Sandy Buxton and Todd Skoog enjoy an early evening row in TINKER, their Matinicus double-ender built by Walter Simmons of Lincolnville Beach, Maine.
Like water finding its own level, those who are familiar with wooden boats seem to be drawn to the Matinicus double-ender, built by Walter Simmons. Designed over a century ago for fishing, she represents the finest kind of Maine workboats. The boat has a length overall (LOA) of 15′ 6″ and a 4′ 5 3⁄4″ beam. She moves easily and rises to meet seas without pounding. It’s no wonder that she was chosen to grace the cover of the book, Boats, Oars, and Rowing, written by R.D. “Pete” Culler, an icon of the boatbuilding trade.
In an age when many designers and builders are out to “push the envelope” and “revolutionize the industry,” designer and builder Walter Simmons carries on, honoring many of the old ways of doing things. He has been building the Matinicus double-ender for years, using molds passed on to him from the family of Merrill Young, one of a long line of boatbuilders and fishermen who lived on Matinicus Island, off midcoast Maine.
In boatbuilding circles, Simmons is known for writing several books, including works on lapstrake boat-building, a traditional type of construction in which planks (strakes) overlap, appearing somewhat like the laps of a clapboard house. Lapstrake construction makes a strong hull, since the laps themselves—about 3⁄4″ wide in this case—add strength to the hull.
The term double-ender is applied to a variety of boat types. Simmons refers to his model as a double-ender (rather than a peapod, or anything else, for that matter) because the Youngs referred to her that way, so whether technically correct, a bow to her heritage, or both, she is a double-ender.
Karen Wales
Boatbuilder Todd Skoog added stemhead details to each of TINKER’s stems.
There are two keel versions of the boat: one with a T-shaped keel that Simmons builds exclusively and one with a two-part plank keel that he both builds and offers in plan form to other builders. I was invited to row and to ride in a Simmons-built double-ender (T-shaped keel model) owned by Todd Skoog and Sandy Buxton.
Todd is a professional boatbuilder and Sandy has lifelong experience on the water; she has even co- owned and worked on a couple of sardine carriers. With the vast boatbuilding and boating knowledge that exists between these two, it is high praise that they would choose to buy a boat rather than build one themselves—but no surprise that they would settle on this one. They’ve named her TINKER.
Karen Wales
The Matinicus double-ender weighs about 130-145 lbs. Though this is not a lightweight boat, two people can load and unload it from a trailer.
She tracks beautifully. After a few pulls on the oars, momentum begins to carry her in calm water like a large and happy fish awakening from slumber, propelling into the morning’s hunt. She never feels tippy or corky. Imagining what it might be like to have a child aboard (or to be one), I stood up, sat down, turned around, rowed, sat back, and sometimes shifted my weight without warning. TINKER never wavered or gave fright.
As mentioned, TINKER is the model with the T-shaped keel. This type of keel receives its garboard planks (the lowermost planks in the boat and the first ones to be installed during the building process) by way of a rabbet that is cut along the keel’s length.
Benjamin Mendlowitz
Descended from a long line of workboats, these striking lapstrake double-enders are often very long-lived, partly because of the pride they instill in their owners.
The plank keel, as it sounds, is flat—like a plank. In cross-section, it is wider than it is deep. In construction, garboard planks are fitted to bevels that are cut along the length of the plank keel’s bottom. The edges of the garboard and the bottom of the plank keel are then protected by a second, outer keel-type piece (called a shoe in the plans), which covers the bottom of the plank keel and butts against the garboards. The plank keel allows for the easy installation of a centerboard trunk if the builder wants to rig the boat for sailing. It also gives nice footroom in the bottom of the boat. I envision how helpful this flat sole might have been to fishermen of old as they hauled their lobster pots or otherwise stood while handlining for fish. Simmons has drawn remarkably well-detailed plans for the Matinicus double-ender—plans that carry the mark of experience.
There are other boats in this family. One notable design is John Gardner’s Matinicus Peapod, which, due in part to the name, is sometimes confused with Simmons’s Matinicus double-ender. A comparison of the plans of both boats shows some significant differences. Simmons’s boat is a full 6″ longer (15′ 6″ to Gardner’s 15′ LOA), yet has a smaller beam (4′ 5 3⁄4″ compared to Gardner’s 4′ 6 3⁄4″). The biggest difference is that while the Gardner boat is symmetrical about the ’midship section (she is the same fore and aft), Simmons’s boat is not. The aft sections of the Matinicus double-ender are finer than those forward, and the stern profile is not the same as the bow.
Walter Simmons
Unlike many other double-ended rowboats of this size, the Matinicus double-ender’s hull is not symmetrical fore and aft. This, combined with her different bow and stern profiles, makes a very pleasing and interesting hull that will always be a joy to use.
Although Gardner mentions a plank keel in his write-up, his plans show a rectangular keel topped by a narrow keel batten, while Simmons’s show details for the wider plank keel described earlier. Finally, the Gardner Peapod was designed for rowing and her plans show none of the sailing rig details such as the mast, sprit, sail, rudder, centerboard and aforementioned centerboard trunk. These details are all completely spelled out in Simmons’s plans.
This would be a fine boat for any serious builder to take on. Lapstrake planking makes this a particularly good choice because it does not require as much time to swell as carvel planking. It is a workboat in the true sense of the word. No flash, no varnish needed. Her charm is all in her lines and in her performance.
While it may seem that boaters and boatbuilders with a more experienced eye are drawn to this design, they are not an exclusive club. Almost anyone can own this boat. Plans are builder-friendly and the finished product is a down-to-earth pleasure with enduring quality. Like Walt Simmons himself, she’s the real deal.
Matinicus Double-Ender Particulars
LOA: 15′ 6″
Beam: 4′ 5 3/4″
Weight: 140 lbs
Plans and finished boats are available from Duck Trap Woodworking, P.O. Box 88, Lincolnville Beach, Maine 04849, 207-789-5363.
Check Out These Other Duck Trap Offerings
Ready for more boats from the mind of Walter Simmons? We’ve profiled a few you might enjoy.
Sliding-seat rowing is a great exercise; it is good for building strength in the muscles and flexibility in the joints. Racing shells are fast, but they require a refined technique and smooth water, so for recreation we’d enjoy rowing more in a boat that offers a bit of stability and seakeeping ability without giving up a lot of speed. Ruth, Dave Gentry’s rowing wherry, is 18′ long and while it has a maximum beam of 33″, it’s appreciably narrower at the waterline. Those dimensions add up to a good turn of speed. Its light weight, 45 lbs, will be quick to accelerate and reward good rowing technique.
Skin-on-frame construction keeps the weight low. The keel, chines, and gunwales that support the fabric skin take their shape from the six plywood frames. The keel and the lower chines give the hull a shallow-V cross section, and combined with the skeg they give Ruth good tracking abilities. The transom sits well above the waterline so the underwater shape of the hull is fine at both ends. There’s a thwart for a passenger in the stern and it’s set at the aft frame, not at the transom, to keep the additional weight close to the center of the boat. The aft ends of the chines, spread apart by the transom, contribute some reserve buoyancy to keep the boat in proper trim if you choose to take a friend along. Floorboards slipped through slots in the frames provide a place to step aboard.
Dave Gentry
Ruth, the Dave Gentry rowing wherry, is 18′ long and while it has a maximum beam of 33″, it’s appreciably narrower at the waterline. Those dimensions add up to a good turn of speed.
The wherry will take a drop-in sliding-seat rowing rig with outriggers. The plans show a Piantedosi rig bolted in place for rowing, and make the attachment easy to take apart. It’ll be a lot easier to car-top the boat and carry it to the water’s edge without the extra weight and width of the rowing rig. The plans provide the option for fixed-thwart rowing with simple plywood outriggers. They only need to be about 11″ long to provide a good span between a set of standard oarlocks to suit 7′ oars.
Skin-on-frame construction is very economical and with the money you can save building a Ruth, paying for a sliding-seat rowing rig and a pair of sculls is not going to make a big dent in your checking account.
DESCRIPTION
Hull type: Round-bottomed, transom sterned
Construction: Skin on frame
PERFORMANCE
Suitable for protected waters
Intended capacity: 1-2
Cartoppable or trailerable
Propulsion: Oars
BUILDING DATA
Skill needed: Basic
Lofting required: No
PLANS DATA
No. of sheets: 1
Supplemental information: 22 pages
Level of Detail: Above average
Plans Format: Print or Digital
Cost per set: $65
Completed Ruth Wherry Images
Jim Dumser
The author’s Ruth is rigged with a homebuilt rowing rig for solo rowing and is without floorboards and a seat for a passenger. A False transom covers the edges of the fabric skin for a tidier appearance.
Kyla Dumser
While this Ruth isn’t equipped with a seat for a passenger, the reserve buoyancy created by the transom will support the additional weight without putting the hull well out of trim.
Originally designed for racing in Marblehead, Massachusetts, the Baybird Sloop by W. Starling Burgess found a true home in the summer sailing camps on Cape Cod’s Pleasant Bay beginning in the 1920s.
Originally designed for junior racing at the Corinthian Yacht Club in Marblehead, Massachusetts, the Baybird Sloop was a product of the restlessly creative naval architect W. Starling Burgess (see WoodenBoat Nos. 71–74). The Marblehead sailors, however, soon found that the very flat sheer Burgess drew for the gaff-headed sloop made the boat a wet ride in their blustery home waters. The type was, fair to say, less than successful—until sailors in the thin waters of Pleasant Bay on Cape Cod bought 20 or 30 of the boats (the story varies) and brought them down from Marblehead. This group fanned the embers, and soon the Baybird’s popularity was ablaze, especially in summer sailing camps in the shallow bays centered on the elbow of the Cape.
The flame never fully extinguished in the ensuing decades, and the Baybird’s modern supporters fervently hope it will soon undergo a second rekindling with a return to wooden construction. The pretty towns of Chatham, Harwich, and Orleans are surrounded by a tangle of bays, and people here take a keen interest in preserving the lifestyle of Cape Cod. Their love for this area is evident, and by some alchemy the Baybird tradition has become bound together with it.
The shallow and sandy waters are ringed with salt marshes and sinewy channels leading to hidden ponds. It can blow here, but winds can be temperamental and fluky. The bottom is rarely out of sight: it isn’t uncommon to see sailors jump overboard so they can push a boat grounded on a bar off to deeper water. The waters are protected, however, so the Baybird’s flat sheer seems to be no issue. A centerboard and kick-up rudder give the boat 6″ of draft, making the type an excellent choice for daysailing and racing here.
Katherine Mehls
Suzanne Leahy of Pleasant Bay Boat and Spar Company in South Orleans, Massachusetts, built a new cold-molded Baybird in 2010, hoping to rekindle an interest in wooden-hulled boats of the class.
Boatbuilder Suzanne Leahy, who grew up in Marblehead, discovered Baybirds after moving to Orleans from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in 1993. Possessed of the wiry energy of a coiled spring, the former sculptor (she holds a master of fine arts degree from the University of Pennsylvania) found boatbuilding—sculpture come to life—by working as a volunteer with John Brady at the Independence Seaport Museum in Philadelphia. She fell for it hard. Then, after a vacation to Cape Cod, she planned a way to forge her boatbuilding experience and the Cape into a new lifestyle for herself. Then she “met someone,” moved to Orleans, tried finding work in boatyards, and ended up working five years in a hardware store—a great way to get to know the locals. She later started a business, now called Pleasant Bay Boat and Spar Company, focusing primarily on wooden boat building and restoration but also on hollow spar and flagpole construction. Along the way, she became active in the Friends of Pleasant Bay and later was instrumental in restoring a historic Coast Guard 36′ motor lifeboat (see WoodenBoat No. 212). Boats, the Baybird among them, became as important to her as the Cape itself.
“I was meeting people who talked to me about the Baybird, but I hadn’t noticed it at all,” she said. “This is the story of my life—I just stumble into these things.”
In 2010, she built STARLING, the first new wooden Baybird sloop in more decades than anybody can remember, maybe even since the original boats were built at Marblehead.
Katherine Mehls
The Baybird STARLING, named after her designer, is a comfortable racing daysailer for a skipper and crew. The teamwork involved in sailing it is what made the type so great for use in Pleasant Bay’s numerous sailing camps—and her builder hopes to revive that use.
She took the lines off the Cape’s only surviving wooden example, PURA VIDA. (The only other known wooden survivor is in Maine.) She faired them to what she and other Baybird aficionados believe to be as accurate a reflection of Burgess’s original design as can be attained, since the original plans are lost. At the same time, she joined others in launching a new Baybird Class Association to nurture the type and control its specifications.
Leahy hopes her cold-molded version will help to revive one part of Cape Cod’s history by steering more sailors toward wooden-hull heritage. Because this is a one-design class, requiring tight control over specifications, the association has granted Leahy the exclusive right to build the type; plans aren’t available for purchase.
Tom Jackson
With two halyards for the gaff-rigged main and one halyard for the jib, the Baybird’s rig is uncomplicated.
It was probably wise of Leahy and the nascent association to permit modern methods and materials, as they have done, to bring the boat into a new century. STARLING is cold-molded, using an inner 3 ⁄8″ layer of white cedar strip planking followed by two 1⁄8″ veneer layers of Spanish cedar on opposing diagonals for a
total thickness of 5⁄8″. The hull, very fair and stiff, is sheathed inside and out with Dynel set in epoxy. The deck is 1⁄2″ okoume plywood, also sheathed in Dynel in
epoxy. The white cedar side seats are comfortable, with a low coaming of laminated mahogany making hiking out easy and comfortable when necessary. The cedar floorboards make an unobstructed cockpit, easy to move around in and providing many ways to shift crew weight to find the right balance.
The centerboard trunk is neatly trimmed with mahogany, and a wooden mainsheet jam cleat is mounted on its aft end. Inside, however, the centerboard is made of 1″ ultrahigh molecular-weight plastic faired to a foil in cross-section.
Tom Jackson
A bronze gooseneck fitting clamps around the hollow Douglas-fir mast, avoiding holes for fastenings.
The rig, too, is modernized, with the mast built hollow using the bird’s-mouth method of fitting together staves for glue-up (see WoodenBoat No. 149). The standing rigging is high-tech, low-stretch synthetic line. The boom is intentionally left solid, adding a bit of weight to the foot of the sail. The gaff, however, is hollow, and instead of wooden jaws it has a saddle, a carbon-fiber lamination that allows the gaff to slide up and down the mast. The boom’s gooseneck fitting is cast bronze using straps that encircle the mast and therefore don’t require fastening holes bored into the spar’s lovely bright-finished Douglas-fir.
