1 December 2025
Out of the Water, Into the Unknown
The Watchers:
James
… and Mark, pretending not to watch every bolt, strap, and creak like a nervous parent on sports day.
The Jonge Jan — proving that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is lift the whole problem out of the water and have a proper look at it.
Monday morning in Watford arrived cold, grey, and deeply unimpressed with our optimism. A proper winter welcome. But this was the day. After weeks of preparation, small victories, big laughs, and more than a few moments of “are we absolutely sure about this?”, Jonge Jan was coming out of the water.
We were atP & S Marine in Watford, right on the Grand Union Canal — a place run by good people who clearly know their way around heavy things, old boats, and calm reassurance. Which was helpful. Because we were… less calm.
The plan was simple enough: lift JJ out of the canal, sit her on sturdy stilts, and finally see what we’d been floating on faith alone for months.
The questions were circling quietly in all our heads:
- Would the hull be riddled with holes?
- Was the propeller more “engineering” or “decorative suggestion”?
- How much unseen chaos had been lurking beneath the waterline?
No one said it out loud. But everyone was thinking it.
Then came the straps.
Bright orange. Proper industrial things. Slung carefully beneath her belly, they wrapped around Jonge Jan like a high-vis hug. Against her black hull, they looked almost cheerful — a splash of colour on a very serious morning.
The crane — a frankly ridiculous beast capable of lifting 78 tonnes — took the strain. Slowly. Carefully. With all the patience in the world.
As JJ began to rise, water poured from her like she was shaking off the canal itself. She swayed slightly, testing everyone’s nerves. Two steady hands either side kept her true while we collectively held our breath and pretended this was all completely normal.
Up she went.
Out of the water.
Suspended, dripping, dignified.
And suddenly there she was — the whole of her — revealed for the first time. Hull exposed. Prop visible. History written in steel, scratches, scars, and stories we’re only just beginning to understand.
She was gently lowered onto solid stilts, safe and steady at last, ready for inspection, jet washing, and the next chapter of her transformation.
Relief washed over us in waves. Whatever we were about to find, this was progress. Real, tangible, undeniable progress.
Jonge Jan was no longer hiding.
And neither were we.
More to come soon — including what we found once the pressure washer did its thing. For now, she’s out of the water, standing tall, and exactly where she needs to be.
Second chances don’t always float.
Sometimes, they need lifting.