow cedar came from ancient Northwest trees. Dozens of workers had built her, maintained her, cared for her. She was known in villages and ports all around Vancouver Island and she appeared in books about fishing and logging in the Northwest. She was a tradition; I was a newcomer.

I sold Sundown ten years ago; passed her on to another skipper's care. But obviously I haven't let her go. Unfortunately her new owner did. He lost the thread. He didn't understand the tradition. Today she lies sadly at the dock, unused, and unappreciated, in need of paint, repairs and love. I guess traditions have their value and I guess they sometimes come to an end. Nevertheless, I have been tempted, in the dark of night, to take brush and paint bucket to the dock Sundown no longer leaves, and paint back in her mortgage stripe.