Jason Miller (Kyalo)

Jason Miller

The thought of Sea Wings, and where she might be today, still crosses my mind from time to time.

She was a beautiful 1947 Luke Warner yawl, just shy of fifty feet long. Her lines were sleek and undeniably sexy, her masts tall and proud, and her canvas sails large enough to host a small revival. Her wooden wheel and bright brass fittings, many original to the 1940s, were a sight to behold.

Like most beautiful and mysterious ladies, she had a colorful past.

She had been restored in the 1970s, her original wooden hull covered with layers of thin wood and fiberglass in a process called cold molding. When done properly, it’s an excellent way to preserve an aging wooden boat. When done improperly, it becomes a long-term relationship with regret. Any water that finds its way between the original hull and the cold-molded layers creates a nightmare waiting patiently for its turn.

By the time I met her, her masts were old and delaminating. Her once-proud teak deck was gray and tired. Worst of all, she had recently found herself resting on the bottom of a lake. Whether she had been forgotten or simply become too expensive to save, I never knew. Because she sank in a marina, however, she had to be recovered. There was something heartbreaking about the thought of such a beautiful vessel slowly rise from the depths, dripping lake water and dignity in equal measure.

Her owner was finished. He claimed to have spent nearly $30,000 trying to revive her.

Ebay-

Then one evening, while pursuing my next poor decision on eBay, I found Sea Wings.

She was local, floating in a slip on Eagle Mountain Lake outside Fort Worth. I was surprised I had never noticed her before, considering I kept my Catalina 27 on the same lake and sailed there often.

The moment I saw her listing, I imagined living aboard a grand sailing vessel, visiting distant ports, crossing oceans, and watching sunsets from foreign harbors. Sea Wings seemed worthy of those dreams.

I won the auction for what I thought was a steal.

As it turned out, she was stealing from me.

The only thing keeping her above water were two bilge pumps—one working constantly and the other standing by like a nervous backup quarterback.

I discovered delamination in several places, but the bigger problem was the propeller shaft. It had worked loose and was allowing water to seep around the stuffing box. After several dives beneath the hull, I managed to slow most of the leaks, but the deeper issues remained. The trapped water between the fiberglass and original planking would eventually require extensive and expensive repairs.

Still, her engine ran well enough to make the trip to my marina.

And so began our relationship.

I rebuilt her masts, replaced her running rigging, bought what felt like every pulley and fitting available, and hired a crane to step her masts once again. Slowly she transformed.

The teak decks were cleaned and oiled. The brightwork gleamed. Her mahogany trim was repaired and varnished until it reflected like a mirror.

When she was finally ready to sail, she was magnificent.

Her massive mainsail and mizzen rose high above the water. She was heavy and deliberate under sail, heeling gracefully into the wind like an elegant dancer who knew she was being watched. I could single-hand her if necessary, though she often reminded me that she considered that arrangement beneath her dignity.

She was too much boat for the lake.

She belonged on the ocean.

My first Father’s Day as a dad was spent aboard Sea Wings. My son was only six months old. We drifted across the lake, sharing a picnic and a perfect afternoon.

The Fourth of July was even better. Watching fireworks from her decks felt magical. She attracted attention everywhere she went, and I’m convinced thousands of photographs of Sea Wings exist in family albums and forgotten hard drives across Texas.

We spent weekends aboard her. Brass lanterns glowed through hot Texas nights. We swam from her decks and fell asleep beneath endless stars.

But Sea Wings was not an easy boat to love.

Whenever I shifted into reverse, the propeller shaft sometimes decided it no longer wished to participate in the operation. It would slide partially out of the transmission coupling, creating moments of immediate concern and colorful language. More than once, I found myself diving overboard and pounding the shaft back into place while holding my breath.

One busy Saturday evening, she decided to test my sailing abilities.

The shear pin failed, leaving me without propulsion as I approached a crowded marina. With no engine and plenty of spectators, I dropped main sail sailed her under jib alone around moored boats, through the marina entrance, around a tight corner into her slip without hitting anything.

I still consider that one of my finer moments as captain.

Sea Wings, naturally, acted as though she had done all the work.

Years passed this way.

She demanded money, attention, and constant reassurance. During North Texas thunderstorms, I would lie awake wondering whether her bilge pumps were still running. More than once I found myself making late-night drives to the marina, worried about her condition.

She had become less of a boat and more of an expensive, emotionally unavailable mistress.

Eventually reality set in.

Her cabin, charming as it was, had been designed in the 1940s. It was beautiful but impractical. The dream of comfortably sailing around the world aboard Sea Wings began to fade.

My daughter was born. My family grew. Responsibilities multiplied.

Then I accepted a job eight hours west of Fort Worth.

Sea Wings did not take the separation well.

One night the marina called.

She was half underwater.

A failed bilge pump and flooded backup batteries had nearly sent her back to the bottom. The marina staff managed to save her before I arrived, but I remember standing there feeling more exhausted than relieved.

I had rescued her, rebuilt her, sailed her, polished her, and loved her.

And this was how she thanked me.

Ebay-

One evening, quietly and with a little guilt, I created an eBay listing without her knowing.

I photographed her best angles. Her gleaming brass. Her polished mahogany. Her tall and proud masts.

I explained honestly that she needed to be hauled out and repaired properly. She needed someone younger, with bigger dreams and a larger checkbook. Someone willing to take her where she truly belonged.

One cold Texas winter day, she was lifted from the lake and loaded onto an oversized trailer. Her masts rode alongside her. Then she headed south toward Houston and the Gulf of Mexico.

I watched her leave. Sad

I’ve searched for her a few times over the years.

She remains elusive.

I’d like to think she was restored and is still sailing somewhere, her sails full and her brass shining in the sun.

But Sea Wings and I had a long enough relationship for me to know better.

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The Heartfelt Story of Sea Wings: A Vintage Sailboat
Copyright © 2026 by D.Jason Miller

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