S H A V I N G S V O L U M E XI, N U M B E R 6
Published for members of the Center for Wooden Boats November-December 1989
BEST STORY COMPETITION
HIGHLIGHTS OF THE YEAR GONE BY The year began dramatically with the occupancy permit for Boat House, the last piece in our Waterway 4 planned development. We now have four buildings, three of them floating on our 1.5 acre site, of which .9 acre is under water? Maybe we should change our name to the "Museum of Float." About 50,000 people visited us, half repeat visitors. About five percent came from foreign countries. After Canada, the international set came mainly from Europe, to our surprise. Our collection grew from 80 to 100 historically significant small craft—all were on display until November when ten were moved to temporary winter storage. Our collection represents over 10% of all small craft in U.S. museum collections, over 50% of those in West Coast museums. About 35 of our boats were available for the public's use. Restoration is ongoing. This year five boats were rehabilitated to exhibit condition and six more are underway. We p r o v i d e d 16 lectures and demonstrations, including those by Norm Blanchard (who built so many large a n d s m a l l vessels at the Blanchard Boat Yard) on his favorite boats; Tage F r i d on woodworking every which way but klutzy; and four squarerig sailors, ranging in age from 70 to 106, holding the audience breathless with experiences as foreign to the rest of us as a trip to Mars. Our 1989 workshops included plane making, model making, lapstrake boatb u i l d i n g , strip plank boatbuilding, brightwork, casting, laminating, sculling, sailing, Salish Indian maritime skills, and boat handling for grades 5 through 8 of Alternative School 1. We hosted "Puget Sound Celebration," a Northwest maritime folklife exhibit; the Pedal Power Potlatch; field trips by summer camps, Cub Scouts, schools, and senior citizens; and a reception for all those running for office in our city and county. For a week in August, our parking lot was "home on the paving" for ten Clydesdale horses and two Dalmatians, fugitives from a Budweiser commercial.
Special events included our 13th A n nual Wooden Boat Festival, Spring and F a l l Regattas, a gig regatta, a Kid's Day toy boatbuilding and rowing event, a marine gear sale, a sail on the schooner Zodiac, a reception on the 18th-century replica brigantine Lady Washington, a two-week Northeast maritime museum tour, a zucchini boat contest, launchings of three student-built boats, and dedication of Boat House. Fresh energy has carried on, completed, a n d expanded a bunch of projects. Vera Velez has instituted weekend sailing instruction, adding to the old standby weekday sessions. G i g rowing has become a popular activity due to the constant coaxing and coxing of Victor Eskanazi. Victor also gets visitors to try out our 32-foot Makah Indian dugout canoe. Tom Parker holds court every weekend in the Boat Shop, offering advice on repairing and restoring wooden boats. How did it all happen? Money freely donated, money earned through sweat and ingenuity, sharp-pencil budgeting, and the volunteers. There is our whitehot core of success. We have an army of volunteers who make the Minute Men look like slackers. About 24 per month put in an average of 580 hours per month. We're t a l k i n g about David Erskine doing grading, Tom Parker b u i l d i n g the h a n d i c a p p e d r a m p (another "how did they think of that?" floating structure), Rebecca Wittman giving our Chesapeake sharpie the u l timate face lift and beauty treatment, Barney Abrams rebuilding our sails, Vera Velez rigging our boats, Rollie Wulff tidying up everything else in sight, Horace Ingram orchestrating the livery fleet, weekday sailing lessons done by Dave Sorocco, and our Board of Trustees in the trenches (guess who sold you the "I Support C W B " stickers at the last boat festival?). I saw dogs wearing those stickers. That's what we call volunteer effort! That was 1989 at CWB. Some year! Or, as C.L. Ponti of Paris, France wrote in our guest book, "Formidable!" —Dick Wagner 1
As great as Shavings already is, it hasn't reached its potential in literary quality. To encourage good stories— stories that bring laughter, excitement, sighs, wonder, or insight in prose, poetry, or pictures—we are instituting an Annual Best Story Award. Our goal is a broad range of articles relating to wooden boats. The judging, by the Publication Committee, will lean favorably toward first-hand experience about such things as buying a boat, selling a boat, sailing a boat, sinking a boat, battling a man-eating clam in the Celebes Sea, cooking a simply "mah¬ velous" quiche in a 100-foot fantail steam yacht, boats and people, boats and dogs, boats and aliens. The committee is p l a n n i n g the award. Whatever it is, you can be assured it will be unique. New Yorker, eat your heart out.