I sailed with Leahy in August on the first day of the annual Arey’s Pond Catboat Gathering, in waters she has come to know well. I had sailed with her first at The WoodenBoat Show at Mystic Seaport with not enough time, not enough wind, and too many boats, after which I formed an idea to join her again in the sloop’s home waters, which I’d never seen. Here, the Baybird shone. In the shifting winds of Pleasant Bay, we tacked easily, dodging the shoals—most of the time.
Tom Jackson
A purpose-made mainsheet jam cleat on the after edge of the centerboard trunk is handsome and works well.
Leahy has a fine eye and has built a fine boat. The boat has all the hallmarks of a classic daysailer—comfortable to handle, fast, nimble, and placing a premium on the teamwork of a skipper and crew who know each other and their boat well and sail often. It tacks easily, is responsive, and has a very well-balanced helm. It’s unusual these days to see gaff rig on a boat of this size, but it is powerful and close-winded enough to surprise many a dinghy racer. The boat is a joy to sail. Such boats tell what they need, and an attentive crew quickly learns to listen.
Old-time sailors tell Leahy that they sail the boats very flat, not even inducing heel in light airs, as is commonly done on light racing dinghies. They keep crew weight far forward, and they don’t strap the mainsail in too tight. In the camps, “they were never allowed to bring the boom in over the stern quarter—that was a rule, and even farther outboard was better,” Leahy said. They also used about 80 lbs of lead ballast in the boat, and told her that they remembered adding more ballast in the camps to account for the fact that their sailors were young and light. Racing against one boat in the hands of an old-time skipper, “we were watching them fly. That’s the only way to sail them. It’s completely not rational. It defied reason. The sail was old, full of holes, but the guy was flying. I was trying everything to catch him.”
Suzanne Leahy
Suzanne Leahy took the lines off one of the last two surviving wooden Baybird boats to reconstruct W. Starling Burgess’s original design, plans for which do not survive. She and others also formed the Baybird Class Association, with the intent of reviving the type and keeping control over its specifications. Plans for the type are not for sale; Leahy is the sole builder authorized by the association.
The beauty of racing, and the reason why it is such a great teaching tool, is its instant feedback on experimentation, not to mention the way it teaches people the mental habit of paying constant attention with ease. The Baybird is an excellent platform for that kind of sailing and that kind of learning, which is why the type took off so well in the sailing camps of the Cape.
“Because so many people learned sailing there, they have memories of what the bay used to be like,” Leahy said. “It was in them to try to keep the bay like this forever. The memories they’ve described to me were just magical.” Some families have summered here for four generations, and sailing catboats and gaff-rigged sloops has always been part of their lives. May it always be so.
Pleasant Bay Boat and Spar Company, P.O. Box 1174, 80 Rayber Rd., Orleans, MA 02653; 508–240–0058. The website also has information about the Baybird Class Association. Note: Google lists the company as Permanently Closed
Katherine Mehls
During the annual Arey’s Pond Catboat Gathering, held each August on Pleasant Bay, Baybirds—most of them ‘glass—are active participants. Supporters hope more gaff-rigged wooden boats of the type will help Cape Cod hold on to what they see as an important part of the area’s historical legacy.
Charles Wittholz recommends rigging this catboat with the gaff sail.
Here is an easily built small boat with a big heart. A seaworthy daysailer or vest-pocket cruiser, Corvus (named for the constellation known to mariners as the
“gaff-rigged mainsail”) has the look of a traditional Cape Cod catboat with tumblehome stem, a beam of almost half her length, and a “barn-door” rudder on her stern. She has room for six adults in her 7′ -long cockpit, and there’s a “head” in her small cabin. Some builders have extended the trunk cabin a bit in order to fit in two berths for cruising. A few other boats have been built without any cabins at all for use as open daysailers. For auxiliary power, a small out board can be mounted on the stern, or an inboard engine can be installed. (There’s information on one of the drawings for this latter option.)
The head and stores occupy the cuddy.
Corvus is designed for planking with 3/8″ plywood over eight sawn frames. She’s well thought out for amateur construction; the plans contain better-than-average detail and even show how to fit Corvus with an outside ballast keel, if you’d prefer that over a centerboard. While her designer recommends the conventional gaff mainsail, there is an alternate lug rig shown having a considerably shorter mast-a special requirement for one boat that had to pass underneath a bridge on her way to open water.
Wittholz 15 sheer plan. Lots of shape for sheet plywood.
These boats make delightful daysailers because they sail at a small angle of heel, and the centerboard version can be used where the water is but knee-deep.
Plans for the Wittholz Catboat design come in seven sheets, including sail plans, spar and rigging details, lines and offsets, construction plan, keel construction details, inboard profile and arrangement. WB Plan No. 47. $75.00.
BUILDING DATA
Skill needed: Intermediate
Lofting required: Yes
Alternative construction: None
PLANS DATA
No. of sheets: 7
Level of detail: Above average
Cost per set: $75.00
WB Plan No. 47
Completed 14′ 11″ Wittholz Catboat Images
Asli Iskeceli
We christened the boat GAVIIDAE (from the Latin genus, Gavia, and family, Gaviidae, for members of the loon species) and sail her on both lake and Gulf Coast waters. Her large sail moves her in all but the slightest of breezes, and the 3-hp Torqueedo 1103 gives us good auxiliary power when the wind fails completely, or we’re maneuvering alongside a dock or into a ramp.
Asli Iskeceli
The plans offer lug or gaff sail plans. We chose the latter and have found the boat to be responsive, stable, and remarkably close winded.
Rumor has it, spring is on the way. I say “rumor has it” because here in Maine—tucked up in the far northeast corner of the United States—this last weekend of March has brought snow. A week ago, we were in shirtsleeves being tricked into such conversations as “Shall we pull the boat out of the garage and do some work on it?” Even yesterday, despite the wind and a forecast of snow, the sky was cloudless, the temperature hovered somewhere in the 50s, and the central heat barely kicked in. But here we are, the last Saturday in March, and we have woken to two inches of snow on the ground and more still falling from a leaden sky.
As a recent import to these shores—I moved here nearly 20 years ago from southwest England where the thermometer rarely dipped below freezing—I have always been fascinated by winter, and snow in particular. I enjoy those harsh days when the air is so dry and cold that it literally takes my breath away. I take satisfaction in shoveling paths. I’m intrigued by the icicles that grow down from the roof outside the kitchen window. But by the end of March, even I have had enough. Now, I am ready for spring and warmth and getting out on the water. It seems I’ll have to wait awhile.
But, while I wait, I can do two things: I can make ready, and I can dream.
Each year, around this time, I start to think about getting boats ready for launching. The Shellback Dinghy in the garage is due for its five-year paint job and now that the ambient temperatures are mostly above freezing, my weekends will be taken up with scraping and sanding and painting. The 16’ daysailer needs less work and will stay snug and dry under its tarp until the forecasters stop talking about rain for three days straight, but I’m still itching to get at its topsides and bottom paint.
And then there are the trailers, which are called upon to make a half-mile round trip delivering the boats down to the harbor each spring, and back again in late fall. Despite their essential role, year after year those trailers are forgotten until the last possible moment. Only then, with the boats loaded and ready to go, and one trailer after another is hitched up to the car, do I think to check that everything is in working order.
This year, I have no excuse. Thanks to Kent and Audrey Lewis’s thoughtful, easily referenced Road-Ready Trailer Checklist in this issue, I have all the guidance I need to inspect both trailers in plenty of time to get replacement bulbs, inflate tires (buy new ones if necessary), and check on all the car-to-trailer connections. Of course, if I follow my usual MO, I’ll still wait far too long and it’ll still be a last-minute scramble, but we can always hope.
And in the meantime, my dreams of summer boating are well underway, inspired, in no small part, by Davis Taylor who in this issue shares his story of a short-but-sweet voyage on the Bagaduce River last September. He saw no other boats, camped on uninhabited islands, dealt with tidal currents for the first time, and relaxed through long leisurely mornings waiting for the water to float his boat each day. It wasn’t an overly ambitious trip, nor was it one of high drama and excitement, yet such stories never fail to inspire me to pull out the charts and plot some island-hopping adventure of my own.
Rumor has it spring is on the way. Here in Maine those rumors may be exaggerated, but when spring does eventually find us summer will be hard on its heels, and my boats and trailers had better be ready.
To those of you already enjoying fine and fair boating weather…see you on the water soon.
In December 2020, Australian boatbuilders Paroz & Co.—based in the outskirts of Brisbane, Queensland, on the banks of Breakfast Creek, a tributary of the Brisbane River—launched FINCH, an 8′ plywood hard-chined stem dinghy. A few years later, proprietor Simon Paroz, who had designed the boat, decided he would like a sistership for his own use. But before the build was complete, a new client saw it and made Simon an offer he couldn’t refuse. That boat was launched as TENDER TO MALVEENA.
Before embarking on a third build, Simon gave some more thought to the design and what modifications he should make for his own needs, and came up with a list of criteria. Essentially, the boat would be used as a tender to PERCY, Simon’s 37′ retired prawn trawler, built in the 1950s. It would need to have enough volume to carry himself, his wife, their two teenage daughters, and small dog. With just one person on board, it must plane easily with a 3-hp outboard motor (he didn’t want to deal with the weight of a larger outboard). And the dinghy should be easy to hoist aboard PERCY with a pair of simple davits each having a 2:1 purchase.
In order to fulfill this wish list, Simon determined that the new boat would need to be 18″ longer than FINCH and TENDER TO MALVEENA, but that weight must be a major consideration. To improve the aesthetics of his design, he also redrew the transom to give it more tumblehome, and raised the sheer and chine line forward slightly. “With a bit more length you can sweeten the lines,” Paroz said. “I was really happy with the way it looked.”
Photographs by the author
The floorboards are fabricated to lay flat, even in the deep V of the bow section. They are screwed to the keelson and the slats are of Queensland beech, an oily timber that needs no sealing. With an eye to low maintenance, Simon used a two-part high-gloss polyurethane paint known for its durability in hot climates and abrasion resistance. Four pad-eyes were installed to which lines can be attached when lifting the dinghy onto another boat or dock.
Building the Paroz Tender
The build process began by setting up the 1⁄4″ plywood transom (with its 2″ × 5⁄8″ internal framework already attached) and three temporary molds. The inner stem, laminated from six layers of 1⁄8″ Douglas fir, was then scarfed to the 1 1⁄2″ × 3⁄4″ Douglas-fir keelson, which was let into the transom and molds. The 1 1⁄2″ × 3⁄4″ internal chines and inwales and 5⁄8″ × 5⁄8″ stringers, all in western red cedar, were then also let into the transom and molds and fixed to the stem—none needed steaming.
Next the plywood sides and bottom panels were fitted. On all three of the dinghies, Simon drew distinctive V-shaped entries to minimize slamming in a chop. On his earlier builds this shape was achieved by cold-molding the forward sections of the bottom panels, but to save time on this later boat he used 3⁄16″ plywood, which could be “tortured” into shape in the forward 3′ of the bottom and scarfed it into the 1⁄4″ plywood that was used for the rest of the bottom. Simon designed the boat to ensure the most economical use of 8′ × 4′ sheets of marine plywood: the maximum width of each of the bottom panels—one on either side of the centerline—is just over 21″ so that both can be cut from a single sheet of plywood. The topside panels are 3⁄16″ plywood with a scarf joint near the stern to accommodate the length; their maximum width is only 15″ so, again, Simon was able to cut both sides from one sheet.
The dinghy is easily driven with 6′ 4″ oars. It is quick to accelerate and, thanks to the skeg-like keel aft, tracks well.
Once the plywood shell of the boat was assembled, it was time to fit the solid wood pieces to the outside of the hull. The centerline components were made from Douglas fir: the outer stem is 10 laminations of 1⁄8″ fir, while the keel is 3⁄4″ × 3″ and runs almost the length of the hull, providing an ample skeg but ending 3″ short of the transom “to allow the water to come through to the propeller,” Simon explains. The gunwales (1 1⁄2″ × 3⁄4″), external chines (1 3⁄8″ × 5⁄8″), and transom frame (1 3⁄8″ × 1⁄2″) are all in western red cedar.
The 9 1⁄2″-wide thwarts are of 3⁄4″ western red cedar, as are the 9⁄16″ stiffeners attached to their underside, and the stem and stern knees are all of 3⁄4″ western red cedar laminated between two layers of 3⁄16″ plywood. Simon appreciates western red cedar for its light weight, strength, and stability, especially, he says, when it’s glued to other materials. He used epoxy as an adhesive throughout the build.
Floorboards were next on Simon’s wish list: water inevitably collects in the bilge of a small boat, and Simon wanted to keep passengers’ feet dry. He was also keen that the boards should follow the internal shape of the hull and not stand up too high. To achieve this, each of the two floorboard panels has three 1 1⁄4″ × 1″ athwartships beams laminated in four layers, with 2 3⁄8″ × 1⁄2″ fore-and-aft slats glued to them. On the forward panel, all but the center two slats are laminated in two layers to achieve the necessary curve of the boat’s V-section. The slats are of Queensland beech, a naturally oily timber that needs no sealing, and each panel is screwed to the keelson.
With only one person on board, it’s hard to bring the boat onto a level plane without a tiller extension. However, it can still achieve 9 knots with just a 3-hp motor.
Simon finished the boat with International Perfection Pro two-part paint, chosen both for its durability in the hot Queensland climate and for its abrasion resistance (Perfection Pro is no longer available in the U.S. but has been replaced by Interlux Toplac Plus, a one-part silicone alkyd yacht enamel). To minimize damage when coming alongside PERCY, the dinghy has a 3⁄4″-diameter Hempex polypropylene fender rope around the sheer—it sits in a cove routed in the gunwales and is fixed in place with adhesive sealant and boat nails at 14″ centers.
The Paroz Dingy Performance
The new boat was finished and launched in December 2024, and named SUNNY SIDE UP (a name chosen by Simon’s 13-year-old daughter). The final all-up weight (including the floorboards) is 105 lbs—rather more than the 77 lbs of the smaller FINCH, which Simon says he can carry by himself on his shoulder, but still light enough that he and I could carry it through his workshop to the water’s edge with little difficulty.
With a tiller extension a single operator can move their weight forward and help the boat to level-out on plane. Thus balanced, the boat can be driven at 12 knots. The bow line fitting is mounted low on the stem for optimum pull when being towed.
On the day we tested SUNNY SIDE UP, conditions were calm in the sheltered river. Thanks to her hard chine sections, the boat felt very stable at all times, including when getting in and out.
Rowing SUNNY SIDE UP with Simon’s 6′ 4″-long spoon-bladed oars was a delight. The boat’s light weight gives quick acceleration and a lively feel, and the skeg is deep enough to provide good directional stability. The aft thwart can be used effectively as a foot brace.
