The Plan (part 1)
Before I step foot back on the boat.
Anyone else just LOVE the way winter has this way of stretching out longer than you expect? Ya, me neither… but somehow every year it seems to find a way.
Even now, it’s technically spring, but winter feels like it hasn’t fully let go. The days are getting longer, just long enough to confuse my toddler into thinking it’s not actually bedtime, but even with the extra hours of daylight they’re still not quite long enough. The regular do-do list is just as loud as always… but with the lengthening days it seems its starting to get louder reshuffling what fire needs attention a little more frequently then these last few quiet months.
So in the middle of all that, I still haven’t made it out to the farm for a proper spring walkthrough.
Not because I don’t want to - although I’ll be honest there are more days than I’d like to admit where the denial and guilt of how big this project is creeps in and I truly don’t want to… I’d rather come up with excuses not to.
But more because I only have so many windows in a day where I can step away from everything else, and this project deserves more than a rushed look between everything else life is already asking for.
Writing this right now is the quick pause I need before the return, this is the plan before the reality check.
What I left behind
The last time I saw Red October (if you’ve been following along you’ll already know), I left things in what I can only call a “work in progress” state… cringing through a half smile as I typed that out.
She’s not abandoned… not exactly… she’s not forgotten. But to say she’s not properly finished is the understatement of a century. I literally don’t reallllllly even know where to begin.
My honest snap shot:
The exterior hull needs a full clean - which is technically a given any spring season. I have fond memories of heading to the boat yard with my mom in the cool spring evenings of my childhood to check on my dad doing this exact piece of annual maintenance. In this case though I’m dealing with years of weather and grime that have built up and it’s going to take effort to bring it back to a level baseline. The red stripes, (Is it paint? Is it gel coat?) which are part of her identity will likely need attention as well. After years of summer sun exposure she’s looking a little more like “Pink October” if you know what I mean - something my pink loving toddler would approve of at least.
There are seals on the exterior windows and hatches that looked like they were drying up when I last checked. The kind of detail that doesn’t feel urgent until it suddenly is. The sort of small thing that turns into a big thing if they’re ignored too long… we don’t want any interior water damage right?
Mechanically, I’ll be honest… I’m scared. The drives, the engines, etc the main parts of the boat I know nothing about. I can’t even pretend for a moment that I have the answers there yet, and I won’t pretend I do. That’s going to require someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. Those parts of the boat stumped my dad on the best of days. I saw him head first, feet up in the engine compartment more times than I can count. Whether I like it or not, this is not the area for guessing. But at least everything else, feels a lot more figure-outable on my own.
Just like the exterior of the boat, the upper deck will need work too. At minimum, it’s going to need a few jugs of Spray Nine and elbow grease with a sharp eye and attention to detail. It needs the kind of reset that makes it feel like a space again instead of just a surface that exists.
As for access.. I don’t even know where the keys are anymore, which opens a whole separate list of possibilities, including rekeying. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen the keys since I lost my dad, I’ve never been able to find them. He was pretty protective of his boat so it’s almost as if he took them to the grave with him.
The navigation and dashboard elements didn’t look promising the last time I saw them. Old marine electronics are either stubborn survivors or completely done. There’s rarely an in between… something I know because I tend to lean towards being one of those “stubborn survivors” myself.
I’m secretly hoping that of all things the old marine radio still works… like a gift from God, finding something that shouldn’t be alive but somehow still is.
The interior.. if I’m lucky
The one saving grace from my last visit was the interior. It was, surprisingly, fine. Almost as if it were a time capsule of days gone by. Not perfect by any means, not untouched (ie. at least one mouse had a winter stay), but intact in a way that felt completely unexpected given everything else.
If the interior has held through winter, then I feel like I’m starting from a place of advantage rather than loss.
But even in the best case, it still means a full deep clean and a laundry list of questions that don’t have easy answers yet.
Does the fridge work? Does the stove work? Does the head (marine term for toilet) function properly? All basic systems, but still critical especially given that the boat is a cabin cruiser. The difference between something that exists and something that can actually be used again.
Depending on your point of view - the stereo is a big one. The comfort elements that set the vibe on the boat. When my dad first purchased the boat it was at a repo auction and he got a mega deal, everything about the boat was next level… except, and especially for a musician, the stereo. Before he did anything else, he tore it out and installed what was the best on the market for marine stereos at the time. The music I was raised on in those summer memories on Red October I swear are part of my DNA now.
Lastly, the aesthetic decisions. Do I restore what’s there? Do I replace? Do I reupholster anything that’s worn past its usefulness?
These are the questions where “project” becomes “vision” and also where timelines, budgets, and priorities start to matter more than you want them to.