LETTERS... Many thanks for the copy of Shavings (not Soundings, as WoodenBoat fooled me to believe!). It is as good as I had hoped. I am very much infected with classic wooden boat fever, but I also enjoy reading about the Pacific Northwest. Your piece about Prince Rupert was very nice as I traveled around quite a lot in British Columbia and Washington in 1973. Hiking along the Pacific coast, Port Renfrew to Barnfield or down the shore of Olympic N a t i o n a l P a r k , leaves you w i t h impressions that never fade away. Now I work as an artist, sculpting and print engraving (in wood, naturally) and live in a village on the shore of Lake Fryken, where I sail my stjarnbat named Elfvan, a beauty built in 1920. Enclosed is a subscription fee. Keep the Shavings flying over the oceans! —Bo Jonzon Lysvik, Sweden
A FAMILY VACATION IN SOUTHEAST ALASKA-PART 2 Dad and the older girls assembled the tent floors, building them above the m u s k e g complete w i t h steps and boardwalks to the sandy beach. They pitched each tent, installed the galley kitchen range, table, and benches, the wood burning heaters in the sleeping quarters, and the folding cots complete with mattresses, linen, blankets, and pillows. Meanwhile, Mother with the rest of us t r a n s p o r t e d a l l the lightweight items we could. Dad and the girls made their last trip from the Leader just at dark—dinner time. The girls all pitched in to help Mother get her kitchen organized and prepare our first meal. A l l of us were happy to once again feel solid ground under us as Dad lead our prayers at the table. The following day Dad lost no time removing the berths and heater from the cargo hold and replacing the binboards for packing the iced K i n g Salmon. He moved the Leader to the floating barge where he topped off the tanks and loaded three tons of crushed ice. That evening at the dinner table, Dad told us where he would start picking up the freshly caught K i n g Salmon from the trollers. The trip would be north to Kruzof Island, northwest of Sitka, and back. He wanted to take me and one of the older girls along to stand wheel watches and cook on occasion. I would be responsible for oiling the engine each hour during the daylight and keeping the galley shipshape after each meal. Marleita, Blanche, and Evelyn all wanted to go. Mother and Dad selected Marleita. Blanche immediately asked if both she and Marleita could make the trip. Dad wanted one of the two older girls to remain near Mother and the rest of the children. Although Blanche did not make that first trip, she was able to make later ones. Next morning Dad woke Marleita and me while it was still dark. We dressed quickly, took the seabags Mother had packed the evening before, and boarded the Leader. We passed through the narrow entrance to the harbor at slack high tide. The seas were moderate with long swells from the west—not breaking at this time. The winds were light, with a heavy overcast, high humidity, and threatening rain clouds. As experienced as Dad was, he had no way of knowing that the continual falling of barometric pressure was predicting a storm of fierce intensity moving past Kodiak Island and barreling down the Alaskan Gulf coast to make landfall in the vicinity of Sitka. Within an hour the wind freshened
from the northwest, then gradually i n creased in intensity until the waves formed by the wind and tide were confused with the swells from the west. We began pitching and r o l l i n g simultaneously. E v e r y t h i r d or f o u r t h breaker would send solid seas over our bow. The starboard rail was completely submerged under foaming seas. The storm-driven spindrift and driving rain had the velocity of a sandblasting gun, m o c k i n g weather-tight windows, skylights, and doors. But accumulations in the bilge were minimal. As the storm's intensity grew, Dad knew I was not safe. He got some light flexible slats fasten to the side of his bunk in the pilothouse where I was to remain in a lifejacket.
By now visibility was down to 50 yards. Marleita had to fight the wheel to keep us on course. I worshipped the deck that sister of mine stood on. A l l through that terrible storm she never once showed any fear. She was a natural born helmsman, anticipating the impact of each wave and steering accordingly. W h i l e Dad was busy checking our seaworthiness and lashing down everything cast adrift, our very lives were in Marleita's hands. I felt useless knowing that both Dad and Marleita were taking the brunt of the storm. There are many reasons why and how D a d survived this and other storms, always returning safely to port. His knowledge of seamanship was i n credible. But, how he was able to locate the sheltered cove on Krusof Island in a stormy pitch-black night without the aid of a radio, radar, fathometer, or loran remained a mystery to me even after I became a U.S. Navy navigator. After the first three days of trolling, the fleet filled the Leaders cargo hold to capacity with bright silver-dollar shiny giant K i n g Salmon, all carefully iced down. We made the short run into Sitka where the cold storage crew unloaded the salmon, washed down the hold, and loaded 3 tons of crushed ice. While in port, Dad took us ashore to show us the sights. We were fascinated 2
by the Russian architecture, especially the onion-domed features of the Russian Orthodox Church. Sitka was the original capitol before it was transferred to Juneau. We returned to the fishing grounds where we were once more quickly loaded down with freshly caught King Salmon. During those early years of trolling, salmon was plentiful and it didn't take long to fill the Leader's hold. Old timers w i l l recall some of the original highliners—Nash St. Martin, Frenchy Allen, and others—who trolled in weather too rough for others to venture out of port. We made our second delivery run into Sitka and headed back to Port Alexander to pick up a load of Kings. M a r l e i t a and I moved ashore with Mother and the children, while Blanche went with Dad on his next trip. During the summer Dad kept busy with the deliveries. The family spent our days hiking the shores, woods, and hills around the harbor, picking wild berries a n d collecting beautiful seashells. Our greatest enjoyment was beachcombing along the rugged exposed coast line of the west side of Baranof Island. The variety of objects that found their way to the ocean shores was amazing. We found giant Japanese glass fishnet balls, beach balls, and lifejackets. The summer passed all too swiftly. It was now near the end of August. Soon Marleita and Blanche would have to take the passenger steamer Northwestern from Ketchikan to Seattle, then a train back to their high school. There was much for us to do in breaking our camp for our trip home. Mother organized us into teams. Some packed clothing, others packed their personal belongings and souvenirs while Dad had the cargo hold of the Leader thoroughly cleaned and lined with new canvas tarps. Finally the berths and heater were installed. After moving back on board, Dad and the older girls dismantled the tents, floors, and boardwalks and stowed everything back on board. We weighed anchor and were underway about an hour before first light. We said our sad good-byes to the beautiful harbor of Port Alexander. The entire trip back was in calm seas with clear skies and no rain. So ended our Alaskan family vacation. — J . J . Davis
THE LAWLEY TENDER
WORKING TOGETHER
THE M.V. DICKSON
About 50,000 visitors come to CWB each year; 49,900 of them tell me they plan to build a classic wooden boat "some day." I think the "some day" syndrome exists partly because sitting in an overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace dreaming about boatbuilding is far more do-able than schlepping about in a shop and partly because most of us are scared witless about the whole process of putting pieces of wood together in a curvy shape that looks like it came from Nat Herreshoff's shop and doesn't leak a drop. That's why we provide workshops.