While Simon reports that the boat is well balanced rowing from the central thwart with just one passenger in the stern, there is no reason why oarlock sockets shouldn’t be fitted to allow the use of the forward thwart as a second rowing position. He also reports that with all the family on board (typically with him rowing, his daughters in the stern, his wife in the bow, and the dog on either of the sole boards) the boat is “very comfortable” and has “room for more.”
Despite being only 9′ 9″ long, the dinghy has plenty of volume and can carry Simon’s family of four plus dog. When he lengthened the hull from the original design on which it was based, Simon also raised the sheer and introduced some tumblehome in the stern.
Under power with the two of us on board, the 3-hp outboard gave us a maximum speed of 5 1⁄2 knots. We then each tried the boat singlehanded with no tiller extension and were able to reach up to 9 knots, planing, but because it was only possible to perch on the aft part of the central thwart, the bow was raised a little too much. It was clear that it would be advantageous to sit farther forward. Sure enough, after Simon managed to find a tiller extension he could shift his weight farther forward, which leveled the boat nicely and the speed ticked up to 12 knots. Simon has found that SUNNY SIDE UP “tows easily and is well behaved” behind PERCY.
SUNNY SIDE UP is a delightful, good-looking stem dinghy that clearly satisfies all of the requirements that Simon identified at the design stage. It should be within the capabilities of most amateur builders, although Simon thinks that “moderate skill levels” will be needed to cope with the scarf joints in the plywood, and the laminated stem.
Nigel Sharp is a lifelong sailor and a freelance marine writer and photographer. He spent 35 years in managerial roles in the boatbuilding and repair industry, and has logged thousands of miles in boats big and small, from schooners to dinghies.
Paroz Tender Particulars
LOA: 9′ 9″
Beam: 4′
Depth of hull: 1′ 6″
Plans and custom builds are available from Paroz & Co., Tripcony Slipway, 32 Argyle St., Breakfast Creek, Queensland 4010, Australia; [email protected].
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Ninigret is easily driven by a modest outboard motor (25-60 hp) and runs flat, smooth, and dry.
This 22′ skiff seems about perfect for most of our needs. She’s easily driven by a modest outboard motor (25–60-hp) and runs flat, smooth, and dry. We’ll spend most of our time in the huge cockpit, and not in the cabin. Yet when we do go below, we’ll find a head and sleeping room for a couple. If we should fall victim to claustrophobia, we’ll simply roll back the cloth housetop and stow its ash battens. The large fixed windows will block the breeze, and we can hunker down on the berths and look up at the sky. What a fine place to enjoy the last light of day.
John Atkin designed this outboard skiff-cruiser for a client who wanted a practical boat for use on Ninigret Pond (really a coastal lagoon) in Rhode Island, but this good boat will be at home along almost any coast.
An efficient hull with steep deadrise forward for a smooth ride in a chop, and a flat run for stability and easy speed with moderate power.
The hull shows healthy deadrise (V-shape) up forward, which warps down to about 15% amidships and disappears in a flat bottom at the transom. All this shape gives us a boat that planes easily across smooth water, and yet cuts smoothly through a harbor chop. In truly rough conditions, Ninigret’s ample volume above the waterline ensures that she’ll climb over large waves.
The designer tells us to sheathe Ninigret’s bottom with high-quality 3/8″ plywood. We’ll plank the sides lapstrake fashion with four strakes sawn from the same plywood sheets. This is simple work, but let’s take care with the lining off. Shadow lines cast at the plank laps will define the sweet shape of this hull, and we’ll want to get it just right.
Deck and bottom framing.
Atkin never liked the look of a big outboard motor clamped to the transom of a handsome boat, so he hid Ninigret’s engine in a well. Then he enclosed that well in its own compartment. We won’t see the engine, and we’ll barely hear it. How large an engine should we fit to Ninigret? Early on, the designer suggested 25–30- hp. Experience proved that this skiff could be happy with more horses. A revised motorwell drawing allows up to 60-hp.
John Atkin eventually built a Ninigret for himself, which is a designer’s ultimate compliment to a particular boat. For several years he and his wife, Pat, cruised and picnicked their way around the western end of Long Island Sound. That’s a fine use for a good boat. Ninigret design plans are available for sale at The WoodenBoat Store.
Timm Schleiff’s motor sits handsomely in an exposed well.
Roeboats
John Atkin recommended a 30–45-hp outboard for Ninigret; the corresponding top speed with this power reportedly ranges from 18 to 25 knots. Tiernan Roe’s Ninigret is powered by a 30-hp Honda.
While John Atkin designed Ninigret for fishing the choppy waters of Block Island Sound, the boat also makes a superb camp-cruiser. Irish boatbuilder Tiernan Roe built the fine example in the photograph above.
In 2023 I spent some time rowing and sailing the Scout 10, a sailing dinghy that is the result of a collaboration between Brandon Davis of Turn Point Design and Scott Jones of Duckworks, both based in Port Townsend, Washington. Their goal was to create the “ultimate mini cruiser,” small and light enough to be cartopped yet able to accommodate a solo sailor sleeping aboard. On land the diminutive Scout 10 certainly has some noteworthy advantages, but a longer boat will be faster on the water. While Scott and Brandon were pleased with the performance of the Scout 10, they wanted to shift the design toward better speed under sail and oars and greater carrying capacity. The answer was the Scout 14.
Scout 14 Construction and Layout
The Scout 14 is available as a kit, which includes CNC-cut pieces of marine plywood and closed-cell sheet foam. The planks, transom, and bulkheads are of 4mm BS 1088 plywood, and the bottom and laminated skeg are of 6mm plywood. The recessed deck, which serves as seating, is of weight-saving 1⁄4″ marine-grade foam. The gunwale has a 1″ foam core boxed in with plywood. Where the full length of a component—plywood or foam—demands the use of more than one piece, the sections are connected with puzzle joints and epoxy. After assembling the full-length pieces, both foam and plywood are fiberglass-and-epoxy coated on one or both sides.
Photographs by the author
The recessed deck, made of foam reinforced with fiberglass and epoxy, encloses the storage areas and provides generous seating and flotation. The holes in the gunwale caps are lined with phenolic tubes and serve as oarlock sockets and attachment points for sheet blocks, fenders, and other items.
The hull is built without molds or strongback. Mating tabs and slots assure that adjoining pieces are properly aligned. Support jigs holding the hull right-side up and a spreader spanning the sheer amidships help to keep the hull straight and without twist. The seams between the bottom, the garboard strake, and the lone broadstrake are butted edge-to-edge, which aids in ’glassing the bottom of the hull and reduces abrasion. The sheerstrake overlaps the broadstrake, and in the finished hull casts a shadow to accentuate the hull’s curves. A foam daggerboard and rudder blade are included in the kit and are both CNC-shaped as NACA 0012 foils; all they require is sanding, ’glassing, and finishing.
At around 100 lbs, the Scout 14 is about at the limit for cartopping, lifting one end at a time, and I would use a cart to get the boat to and from the water. During my time with the boat, Brandon helped me to carry the boat across the beach. The transom has two oval handholds, and the breasthook provides a good hold at the bow.
In the cockpit, the side benches and bow and stern seating areas surround a footwell that is 8′ 3″ long by 21 1⁄4″ wide by approximately 9″ deep. Sealed compartments beneath the benches provide storage and flotation and are accessed from above via three 10″ × 14″ Sealect Triple-Latch hinged hatches as well as three optional 6″ deck plates. For gear that needs to be accessed quickly, there are two open-sided compartments at the forward end of the footwell.
The thwarts, made of carbon-fiber and plywood, can be located anywhere along the parallel-sided decks. The two holes relieve the pressure on the rower’s sit bones. The daggerboard slot can be seen in the starboard sidedeck.
The inside edges of the side benches are straight and parallel so that two removable rowing thwarts—made of plywood and carbon fiber—can be located anywhere over the footwell and locked in place with thumbnuts that clamp to a flange that extends from the side bench edges. The thwarts hang about 2″ at center below the level of the side benches, providing more clearance between the oar handles and tops of the thighs while rowing. Each thwart has two holes in its surface, a feature common in racing-shell sliding seats for relieving backside pressure points. I’ve used seat pads with such holes, but they result in a higher sitting position.
I lay down in the footwell to try it for size for sleeping aboard the Scout 14. It has more than enough length and is wide enough for me to rest on my side with my knees drawn up and my elbows out. Lying on my back was more cramped: my shoulders filled the width of the footwell, and I could set only one arm alongside my torso; the other had to rest on a side bench or across my chest. Because the tops of the side benches have flanges extending over the footwell, a pair of floorboard panels with transverse slats could be built to serve as a sleeping platform at night. Alternatively, a long single panel with slats parallel to the centerline could rest on the thwarts. Either way, the Scout 14 has more than enough stability to support a good-sized sleeping platform at bench level.
The top of each gunwale has 14 holes lined with phenolic tubes that can be used for oarlock placement, attachment points for sheet blocks, and even hoops to support a camping canopy. The holes are spaced about 12″ apart with an extra one amidships to allow for a finer adjustment of the boat trim for a solo rower.
A solo rower can use the unoccupied thwart as a foot brace. The ready adjustability of the seat and oarlock positions makes it easy to trim the boat to accommodate load carried and conditions encountered. Here rowing the Scout 14 is its designer, Brandon Davis.
Rowing Performance
The Scout has good stability and is easy to get aboard. To test the secondary stability, I sat amidships with my seat planted on a side bench and both legs hanging well over the side. With my mid-thighs resting on the gunwale, the outwale was still an inch or more above water level.
Rowing solo, I found the Scout 14 tracked well and was easily maneuvered. From a standing start I could spin the boat through 360° with eight strokes—two and a half more than the Scout 10 but still a quick spin and a good indication of easy maneuverability.
While I didn’t have a second pair of oars to try tandem rowing, the cockpit is long enough to accommodate a rower in each end. While there are no dedicated foot braces, the aft rower can use the aft bench as a brace; there is no such brace point for the forward rower.
The daggerboard trunk is offset to starboard to leave the cockpit unobstructed. A bungee cord, anchored forward of the trunk, holds the board in any position; here it is raised high while the boat is on the beach. At the forward end of the cockpit are open storage compartments with easy access.
During GPS-measured speed trials, with the boat empty and one rower, the Scout 14 averaged 3.7 knots at a relaxed pace, maintained 4.3 knots with an aerobic exercise pace, and averaged 5 knots in short sprints. The speeds are an average of 17 percent faster than those of the Scout 10.
To row with a passenger seated in the stern, I moved the thwart to the forward end of the footwell and placed the oarlocks in one of the many holes built into the gunwale. Then the speeds, respectively, were 3.6, 3.9, and 4.4 knots, averaging 35 percent faster than the Scout 10.
Sailing Performance
The daggerboard trunk is housed within the starboard storage compartment, leaving the footwell unobstructed. Its opening is in the side bench where a loop of bungee cord, anchored in the side bench forward of the trunk and stretched around the back of the board, keeps the board at any depth. The rudder also has bungee looped around its blade that will hold it down but still lets it kick up if it hits an obstruction. For beaching, a lifting line runs from the blade’s trailing edge, through the rudderhead, and is secured by a jam cleat on the underside of the tiller.
The arrangement of the sheet brings it readily to hand without obstructing the tiller or interfering with the sailor.
The 70-sq-ft square-top boomless sail has four full battens. A single row of reefpoints will gather up the sail and the bottom batten beneath the second batten. The two-part mast is made of carbon fiber and fiberglass and can be easily pulled apart to stow aboard. The sheet has an unusual arrangement: It runs through a block tethered to one of the holes in the gunwale, then aft to a block mounted close to the transom, up to a block at the sail’s clew, down to the transom on the other side of the boat, and forward to a final gunwale-mounted block. There is a stopper knot at each end of the sheet so that the line can be managed from either side of the boat. For handling the sail, the windward end of the sheet is pulled through until the leeward end is prevented from running through its forward block by the stopper knot. Now the sail can be trimmed from the windward end. With the sheet running around the perimeter of the stern, it was never in the way when coming about, and with its ends led forward, they were within view and accessible while I was keeping watch over the bow.
Thanks to its full-length battens, the Scout 14’s 70-sq-ft square-topped sail holds its shape and provides good power even in light air.
Under sail, the Scout 14’s well-balanced rig required only a light touch on the tiller. The boat pointed well and was exceptionally quick to tack. I suspect the NACA-foil rudder and daggerboard get the credit for the Scout 14 carrying so much speed through tacks. The bow would swing through the eye of the wind so quickly that I had to change sides swiftly before the sail filled on the new tack. In the light winds I had for the sailing trials, the full battens usually popped on their own to push the belly of the sail out to leeward. If they didn’t take care of themselves, a tug on the sheet did the job. When jibing, the battens absorbed much of the impact when the sail snapped the slack out of the sheet.
The Scout 10 was designed as the smallest camp-cruising sailboat, and the Scout 14 incorporates all the features of the 10 with the benefits of greater speed, stability, and capacity that come with the additional length. It was a pleasure to row and sail. In 1980, I did my first Inside Passage cruise in a traditionally built dory skiff very similar in size to the Scout 14—if I’d had the Scout, I could have traveled not only faster but also in greater comfort and safety.
Christopher Cunningham is Small Boat’s editor-at-large.
Kits for the Scout 14 range from CNC-cut parts for the boat alone priced at $3,399, to a complete package including sailing rig priced at $4,999; all are available from Duckworks Boat Builders Supply.
Matt Steverson built a Scout 14 as a tender for the DURACELL racing yacht he has been converting and shows the process on his YouTube channel, The Duracell Project, episodes 123 through 126.
Is there a boat you’d like to know more about? Have you built one that you think other Small Boats readers would enjoy? Please email us your suggestions.
In the parking lot of the South Penobscot, Maine, boat ramp the gravel crunched beneath the tires of my small truck and trailer. I am usually a bit nervous when trailering a boat and had chosen the location as my put-in for a four-day, 20-mile row on the Bagaduce River in part because I knew the ramp would not be busy—there would likely be no one to witness my erratic maneuverings with the trailer. And I was right: save for a great blue heron standing motionless in the water to one side of the ramp, I had the place to myself. Northern Bay of the Bagaduce stretched out before me in the warm early-September sunshine. About a mile away, in the middle of the bay, small whitecaps were lifting in a 10-knot southerly breeze. It was midday and the smell of salt water and mudflats wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy perfume of the mixed forest that lined the shore.
