All I really wanted for myself was a sea kayak and the simple joys of paddling. I knew it was time I did something for ‘me’ instead of always helping others first. There had been too many years of overwork during my training in medicine, with much sacrifice and delayed gratification. At last, one July morning in 1994, on Seattle’s Lake Union, I had the chance to realize my dream, and paddled solo for the first time. Little did I know then that I would became ensnared in a series of events which would take me way beyond my depth.

That morning, as I paddled past an open piece of condominium moorage that was for sale, I got to thinking. I didn’t own a boat, but living near the water intrigued me, and this seemed like a good investment. Maybe I’d get a liveaboard one day. Upon inquiring, I learned that the spot already had a tenant to cover the costs, but that the boat was temporarily in a shipyard. I soon had money down.

When the tenant returned his boat—a 65 foot, 109 ton Norwegian sea trawler called the Ursa Major—to the slip, he needed someone to watch over it until he could move it to California. That seemed innocent enough, but what started as a short-term good deed became a multi-year effort helping to oversee the ongoing restoration and maintenance of a large, classic, wooden hulled yacht. I believed in the owner’s retirement dream with his remarkable boat and wanted to help. Then arose the necessity to cover a missed payment when the owner became sick, and a temporary ownership transfer to me to prevent him losing his asset, followed by his subsequent failure to re-purchase the boat as promised. Suddenly, instead of a sea kayak, I owned a boat—a very big boat! What to do now?

My primary goal still was to own a sea kayak and go off on paddling adventures. So the most reasonable option for me was to sell the Ursa Major. But by now my sister lived aboard the vessel. She had been working to restore and maintain the boat for the prior owner and we had both come to love and appreciate it. I had seen the joy the boat could bring people and I wasn’t sure I wanted to lose that.

New Year’s Eve in 1998: I wrestled to meet my ‘drop dead’ date of January 1st. Diverting my attention from this painful decision making, I pulled a book off the shelf next to my bed. It was Joel Rogers’ beautiful book The Hidden Coast: Kayaking Explorations from Alaska to Mexico. Chapter One, Prince William Sound. Oh, I lamented, I was getting too old and didn’t have enough vacation time to do such a long expedition. Chapter Two, Going Outside of Chichagof Island in SE Alaska. I yearned to visit such places, but how, without some transport and a support vessel?

Wait a second! A moment of epiphany swept over me. I own a boat! It could be a great mothership. I could charter it and share the experience with others. I knew it would be a very steep learning curve for me and I would need a lot of help, but challenges rarely frighten me and I have a cooperative personality. And thus my sister and I began the charter business in 2000, cruising Southeast Alaska in our mothership.

The Ursa Major has turned out to be perfect for groups of paddlers, whale watchers and those who like to birdwatch by kayak. We transport them to remote locations which are not easily accessible except by boat, and welcome them home to safety and comfort each night. Yes, it’s been a steep learning curve, what with all the marketing and business side of chartering small yachts, but it’s one I’ve enjoyed. Now, when I look at the boat, I see a 109-ton sea kayak rack and a mobile bed and breakfast capable of making sea kayaking dreams come true. I’m looking forward to sailing south to the Sea of Cortez next winter

© Story and photos by Joyce Gauthier. Joyce runs Ursa Major Charters in Seattle Washington. She can be reached at vjgauthier@aol.com, 206-310-2309, www.myursamajor.com.