The first time I saw “Viking Star” she was 83 years old, 47 feet of oak on oak, and leaking like a politician’s promise. Ten days later she carried us 380 nautical miles through the world’s most dramatic scenery using nothing but marine parts OMC that were older than my father and still refused to die.
Day 1 – Ålesund: The Rebirth
The boatyard smelled of tar and coffee. Under the keel sat a 1957 OMC stern-drive that had been pulled from a Chris-Craft in 1989 and mated to this Colin Archer rescue cutter during a drunken bet in 1992. The mechanic handed me a box of marine parts OMC: two impellers, one water-pump kit, three gasket sets, and a driveshaft bellows that looked like petrified accordion. Total cost: 380 NOK (about £28). He winked and said, “If these marine parts OMC die, the boat dies. Treat them like your children.” We launched at 0600 into a mirror-calm sea that reflected the Art Nouveau houses like a painting that hadn’t decided whether to be real yet.
Day 2 – Geirangerfjord: 1,500 m Walls and One Spare Impeller
We entered the UNESCO fjord at sunrise. The Seven Sisters waterfall roared so loud we killed the engine and drifted in silence. Water temperature: 6 °C. The OMC cooling system didn’t flinch. At 1100 we tied alongside a floating dock literally bolted to a cliff. I changed the impeller anyway—ten minutes with the marine parts OMC kit and a head-torch. The old one looked perfect. I kept it as a trophy. That night we slept under the Northern Lights while the bilge pump (running on 1962 marine parts OMC) clicked exactly once every seven minutes, counting heartbeats.
Day 3 – Åndalsnes: The Night the Bellows Screamed
We rounded the last bend into Romsdalsfjord doing 7.2 knots when the driveshaft bellows finally gave up its 33-year fight. The scream was biblical. We limped to the town quay trailing rainbow sheen. Local fisherman Ole appeared with a bottle of aquavit and the exact same marine parts OMC bellows he’d removed from his own boat in 1998 “because it looked ugly”. Installation took 45 minutes on the dock using nothing but a Swiss Army knife and swearing in three languages. By 2200 we were doing 8.1 knots—faster than ever. Ole refused payment but accepted a bottle of Linie aquavit and a promise to name our first child after him.
Day 4-5 – Trollfjord: Where GPS Gives Up
The entrance is 100 m wide with 600 m granite walls. Our 47 ft boat entered at slack water doing 3 knots, engine ticking over on marine parts OMC that had now crossed the Atlantic twice before I was born. Inside, the fjord narrows to 60 m and the echo sounder read “000” for a solid minute. We rafted to a fish-farm pontoon and woke to sea eagles stealing breakfast from the deck. The OMC started first turn every morning despite -4 °C air temperature. I began to suspect the marine parts OMC were running on pure spite.
Day 6 – Lofoten: The Day We Outran the Weather
Forecast: 45 knots by noon. We left Reine at 0430 doing 9.2 knots on flat water—fastest the boat had ever gone. The old OMC stern-drive howled like a banshee but the temperature gauge never moved. By 1100 we were tied up in Henningsvær as the first 50-knot gusts turned the harbour into milk. Every modern yacht dragged. “Viking Star” sat like she was carved from the seabed. The marine parts OMC had spoken.
Day 7 – Trollfjord Redux: The Photo That Broke Instagram
We returned to Trollfjord in perfect evening light. I climbed the mast with the drone and captured the wooden boat alone in a cathedral of stone, engine idling on marine parts OMC that predated colour television. The photo got 1.2 million likes. Nobody noticed the 1957 stern-drive purring in the background like a very old, very angry cat.
Day 8-9 – Bergsfjord: Where Time Stopped
We anchored in 40 m of water so clear the anchor was visible all the way down. For 48 hours we didn’t start the engine once. The silence was so complete we could hear the marine parts OMC cooling down—tiny metallic ticks that sounded like the boat saying thank you. We fished cod from the cockpit, grilled them on deck, and watched the midnight sun paint the snow pink. The OMC rested. We rested. The fjord held its breath.
Day 10 – Ålesund: The Return
380 nautical miles later we tied up exactly where we started. The logbook showed 94 engine hours. The marine parts OMC spares box was still half full. The old mechanic was waiting on the dock with fresh coffee. He checked the oil, listened to the engine for ten seconds, and declared: “She’ll do another 83 years.”
I asked what we owed him.
He pointed at the marine parts OMC box and said, “You kept her alive. That’s payment enough.”
We left “Viking Star” with a new coat of tar, a belly full of cod, and the absolute certainty that sometimes the best technology isn’t new—it’s the marine parts OMC that refuse to quit long after their designers are gone.
