James Buck Harlan

James "Buck" Harlan James "Buck" Harlan, known to friends and family as "Big Buck," "Captain Buck," and "Harley," passed away peacefully on December 15, 2025, at Bridgeport Hospital in Bridgeport, Connecticut. He was 83. Born on August 2, 1942, in Salem, New Jersey, Buck grew up with the Atlantic Ocean calling his name and never answered anything else quite as loud. The beach was his church, his playground, his therapy—first the roaring, crowded boards of the Jersey Shore in his wilder days, then the rugged, windswept Connecticut coastline he claimed as home. A true son of the surf, Buck rose with the sun most mornings, surf rod already rigged, stalking the breakers for striped bass, blues, or whatever the tide decided to offer. He could spot a feeding school from a hundred yards and knew the hidden pockets where the big ones held up. His low-tide treasure hunts were legendary: jeans rolled to the knees, pockets sagging with polished sea glass in every color, whole sand dollars, and the rare shark tooth he’d flash like gold. Beach days with the family were sacred. He’d spend hours on his knees in the sand, engineering massive sandcastles with the grandkids—complete with turrets, drawbridges, and shell-lined paths—then fire up the charcoal for grilled fish straight from the cooler. As the sky turned to fire at dusk, he’d lean back in his low beach chair, cold drink in hand, telling the same fish stories everyone pretended they hadn’t heard a hundred times, his laugh rolling out over the waves. In his garage, over decades of winters, he rebuilt a beat-up 1960s wooden skiff from the ribs up, christening her “Salty Girl.” Those quiet drifts offshore—coffee steaming, gulls crying, horizon empty—were his favorite kind of prayer. Even when the years made the long casts harder, a slow drive down the coast road with the windows wide, beach oldies crackling through the speakers, and that unmistakable salt tang in the air still turned him into the wide-eyed kid who first fell in love with the sea. He is survived by his devoted children, cherished grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and a wide circle of relatives and friends who will forever see him in their minds: barefoot on wet sand, rod slung over one shoulder, that easy, sun-cracked grin, and the ocean wind lifting his hair. Services and arrangements will be announced by the family. In lieu of flowers, please consider a donation to a local coastal conservation organization in Buck’s memory, or better yet—head to the nearest shore, let the waves hit your feet, and raise a quiet toast to him.