A working life around boats.

My uncle is a professional bass fisherman, and I have a photograph of myself at about three years old helping run his boat. That feels like an honest place to begin.

I grew up in an island community shaped by tourism, commercial fishing, and charter fishing. When the boats returned for the day, it seemed like the whole town gathered at the docks to see what they had brought in. That rhythm was simply part of childhood.

At around thirteen, after my first offshore fishing trip, I watched a boy about my age jump aboard with a scrub brush and bucket. He had several boats to wash that evening, and I remember thinking, “Now that is a good little hustle.”

Soon after, I began hanging around the charter boat basin and asking nearly every captain in the fleet for an opportunity to do something—anything—for a dollar and the chance to be on a boat. A few reluctant tasks eventually became responsibility for caring for several boats between fishing trips: washing, drying, and making sure they were ready to receive the next guests.

I became acquainted with the crew of a large, three-level passenger boat that carried hundreds of guests on evening cruises. I wanted to be aboard badly enough that I offered to help with the grunt work at the end of the night in exchange for a free ride.

One night a week became several. Eventually, my absence was noticed and questioned. The following summer I was officially hired as a mate, responsible for the boat’s appearance, helping care for guests, maintaining order and security, and supporting passenger safety both aboard and at the dock.

Around the same time, I was given my first full-time mate position aboard Viking 64 Hull No. 1. While she was berthed, I was responsible for her cosmetic upkeep and for keeping a sharp eye out for signs of trouble.

I was not yet repairing systems, but the job gave me my first close, practical look at how a serious vessel was put together—and taught me that careful observation is part of caring for a boat.

At sixteen, I moved to Harkers Island and met Bob Buckland. I became his protégé at Carolina Sail and Rigging in Beaufort, which represented North Sails throughout the Carolinas and inland toward Kentucky.

Under Bob, I learned traditional sailmaking, running and standing rigging, mechanical troubleshooting, and how to solve unfamiliar problems across a wide range of boats. The standard around that work was serious: one of our clients’ boats was Teamwork, Robin Team’s J/122 and a successful racing program with major class victories. I grew from an apprentice into the district manager for eastern North Carolina. Bob’s untimely death brought that chapter to an end far sooner than anyone expected.

I moved into vehicle and equipment repair, accessory electrical systems, towing and recovery, high-rise window cleaning, pressure washing, and other work where practical skill and sound judgment mattered.

Professionally, much of my twenties was spent away from the water. Personally, I remained an avid captain and spent nearly every free moment aboard. I also kept in touch with many of the clients I had known through Bob. Over the years, I kept hearing the same question: “Will you come help me with my boat?”

An owner I had previously helped sail from the Exumas to Beaufort asked whether I would help move his 45-foot Hallberg-Rassy—also Hull No. 1—to Maine for hurricane season. I had just sold my pressure-washing company in Wilmington and was ready for a new chapter.

Along with standing watch, I found myself working through the small projects that had accumulated aboard. By the time we reached Maine, I had repaired enough that I was invited to remain with the boat after the owner and crew returned home. I continued caring for her, completing projects, and sailing throughout the Gulf of Maine, including gaining offshore experience handling the boat on my own.

A light coating of oil kept appearing in the engine bilge after extended runs. Away from easy support, I traced it to corrosion at the mating surface of the cast oil cooler on the Volvo Penta diesel. The correct replacement had to come from overseas, so I used the materials aboard—including a considerable amount of JB Weld—to stabilize the problem and nurse the engine safely back to port.

Another planned job began as removing abandoned wiring after a lightning-related refit. Once opened up, it became a complete rewire, including recent work, so the vessel’s electrical systems would be easier to understand, service, and troubleshoot at sea.

In 2019, I took the leap back into the career that had always been waiting for me. Saylor Marine grew gradually from the work owners were already asking me to do.

Many of the clients I serve today have known me in some capacity on the water for sixteen years or more. That continuity matters to me. This company was not built from an advertising idea; it grew from responsibility earned over time.

The person you speak with is usually the person who comes aboard. I perform most of the diagnosis, repair, installation, and vessel-care work personally, which keeps the conversation and the hands-on work connected from the first look through the final handoff.

I work with only a handful of clients at a time so each boat receives the attention it deserves. When a project genuinely needs a specialized trade outside my direct scope, I bring in a trusted, vetted specialist while remaining involved and keeping a direct line of communication with the owner.

Saylor Marine is insured. I am also straightforward about the limits of my direct scope and when a specialist should be involved.

Confidence. A boat can be an asset, a source of freedom, a collection of memories, or the result of years of ambition. Often, it is all of those things at once.

I want an owner to know that their pride and joy is being watched carefully, treated responsibly, and cared for by someone whose relationship with boats did not begin when the company did.