CWB is growing all the time. We have an expanded education program, an expanding repair worklist, and over 100 boats in the general collection, with projections of doubling the fleet in the next three to five years. With plans for a comprehensive repair and restoration facility still in the talking phase, shop and storage space has become critical. What to do? One short-term solution has been to appeal to neighbors and friendly associates for partial relief. The Seattle Times has made space available in one of their warehouse buildings. This is in addition to an earlier space they have been sharing with us for the past two years. (Three cheers for the Times!) Northwest Seaport has kindly allowed the temporary use of their new carpentry shop, which is currently being used by shipwright Kevin Kaiser to finish off our Comet sailboat. Schedules permitting, the Norwegian Jolle boat will get the full treatment next. Look for both these boats in the spring livery operation. This kind of site activity clearly demonstrates the kind of cooperation possible and necessary between CWB and its associates if we are to realize a Maritime Heritage Center at South Lake Union. From the shop window. . . Helen Lang and Nona Sullivan, still toiling away on the bank, recycling old concrete f i l l into l u s h greenery. The rhythm is interesting: stabilize, plant, stabilize, plant, take a break on an ocean cruise through the Panama Canal to the Caribbean, fly home, stabilize, plant, stabilize, plant, stabilize, plant. .. Our classic post-and-beam Pavilion on shore continues to evolve. It is now well lit, courtesy of Dave Erskine and his dad, Fred. It makes a perfect setting for our aboriginal canoe collection (native craft of the Caribbean San Blas Islands, Samoa, and Puget Sound). The bridge access to our new handicapped ramp was built by a crew from H u r l e n M a r i n e Construction. Joe Frauenheim found the bridge and had the crew install it—three days of heavy construction work freely given, crane and materials included. To finish, Dave E r s k i n e , L i n d a Stuckey and M i k e Caruso topped the shoreside landing with uprights and rails. Soon it will be ready for the ribbon cutting. Soon. Really. Trust me.. . —Tom Parker
Our Northeast Museum tour, October 20 - November 3, is history. We found our grades so high on the evaluation forms we suspected the tour guide, John Dickson, must have bribed the crew. But the notes attached to the evaluations indicate a clean and honest vote of acclaim. Here's a sample: "The stated purpose of the trip was to run us through as many museums in New Y o r k , C o n n e c t i c u t , Massachusetts, and Maine as possible, and J o h n D i c k s o n c e r t a i n l y did that! Probably my only criticism is that we (I) could have used another day off to see some of the famous places we were going by to get to the next museum." "One thing to make sure of on future trips is that everyone knows some of the hotels may be spartan. John makes extensive use of youth hostels—in Boston that was a 12X12' room with bunks for 6 people—4 flights up—for 4 days. We were all forewarned and nobody had a particular problem with it (except the 4 flights up, which wasn't John's fault). On the plus side I met students from England, France, Holland, Australia, New Zealand, Germany, Israel, and Japan. That is much more fun than staying in an expensive private hotel room. Also, expensive hotels every night would bump up the price." "My strongest impression was the way John flogged himself around on jammed freeways and through crowded city centers to get us where we wanted to go and show us the nautical wonders, sometimes tucked away under piers on the waterfront, that often only the natives know exist. One night we drove around Maine on back roads with i n adequate maps and road signs to find the WoodenBoat magazine estate, a farm at the end of a road that goes nowhere. But that's a whole 'nother story. The whole trip was very nearly the best $1200 I ever spent. —Dave Lefebvre
Last November 4 - 1 1 , five students who had never before built a boat left the security of their homes to build a sweet 1900-era lapstrake yacht tender. Maybe the students weren't scared of their mission, but in the first two days there was no conversation except for technical stuff, no joking, no smiles. By day three the backbone, stem and transom were fastened together and the planks were being hung. The shop atmosphere warmed up, and corny jokes began to bounce around like pingpong balls as the planking and clench nailing teams made visible progress and gained invisible confidence. Eric, the instructor, kept his "boy am I worried" face on, but he confided over a beer the evening of day three that the class was ahead of schedule. Sure enough, by the end of day eight, there was as fine a dinghy as one could i m a g i n e , v a r n i s h e d and ready to launch. Sunday, November 12, was perfect—bright sun, no wind, and warm as spring. The students, their families and friends looked as pleased as if they just graduated from Harvard. Maybe even happier, because now they knew what they could do with their minds and hands. Sorry, H a r v a r d . Maybe someday w e l l let you in on this tricky hand-mind education process. —Dick Wagner
