The Judge Asked Who Had Signed Permission For Paid Launches

The courthouse smelled of damp coats and floor cleaner. I carried the blue file box with both hands, though it weighed less than a canoe seat.

Corbin waited outside the courtroom with his lawyer. His cream vest was gone. He wore a dark suit and kept smoothing one cuff.

“Last chance to be reasonable,” he said.

Lena touched my elbow.

“We're ready,” she told him.

Inside, the judge explained that this hearing would address temporary relief. It would not settle every disputed dollar or finish the case.

Corbin's lawyer spoke about bookings, customer trust, and money spent on trailers. He said the guide company had used the landing openly for years.

The judge looked at the recorded instrument.

“Where is the written commercial consent?”

He offered Ellis's 2011 letter.

She read its first paragraph.

“This names the association. It describes free safety classes.”

“The current program grew from those classes.”

“Where is permission for that change?”

He turned a page. There was no next permission.

When I testified, I explained my work. A repaired boat needed a wet test before I told a customer it was sound. I could check ribs and canvas under a light. I could not check a slow leak on a dry floor.

“How often did you use the landing?” Lena asked.

“Usually once or twice a week in season. Sometimes less. I carried the boats and cleared the path afterward.”

She showed Mara's photograph from the cleanup. It showed my empty canoe and Corbin's hand on the rope.

His lawyer asked whether my business benefited from river access.

“Yes,” I said. “That's why I bought a place with repair access.”

“So you understood that the landing had commercial value?”

“I understood the written terms.”

Lena did not smile. She made a small check beside something on her pad.

The association's lawyer showed household receipts and the one-page report. He explained that the board had found only $8,640 in launch deposits over the three years under review.

“We cannot yet tell the court what else was collected,” he said. “That is why we need the records.”

Corbin took the stand.

He called household payments donations. He said the association had trusted him to handle the river program.

Lena handed him Mara's email invoice.

“Would someone who declined this donation still have access?”

“Access had to be managed.”

“Could they use the landing without paying?”

He looked toward the judge.

“Not under the policy at the time.”

The room stayed quiet while Lena put the invoice back in her folder.

The judge denied the company's request to keep launching under the old consent. She found that the recorded terms and the limited letter supported temporary protection of my rights while the case continued.

Her written order barred Haskell River Guides from conducting paid launches at the landing for now. It barred interference with my repair access and with free resident passage. It required preservation of the landing records.

I had to post a $1,000 bond for the temporary order. Lena had warned me about that possibility. I used the rest of my equipment savings.

The clerk gave me a receipt. I folded it once and put it in my shirt pocket. Even a good day could leave you checking how much money remained for groceries.

Both lawyers then agreed to an early exchange of financial records and an independent accountant. The judge entered their agreement as an order. Bank records could be obtained through the case instead of another round of unanswered letters.

Outside, Corbin stood by the courthouse steps.

“You stopped my season,” he said.

“You had thirty days to show permission.”

He walked away before I finished putting the box in my car.

The next morning, his trailers left the guide shed. A notice from the association told customers that the company could not use this landing. Customers were directed to contact the company about alternate trips or refunds.

I saw no reason to stand there and watch.

I had a stern deck to fit.

Over the next three weeks, the accountant worked through statements, invoices, and the guide company's booking records. Neighbors sent more receipts directly to the association's lawyer. Owen answered questions about the old reports.

I answered only the questions I knew the answers to.

When I didn't know, I said so.

Beatrice helped me place clear sleeves in a binder. We kept original pages away from glue, cedar dust, and coffee.

“A shocking lack of mystery,” she said. “Everything is dated.”

Late one afternoon, Lena brought a sealed copy packet from the bank production. She laid it beside my vise.

“We have the operating account,” she said. “And another company account labeled Access Clearing.”