By Scott Shephard
For many years, I sailed a 19’ boat named Ariel on lake Oahe. Between my sailing trips, I put the boat on its trailer and stored the boat on land, or “on the hard” as sailors say. In 2009 I was tempted to get a bigger boat already named Wandering Star, a name that fit my inclinations. I sailed once on Oahe, loaded her on the trailer and realized that this boat was too big to be taking her off the water on every sailing trip. I called Deb and said, “We’re going to need a slip at Spring Creek Marina.” She wasn’t happy about the additional expense. Nor was I. But I had other concerns, too.
Sailing on Lake Oahe was never a social experience for me and “living” at the marina seemed way too social to me. Besides, I didn’t know the “marina” people. What if they were snooty and clannish? What would they think if I came, loaded my boat and took off for days at a time and didn’t attend the social hours and barbecues I imagined they must have?
We paid our money and Wandering Star was assigned a slip on the new deep water marina. I had hardly tied my boat up when I saw a gentleman walking my way. Our eyes met and, handing me Corps of Engineers map book as a gift, he said, “Welcome to the marina. My name is Jim Russell” And just like that my concerns and insecurities were washed away. And, as he was to so many others at the marina, Jim became my friend.
He was much more than a friend, though. He was always a teacher and mentor. For example, he taught me how to properly secure my boat to the dock and he coached me about anchoring. Jim also helped with anything else I might need. In this photo, Jim had brought his bosun’s chair and his heavy duty Milwaukee winch tool to help me go up the mast to fix a spreader fitting and to install a new wind indicator. This might have been a scary experience but I felt safe: Jim was in charge and I knew that he knew what he was doing. Indeed, Jim’s presence at the marina was so important that I began thinking of him as the “dock father” because he obviously cared for and nurtured the marina and its people.
Jim passed away last week. And even though I hadn’t seen him for a year, I already miss him. Though I have hundreds of photos of the marina, of my boat and of Lake Oahe, I have very few of Jim. But that’s OK. He is easily pictured: he is smiling but serious and, like the day I met him, he clearly wants to help.
Thanks for everything, Jim. I’m sorry I didn’t say that to you sooner. . . .