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TRAVELS TO TAHITI, THE HARD WAY It occurred to me about 2 a.m., drawing deep steady breaths of 70° air, that if I survived the night without contributing to the already polluted Car¬ ribean, I might enjoy a steady diet of this kind of travel. Last Monday afternoon, John Tipp had stuck his head into my office and asked if I would like to help crew his boat back from Nassau to Fort Lauderdale. "Hell, yes" was my reaction. "You have to pay your own airfare and expen¬ ses." " O f course." "We're l e a v i n g Thursday night after work. Street Remley's navigator and Rick Herman's the other crew." "Count me i n . " "You serious? Don't you have to check with Dee?" "No, she'll understand." I mused over this exchange, leaning back against the main mast of Tipp's Dutch-built yawl, as we reached the top of a lazy 12-foot swell. The horizon, which I had lost sight of when I last went into the galley to mix another round of drinks in the dark, was like an abrupt termination of an inverted black bowl of stars. I had never before been so aware of living on a spheroid. The queasies finally left about dawn. Breakfast being my thing and wanting to redeem myself with my more stalwart crew members, I returned to the scene of the crime and proceeded to fry sausages and eggs for a l l . With an inch of hot grease surrounding a dozen bangers on a nongimbled stove, I was doing the galley two-step when the boat rang out with a dull gong-like sound. "What was that?" I yelled, as Rick jumped down from the cockpit. "Get up there, Jackson, and see what's going on!" He took the pan of scalding sausages and I popped my head out the hatch and looked to port into the eyes of an airborne, smiling dolphin. " H i ! Glad to see ya," he seemed to say in a Phil Silvers, aquatic way. A small pod of them were amusing themselves by diving into our bow wave and occasionally bumping the steel hull. I was hopelessly hooked. "Jesus Christ, this is living." Saturday night we passed a cruise ship—our sails full of moonlight. The music from her dance band overpowered the sea sound as she flashed her i l l u m i n a t e d n a m e — B e r m u d a Star—three times, a salute to our presence off her starboard. We must have been a pretty sight! I watched her pass. The fox trot faded out and we reentered the quiet whoosh of phosphorescent waves and that gaudy star stuff overhead. Early Sunday morning, my turn at
the helm, 0200 hours, I saw a man out for a walk. He was about 10° off our starboard bow. We must have been 50 miles from Fort Lauderdale. What was he doing out walking this far, at this time of night? And was he going to say hello? No, he was just going to walk by! I watched. As we passed, I turned, he did not. I thought, who the hell walks on water? "Rick, wake up. I just saw a guy walk by the boat!" Rick responded by opening his eyes and smiling slightly askew and proceeded to confide in me that he also had had some unnerving experiences. Just an hour before, while I was s l e e p i n g on his w a t c h , a Volkswagen had driven across our bow. We were both hallucinating from lack of sleep, having been awake since Thursday morning. We had partied in Miami that night and flew to Nassau Friday morning. Had trouble with the auxiliary, so we didn't get underway till 2300 hours. The four of us stayed awake the rest of that night and most of Saturday. By Sunday morning we were having some weird reactions, one of which got us in trouble with our navigator. Around 0400 we were sure the lights on the horizon were Fort Lauderdale. However, they were 15° off our starboard bow. Streeter's navigation was a bit off. Ricker and I decided to change course and head right for old Fort Lauderdale. About 0600, sleep refreshed, Remley climbed out onto the cockpit to assess the situation. To say he wasn't pleased is an understatement. The Gulf Stream's 2 mph movement northward that he had so carefully factored in hadn't occurred to us two landlubbers. Our estimated arrival at 0900 occurred around noon, after beating back South to our destination. This faux pas, however, didn't temper our salty swagger into the wash room at the marina. After all, hadn't we just crossed an ocean? I didn't realize at the time that those 49 hours would affect the rest of my life. On the flight back to Detroit I did a lot of thinking. I'd been around boats most of my life. Lots of friends owned them. Mostly racing boats. After two days in a fin keel, I knew I wanted a long, traditional keel. As a child I'd seen a number of gaff rigged boats and thought fondly of them. A matter of aesthetics, having no real experience with them. How to get a boat and go cruising without having boat payments or mortgages was now something I thought worth concentrating on. So for the next five or six years my interest increased. A subscription to National
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Fisherman added more fuel to the flame. There were numerous articles on boat building. Ferrocement was enjoying popularity. It seemed that if one had a vacant lot next door, hundreds of miles of rebar, and enough chicken wire to satisfy Colonel Sanders, one could gather half a dozen friends, a few six packs, and whip out a sixty-foot brigantine faster than you could say putty putty. The quest into this medium got me into the hold (hull) of a 65-foot Sampson Marine C-Witch floating in Lake Union. This all came about on a business trip. Dee was with me, and we sat with the gracious owners looking at the great grey vastness of the unfinished hull feeling as if we were inside some freeform septic tank. We also saw a delightful catboat that Jay Benford had done—a very small boat for ferro. Our return to Detroit was accompanied by the decision that concrete was not our thing. Besides, I've never liked panic parties, which cementing a forty footer all in one day would be. Our trip to Seattle did reveal one thing: Seattle would be a neat place to build a boat. In 1972 Roger Taylor started a series in National Fisherman on good cruising boats. He was resurrecting and reprinting long forgotten plans. One of these early