Small Sailboat Cruising

Small Sailboat Cruising Starting Over at 70

After losing my wife of 45 years, I’m rebuilding a life of faith, purpose, adventure, and wooden boats. One day. One voyage.
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One story at a time. I’m a sailor and wooden boat builder, drawn to the quiet charm of clinker planks, salty breezes, and the occasional boat ramp debacle. Along the way, I’ve also become a writer, filmmaker, and photographer — telling stories about small boats, big adventures, and the people (and mishaps) that shape them. From the Huon River to the Noosa Everglades, and now bringing *Moonlight* h

ome to Tasmania, I share slow journeys aboard small boats like *Sarah Ann* and *Moonlight* on YouTube and here on Facebook. If you like traditional boats, thoughtful storytelling, and the kind of travel where a cup of tea takes priority over top speed — you’re in the right place.

18/06/2026

It’s tempting to call it a day the second an old engine coughs into life. You’ve busted knuckles, cleaned the gunk, and chased ghosts for hours—when it finally runs, the urge to walk away and crack a cold one is strong. But claiming victory too early is just asking for a breakdown down the track. Keep the spanners out a bit longer; she’s not finished until she’s actually reliable.

18/06/2026

It’s easy to get caught up in planning the next big escape, but there’s a real danger in missing the point of where you actually are. Sometimes, the constant hunt for what’s next just blinds you to the good stuff staring you in the face. Worth slowing down for a second.

17/06/2026

There's a specific kind of headache that comes with owning old machinery, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s not just turning a key and walking away; it’s a constant back-and-forth.

Too lean, too rich, coughing and hunting—it’s like trying to have a chat with someone who refuses to listen. Definitely haven’t nailed the tune on this beast yet.

Any mechanics out there know exactly what’s going on with that idle? Keen to hear how you’d sort this mess out.

17/06/2026

Nobody’s handing out gold medals for just showing up and getting the job done, but let’s be honest—that’s usually the glue holding everything together.

This footage is a quiet reminder that life doesn't always need to be a performance. Sometimes, the best moments are just the fading light, the worn paths, and the simple act of sticking with it when you're exhausted. It’s a bit of peace for a busy week.

16/06/2026

You can spend weeks polishing, painting, and replacing every last bolt, but none of that matters when you're standing there with the starter cord in your hand.

It’s the ultimate reality check. The machine doesn’t care about your effort or your good intentions—eventually, it decides for itself whether it’s ready to fire back to life. Sometimes it likes you, sometimes it doesn’t. That’s the real gamble of restoration.

16/06/2026

Let’s be honest, nobody’s throwing a parade for just showing up when you’re knackered. There’s zero glamour in being faithful, consistent, and frankly, a bit worn out. But strangely enough, the best stuff in life is glued together by that exact kind of boring, ordinary reliability. It’s not flashy, but it works.

15/06/2026

Fifteen years of Parkinson’s took a lot from us.

It stole little adventures we thought we’d have together.
It stole easy conversations across the table.
It stole long walks, shared dreams, and many of the simple things couples take for granted.

Bit by bit, it asked more of us than we ever thought we could give.

Yet looking back, that isn’t the whole story.

For fifteen years I had the privilege of loving you through it all.

The disease took your strength, but it never took your courage.
It took your voice, but it never took your spirit.
It took much from both of us, but it could never take what we built together over forty-five years.

Those years taught me patience.
They taught me faith.
They taught me that real love is not found in the easy days, but in staying when the road becomes hard.

If I had my time over, knowing all that lay ahead, I would still take your hand and walk the same road again.

For all that Parkinson’s robbed from us, it left me with something precious.

A heart full of memories.

And a love that even death cannot take away.

Fifteen years of Parkinson’s took a lot from us.It stole little adventures we thought we’d have together.It stole easy c...
15/06/2026

Fifteen years of Parkinson’s took a lot from us.

It stole little adventures we thought we’d have together.
It stole easy conversations across the table.
It stole long walks, shared dreams, and many of the simple things couples take for granted.

Bit by bit, it asked more of us than we ever thought we could give.

Yet looking back, that isn’t the whole story.

For fifteen years I had the privilege of loving you through it all.

The disease took your strength, but it never took your courage.
It took your voice, but it never took your spirit.
It took much from both of us, but it could never take what we built together over forty-five years.

Those years taught me patience.
They taught me faith.
They taught me that real love is not found in the easy days, but in staying when the road becomes hard.

If I had my time over, knowing all that lay ahead, I would still take your hand and walk the same road again.

For all that Parkinson’s robbed from us, it left me with something precious.

A heart full of memories.

And a love that even death cannot take away.

Some of you may have noticed I’ve been a little absent lately.For the past months, and especially the past few weeks, I’...
15/06/2026

Some of you may have noticed I’ve been a little absent lately.

For the past months, and especially the past few weeks, I’ve been walking through the final stages of my wife Denise’s Parkinson’s journey. On Friday, Denise passed peacefully.

After 45 years together, there is a sadness that is hard to put into words. But there is also peace. Denise is now free from pain, free from struggle, and in the presence of the Lord. No more tears. No more sorrow. No more suffering.

Thank you to everyone who has supported us, prayed for us, and travelled this road with our family.

As for me, the story now changes. What comes next is the journey of a 70-year-old man learning how to rebuild a life, find purpose again, and keep moving forward one day at a time.

Chris

15/06/2026

Caregiving has a funny way of stripping the nonsense right out of your life. Turns out, the flashy, exciting stuff doesn’t mean much when you’re in the trenches. It’s the quiet, steady presence that actually counts. A decent reminder that most of what we worry about is just noise.

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Launceston, TAS

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