She lowered her sunglasses, a move she'd clearly practiced. The CC&Rs state that marina facilities are for residential recreational use only. Running a commercial charter from a residential slip is a violation. The CC&Rs say residential recreational watercraft.
A sportfisher used for both recreation and licensed charter work qualifies. My attorney confirmed it before I moved in. The sunglasses went back up. "I'll have the board review it."
The board was Vivian, her neighbor Patty Oaks, who seconded every motion Vivian made like a trained parrot with a gavel, and Dennis Meehan, a retired dentist who attended meetings the way some people attend church, physically present, spiritually elsewhere, and deeply committed to not making waves.
Three weeks later the first violation letter arrived. Non-compliant vessel commercial signage. Your vessel displays lettering and graphics inconsistent with the community's residential marina aesthetic guidelines. Fine $200 per day beginning day 14.
The commercial signage was the boat's name. Sarah Grace, painted by my wife's hand in letters she chose, in colors she picked. That was the signage Vivian wanted removed. I drove to Vivian's house that evening.
She answered the door holding a glass of Sancerre and wearing the expression of a woman who expected applause, not pushback. The boat's name isn't commercial signage, Vivian. It's the vessel's registered name. Under federal maritime law, a documented vessel is required to display its name and hailing port on the stern.
Removing it would put me in violation of 46 C.F.R. Part 67. That's a Coast Guard regulation, not a suggestion. She sipped her wine.
I'm sure the board can work with you on an appropriate compromise. There's no compromise on federal documentation requirements. The name stays. The fine was quietly rescinded.
But Vivian didn't forget. She just recalibrated.
Over the next 18 months, Vivian launched what I can only describe as a campaign of bureaucratic harassment designed to make owning a boat in Harbor Point so miserable that I'd sell and leave. She filed nine violation notices. My dock box was oversized. My shore power cord was creating a trip hazard.
My outriggers were extending beyond the slip boundary. They extend 4 feet when deployed and 0 feet when stored, which is how they were stored every single time she cited them. Each violation carried a fine. Each fine compounded daily.
Each appeal was heard by Vivian, Patty, and Dennis in Vivian's sunroom over chardonnay and cheese plates. She sent a courtesy letter to my charter clients. I know this because one of them, Frank Bullieu, a cardiologist from Raleigh who'd booked three trips with me, forwarded it to me with a note that said, "Jack, is your HOA president insane?" The letter, printed on Harbor Point Estates stationery, informed charter customers that commercial fishing operations conducted from the Harbor Point Marina are currently under board review for compliance violations.
And recommended they consider alternative charter services until the matter is resolved. She'd found my clients' names from my website booking testimonials and mailed individual letters to six of them. Three canceled. $1,800 in lost bookings from a woman who ran her real estate showings out of the same marina she was calling residential only. She also filed a complaint with the North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries claiming I was operating an unlicensed commercial fishing operation from a residential dock.
An inspector showed up on a Thursday morning while I was rigging outriggers. He was polite, thorough, and visibly embarrassed. He checked my federal charter license, my state fishing license, my vessel insurance, my safety inspection certificate, and my passenger for hire endorsement. Everything was current.
Everything was clean. He closed the complaint in 40 minutes and told me off the record that the complaint had no merit and that whoever filed it should probably find a hobby.
Then she went after the slip itself. Harbor Point's Marina has 32 slips. Slip one is the premium position, closest to the channel, deepest water, best protection from northeast wind. I've held slip one since I moved in, assigned by the previous board based on seniority and vessel size.
Vivian decided she wanted slip one for a different purpose. The board has voted to redesignate slip one as a community courtesy vessel space, she announced at the April meeting. For visiting guests and prospective buyers who wish to experience the waterfront lifestyle. Prospective buyers.
Vivian's prospective buyers. The slip where my boat, my livelihood, my wife's memorial had been docked for 6 years was being repurposed as a showroom for Vivian's real estate business. "Where am I supposed to dock?" I asked.
"Slip 29 is available. It's a perfectly adequate space." Slip 29 was at the far end of the marina, exposed to the northeast fetch with a silted-in approach that was barely 5 feet deep at low tide. The Sarah Grace draws 4 feet 2 inches.
At low tide, I'd be sitting in mud. I refused the reassignment. Elena Bradshaw, my attorney, a maritime lawyer out of Wilmington who'd spent 20 years fighting dock disputes and could cite admiralty precedent the way most people cite song lyrics, sent a letter reminding the board that slip assignments couldn't be unilaterally changed without proper notice, a quorum vote with documented minutes, and legitimate cause. Vivian's community courtesy vessel space met none of those requirements.
Vivian backed down. But, 2 weeks later, while I was on a 3-day offshore trip running a charter to the Gulf Stream, someone unplugged my shore power cable and disconnected my water line. When I returned, the bait freezer had thawed. 40 lb of Ballyhoo, 60 lb of squid, and 20 lb of cut bonito all spoiled. $2,100 in lost product.
My refrigerator was warm. The bilge pump had been running on battery for 48 hours and was nearly dead. Nobody saw anything. Nobody knew anything.
The security camera on the dock, the one the HOA was supposed to maintain, had been temporarily offline for firmware updates for 3 weeks. I filed a police report. The Carteret County Sheriff's Deputy who took the report was sympathetic, but candid. Without video, without witnesses, it's a property damage case with no suspect.
I'll file it, but I can't promise much. Vivian sent me a card the following week. A sympathy card. The kind with flowers on the front and a pre-printed message inside that said, "Thinking of you during this difficult time."
She'd handwritten underneath, "So sorry about your freezer troubles. Perhaps a smaller boat would be easier to maintain, V." That card is in my evidence file. It's exhibit 14.