articles was on Murray Peterson Coasters. At last here was a boat of the kind I had remembered from childhood. I read and reread the article. We went to the main library in Detroit and checked out early thirties yachting magazines to study Peterson's work first hand. Finally, I took the plunge and wrote to M r . Peterson. He sent me study prints for Coaster II and Coaster III along with a dozen or so old black and white snapshots of his boats. There followed more letters and some telephone calls and I decided on Coaster II. "Who's going to build her?" Murray asked. "We're going to build her ourselves." This was followed by a long pause. "Well, if it's a do-it-yourself project, I'll knock 10% off the price." I'm sure he thought "This damn fool never will build this boat" knowing as he did that the Coasters are about as hard a boat as one could pick to build. As a first boat it was a folly. Sheer folly. I sent my check for $900 and in a few weeks a mailing tube was delivered to 1100 St. A u b i n , a downtown townhouse. No vacant lot next door. No barn. No room whatsoever. So I set about to build a hull out of strips of balsa, 3/4" to the foot. My kids and their friends would snigger at me. Was I going to take it
into the bath? The quest was on to find a place to move to. One afternoon, sitting in my office (remember John Tipp?) talking on the phone to Guy Morrison, a photographer I hired frequently, he interrupted himself almost in midsentence, "Hey, have you ever been to Seattle?" " Y a , why?" "Did you like it?" "Ya, sure, what's not to like? Why are you asking?" "Well, my stepson—you remember Michael—is out there at McCann-Erickson, and they're looking for an art director with bank experience." This seemed too good to be true. Guy gave me the name of the man to call and I did. He was ready to hire someone but he would take a look at my book. I sent him twenty 35mm slides of my stuff and that week, walking to and from work with Dee, we both said, "Don't think about it. It's too good, it's not going to happen." But it did. Not only did it happen, but after hiring me, he suggested that we might like to live on Bainbridge Island. So a year after buying Coaster plans, we owned an acre on Bainbridge with a small beach and moorage rights. No house, no boatshop, but, oh, the space. That same year two other things happened. M u r r a y Peterson died and WoodenBoat Magazine started. Their very first issue, Volume 1, #1, had a eulogy to Peterson and my to-be boat, Coaster II, was on the cover. Things seemed to be falling into place. Dee and I, with the help of my mother, who'd moved with us, plus our son and two of his friends, and our daughter, got to work on the house. I designed the house, something I'd always wanted to do. By February '75 we were inside and out of the VW bus and the 10X10' tent we were living i n . Good practice for life aboard a boat, I thought. We'll never camp again. It would be two years before we got the boat shop up. The friends we were meeting during that time included V a n Hope and Patty L a n g l y who were b u i l d i n g Pacific Trader, a Falmouth cutter, and Jack and Irene Day. Jack was nearing com-
pletion of a .forty-foot Alden, Chapelle, Garden, Day combination Schooner Blue Jacket. These people proved i n valuable. Having no previous knowledge of boat building, I had not laid aside copious quantities of wood to air dry. So, rather than start with green stock, I checked out a company in south Seattle called Atlas Building Wreckers. They had acres of timbers stacked up outside. These had come out of pier 42 and 43 when they were razed to build the container dock. I borrowed an old flatbed and, like a k i d in a candy store, I jumped about from pile to pile putting my initials on as much clear stock as I could find. It is great fir—with one exception, the keel. In my ignorance, I got a piece with the heart in it. 8"X16"X 34'. We cut it down with a Swedish mill, adz and worm drive skill saw, hand sawing out the remaining inch in the center. 1 X 3 4 ' twice, port and starboard. Dee then cut the rabbet. Both sides. It was beautiful. B u t after a few weeks it corkscrewed. I was told by some that I could twist it out, build the boat, and it would be fine. I decided to scrap it. This almost cost me Dee's help forever. Back to Atlas for a piece devoid of any heart. This time in my '51 Ford, which I'd fitted out with a rack that gave me support at the front, middle, and back. The pickup was 16' long. The timber 32' long. 8' overhang at both ends. I didn't pass any police and as luck would have it the ferry people were more amused than upset. Dee, bless her heart, forgave me and redid the rabbet. Even better this time. Practice makes. . . Preceding this operation redo, of course, had been the lofting. A table 13'X48' painted flat white. It was great fun, lofting. I was comfortable with the medium. It was the largest drawing I had ever done. Fairly easy, actually. Station molds were also not too challenging. In retrospect, the areas I lacked information on were how best to assemble dead wood and large knees. Dee and I laminated the knee that sat on the aft of the keel. This was 5" thick and measured 9'6"X5X6'. This was glued up in half-inch boards. That knee and the transom, which was a combination lamination strip-planked piece were labor intensive and something I wouldn't do again. In fact in hindsight I would have hired a pro like I have now for one day a week or once a month consultation on construction techniques. Be that as it my, after finishing these laminations we eventually got the backbone set up. That was so rewarding. For about two years preceding this day, people would look around the cavernous shop and its stack of up-