Photographs by the author
As expected, the public boat ramp in South Penobscot was quiet. When I arrived, the tide was too low to launch, which gave me time to sort my gear and get everything squared away. One way and another there was a lot to tidy up: I carried enough fresh water for the whole four-day trip and, even when rolled up, the homemade wooden sleeping deck (visible beneath the oars) took up quite a bit of space.
The South Penobscot ramp can only be used at half-tide or higher, and even at half-tide the lower slope looked pretty slick. I decided to wait for the water to come up some more. For a couple of hours I futzed with gear, double-checked the chart, and soaked up the sunshine. At last I was able to ease the trailer down, slip AURELIUS, my Whitehall Spirit Tango 17, into the water, and tie her up to the dock while I went to park the truck and trailer. By early afternoon I was clambering aboard and pulling away. I was heading into both wind and tide, but was happy to be on the water and at the oars.
I eased down Winslow Cove and around 2-acre Winslow Island, a scant half mile from the boat ramp. A narrow channel that started as an uncharted sliver and widened to 40 yards led out of the cove, and I was immediately aware of the navigational challenges I would be facing. The seabed of the Bagaduce’s Northern Bay is a mix of mudflats, rocky shoals, and kelp beds. Even fully laden, AURELIUS draws less than 1′, but although I had rowed her extensively on ponds and lakes, I was new to the river, new to cruising in tidal waters, wary of running aground, and unsure how easily I would get stuck or unstuck if I rowed into mud. So began the oft-repeated pattern of the trip: check the chart, look over my shoulder to verify my location, row a few hundred yards, check, verify, row, repeat. I had a small sports mirror mounted on my baseball hat and, though it took some getting used to, I grew to appreciate not having to crane my neck quite as often. I also discovered that if I could see kelp beds beneath the boat, it was a good sign we were getting into the shallows.
As I readied myself and AURELIUS, I took time to enjoy the view from the parking lot west across Winslow Cove to Winslow Island and beyond to Northern Bay. The conditions were perfect and I could see no one on the water.
From the estuary mouth at the town of Castine, the tidal Bagaduce “river” is more like an extended inlet that winds its way circuitously for 14 miles into the interior of the Blue Hill peninsula. In parts it is relatively bay-like, but elsewhere, especially between Penobscot and Brooksville where I would be, steep forested sides funnel the surging tides into narrows that feature reversing rapids or roiling eddies and slicks. To many people, the Bagaduce is famous for two things: Bagaduce Lunch, a popular take-out restaurant on the upper reaches of the river where patrons can eat fried seafood while shouting above the roar of the reversing falls; and the 11’ tides that create those rapids. While tempted to check out the rapids, I determined that I should play it safe and explore the northern branch of the river, from South Penobscot to Castine and out into the open waters of Penobscot Bay. The river landscape had its appeal, but I also dreamed of sleeping on the edge of a cobbled beach, a jagged line of spruce trees behind me, and the cold waters of the Gulf of Maine in front of me.
Down the Bagaduce River to Emanuel Island
I successfully wound my way out of Winslow Cove and into the half-mile-wide main part of Northern Bay. There was no boat traffic and—extraordinarily for the coast of Maine—not a lobster trap in sight. A 15-knot wind, blowing across a mile of fetch from the south, had built up some chop, but it was scant challenge for AURELIUS. I just had to pull a little harder. I wound my way south through the mouth of the Bay, with Aunt Mollie and Sparks islands to the west, and Gravel Island to the east, easing by rocks and shallows as I went. The islands ranged in size from about 2 to 6 acres, sometimes with gravel beaches but often with 20′-high eroded embankments, topped by oak, maple, pine, and spruce forests. They showed no obvious sign of human habitation, and I was tempted to go ashore to explore. But the rocks, the shallows, and the mudflats warned against it, so I rowed on.
Roger Siebert
.
The first site where I could camp ashore was Battle Island. Along with a handful of other islands in the Bagaduce, Battle is conserved and maintained by the Maine Coast Heritage Trust (MCHT), and low-impact camping in small groups is permitted. But I was still only 2 miles from the launching ramp, and if I wanted to spend at least one night in Penobscot Bay, I needed to press on. I set a goal of the next MCHT island, Emanuel Island*. I could, of course, have anchored for the night along the river and slept aboard on my homemade sleeping platform, but islands have their magic, and for me, the MCHT islands served as waypoints and preferred destinations.
Getting to Emanuel meant navigating through the Bagaduce Narrows, the channel that wraps around Jones Point, noted for tricky waters. As I eased past the several forested, mudflat-edged islets that comprise Youngs Islands, just north of the narrows, I saw my first lobster-trap buoy; the cant of the buoy and the water racing past it gave me my first real sense of the strength of the current I was rowing against. But I was still making good headway, and consoled myself with the thought that the current would be with me on the return trip.
My first landfall was on the beach of Emanuel Island. After offloading the camping gear, I came back down to set up the outhaul. With a view north toward Esther Island and beyond, I was looking back up the Bagaduce and the route I had taken since leaving Northern Bay earlier that day.
The forested banks along the river rose up steeply to about 40′, and as I approached Jones Point the river narrowed to about 240 yards. The waters of the narrows were threatening, with swirling slicks and mysterious changes in the pattern of surface wavelets and I half expected a kraken to rise up and pull me into the depths. AURELIUS’s bow was tugged a few times, but I stayed mid-channel and was relieved as I came through unscathed into Grindles Eddy and the river opened up again. In truth, the Narrows had been underwhelming; there had been no kraken, but just three harbor seals playing in the disturbed waters. Ahead of me, barely a mile south from Grindles Eddy, lay Emanuel Island.
That last mile seemed long. On the river’s steep, heavily wooded banks were camps and small houses, the first buildings I’d seen since leaving Northern Bay, and every couple of hundred yards a dock reached out from shore. One camp looked much like the next and such was the repetitiveness that it felt like I was making little or no progress, but eventually I came to the tricky shallows off Emanuel, and carefully eased into the shore. I had been on the water about two and a half hours.
There is nothing like waking up on an island and making a cup of coffee on the camp stove. My mornings were slow as I waited each day for the rising tide, but I made the most of them to relax, read, eat a leisurely breakfast, drink coffee, and soak in the sights, smells, and sounds of Maine.
Emanuel was longer and narrower than the other islands I had passed, and its 4 acres were scattered with fire-damaged (but still living) older trees standing amongst younger saplings and occasional blowdowns. The forest stood atop a 10′–15′-high embankment, worn away by tidal erosion. At high tide the beach would be almost entirely underwater, but there was plenty of room to camp above it at the edge of the forest. I was faced with a choice: should I camp ashore or onboard on my new homemade sleeping deck? Ashore, I would have to haul my gear up the embankment by way of the rickety, makeshift wooden ladder. And the slope of the beach was shallow so, even using the full extent of my outhaul line, AURELIUS would be high and dry at low tide, forcing me to wait in the morning for the tide to rise. Perhaps I should anchor off and sleep in the boat. But, I reasoned, I have always found sleeping ashore more comfortable than afloat and, somewhat carelessly, I had forgotten to bring a proper anchor light. There was little or no traffic on the river, and I could pop a lightstick and be fairly visible for most of the night, but I was wary of testing my nascent anchoring skills on a river known for its powerful currents. Besides, waiting for the tide in the morning would enforce some much-needed leisure time. I rowed ashore, made AURELIUS fast to a spruce sapling, offloaded my gear, and clambered up the wobbly ladder.
By the time I had all my gear moved to the campsite, I was utterly exhausted. The challenge of rowing and navigating, the unspoiled beauty of the river, and the sense of exploration had kept me energized on the water, but now fatigue hit hard. I set up the tent, arranged the kitchen, and wearily returned to the boat to set the outhaul.
Dinner was a quick affair. I was as hungry as I was tired and dug into some snacks as I cooked. The food revived me and, not wanting to miss the sunset, I made my way along the winding, 100-yard trail through the woods to the south end of the narrow island to witness a deep red western sky, and see the lights come on in Castine about 2 miles away. In the dark, I strolled back to the tent by headlamp, and almost as soon as my head hit the pillow fell into a deep sleep.
On the first morning, the view from my campsite on Emanuel Island was uninterrupted down the Bagaduce to Castine. By early afternoon, I would be pulling into Castine and wandering through town in search of a late lunch.
Downriver to Penobscot Bay
Fffft, plunk, crack! I awoke at dawn to an unfamiliar sound. I lay still. There it was again—ffffft, plunk, crack! Tentatively I peered out of the tent. Nothing. I waited. Ffffft, plunk, crack! And then I saw… no strange wild creature but acorns falling off the oak trees that grew among the pines all over the island. Reassured that I was not about to come face to face with a savage rodent, I rose, and 15 minutes later was enjoying a cup of hot instant coffee heavily laced with sugar and creamer. Ffffft, plunk, crack! I was hit, fairly painfully, on the shoulder. For the rest of the trip, I took to wearing a hat and fleece pullover around camp.
For several hours I waited for the incoming tide to lift AURELIUS off the rockweed and mud she had settled onto during the night. I was in no hurry—there were no bugs, the warm air was laced with the sweet tang of mudflat, spangling light danced on dappled waters under mostly sunny skies, and I had plenty of coffee and a good book.
By 11:30 a.m., AURELIUS was afloat. I carried my gear down the ladder, loaded up, and pushed off just before noon. The current was flowing fast against me: a few minutes after pushing off, I paused to tighten the collar of one of my oars, and saw Emanuel Island slide past me in the wrong direction. I quickly reset the oars, put my back into the stroke, and inched forward at 1 or 2 knots.
Each morning, I awoke to find AURELIUS high and dry. The gently sloping, almost flat beaches and 11’ tidal range meant that my 120′ of outhaul line was not nearly enough to keep AURELIUS afloat at all tides when I went ashore. And even though I had thought I might sleep on board, nights ashore on Maine islands were always too tempting and the inconvenience of waiting for the tide next day was a small price to pay.
I aimed for a series of green cans and red nuns that sent me first along the eastern bank, then along the western bank of the broadening river. My goal for the morning was Castine. One of the earliest European settlements in North America, present-day Castine was the site of a French fort in the 1630s, but by 1713 the region was under British rule. The earliest permanent settlement began in the 1760s and by 1776 the town boasted some 20 houses. Today, it is most famous for Maine Maritime Academy, which was opened in 1941, and as a popular destination for visiting yachts.
I had decided to go ashore for some lunch and a cold drink. I enjoy arriving at a town by boat, and was sure that a place with such a storied maritime pedigree as Castine would welcome an unkempt boater who had rowed down the Bagaduce. I was under the impression (wrongly, as I later learned) that I could not tie up at the town dock, so, instead, I landed at the first floating dock I encountered. There were a handful of kayaks on the dock—a positive sign—but as I made my way up the ramp to check in at the building immediately ashore, I realized I was at the Castine Yacht Club, and was suddenly aware that my salt-stained shirt, blistered hands, and neon-green drybag might not fit in. There was no one in the office, so I made my way the few short blocks to Castine’s small, quaint downtown. There I was dismayed to learn that the only pub still open in September would not start serving until 4 p.m. It was only 2 p.m. and, not wanting to wait that long, I opted instead for a quick lunch of fish and chips at the closest restaurant, before making my way back to the still-deserted yacht club. Somewhat disappointed that my arrival at Castine had not quite lived up to my elevated expectations, I pushed off, happy at least to have the tide finally in my favor.
I had thought about camping on the boat rather than ashore and had experimented with the setup on a pre-trip overnight excursion on a local pond. My tongue-and-groove boards, held together by bungee cords, rest on a molded lip that runs around the inside of AURELIUS’s cockpit. The narrow one-person back-packing tent fits perfectly atop the platform and within the boat. In lieu of stakes I experimented with weights to stabilize the tent
Bright sunlight and calm waters surrounded Castine Harbor as I made my way past the working waterfront of Maine Maritime Academy, but a few hundred yards beyond that the Bagaduce opened up into Penobscot Bay, and the outgoing tide collided with waves produced by a strong southwesterly wind and a fetch of more than 2 miles. A cloud cover rolled in, and the shuttered summer homes on the bluffs of Dice Head, a mile to the west, seemed a long way off. The sea was confused but dominated by a 3′ long-interval swell, broken by a chop going in the same direction, straight at me and AURELIUS.
For the first time on the journey, I became uncertain of my precise location. All I had to do was make my way around the southern end of Nautilus Island, less than a mile southeast of Dice Head, find the green can that marked the shoals at Nautilus Rock to the southwest of the island and, once past that, turn east into a virtual hurricane hole (unnamed on the chart) created by a combination of islands and a steep, forested peninsula on the northern tip of Cape Rosier. But I could see no green can. Perhaps the island I thought was Nautilus was something else entirely; perhaps I had somehow misread the chart. I was bobbing up and down on the 3′ swell, the biggest I’d ever experienced in AURELIUS, the wind howling and the sky dark, not sure how my boat would handle these seas. I had to fix my location. As fast as I could, I shipped my oars, set the chart aside, and pulled out my phone to check my location. AURELIUS immediately turned broadside to the swell, but she handled it well. I studied the phone and confirmed that I was, indeed, off Nautilus Island. Relieved, I relaxed, but by then was being pushed uncomfortably close to the lee shore. I quickly tucked the phone back into the drybag and put my back into the oars. It was hard, wave-tossed rowing for another 20 minutes or so, but at last the green can came into view, and as I pulled past Nautilus Rock, the water immediately flattened out. As if by magic, the clouds parted and in sunlight I made my way across the anchorage to Ram Island, the most southerly of the MCHT islands in and around the Bagaduce.
Six-acre Ram Island is actually two small islands, joined by a bar exposed at low tide. I made my way to the smaller eastern isle, where camping is permitted. The beach was a mix of gravel, mud, and rocks, and the embankment up to the forested center of the island was a mere 4′. It was late afternoon when I stepped ashore and once again, when the excitement and adrenaline dissipated, I found I was exhausted.
My sunset dinner spot on Ram was surely unbeatable. To my left was the western islet of Ram, in front of me and to my right was Nautilus Island, and away to the west, silhouetted blue against the sunset sky, was the far shore of Penobscot Bay.
Unlike the upriver islands Ram was a typical Maine-coast island: a cobbled beach with a scattering of large boulders, a few oaks within an otherwise entirely spruce forest, and too many islands to count silhouetted in the setting sun. Once more I elected to sleep on land. If I slept on board, I reasoned, I would be committed to an eastward view of just the anchorage—nice enough in its way—but on shore I could make my way across a small isthmus and enjoy long sweeping views of Penobscot Bay. Within the hour, the gear was ashore, AURELIUS was anchored for the night, the tent was up, and I was making dinner as the nearby spruce trees stood stark against a blazing sunset, first orange, then fiery red, and finally deep purple. A bald eagle flew overhead. It had been a good day, and the forecast for the morning was for sunshine and southerly winds that would help me on my way back upriver.
