Jack Allen is the driving force behind HamstersAHOY!—the former Royal Navy seamanship rating, professional boat skipper, boat builder, and Project Manager who decided that a neglected 1980s steel trawler was the perfect candidate for a 60ft liveaboard conversion.
Every decision Jack makes is grounded in practical experience, risk awareness, and applied marine science. From hull repairs to onboard systems, he brings structure and discipline to a project that occasionally looks like chaos from the outside.
A Little About Jack
♦ Extensive experience in marine operations, project management, and construction site management
♦ Formal Natural Sciences education (Physics, Chemistry, Earth Science, Biology, Ecology, Environmental Science)
♦ RYA Day Skipper, SMSTS, Electrician, Alarms Systems Engineer, Scaffolder, Heavy Plant and Telehandler Operator
♦ Prolific writer and documenter of hands-on boating and liveaboard conversion experience
Jack and Pedro
Pedro, the slightly bewildered hamster, provides moral support and occasional perspective on the conversion project. While he cannot operate a diesel engine, Jack values the calm example Pedro sets—proof that even in a rolling anchorage, keeping perspective is critical.
Together, Jack and the team tackle the boat in stages, documenting successes, mistakes, and lessons learned. This approach ensures the project remains practical, safe, and ultimately achievable, even if the occasional absurdity creeps in.
Next in the Series
Meet the rest of the crew—some slightly more eccentric than others. Next: Esmeralda Gonzales
At 02:17, when even the sea forgets what it was doing, Esmi declared the coast to be listening.
We were moored—unofficially, questionably—off **Dungeness**, that long finger of shingle reaching into the Channel like it had somewhere better to be and changed its mind halfway. The charts said “featureless.” Esmi said “attentive.” Pedro said nothing, but rotated slowly inside his mug (his *temporary* observation post), as if aligning himself with forces beyond our pay grade.
We found the path by accident, though Esmeralda insisted it had been on the map the entire time.
It ran between fields that were too flat to be natural, bordered by reeds that didn’t seem to grow from any visible water source. The air smelled faintly of salt, though the sea was miles away and not particularly interested in us at that point.
The wind at Lizard Point does not arrive. It insists.
We had taken shelter near the old lighthouse buildings just after dusk, when the sea stops pretending to be separate from the sky. Esmeralda was checking charts she didn’t entirely trust anymore. Twinkles was listening to the wind as though it was speaking in a language almost—but not quite—familiar.
Pedro stopped walking.
This, in itself, was not unusual.
What was unusual was that he remained stopped.
“…no,” he said.
Before him stretched a neat row of beach huts along the West Sussex shoreline—orderly, cheerful, and entirely unaware that they had made a mistake.
The first thing Pedro objected to was the name.
“It is not,” he said firmly, standing on the cliff path and staring down at Durdle Door, “a door.”
Below him, the great limestone arch stood magnificently over the sea, having successfully been not a door for a considerable length of time.
The official report, as dictated by Captain Pedro himself, was perfectly clear.
“This is not an escape,” he stated firmly. “This is a highly strategic withdrawal.”
At the time of this declaration, he was pedalling a very small bicycle at considerable speed through a shallow river waterway somewhere in Essex.
Pedro had lost his hat.
This, in his professional opinion, was a matter of grave maritime consequence. A captain without his hat is scarcely a captain at all—more of a civilian with opinions. And Pedro was not, under any circumstances, a civilian. He was the commanding officer of the Very Important Boat Indeed, the undisputed leader of the landing party, and—crucially—the pet of Esmeralda, who, while technically in charge of his snacks, clearly deferred to his strategic brilliance.