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side down station molds, the keel, gripe, stem and assorted dead wood stacked up on each other, the 86 5-gallon buckets of tire weights, gathered over three years, 3 and 4 buckets at a time, and say, "I thought you were building a boat in here?" Well, now you could see the boat. The tire weights were now one solid lump of lead— 10,000 lbs. worth. A n d that was fun. After acquiring enough tire weights, I drove the '51 Ford pickup over to Black Diamond and brought back a half ton of coal. Borrowed and bought two cast iron bath tubs and arranged them on a box of gravel so the pour would be where the keel would stay. A l l I had to do was jack it up on the forward end after it was out of the mold. In order to get the weights into the bath tubs, I built an A-frame tower with a platform about 12' above the ground, with a hole in the middle large enough for the buckets to come through. At the top, above the hold, was a large block and the ropes ran down to a block at the base and from there out to the front of the shop where it was tied to a Datsun pickup that belonged to a friend. The morning of the pour, a Saturday, half a dozen f r i e n d s assembled. Lee Zarkaides, an advertising account executive, Chad K i r k , an architect, Rod Tagart, a tinkerer, Bennie McCaskill, a friend from Detroit and the only one with any experience, h a v i n g once worked in a lead factory, Dee, and I. Lee drove the pickup. She would drive forward about 12', stop, then back up and stop. She did this 86 times. Chad, who was the second oldest, insisted on hooking the buckets to the line, even though this involved real hernia-producing posture. A 5-gallon bucket of lead weighs about 150 lbs. It's a lot like trying to lift a fire plug. Bennie and Rod volunteered for bathtub duty—Bennie arranging the lead as it came down the chute and Rod using a couple of vacuum cleaners to blow the coal fires into the proverbial inferno. I, literally, had the catbird seat. Standing atop the tower, tipping the buckets into the chute. A great place to oversee this medieval looking operation. After a few hours, the cruddy-looking piles of weights were turning into rivers of mercury-like l a v a . 621° soup. A very strange phenomenon, when one's used to steel things sinking to the bottom of liquids, is to shovel off the top of the molten lead bone-dry dust piles of steel clips and other debris. We filled seven or eight buckets with this stuff. A few weeks l a t e r , these buckets afforded me another amusing new experience. —Roy Jackson [To be continued...]
CALENDAR OF EVENTS
CLASSIFIED SECTION
J a n u a r y 19 (Friday) CWB M O N T H L Y M E E T I N G 8 p.m., C W B B o a t House Fred Sundt will give a talk on how he and his boatbuilder son, Biorn, resurrected a whole fleet of classic Norwegian sailing boats—the 22-foot Kutters. Fred will also talk about the galleon replica he is planning to build.
W A N T E D : 3 or 4 sailors (skiers.. .) to get together occasionally to take turns playing the piano to share a little jazz, blues. . . Intermediate ability for openers, though tolerant experts are welcome! Could be fun and who knows: maybe the formation of Fleet 88! E. Terry Dalton; leave name, address, phone at 882-1120. P.S.: PFD's and foulies not required equipment!
F e b r u a r y 16 (Friday) CWB M O N T H L Y M E E T I N G 8 p.m., C W B B o a t House Scott Rohrer, professional racing sailor, will tell sea stories about international racing and wooden racing boats in the world of fiberglass. Wooden boats he has sailed recently include the Six Meter Razzia Dazzle and the Peterson 41 Challenger. M a r c h 16 (Friday) CWB M O N T H L Y M E E T I N G 8 p.m., C W B B o a t House E r i c Dow, who w i l l conduct the Maine Peapod Workshop, March 17-24, will give a slide talk on wooden boatbuilding along the Maine coast today. A p r i l 14 (Saturday) CWB M O N T H L Y M E E T I N G ( N O T E : D i f f e r e n t day t h i s m o n t h only) 7:30 p.m., C W B B o a t H o u s e "Poling and Paddling in the Northeastern United States." Besides being the premier builder of wood-and-canvas canoes, Jerry Stelmok uses his canoes and takes beautiful pictures of his adventures. Jerry, who will be in Seattle t e a c h i n g the M a i n e G u i d e Canoe Workshop at C W B , has offered to share his slides with us. A p r i l 2 9 (Sunday) SPRING REGATTA 10 a.m. ' t i l 6 p.m., C W B Site It's show-and-tell time for small boats—yours and ours. The Regatta is a sharing of boats and ideas on building, maintaining, and handling. There will rowing and sailing races beginning at noon and a potluck lunch, which will feature a chili contest judged by popular acclaim.
F O R S A L E : 1936 31' sedan cruiser. Built in Oak Harbor. Rebuilt Chrysler engine. H u l l O K ; interior needs major cosmetic work. In Seattle. Best offer. Rosanne, wk: 282-3001; hm: 284-5065.
S A M P A N - S T Y L E houseboat Lillie is for sale. Lillie was in the last two C W B Festivals; a comfortable home with all amenities (and a few luxuries); a darn good boat, too! $47,500. Brooke Elgie, 357-4556
POULSBO—15-FOOTERrestored in the late 70s; went to Alaska one summer. Down here in the Gorge there aren't a lot of places really to use her. I'm not sure I am ready to give her up, but I can't properly maintain her either. So I am looking for a creative solution. Anyone like to be half-owner? Or work on her in exchange for. ..? Or any other ideas? She's basically sound. No engine (I use a Seagull) and a sprit sail. She's on a trailer in good shape. Second question: anyone have a Drascombe for sale up that way? Jane Miles, 6805 Hwy 30, The Dalles, OR 97058, 503-478-3706.