From Ram Island to Battle Island
When I awoke, low gray clouds scudded overhead, pushed by a northeasterly wind. How could this be? I had strained against wind and tide most of the way down the Bagaduce, confident that at least I’d have things working in my favor on my return trip to South Penobscot. I felt cheated. All too soon I was aware of another predicament: my unnamed hurricane hole remained as calm as a millpond but beyond its entrance at the southwest end of Nautilus Island, the seas looked even more wave-tossed than they had on the way in. The northwest wind was fighting a closely spaced swell from the south—the product of a nasty little storm east of Cape Cod. I wouldn’t know exactly how rough things were until I got out into the mix. And then I realized: there was an alternative route.
Since leaving South Penobscot I had been determined to do things “right” on this, my first big trip. I had heeded the navigational aids and avoided taking shortcuts, even though AURELIUS’s shallow draft probably would have allowed her to pass over many an obstacle at half-tide or higher. But Nautilus is, of course, an island, not a peninsula, and there was a way around to the northeast that would be sheltered from the wind. At low tide Nautilus is linked by a bar to Whites Head on the Cape Rosier peninsula, but at high tide that bar would be covered. I had to wait on Ram Island for the tide to rise and lift AURELIUS off the beach. By then, maybe the bar would also be covered; the slight risk of something going amiss as I crossed that way seemed very preferable to the adventurous ride I would have in the open waters of the bay.
On each of the islands I found a convenient spot to pitch my tent from which I could see AURELIUS. Here on Ram, as on my other two nights away, the good weather allowed me to sleep without a rainfly and with only a lightweight sleeping bag.
I spent several hours breaking camp, reading, and trying not to fret about the weather. An osprey nesting on the island cried out at me every 20 minutes or so, making it quite clear that I was not welcome. When the tide lifted AURELIUS in the early afternoon, I packed her up quickly and pushed off. There was only a slight riffle on the waters of the anchorage, but the wind was still blowing 15 knots, gusting 20. I strained hard against the wind and leaned into the starboard oar as the wind continually threatened to push the boat off course. I nervously approached the bar. There was insufficient detail on the chart to know where was the best place to cross, so I aimed for the middle and held my breath…I never saw the bottom. I crossed into Castine Harbor in a more modest breeze of around 10 knots across a tolerable chop with only the occasional whitecap. It was time to head back up the sheltered waters of the Bagaduce.
At last, the tide was with me, and as the river narrowed, the wind diminished. Most of the Blue Hill peninsula is not mountainous—apart from the eponymous hill, which comes in at 934′ while most of the land is below 200′—but it is hilly, with almost no extended flat land. This terrain, along with the twisting route of the Bagaduce itself, means that there are few places on the river where wind can really make boating a challenge—it is the tidal currents that have to be watched.
The wooden steps up from the beach on Battle Island led to a short trail to the southernmost tip of the island from where I watched the sunset and the lights coming on downriver in Castine. The late summer/early fall conditions were perfect with clear dry air, comfortable temperatures—even overnight—and no biting insects.
I raced past Emanuel Island, happy to be making good speed, and was soon back at Jones Point, where I was again greeted by three seals. I rowed through the turbulent slicks heading first north, then east, then northeast. As I made the passage through the final stretch, I kept AURELIUS pointed at a green can to the east of Youngs Islands. As I neared it, I took a couple of good strokes on the oars to pull away from it…and AURELIUS refused to respond. The current had me. Bam! I slammed into the large metal can. Between the current and my rowing, I was moving at about 6 knots, and the force of impact, gunwale to can, was substantial. As I pushed off and sped away, I made a quick inspection of AURELIUS’s gunwale, she seemed unscathed. I, however, was chastened. On my downriver leg, I had treated the Narrows with caution and respect, and my passage had been uneventful. Now, on my return, I had made the mistake of being nonchalant and had paid the price.
Heart pounding, I picked my way past Youngs Islands and headed north again. For my last night on the river, I had decided to stay on Battle Island, a bit less than a mile farther upstream, and within minutes of my altercation with the can I was easing into the calm shallows at the south end of the island.
Eager to perfect my onboard sleeping arrangements for future trips, I have tried leaving the platform up while rowing through the day. On this occasion, not having the rolled-up boards lying around in the boat was a good thing, but I had not brought the tent—the overnight weather was forecast fine—and the temperatures dipped below freezing with a heavy frost. I awoke cold and very wet in the morning.
As with Emanuel, most of Battle Island’s 2 acres is no more than 10′ or 15′ above the high-tide mark, with steep embankments eroded by the river’s currents. A sturdy wooden staircase rose from the rock-and-mud beach up to a mature forest of mixed hardwoods and conifers, where a short trail, no more than 20 yards long, led to a shady clearing in the island’s center. I would sleep ashore. Once more I trundled my gear up to the campsite, set an outhaul for AURELIUS, made camp in the late-afternoon shade, and settled down to an early dinner. The current-assisted rowing of the day had been easier than the previous days, but I had covered 8 miles and the cumulative effect of three days of rowing had once again left me drained. After another hurried dinner I settled down in the tent. The air was cool and dry, and I slept soundly, lulled by the distant cries of seagulls and the occasional thud of the falling acorns.
From Battle Island back to South Penobscot
Turning in early led to rising early, aided in part by a dawn chorus of coyotes somewhere on the mainland. I enjoyed my coffee and toast on the upper steps of the beach ladder, watching the sky turn from gray to orange to yellow as I waited for the water to lift AURELIUS. Overnight, the wind had died completely and the only movement on the water’s surface was from the tidal current. From time to time gulls and cormorants flew by. A great blue heron passed, its wings rising and falling in slow deliberate arcs, its long legs trailing behind.
I spent the last night on Battle, mooring AURELIUS on the south side of the island. It wasn’t always easy to find the best spot so that the boat lay somewhat level and didn’t dry out resting atop a large boulder. As I waited through my last morning, I looked down the river that I had rowed the previous day. The waters around Youngs Islands and beyond were glass-like in the calm conditions.
I struck camp early in the afternoon, about half an hour before the water lifted AURELIUS, and when she was loaded and floating, pushed off in bright sunshine and a modest northerly breeze. The South Penobscot ramp was just 2 miles away in the southeast corner of Northern Bay. In the four days I’d been on the river, and despite the green-can incident of the day before, I had gained a sense of confidence in my rowing, navigational abilities, and “river sense.” But I was still cautious. I knew that this last leg was challenging with its narrow channel through the otherwise very shallow Northern Bay. I pulled past Gravel, Sparks, and Aunt Mollie islands, and made the sharp turn eastward toward Winslow Cove. I rowed, glanced over my shoulder, checked the chart, noticed the several small white channel-marker buoys that I had missed on the first day, and all too soon, it was over. AURELIUS’s stainless-steel keel guard scraped the South Penobscot boat ramp, and I was back. My hands were blistered, my heart was lifted, and my mind was already thinking about possible overnights on local ponds before the Maine winter overtook me.
Davis Taylor lives in Bar Harbor, Maine, where he has sailed and rowed for the past 30 years. He enjoys being on any kind of boat, but has definitely found that the smaller the boat, the more it gets used and enjoyed.
*In 2021, the people of Castine, Maine, voted to rename the Negro Islands as the Meguntic Islands. Upper Negro is now Esther and Lower Negro is Emanuel. The name change has yet to be federally approved.
If you have an interesting story to tell about your adventures with a small boat, please email us a brief outline and a few photos.
Back in 1993, Skipper (Audrey) had a boat and was in search of a first mate with a towing vehicle. I stopped by with my Ford Explorer and, after passing a few tests to see if I could grease trailer bearings and swap out rusty fenders, she let me tow her boat, and then took me sailing. A trailer mechanic and a small-boat skipper—two people meant for one another. We were married six months later.
Over the years, our fleet of small boats and trailers has grown. We currently have seven trailers, and…well…a good number of boats.
To keep track and ensure that we are taking the best possible care of everything, we have checklists. There are lists for when we put boats away; lists for when we get boats out; lists for refitting; lists for gearing up to go afloat.
We have a list that we use any time we are hitching up a trailer to take a boat on the road. This “PreTow Checklist” has saved us from several embarrassments and even some catastrophes.
Photographs by the authors
Smaller, lighter boats can be stacked if the trailer and hitch are strong enough to support the load. Tie-downs are essential, keeping the boats well located on the trailer, both side to side and fore-and-aft. The tail of the overlong lower aft strap will highlight the end of the load for vehicles approaching from behind. If a spar is substantially overhanging the end of a trailer, tie a bright-colored rag to its end to increase its visibility.
The PreTow Trailer Checklist
The items with asterisks (*) can cause serious injury or loss of boat and/or trailer if not properly attended to.
Receiver/draw bar/pin/ball
Check that all of the hitch and coupler components are in good condition and rated for at least the weight of the trailer and boat plus any gear. All weight ratings should be given in the tow vehicle’s manual, on the hitch components, or on the hitch’s packaging.
*Coupler latched
Either do a physical touch to check that the under jaw is engaged beneath the ball, or take out your phone camera and get a visual—the camera saves having to lie down on the ground to look back up. The lever on the top of the coupler should be down, latched, and secured with a hitch pin or padlock.
Chains
After checking the coupler connection, hook up the chains—if something goes awry and the trailer becomes unhitched from the vehicles those chains will, at least, prevent the trailer from running away. They should be crossed under the tongue to catch it if it disengages and falls.
Jack stowed
Make sure the trailer jack is raised, swung back, and stowed securely—if you don’t, your drive will be loud and bumpy. We left the jack down once; luckily, we had a light trailer, but we had to replace the jack’s nylon wheel.
The jack is a useful addition to any trailer, taking the forward weight and greatly enhancing the trailer’s maneuverability when not hitched to a towing vehicle. But it’s important to raise and stow it securely before going on the road.
*Boat straps and winch hook
A winch hook and/or bow strap, plus two or three other tie-downs are essential for keeping the boat on the trailer and preventing the boat and trailer from beating each other to death. Get a good marine-grade strap, like those from CustomTieDowns. You can also use Dyneema for a winchline—it doesn’t rot if left damp, isn’t affected by sunlight, doesn’t rust, and is much kinder to your hands than wire. Inspect the straps and winch for wear and tear, and check that everything is snugged down correctly. Remember to engage the locking mechanism on the winch.
*Tire condition, pressure, date
Check the tires for uneven wear, tread depth, cracks, or bulges. Regardless of their visible condition, it’s sensible to replace tires at least every six years (see “Trailer tires: Age before wear”).You can check the date on the sidewall of the tire: the last four digits of the DOT code represent the week and the year of manufacture. For example, 2921 means the tire was manufactured in the 29th week of 2021. With a gauge, check the tire pressure; use maximum recommended pressure for paved roads, but reduce it slightly for unpaved roads. The recommended pressures are marked on the tire sidewall.
*Lug nuts
While you’re checking the tires, take a look at the lug nuts: make sure they’re all there and that they’re all tight. I didn’t tighten a set once and almost lost the wheel—we were down to two severely worn studs when we pulled over to check the bad vibration.
*Bearings greased
Give the top of each wheel a tug. There should be some play, but no more than about 1⁄8″. If the play is as it should be, but you hear squeaking or grinding when you head off, pull over and add some grease. If the noise persists, you should turn around and go home, prepared to overhaul the bearings and their seals.
Trailer lights
Check that all the lights—taillights, brake lights, turn signals, side marker lights, and license-plate light—are working. If you’re alone, and getting in and out of the car is annoying, set up your phone camera behind the trailer to record the lights. Once you’ve run through the sequence, watch the video.
The transom saver keeps the lower unit of the outboard away from the boat, not only protecting the transom but also reducing the strain and load on the outboard’s bracket.
Transom saver and bunks
If you haul your boat with its outboard motor in place on the transom, you should invest in a transom saver—a bar that connects to the trailer frame and supports the lower unit of the outboard in a V brace. Bunks, too, will keep strain off the hull as you drive over every pothole and poorly maintained railroad crossing on your route. Make sure your bunks are in good condition and correctly placed—a bunk in the wrong spot can cause more damage than no bunk at all.
When you think you’re done, do one more walk around to confirm that all is as it should be, or better yet, have your boating companion check everything. Then, hit the road, confident that you’re leaving with boat and trailer in the best possible condition for the journey ahead.
Audrey and Kent Lewis have trailered boats from the Gulf to the Pacific to the Gulf and now to Tidewater Virginia. Their land and sea travels are logged at smallboatrestoration.blogspot.com.
You can share your tips and tricks of the trade with other Small Boats readers by sending us an email.
Some woodworking tools are “must-have,” others are just fun to have. A low-angle block plane like the Jorgensen plane I reviewed in the November 2024 issue easily makes the must-have tool list. The corner easing plane reviewed here is probably optional. Nevertheless, inspired by the quality of my Jorgensen low-angle block plane, I bought this plane as well—I’m glad I did.
In boat construction and, indeed, most woodworking projects, edges should be “friendly,” or slightly rounded. On furniture and cabinet work an eased edge is less prone to damage and has a more finished look. In boats, soft rounded edges are easier to live with in the confines of a small space. On all projects, “breaking” the edge of a board allows a finish to adhere well and, as a result, be less prone to wear.
Photographs by the author
The knurled adjustment wheel is conveniently placed and sized. Its movement is both smooth and precise so that the operator can fine-tune the depth of cut.
The Jorgensen Corner Easing Plane 70748 is a solid chunk of tool. It weighs 16 oz, heavy enough to have some momentum when making cuts but not so heavy that it’s tiring to use. The body is made from high-grade aluminum painted Jorgensen’s signature orange, and measures 6 1⁄2″ long, 2 3⁄8″ tall, and 1″ wide. It comes with four hardened 01 steel cutters: three for round-over cuts, and one straight cutter for making 45° chamfers. The round-over profiles are 1⁄8″, 3⁄16″, and 1⁄4″. All the blades come very sharp, and none required any touchup to the edges before I used them. When the 3⁄16″ blade became dull after extended use, it was easy to bring the edge back up simply by polishing its back.
The molded plastic handpiece is comfortable in the hand and lifts to reveal a storage compartment for three cutters.
The action of the knurled adjustment wheel in the body of the plane is precise and smooth and moves the blade in or out so that the user can fine-tune the depth of cut. There is a threaded hole in the end of each cutter that accepts a threaded screw on the adjustment wheel. Turning the wheel counterclockwise lowers the cutter, which can eventually be removed so another can be installed. The feature allows for easy use and precise adjustments and is, in my experience, a unique setup.