The canvas problem
One thing I do know for sure is that the canvas situation will need attention. The main canvas top is not something I can ignore or patch indefinitely. When my dad was still alive, it already needed to be replaced or properly rebuilt. The tonneau cover, the secondary cover system for when the main top is off, for example when you’re closing up the boat for a few days, provides both security and weather protection… and a great place for seagull poop to land, also needs replacing as far as I can remember. I have no idea where it is.
Even the support bar for the canvas top was warped the last time I saw it, which reminds me the cabin door had shifted as well. None of these things are catastrophic on their own, but together they start to tell a story about wear, stress, and time doing what it does to anything left outside long enough.
Fun fact: When I was 25, the summer before he passed away, my dad found this amazing sail and canvas making program in Florida. My dad’s brother lived there, and my dad had plans to retire there himself, at least for the winter months. If you know me at all, you’ll know I’m a sun lover by nature. My dad used to joke that I was meant to come back as a coconut tree in my next life so the thought of moving to Florida for this program was really enticing.
At the time, I was feeling really lost and struggling to find a vocation that actually filled me up - still am. I had studied biomedical science and athletic therapy, thinking my path to success, and family approval, was to go the medical route like most everyone else in my family. Anything outside of that made me feel like a bit of a black sheep, and if I’m honest, that feeling has never fully gone away I’ve never fully felt like I belong in my family.
I was considering midwifery and had even submitted an application to go back to university, but my dad sat me down one day for a real heart to heart. He could see I wasn’t happy. I wanted to be closer to him, I wanted to live back in Muskoka and more than anything, I wanted to work with my hands, build something of my own, and create a future that actually felt like mine.
With his encouragement, I started playing with the idea of a mobile canvas business, something that would service boats directly at marinas throughout the summer. Almost immediately after he passed away, the program we had found shut down. I never explored the idea again.
And now, suddenly, I’m wondering if maybe I should.
The bigger unknowns
The last big category of questions I have are the ones that sit underneath everything else - literally. Not cosmetic, not even mechanical… but structural and logistical.
Can the boat even be moved right now? What condition is the trailer in? What condition is the ground it’s sitting on? Is this a simple matter of inspection and repair, or does this become a lift situation, a crane situation, a block and stabilize solution?
And if it can’t be moved right away, then the next question becomes access. There is no power out there, no water, at least not close to the boat so there’s no easy setup.
And if that’s the case, who do I even call first? What kind of specialist handles something like this? What is step one when step on is not obvious?
If I need to start work on site, what does that actually look like? Temporary power? Temporary water? A working setup in a place that currently isn’t set up for working at all.
And then, of course, the question that keeps coming back underneath all of it… What is this going to cost, not in theory but in reality.
The plan (so far)
If you’re still with me, I know this has been a longer, more technical post, but at this stage, that’s exactly what’s necessary. This is where the plan actually begins.
Phase 1: Full assessment and reality check
This upcoming walkthrough will determine everything, at least for now. Mechanical condition, structural concerns, access limitations, and what is salvageable versus what needs immediate attention. I’m literally thinking I need to keep it simple and bring paper and a clipboard and just go over every part of the boat section by section and write it all out to take home and sort through and prioritize later.
Phase 2: Stabilization
Once the condition is understood, the goal shifts to preventing further deterioration. Cleaning, sealing, securing, and making sure nothing continues to degrade while decisions are made.
Phase 3: Function first
Before anything aesthetic, the priority is simple. Can it run? Can it be used? Can it safely function as a space again?
Phase 4: Restoration and rebuild
This is where the vision starts to take shape. Exterior work, interior updates, structural improvements, and bringing character back into focus.
Right now, everything sits inside Phase 1.
The reality of timing
It goes without saying, I don’t have unlimited time for this. I’m a mom to a two year old and a stepmom to a five year old. I care for our home full time, with the addition of spring clean up right around the corner which adds extra work around the house. I’m relaunching my real estate career while building a personal brand, and, true to who I am, I always have a handful of small personal projects on the go. And somewhere in all of that, there’s also the part of life where I need to slow down and make time for myself and my family.
That’s part of why this feels important to write everything down properly now. Not just as a vision, but as something structured enough that it can survive being done in pieces… because it will be done in pieces.
What comes next
For now, this is what the plan looks like, not even close to perfect, not complete, but honest. A starting point shaped by what I remember, what I’m questioning, and what I’m building toward. There are still a lot of unknowns, and I’m learning to be okay with that. Because this part, the in between, the figuring it out, is just as much a part of the story as the end result ever will be.
If you want to be part of this journey, not just the end result but everything it takes to get there, I’d love to have you along. This is going to be a process of figuring things out as I go, and I’ll be sharing it in real time. You can subscribe here and follow along on Instagram to be part of each step, each shift, and everything in between.