NW SEAPORT EVENTS M o n t h l y concerts of sea music aboard the 1897 schooner W A W O N A , moored alongside the Center for Wooden Boats. A l l on Saturdays, 8:00 p.m. Adults $4.50; children $2.50; family $10. January 27: Mark Bridgham February 24: Chris Roe and Andrea Aldridge For more information, call Colleen, Northwest Seaport, 206-447-9800. 6
MARINE SKILLS WORKSHOPS L E A R N T O "SAIL NOW" 12 noon, every S a t u r d a y C W B Boat House Fee: $75 per person (five lessons) Learn to sail our classic boats in five easy lessons. One hour of classroom work and four hours hands-on instruction. Begin any Saturday, space permitting. Max: 4. Call for reservations. LOFTING WORKSHOPS 8:30 a.m. ' t i l 5:30 p.m. each day (Saturday a n d Sunday) F e b r u a r y 3 & 4; or A p r i l 7 & 8; or J u n e 2 & 3; or A u g u s t 4 & 5; or October 6 & 7 Fee: $100/$110 Draft scale line drawings of a 12-foot dinghy from a table of offsets, followed by a full-sized loft. Be able to read plans and understand the arcane mysteries of bevels, rabbet lines, deductions, and construction drawings. Highly recommended as a prerequisite for our boatbuilding workshops. Max: 6. USE OF POLYURETHANE ADHESIVES J a n u a r y 27 & F e b r u a r y 3 (Sat.) 9 a.m. ' t i l 12 n o o n each day Fee: $30/$35 Instructor: P e r r y Munson Demonstrations and hands-on i n struction in the wide scope of uses of the new breed of sealants/adhesives, i n cluding speedy and effective techniques. Max: 6. INTRODUCTION TO METALLURGY F e b r u a r y 17 (Saturday) 10 a.m. ' t i l 3 p.m. Fee: $20/$25 I n s t r u c t o r : Prof. P a u l F o r d Kinds and properties of alloys. Heat treatment for ferrous and non-ferrous metals. Helpful for anyone doing forging or casting and especially for the casting workshop which follows. SAND CASTING AND FOUNDRY TECHNIQUES M a r c h 3 a n d M a r c h 10 (Saturdays) 10 a.m. ' t i l 3 p.m. e a c h day Fee: $40/$50 Instructor: Prof. P a u l F o r d Basic foundry know-how w i l l be covered in the first session. Students will cast simple forms. The second session will involve more complex casting. Students will learn how to build a cheap but effective foundry.
MARINE SKILLS WORKSHOPS
MARINE SKILLS WORKSHOPS
MARINE SKILLS WORKSHOPS
TRADITIONAL RIGGING FUNDAMENTALS March 17 (Saturday) 10 a.m. 'til 5 p.m. Fee: $40/$45 Instructor: James White The chief rigger of the barque Elissa restoration w i l l conduct a series of traditional rigging workshops. Take one, some, or all. This first one covers rigging theory, fiber and wire rope construction and care, tools, knots, bends, whippings and hitches, rig design and materials, rig tuning, and setting up deadeyes and lanyards. Max: 12.
MARLINSPIKE SKILLS April 7 (Saturday) 10 a.m. 'til 5 p.m. Fee: $40/$45 Instructor: James White Instruction on grommets, wire and fiber seizings, decorative knots, and fancy ropework coverings. Max: 12.
FANCY B E L L R O P E S AND LANYARDS April 21 & A p r i l 28 (Saturdays) 10 a.m. 'til 3 p.m. each day Fee: $60/$70 Instructor: James White Students will make a multistrand bellrope, Matthew Walker's, Star, W a l l , and Crown knots, coach whipping, fancy hitches, and Turk's-Head. Maximum of six students.
BUILDING A MAINE PEAPOD March 17 through 24 8:30 a.m. 'til 5 p.m. each day (Launching March 25) Fee: $500/$550 Instructor: Eric Dow U n d e r the guidance of an experienced Maine boatbuilder, build a carvel planked Peapod. Dow has built 20 of this seaworthy type and has conducted many boatbuilding workshops at the WoodenBoat School. Woodworking experience necessary. Max: 8. WIRE AND FIBER SPLICING March 24 and March 31 (Saturdays) 10 a.m. 'til 5 p.m. each day Fee: $80/$90 Instructor: James White Care and construction of fiber and wire rope, safe working loads, wire rope Liverpool eye splice, fiber rope eye, short and long splices, wire-to-rope tail splice. Max: 6. INTRODUCTION TO J A P A N E S E HAND TOOLS AND THEIR SHARPENING March 30 (Friday) 7 p.m. 'til 10 p.m. Fee: $15/$20 Instructor: Dale Brotherton A talk and demonstration of the classic hand tools of Japan. The instructor apprenticed in Japanese temple carp e n t r y a n d has done t r a d i t i o n a l Japanese residential carpentry. T H E JOYS OF BRIGHTWORK April 3,4, and 5 (T, W, and Th) 7:00 p.m. 'til 9:00 p.m. each day Fee: $30/$35 Instructor: Rebecca Wittman A pro tells you all about the do's-andÂŹ don't's of brightwork. Session I is about stripping off; session II on surface prep; session III on laying it on.