The Jorgensen plane weighs 16 oz, heavy enough to have some momentum but not so heavy to be tiring when used. The four cutters offer three radius profiles and a straight edge for producing a 45° chamfer.
Fit and finish on the cutters and tool as a whole are fine, and the unpainted V-shaped steel sole is nicely polished. The plastic piece at the rear of the tool is ergonomically shaped to fit the palm of your hand comfortably when using the plane. It’s a nice detail, being softer than the aluminum body, and it holds a surprise: hinged at the top, it lifts to reveal a storage compartment for the three cutters not in use.
Wood edges can be eased in several ways: shaped with a block plane and sanded to the final shape; addressed with sandpaper alone; or shaped with the correct round-over bit chucked into a router. The Jorgensen Corner Easing Plane creates a more uniform finish than either a block plane or sandpaper and is much more pleasant to use than even a small router. I’m pleased I’ve added this plane to my kit.
Bill Thomas has been a custom woodworker, designer, boatbuilder, and teacher for more than 40 years. He lives and works in South Berwick, Maine.
Purchasing options for the Jorgensen Corner Easing Plane can be found on the Jorgensen website.
Is there a product that might be useful for boatbuilding, cruising, or shore-side camping that you’d like us to review? Please email your suggestions.
We figured out a while back that if we keep our boats and sails covered when they are not in use, they will be ready to go when it’s time to mess about, and the better the cover—in quality of fabric and construction—the better the protection afforded to the boat. Over the years we’ve experimented with a variety of off-the shelf covers and have made some of our own, but we’ve not found any to beat the quality, selection, and service from SLO Sail and Canvas.
Photographs by the authors
SLO Covers come with web tie-down loops as standard. The 1″-wide straps are an optional extra.
Based since 2005 in San Luis Obispo, California, SLO Sail and Canvas is owned and operated by a group of sailors who specialize in high-quality, handmade products from sails to boat covers, sail bags to spar bags. They build custom sails and class sails, custom covers and class covers, and make only to order, aiming to ship most items within five business days of the order being placed. When it comes to boat covers, they have patterns for more than 100 classes of boat including such classics as the Optimist; Cape Dory 10 and 14; the Dyer Dhow, Dink, and Midget; the O’Day 15, Lightning, Whitehall Spirit, and Widgeon. However, if they do not have a template for a particular boat, they can supply customers with a kit to make a pattern from which SLO can then make a cover.
SLO Cover Materials and Construction
SLO builds its covers in polyester, Sunbrella, or TopGun fabric and for stitching uses Tenara Teflon thread (for Sunbrella and TopGun) and V-138 polyester for polyester. All covers and bags are single-stitched using a short stitch length to ensure a strong seam, and come with a lifetime seam guarantee.
The tie-down loops work well with line. Areas of known chafing or stress—as here in the bow section of a Sunfish cover, under strain from the spars beneath—are reinforced with extra fabric layers. Bungee cord sewn into the hem around the bottom edge of the cover provides a snug fit.
We first came across SLO when we were looking for covers for our fleet of Sunfish sailboats and ordered a cover in the water-resistant 600-denier polyester. The fit and quality of build were excellent. However, our boats are typically stored under a metal roof. It quickly became apparent that in hot, humid conditions breathability is more important than total water resistance: if moisture cannot escape from beneath a cover, mildew will follow. We ordered our next cover in water-repellent acrylic Sunbrella, a fabric that offers a good balance of water resistance, breathability, and protection from UV damage. Paired with SLO’s excellent fit and construction, the Sunbrella cover has served us well. The third fabric option is TopGun, an acrylic-coated polyester that is exceptionally abrasion- and tear-resistant and is, according to the SLO website, ideal for trailering. Like the lighter polyester, TopGun is 100% waterproof, but air vents can be added to any cover. A less rugged alternative to a full TopGun cover is to use the material to reinforce any chafe points of a Sunbrella cover.
All SLO covers come standard with tie-down web loops placed every 3′. An optional upgrade includes 1″-wide web straps with Fastex urethane buckles and reflective tape. We have found the buckles easy to handle even with wet hands, and they can be quickly adjusted to provided the right tension in the straps. Cover flaps are closed with UV-resistant Velcro; bottom edges are cinched with 1⁄4″-diameter bungee; and where needed, YKK heavy-duty Vislon zippers are standard.
SLO spar bags are as rugged and as well-made as the boat covers. The company sells a large range of stock bags—both full-length zippered bags, as seen here, and drawstring bags—for specific class boats. They also offer made-to-measure custom bags.
So impressed have we been with our SLO covers that we have also bought SLO spar bags in two versions: drawstring and full-length zipper. As in the covers, the quality of design and construction is excellent. Being able to keep our sails and spars bundled together, whether in the boat for trailering or over the shoulder when walking down or up the beach, has been a game-changer for us.
Audrey and Kent Lewis have a sea of Pacific Blue Sunbrella covers protecting their armada of small boats in the Tidewater region of Virginia. Their adventures are logged at smallboatrestoration.blogspot.com.
For pricing and availability of standard covers and bags or to consult on a custom-designed cover or bag, emailSLO Sail and Canvas or call them at 805–479–6122.
Is there a product that might be useful for boatbuilding, cruising, or shore-side camping that you’d like us to review? Please email your suggestions.
"Hey Jude! You got five minutes?” It is a familiar cry in the Jordan home. Bill and Judy Jordan have been married 47 years. They met in college, and as young adults working in education and without much money, by necessity and choice, became frequent do-it-yourselfers. They bought a 10-acre piece of land and built their own home as well as some of the furniture within it. Much of the work was done by Bill, but on frequent occasions he needed an extra pair of hands, and the call for Judy to come help would go up.
Bill first tried his hand at woodworking as a child, watching, helping, and working on his own projects alongside his father in a converted cellar workshop. As an adult, his career was in athletics and physical education—both coaching and administration. “That world,” he says, “is very competitive and high-energy, and as a release from the stress I always had some building project going on.” Eventually, he was drawn to bent-wood boxes of both Shaker and Colonial style. It began as a hobby. “Judy liked and bought bent-wood boxes on visits to Williamsburg, Virginia. I realized I was capable of making them and found it relaxing and rewarding.” He made boxes as gifts for friends and family, then started selling them at craft shows. Then, when he realized people were curious about how the boxes were made, he started including demo sessions at the shows. For the past few years, he has run an annual class in box making at WoodenBoat School in Brooklin, Maine.
Photographs by Bill Jordan
HEY JUDE was constructed on a building platform set up on posts sunk into the ground beneath the barn, their bottom ends beneath the frost line. The white-oak keel was steam-bent and saturated with penetrating epoxy. Once in place on the molds, but before being through-bolted to the frames, it was held in place by supports between the hull and the barn ceiling joists.
In 2017, Bill turned his hand to building a Ted Moores–designed 15′ 2″ strip-planked Ranger canoe, and the following year he signed up for the Fundamentals of Boatbuilding class with Greg Rössel at WoodenBoat School. Judy accompanied him to Maine and, while they were there, they took out one of the school’s Haven 12 1⁄2s. As they sailed through the anchorage, Judy on the helm, Bill holding the mainsheet, he looked back and saw Judy smiling from ear to ear. Then she said the immortal words: “I really like this boat.” Back on land, Bill went right into The WoodenBoat Store and bought a set of plans.
The garboard was strip-planked with the strips paralleling the keel. Once it was installed—as a single strake—the rest of the hull was strip-planked from the garboard down to the sheerstrake.
Preparing to Build the Haven 12 1⁄2
At home in Pennsylvania, Bill had the space to create a building shop in his barn. But the barn floor was made of bricks set in sand. In winter, the floor moves with frost heave, and it is far from level, so he built an elevated floor. “I dug six post holes 42″ deep, and planted 48″ posts that reached below the frost. Then I built a flat 3⁄4″ plywood floor on 2×6 joists on top of the posts. It served as a building platform and stayed flat throughout the build.” He also built a raised 4′ × 6′ layout table with a white top. While preparation of this sort is often overlooked in manuals or anecdotes of boatbuilding, Bill says he considered “the building platform and table essential elements of the build.”
Bill had planned to build a traditional carvel-planked 12 1⁄2, one that would, he says, “be launched in the spring, swell shut, and live on a mooring. But the oceanside-cottage purchase did not materialize, and the reality that the boat would spend most of its life being used as a daysailer from a trailer necessitated a change of plan—carvel-planked boats and frequent trailering don’t mesh well.” So, after building the forms, keel, stem, and transom, and bending 22 white-oak frames over the summer of 2019, he came to a decision: “I would strip-plank it.”
As the planking neared the bottom, Bill butted the forward ends of the strips into the sheerstrake but cut the after ends short by 3⁄4″, leaving a 3⁄4″ gap from about amidships to the stern, which would be filled by a single strip at the end.
Bill could find little available information on strip-planking a 12 1⁄2, but with his previous experience building the Ranger canoe and the knowledge he had gained in Rössel’s class, he believed he could handle it. The biggest problem, he says, is that “the planking layout of all strip-planked boats includes a football shape, and it can get to a point where the strips cannot take the extreme bends and still lie flat over the form. It’s not a problem in a smaller hull, but in a boat like a 12 1⁄2, with a wide bilge admidships, it is. I solved it by making a garboard plank that was wider amidships than the plans called for when traditionally planking.”
Building the Hull
Bill decided he would build his garboard plank out of 3⁄4″ western red cedar strips. But before he started, he spent hours in the barn designing the layout for the whole hull’s planking. “I measured and remeasured and stuck bits of blue painter’s tape all over the forms and the battens until I had the plan: a wide—almost 10″-wide amidships—garboard where the strips essentially parallel the keel, and then regular strip planking paralleling the waterline all the way down to the sheerstrake.” Bill glued and pegged the garboard plank strips, and as the plank grew it was clamped to the frames so that it formed the necessary convex curve. Once he had it built up to more than the required width, Bill drew the arc of its lower edge, took the assembly to the workbench, and cut and planed it to size. Then he returned it to the boat and glued and screwed it to the frames.
Bill coated all the interior surfaces with epoxy, primer, and final finishes while they were still accessible. The deckbeams are of white oak, the sheer clamps are Douglas fir, and the foredeck would be laid 1⁄2″ marine plywood covered in fiberglass and epoxy.
The rest of the hull was traditionally strip-planked from the garboard to the walnut sheerstrake, using bead-and-cove strips glued together and to the frames. The strips were also screwed to the frames every 4 1⁄2″ in the ’midship section and more closely toward the stem and transom. When laying out the planking design Bill had realized that near the sheerstrake it would be challenging to bend and shape the strips into both ends of the boat and that doing so would create an arc that would result in the “football shape” he was trying to avoid. Instead, he brought the forward ends of the strips into the sheerstrake, but at the stern cut them short by 3⁄4″. When planking was complete, he was left with a 3⁄4″-wide gap from about ’midships back to the transom. This gap he easily filled with a precut spacer strip.
Before turning the hull upright, Bill, Judy, and their son Will sheathed it in fiberglass and epoxy. “It’s not a hard job, but it needs more than one person, so having Judy and Will there to help was good.”
The forward and after bulkheads are strip-planked in western red cedar and provide the 12 1⁄2 with flotation and storage. The stern deck was planked in 1⁄2″ cedar, which was fiberglassed and epoxy coated. The walnut covering boards are seen here shaped and ready for installation. The centerboard trunk was built in sapele.
After fairing and painting the hull, it was time to turn it over. In hindsight, Bill says they should have marked and painted the waterline, but “I chickened out, deciding it would be prudent to wait until I launched her. Of course, that meant wading around in the water to check measurements only to find out if I’d done it while the hull was still upside down on the building frame, everything would have worked out just right.”
Will came in to help with the flipping. “He’s a rock climber and he’s built challenge courses. He understands about pulleys and purchases and has all the right equipment. I knew he was the guy to figure out how to lift it and turn it.” The event went smoothly, and suddenly there was a boat in the barn.
The transom, with its distinctive raked wineglass shape, is bright-finished sapele.
Then began the long process of fitting out. First the empty interior was coated with epoxy and painted—“a whole lot easier to do before all the furniture goes in.” That done, Bill followed the plans and the directions in How to Build the Haven 12 1⁄2-Footer. Trim and seats were fashioned in bright-finished walnut; bulkheads were crafted in strips of western red cedar. The spars were all in Douglas fir. The 600-lb lead keel was prefabricated by Broomfield & Son in Providence, Rhode Island, and Will helped his father lay it. “We had to get it lined up under the boat and drill down through the keelson; then Will stayed under the boat while I got in the boat, and we worked the silicon-bronze bolts into place with a wrench on both ends.”
Judy Jordan
Will Jordan holds HEY JUDE alongside the float on launching day. With the paint and varnish finishes, the placement of frames, and all the traditional fittings from a distance there is little to distinguish HEY JUDE from a carvel-planked Haven 12 1⁄2. But thanks to her strip-planked construction, her hull has remained stable and tight and has not leaked despite trailer-sailing for two summers.
Judy was there most days, says Bill, “every time I called out, ‘Hey Jude…’.” But for much of the build, his help was long-distance. “I enjoyed solving problems. I’d go out to the barn and take measurements, then go back to the house and get on the internet, read books, and reach out to people. I met so many people along the way: Eric Dow who builds carvel-planked 12 1⁄2s in Brooklin, Maine; the folks at Hylan and Brown boatyard and Artisan Boatworks; Steve White (son of [Haven] 12 1⁄2-designer Joel White), and all kinds of YouTubers who I’d connect with. I’d call commercial people thinking they wouldn’t want to chat because I wasn’t buying anything, but everyone would talk. Yes, they were making a living, but they were passionate about what they were doing, and were happy to help.”
Kate Jordan
The building crew: Will, Judy, and Bill Jordan. Bill “chickened out” and did not apply the waterline prior to launching—a decision he would come to regret as there was subsequently a good deal of standing around in the water taking measurements only to reveal that the waterline was exactly where the plans had indicated it would be.
Bill had steamed the first frames for the boat in 2019, and the strip-planking was completed in September 2020. But it would be another two-and-a-half years before HEY JUDE was finished. She was launched in April 2023, 17 miles from home at Lake Arthur in Moraine State Park, Pennsylvania. Since then, Bill and Judy have sailed her on countless days, often in the company of Will and his young daughters. For Bill, the experience of both the build and the subsequent impact of the boat in their lives has been a delight. “I can’t adequately put into words the enjoyment I found in building her,” he says. “There wasn’t a single day I could describe as a low, not one day when I thought the project would get me beat. And all the people I’ve met who have shared ideas, expertise, encouragement, and time along the way… it was truly a wonderful experience.”
Built by Artisan Boatworks of Rockport, Maine, KITTY (left) is of the same configuration as the 11-boat fleet that the Herreshoff Mfg. Co. turned out in 1923 for Rhode Island’s Watch Hill Yacht Club. The first boats of this hull shape, however, were gaff-rigged like MURMUR (right), instead of marconi (like KITTY) and began appearing as Buzzards Bay 15s in 1899. In all, well over a hundred originals and variants have been launched.
I’d never laid eyes on one of these distinctive sloops until Phil Farout invited my wife, Anne, and me out for an evening sail aboard ELF, a Herreshoff 15 (LOA 24′ 6″). Phil sat across from me in the Electric Boat (EB) design office where as a young engineer I’d taken a job. He kept ELF moored right off the waterfront apartment he rented in Noank, Connecticut, and when we arrived there and the boat came into view, she seemed to me to be all bow compared to the boats I’d grown up with. That long forward overhang made a lasting impression—unusual at first, but soon much appreciated for both performance and good looks.
Our sail turned out to be fun, big-time, as it was our very first in these strange new waters and, I believe, our first in a genuine Herreshoff.
ELF came more fully into our lives a couple of years later after Phil had sold her to Bill Welte, an EB naval architect who sat a few desks farther away. When Bill discovered he wouldn’t be able to use her the coming summer, he asked if I’d be interested in taking her over by doing the painting, launching, and rigging in exchange for sailing. He only had to ask once, and we were on the case—sanding, filling, and painting at Joe Butson’s yard, also in Noank, where ELF had been spending the winters under canvas.
Sailing ELF that summer taught me a lot. These are sporty boats with plenty of sail area, so they zip along surprisingly well in only a zephyr. You sit comfortably on seats down inside the boat, not on the deck as you’d have to in a boat with a self-bailing cockpit. Its long and high bow combined with a generous foredeck helps keep spray from drenching the passengers.
Nevertheless, daughter Kathy, who at six months rode in a car bed perfectly suspended between the centerboard trunk and the edge of a seat, got splashed occasionally, along with her parents. The three of us in ELF managed an overnight cruise to Millstone Point, along with lots of day sails in Fishers Island Sound. Ever since that summer with ELF, Buzzards Bay 15s and their derivatives have, for me, been special. The primary variants are called Newport 15s, which have slightly deeper ballast keels, and Watch Hill 15s, which carry marconi rigs. Four, including FLICKER, were built to this same hull shape, but with full keels.
Benjamin Mendlowitz
A single jibsheet, made possible by the boomed jib, helps make this boat easy to sail. (Here, because of the light wind, the traveler-mounted block has fetched up on the opposite side from the jib.)
In 1969, after I quit engineering and became Mystic Seaport’s shipyard supervisor, the BB-15 FIDDLER came under my care. For nearly a decade, she had been on dry land and was hurting from years of outdoor exposure, so I soon sent her to Sonny Hodgdon of East Boothbay, Maine, to have him replace all of her frames, give her a new deck and coaming, and generally refurbish her. Sonny’s uncles had worked for Herreshoff, so he understood their construction methods better than anyone at the Seaport at the time. That was some 40 years ago, and FIDDLER has been on inside exhibit ever since, neighbored by two other Herreshoff classics— ALERION and the 12 1⁄2 -footer NETTLE.
FLICKER, which Anne and I bought about 10 years ago, is the third boat of this model that I’ve been involved with. In FLICKER, N.G. Herreshoff eliminated the centerboard and gave her a deeper keel, along with a couple of inches more freeboard and slightly heavier scantlings, so she could be hoisted onboard her “mother” steam yacht without being strained. Because she’s never been restored or rebuilt during her 103-year life, she’s a bit fragile. So we sail her gently. Big winds don’t seem to bother her, but I fear that seas would, so she’s pretty much confined to Eggemoggin Reach’s sheltered waters.
Compared to ELF, FLICKER is easier to sail, and for me, more fun because she has a self-tending jib and no running backstays. (Herreshoff gave her a stouter mast,
and I added a boom to the jib.) Once you have the sails up, about all you have to do are steer and occasionally trim sheets. I deal with big wind differently than I used to with the other boat, thanks to advice from sailmaker Nat Wilson: When the breeze stiffens and the boat begins to dip her rail, and you wish the mainsail were half its size, you can quickly ease her yet keep her moving without reefing. You do this by backwinding the forward part of a slacked-out mainsail with a tightly trimmed-in jib. This puts a big and visible “bubble” in the main that greatly diminishes the angle of heel. Yet the boat keeps on moving nearly as fast, can point at least as high, and has much less weather helm.
Benjamin Mendlowitz
Artisan Boatworks has turned out three of these lovely cedar-planked craft, the two most recent having full keels rather than KITTY’s keel-centerboard combination. The latter two draw about a foot more water, but are stiffer under sail because their cast lead ballast keels are that much lower.
These boats turn on a dime because of their short waterlines and saucer-like underbodies, so in having no running backstays to tend while jibing, FLICKER is ideal for doing this maneuver Hudson River style—even in strong winds. It’s rather spectacular to view or experience, but so far has proven perfectly workable.
With the mainsheet slacked out for running downwind, all you do is quickly pull the tiller to windward for a jibe and leave it there. You don’t touch the mainsheet except to make sure it doesn’t snag on anything. The boat snaps around, jibes, and comes up into the wind so fast that the mainsail luffs on the new tack instead of filling. What appears as a disaster in the making—the boom lifting, the sail and gaff starting to wang across to the other side of the boat—ends up with the sheet completely slack and the boat sitting there like a pussycat, ready to head off on her new tack in whatever direction you wish. The jib, usually trimmed in, takes care of itself because it’s on a traveler and has but a single sheet.
Some sloops, once their mainsail is hoisted, seem overanxious to start sailing even though they’re still moored. By contrast, FLICKER just waits there with her mainsail luffing (as long as its sheet is kept free) until you’re good and ready to cast off. After you slip the mooring by walking its pennant aft on what will be the windward side, you gently trim in the mainsail and pull the tiller to windward, and she’s reliably off on the tack of your choice, either with jib or without; it doesn’t seem to matter.
Benjamin Mendlowitz
Once the sails are raised, about all one has to do is to steer these fine craft and occasionally adjust the sheets. Here, while maneuvering KITTY for the camera, Justin Ward grasps both sheets as well as the tiller, giving him full and rapid control of the sails as well as the boat’s direction.
Herreshoff 15s have long had their enthusiasts, and for good reason, for these are really wonderful little boats. They seem to have the perfect balance between speed, responsiveness, cockpit size, seakindliness, and good looks. Herreshoff turned out over 90 of them in several configurations between 1899 and 1928, and since then others have been built in both fiberglass and wood, bringing the total to date to 131.
Although I don’t recall having seen a cruising cabin on a Herreshoff 15, it could be done without spoiling the looks, as long as it was kept low and short. One of the round-fronted day cabins (basically a roof resting on turned stanchions, and enclosed when needed by rolldown canvas curtains) that were once common on Great South Bay catboats would work well and could easily be removed for switching back to a full cockpit. A boom tent would be another option in creating a weekend cruiser. This kind of setup served us very well on ELF, but for FLICKER I’m hoping for the Great South Bay version.
Mystic Seaport, Daniel S. Gregory Ships Plans Library, Mystic, CT, #59.1286
This drawing, made by naval architect Edson Schock from measurements of Mystic Seaport’s Buzzards Bay 15 FIDDLER, represents the boat’s lines and the gaff sail plan originally carried by the class.
Check Out These Other Herreshoff Boats
Quite a few handsome small boats bear the Herreshoff name. Take a look at some we’ve covered, including one built by a Small Boats reader.
Biscayne Bay 14 | The Biscayne Bay 14, designed by N.G. Herreshoff, is a delightful, low-cost daysailer that transports easily and is a good performer.
Colonia Dinghy | Designed by Herreshoff in 1901, numerous modified versions of this 17′ daysailer have been built over the ensuing decades.
A Herreshoff Coquina | One of our readers built a cold-molded version of the lapstrake cat-ketch that Nathanael Herreshoff built for himself in 1889.
It seems that I never get enough time on outboard powerboats. I’ve always loved driving them for the simple wind-in-your-hair joy of it, especially when you can reach that out-of-the-way beach that often remains out-of-reach on a day off unless you have a fast boat. And anyway—shouldn’t everyone want to own a fast red motorboat at some point in their lives?
I think Graham Byrnes probably had just this sort of thing in mind when he designed Marissa, with a couple of further criteria: owning such a boat shouldn’t create hassles, and building it and running it shouldn’t cost an arm and a leg. Marissa’s promise of such simplicity — along with her undeniable fuel-efficiency — made the design the winner in the 2010 WoodenBoat Publications “Design Challenge” for new powerboat designs capable of sustained cruising at 15 knots using less than two gallons of gasoline per hour.
Benjamin Mendlowitz
Marissa was conceived as the smallest practical center-console runabout, and she became the winner of WoodenBoat’s Design Challenge for efficient small powerboats.
Byrnes, of B&B Yacht Designs in Vandemere, North Carolina, has a habit of blending speed, efficiency, and simplicity with strong aesthetic appeal in his sail and power boats. Any designer worth his salt would strive to make a design good-looking but also well suited to its uses, whatever they may be. Marissa delivers on both counts.
This is, above all, a stable boat, having the feel of a much larger one. Boarding and moving around the cock-pit have little effect on her trim. Her hull’s form stability is augmented by her stiff construction, which dampens the harmonic vibration Byrnes sees in other boats. So in addition to her solid feel, she has a remarkably smooth and quiet ride.
In heritage, she is a reduced version of Byrnes’s earlier North Carolina sportfisherman, the Ocracoke 20. But her function is not at all narrowly drawn. Marissa started as an intellectual challenge for Byrnes: Create the smallest center-console runabout practical. “You can always make a boat smaller,” he said, “but you can’t scale down people. It’s the smallest that is gracious and reasonable.”
The bottom panels reach 30 degrees of deadrise one-quarter of the hull’s length aft of the stem. At their top edges, the bottom panels culminate in chine flats, which give the hull a rakish look. Rising forward and tapering until they are flush with the bottom plank- ing only right at the stem, these flats accentuate the sheerline, which is already pleasing from all angles.
The chine flats are a handsome touch, but they are also practical, since they knock down spray forward and function very effectively as stabilizers while running. “And boy do they make it dry,” Byrnes said. “In whatever weather I’ve been in, it’s just dry as a bone. You can see how it’s really turning that water back down.” Powering in 4′ seas with four people aboard, he gave the boat a proper sea trial and found that she remained stable and dry. “That was running as hard as I could get it, even though it upset my ladies,” Byrnes said.
As a boatbuilder, if I like the looks and the lines of a hull, the next thing I do is take a close look at the construction drawings. I imagine myself building the boat in sequence and in as much detail as possible, and I ask myself whether the boat would be simple enough to make its construction practical yet challenging enough to keep it interesting. Marissa’s hull passes that test. Her construction is plywood throughout, using a conventional egg-crate-style framework of athwartships frames and bulkheads and longitudinal stringers, all of which are integral to the hull’s structure. With this framework set up for upside-down construction, the developable bottom and side panels are glued into place.
Benjamin Mendlowitz
Chine flats coupled with her hull form make Marissa a very stable boat, with sure handling whether the water is flat or choppy. Graham Byrnes (here at the helm beside his grand-daughter, Marissa, the boat’s namesake) designed the boat for a 25-hp outboard; here, he’s using a 30-hp four-stroke because he found the used motor for sale at a good price.
The chine flats may seem tricky to make on first glance, but on close examination I believe they would be simpler than traditional chine-log construction. Instead of chine logs, which typically require a lot of twist and rolling bevels for their lengths, this hull has chine battens for longitudinal stiffness. They are installed on the upper inner edges of the bottom panels, making their installation very simple, without bevels. Next would come the plywood chine flats, which butt against the top outer edge of the bottom panels and attach to the horizontal jogs in the frames and bulkheads — again, very simple to shape. After that, the topside panels would be fastened in place, flush with the bottom of the chine flats.
The joint would be radiused, assuring a better bond than a sharp corner would for the exterior sheathing of 10-oz fiberglass cloth set in epoxy. The joints between the chine flats and the bottom panels will be filleted with thickened epoxy and reinforced with fiberglass tape set in epoxy. Such joints — radiused on outside corners where sheathed, filleted and taped on inside corners — are used uniformly throughout the hull to reinforce the structure. For the structural elements that double as the components of the building jig, the plans, which are very neatly drawn, include full-sized patterns. A kit consisting of these components precut by CNC (computer numerically controlled) router is also available.
The rest of the hull construction would be straightforward work, the only complications being the installation of a pipe chaseway under the cockpit sole to carry steering cables and wiring; the installation of a fuel tank under the console, which has a fill tube on its starboard side; and filling chambers on both sides with flotation foam before installing the cockpit sole. All these details are clearly specified and easy to follow in the plans.
The center console as designed is functional, and the seat is comfortable for the driver and a single guest. Flip-up seats in the quarters provide a place for more guests to sit. I suppose similar side seats up forward might well serve the same purpose, if guests are often along for the ride and if other intended uses — fishing, for example —can tolerate such intrusions.
The console itself provides opportunities for individual choice, for example in the selection of a GPS with a large display. There’s ample room for, say, a fishfinder, as well, along with a VHF radio and other gear left to the imagination and personal preference. Byrnes added a tachometer and a fuel gauge and left it at that.
Tom Jackson
This partly-finished center console provides ample room for whatever the owner wishes to install. A fuel fill is inset on the starboard side.
For power, Byrnes specifies an outboard motor of between 25 and 60 hp, matching the light weight of the hull. Her fuel consumption statistics are based on the 25-hp model, with which she reportedly can achieve 15 statute miles per gallon. That motor’s top speed of 21 knots puts fuel consumption at 2.2 gallons per hour. Byrnes found the measured results very close — and slightly better — than predicted. Running at 5,900 rpm, she hit a top speed of 22 knots, and with the motor trim fine-tuned she reached 22.5 knots, half a knot above projected top speed. “I was tickled to death,” he said. “That’s what we wanted and that’s what we got.”
For those results, Byrnes used a 30-hp Suzuki four-stroke when he brought Marissa to WoodenBoat’s waterfront in July 2010, while he was teaching design at WoodenBoat School. That motor, which he bought secondhand and whose installation he was still tweaking, seemed perfectly fine to me: the boat is pleasantly responsive, maneuvers easily, accelerates well, turns handily, and planes readily. His outboard came without a power tilt trim, and that’s one thing Byrnes recommends adding, not only for easily raising the motor while nosing into shallows but also for making minute adjustments for greater efficiency under way. “That would really be at the top end of my wish list,” he said.