HOW TO M A K E A STRIP P L A N K E D KAYAK April 7 (Saturday) 9:00 a.m. 'til 3:00 p.m. Fee: $25/$30 Instructor: Prof. Paul Ford The instructor has built several kayaks in the strip plank method and in a seminar format will give students the information needed to make their own kayak. BUILDING T H E MAINE GUIDE CANOE April 14 -19 (Sat. through Th.) 8:30 a.m. 'til 5:00 p.m. daily Fee: $360/$400 Instructor: Jerry Stelmok B u i l d a classic canvas-on-wood canoe & paddles. Jerry Stelmok, of Maine, is the premier builder of this type of canoe, which dates from 100 years ago. He has written the definitive book on canvas and wood canoe building and has taught several classes. Woodworking experience required. Max: 6. ROPE STROPPED BLOCKS April 14 (Saturday) 10 a.m. 'til 5 p.m. Fee: $60/$70 Instructor: James White Each student will make a block for 3/8" line, involving serving, seizing, and making a grommet or short spliced strop. Maximum of six students. INTRODUCTION TO WOODWORKING, F O R WOMEN April 21 (Saturday) 9 a.m. 'til 5 p.m. Fee: $40/$45 Instructor: Charlie Mastro Designed to melt away fears and anxieties about making wooden things. Students will learn sharpening, maintenance, techniques of using hand tools, and basic wood joining. Mastro is a professional cabinetmaker with the personality of everyone's favorite uncle. Class limit is six.
R O P E F E N D E R S AND MATS May 5 (Saturday) 10 a.m. 'til 5 p.m. Fee: $40/$45 Instructor: James White Students will learn Eye Splice, Wall and Crown knots, serving, overhand grafting, Turk's-Head, Carrick Bend, and Ocean plait. Maximum 12 students. Each student will take home a rope fender. DITTY B A G AND LANYARD May 12 (Saturday) 10 a.m. 'til 5 p.m. Fee: $40/$45 Instructor: James White This project involves making a flat seam, round seam, and roping seam ( s a i l m a k i n g stitches), M a t t h e w Walker's, Turk's-Head, Nelson plait, and flat seizing. Each student will take home a ditty bag with lanyard. Maximum of 12 students. LINES TAKING AND DRAFTING WORKSHOP June 22 - 24,1990 (Friday afternoon; all day Saturday and Sunday) Fee: $150 Instructor: Dave Dillion A course for accurate documentation of historic watercraft. Includes "reading" the artifact, measuring, plotting the notes, fairing lines, and drafting. The aim is to provide background and training for museum professionals, historians, and students and professionals involved with maritime preservation. Dillion is the nation's only full-time boat documentation specialist. Class is limited to twelve students.
N O T E : Fees represent memÂŹ ber/nonmember cost. $100 deposit required on boatbuilding classes. 7
IN MEMORY OF CHARLES OLSHESKI "Charlie is the Stradivarius of boatbuilders," Dan Dygert declared with chin jutting out. No one has disputed this statement. Charlie Olsheski was regarded by boatbuilders and designers as one of the masters. Dan Dygert's judgment was strong enough he commissioned Charlie to build the halibut schooner Lady Olga. B i l l Garden designed that vessel, the last one ever built, and he too has fond memories of Charlie. I first saw Charlie a bit over ten years ago. It was a fine spring day at the O l d Boathouse, and Professor L y n n Smith of the University of Washington was taking his naval architecture class on a field trip. An old guy was among the flock of dewy-faced students. I figured he was tagging along to listen to my two-bit remarks. You couldn't miss him. It was not that he was 50 years older than the child-students. It was his presence. You've seen it in the pioneer photos of Greatgrandfather Josh, leaning against the log cabin, looking alert, curious, and serenely confident. That, and a chest that reminded me of an oak wine barrel, was Charlie.
It turned out he wasn't tagging along. He was taking the class. Retirement to Charlie meant he could now do all the fun things he didn't have time for in his boatbuilding days. C h a r l i e came back to the O l d Boathouse and before long he was right in the thick of the planning sessions of the Center for Wooden Boats. He was a charter Board Member. He became i n volved with everything from giving time-earned advice to building exhibit panels. One meeting involved a heated discussion on the fine points of a caulking mallet. Charlie, as usual, just listened. He went home, built one, and next meeting set it on the table without a word. It was art: black mesquite head, tapered steel rings, the whole works. The gang hefted it, tapped it on a caulking iron and said something like "Yup, that's a fine mallet." It was Charlie's way—listen, judge, and then do it. And he made another point by giving it to Colleen, my wife, who was the only one who hadn't offered opinions on the quintessential caulking mallet. She was listening. Get it?
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Charlie offered to come down to the Center when his knee wasn't hurting and show us how to build a typical Lake Union skiff. A letter just came from his wife, Hazel: "Charles died Thanksgiving morning. He had his arthritic knee replaced so he could get around and attend some of your meetings when it healed. Everything was healing—but his heart." We have some nice boats down here that Charlie loved. I propose to restore one in his memory. Please send donations to help keep alive the spirit of Charles Olsheski—a world-class boatbuilder and human being. —Dick Wagner