Byrnes said that when he designed the boat, he had the Design Challenge rules in mind but also wanted something that would be marketable in his area, which he calls “center-console country.”
“Having used most layouts, I can really see that center console is the best choice: it’s so easy to get around the boat, you can do anything. Being able to quickly get to any part of the boat just makes sense, and visibility is very good. I didn’t think I’d win, but I felt that at the very least I’d have an excellent, salable, marketable project.” He also knew that many would want more power — “you can never overpower a boat for the American market,” he said. He wanted a hull that could take more power if asked to. Cruising at 15 knots using a little more than a gallon per hour “exactly suits me,” he said. “That’s exactly where my mental outlook is.” But the question he is most often asked is whether the boat can take a bigger motor.
Marissa, B & B Yacht Design’s winning entry in the 2010 WoodenBoat Publications “Design Challenge,” is economical to build and use. A stepped chine gets the boat on plane quickly; the center-console layout is conventional but efficient; the lines show a boat that moves easily through the water at displacement and semi-displacement speeds.
More power might be tempting to some, but that would come at a cost, not only in the cash outlay for the motor itself but also in fuel consumption. For me, 15 knots or so is a very civilized speed to watch the world go by, rewarding the driver with a quiet, smooth, and enjoyable day on the water. Plus, you can still enjoy an actual conversation with the person with the wind in her hair.
At the turn of this century Iain Oughtred was commissioned to design a canoe, or “Canadian canoe” as they’re called in the British Isles where Iain makes his home. The Canadian canoe has had a long history and has taken countless forms, so rather than aim at coming up with something new, he set out to create the ideal: “I just want to get it right, to get it as it should be, to make the archetypal Canadian canoe. All variations and designs are evolving towards the perfect canoe, and that’s what I want to achieve.”
As he studied the designs of existing canoes he took note of curves that were too strong or too weak and applied, in his own way, a version of the averageness hypothesis that has been used to measure and define beauty in the human face: What we recognize as beautiful is the balance and proportion of features that is the mean of all of the variations. Oughtred’s Beaver is his expression of the anything-but-average-looking mean of Canadian canoes.
The ends rise high enough to give the sheer a strong, sweeping curve without adding unnecessarily to windage. The rocker strikes an even balance between tracking and maneuverability; the shallow-arch cross section strikes its balance between speed and stability. The tumblehome at the sides eases getting the paddle to the water and yet maintains strong secondary stability and a dry ride.
The Beaver is symmetrical and the seven molds on either side of the center mold are identical. The full-sized patterns for the molds are lined off for optional lapstrake construction, either glued-lap or traditional lapstrake with steam-bent ribs on 6″ centers. Particulars for cold molding are also offered. Strip-built, the Beaver should come in at about 40 lbs, an easy weight to manage for cartopping and carrying.
The four sheets of Beaver Canoe design plans provide offsets, but the full-sized patterns will get you around having to loft the boat. Included are 16 pages of notes from Oughtred.
This sweet-lined tender is the smallest in Iain Oughtred’s design series of Acorn skiffs and dinghies. She is sufficiently burdensome to be useful as a general-purpose shuttle from ship to shore; she is also handsome and light enough to be carried on deck or in davits aboard the mother yacht. And what is more, her overall length can be shortened to suit — from 7′ 10″ to 7′ 7″ or 7′ 5″, as needed and as per plans.
Like other Oughtred design offerings, the Acorn tender may be built traditionally of solid lumber to heavier specifications. But the preferred and featured building method here is frameless, glued-seam, lapstrake plywood construction — an excellent system for amateurs in particular, and an efficient procedure for lapstrake small craft in general. The dimensionally stable plywood allows boats to be kept ashore for long periods without drying out, and the frameless interior makes maintenance easier.
Consistent, too, with his other designs, Oughtred’s tender allows for multiple choices in other areas. This boat may be set up for sail with either a standing- or balanced-lug rig, a leeboard or daggerboard, and a fixed or pivoting rudder; or she can be outfitted for oars and outboard only.
The Acorn 8 can be constructed without lofting, using standard sheets of marine plywood. She can be finished plain or fancy, according to taste and role requirements. There is no keen technical skill required, since all the necessary information from building the jig and constructing the hull to the final fitting out, is contained in Oughtred’s packet of plans.
This Acorn Tender Design Plan packet consists of four sheets: lines, construction, sail, and full-sized patterns for plank lands and major parts. Included as well are detailed construction notes, a tools list and materials schedule, and a 14-page booklet illustrating the plywood building procedure. There are also recommendations and data regarding conventional construction. WoodenBoat Plan No. 87.
In bygone eras, retirement typically meant slowing down, staying home, and accepting the idea that one had become old. Today, however, that’s a concept that more and more people are ignoring; none more so than five of the small-boat enthusiasts in this month’s issue.
When Chris Price was thinking about retirement in 2013, he decided to fulfill a lifelong ambition to build a boat, choosing the 13′ 6″ Tammie Norrie design. He had no plan for how he and his wife, Jacqui, would use the boat, but after they launched BETTY the following year, they discovered a mutual love of rowing. When Nic Compton caught up with them last fall, he learned that “within a few years there was barely a patch of water in the West Country they hadn’t explored.” In the years that followed, and at a time when many of their contemporaries must surely have been slowing down and putting their feet up, the Prices were rowing down the River Thames from Oxford to Rotherhithe; exploring the River Severn; and picnicking on the banks of the Great Ouse.
As I read Nic’s story, it occurred to me that the Prices are not only defining a new approach to retirement, they are also giving a whole new meaning to the term “downsizing.” For most, downsizing means exchanging a larger house for a smaller one in order to free up some capital with which to relax, unwind, and make life easier. But the Prices have downsized from the relative comforts of a 28′ sailboat to the more spartan accommodations of a rowboat with neither shelter nor auxiliary power. And for years now they have delighted in rowing their way through southern England, in an unconventional approach to aging that appears to be keeping them young.
At first glance, Gerald and Petra Trumpp’s story in Germany has little in common with that of the Prices. But there are similar threads. Like Chris, Gerald came late to boatbuilding. In 2017, he took a stitch-and-glue canoe-building class in Berlin, and it sowed a seed. As he approached retirement, Gerald and his wife, Petra, dreamed of exploring the Danube “in a bigger boat.” As a preliminary step before embarking on a major build, Gerald built a Northeaster Dory to gain more boatbuilding experience. But then, their circumstances changed and the dreams shifted. There would be no big boat and, for now, rowing the dory down the Danube was also not an option. But Gerald was not to be thwarted. Instead, he and Petra would learn to sail the dory. He installed a sailing rig and, through trial and error, they figured out the rudimentaries together.
By the time Gerald was fully retired, he and Petra were determined to go adventuring under sail. But for that, they would need a different boat: the dory was great for rowing, but when it came to sailing it was just a little tippy. So, Gerald built a Goat Island Skiff , a boat that is a tad more stable and offers more speed. And this coming summer, they hope to start turning their dreams into reality. Like the Prices in England, Gerald and Petra are eschewing the idea of slowing down in retirement, and instead, are looking forward to sailing their skiff on the rivers and lakes of France, Germany, Italy, and perhaps beyond.
Christopher Cunningham
Christopher Cunningham enjoying his Bolger Pirogue on a cold day in February. Top picture: Gerald and Petra taking the first sail in their new Goat Island Skiff; photograph courtesy of Gerald Trumpp.
And then there’s our very own editor-at-large, Christopher Cunningham. Regular readers will recall that in September Chris stood down from the editorship of Small Boats, muttering things about wanting to slow down. If any of us interpreted that as taking it easy, we were surely mistaken. In the months following his retirement, Chris has been busier than ever and, since Christmas, has repaired, refitted, refloated, and now reviewed a Bolger Pirogue. He could have waited for spring but, instead, chose to do sea trials on three consecutive near-freezing days in February—sailing, poling, paddling, rowing, and even putting the boat through a capsize drill. And when he says, in conclusion, that he’s looking forward to some summer cruising, you can rest assured that he means it.
What these five people, and many Small Boats readers like them, have in common is a desire to do things differently. And more than that, they share an understanding that while retirement may mean going slower, that’s not always a bad thing, for if you go slower in a small boat, you can discover the world anew.
Over the Bar
In last month’s Small Boats, I wrote about the collaboration between John Watkinson and the Elliott Brothers, and the development of the range of Drascombe boats. Recently, from England, came the sad news that Katherine “Kate” Mary Watkinson, wife of the late John Watkinson and for whom he named the prototype Drascombe Lugger, KATHERINE MARY, died February 20, 2025, aged 93. Douglas Elliott writes, “It was my privilege to know Kate for more than 67 years; she was a lovely lady who will be missed. Kate and John are survived by their son James and daughter Emma.”
Courtesy of Douglas Elliott
Kate and James Watkinson at the 2015 launching of the Drascombe Longboat TENACITY. The boat was built for the Plymouth and Devon Schools Sailing Association and was adapted for sailors with disabilities.
All youngsters might begin their waterborne adventures in flat-bottomed rowing-and-sailing skiffs. Easy to build, yet difficult to design properly, these honest little boats teach lessons in seamanship and self-reliance. At the other end of life’s voyage, a good skiff will take gentle care of old folks as they sail comfortable miles to nowhere in particular.
Here’s a flat-bottomed 15′4″ sailing skiff from Karl Stambaugh’s drawing board, and it looks just right. The designer gave this hull a flatter run than we’ll find on most old working skiffs, and as a result it holds more speed potential than its forebears. We’ll also appreciate the stability provided by that additional bearing back aft. The narrow bottom up forward reduces pounding when we’re sailing to windward. Considerable rake (flare, if you wish) to the sides of the hull helps to increase secondary stability, and it looks good…really good.
With the large pivoting centerboard hiding in its trunk, this skiff will float in little more than 4″ of water. We can pull it easily up to almost any beach, where it will sit comfortably upright. That shallow rudder tucked in behind the substantial skeg won’t be inclined to snag eelgrass or potwarp.
The boat’s construction blends a classical appearance with perpetual freedom from leaks. We’ll build the Sailing Skiff 15 with plywood, lumberyard stock, and epoxy. Stambaugh cleverly specifies solid, rather than plywood, sheerstrakes; these form the upper portions of the boat’s sides and lend strength and a traditional appearance to the skiff. This hull is both good-looking and easy to build.
A Chesapeake-style leg-o’-mutton rig provides the power. It’s simple, efficient, and relatively inexpensive. Its tapered wooden mast requires no standing rigging, which greatly reduces cost and complication. The light sprit boom runs across the sail to the mast, and this geometry forms an automatic boom vang.
Plywood construction and simple, elegant shape.
We can precisely control the set of the sail by fussing with the snotter (the line that fastens the boom to the mast). All this we’ll accomplish with few, if any, blocks and no costly gooseneck fitting. Unless we have a relative in the marine hardware business, there seems little sense to rigging an ordinary boom on a boat of this size and purpose.
So, here we have a simple, handsome, and versatile sailing skiff that goes together easily. If we can build only one boat, this might be the one boat to build. Download the 15′ Sailing Skiff design plans and get started. WoodenBoat Plan No. 174, $75.00.
The Herreshoff/Gardner 17 is a low-slung, sporty rowboat, a combination of two remarkable talents blended over more than 30 years. It started with an L. Francis Herreshoff article in the October 1947 issue of The Rudder. Herreshoff wrote at length on the benefits of recreational rowing and included a sketch of a 17′ rowing boat with a 42″ beam, weighing less than 100 lbs. It would be easily driven but more stable than a rowing shell and far lighter and more easily built than the St. Lawrence skiffs typical of the day.
The drawing was just a concept, with no plans or offsets, but it was something an experienced boatbuilder could work from. Indeed, from that sketch, Allan H. Vaitses of Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, built a Herreshoff 17 for his mile-long commute across the harbor. He summarized 32 months of rowing in “1,200 Miles Under Oars,” published in The Rudder, January 1955. Vaitses described the boat as speedy—twice as fast as typical rowboats—but acknowledged that he had to be careful in a head sea because of the boat’s fine ends.
Another renowned builder, John Gardner of Mystic Seaport Museum, also saw Herreshoff’s article. Entranced by the design, he promptly built a half model that he hung over the entrance to the Seaport’s small boat shop, and when he started getting requests for lines and offsets, he modified Herreshoff’s concept by making the boat a true symmetrical double-ender so that the same molds and stems could be used fore and aft of the middle mold, making it easier for amateur construction. He published his plans, along with an article, in National Fisherman in February 1980. Later, after receiving feedback from several readers and then coming across Vaitses’s 1955 article, he modified the lines again to address concerns about the lack of buoyancy in the ends. He kept Herreshoff’s slippery shape below the waterline, especially the fine ends, but increased the beam at the sheer, and added volume above the waterline for increased buoyancy.
Paul Jutra
An advertisement led Tony to Paul Jutra, who had recently built a cedar strip-planked Herreshoff/Gardner 17 and was looking to pass along the molds and strongback. While Gardner conceived the boat with a glued-lapstrake hull—similar in appearance to the original Herreshoff 17—the design lends itself to strip-planking, as Paul’s fine example shows.
Key to Herreshoff’s original concept is the light weight. Gardner thought the boat could come in close to 100 lbs if built of 1⁄4″ marine plywood on laminated 3⁄4″ frames at 8″ centers. His finished design was for a lapstrake hull with a 16″-wide (inside) bottom plank, 2 3⁄4″ of rocker, and five rivet-fastened planks per side.
Today at Mystic Seaport you can row John Gardner’s GREEN MACHINE, which he built to his plans in 1981. While building her, Gardner developed complete plans that were published as the opening chapter in Building Classic Small Craft, Vol. 2 (later published as More Building Classic Small Craft and now in Building Classic Small Craft, which contains both volumes 1 and 2) along with a full description of how to build the boat and what materials to use.
Gardner recommended epoxy-gluing the planks along their length, with copper rivets at the frames and copper tacks clenched along the laps between frames. The stems should be built out of three pieces—stem knee, and inner and outer stem—glued and screwed. While oak could be used, Gardner thought lighter woods made sense. The bottom should be of 3⁄4″ northern white pine or similar wood and, as it is 16″ wide, he suggested epoxying narrower boards together to get the width needed. Floor cleats were spaced between the frames. The seat risers and doublers stiffen the whole assembly and run virtually the length of the boat. Spruce was suggested for the thwarts—for stiffness and light weight—while the outwales could be spruce, mahogany, or fir.
Gardner originally drew fore and after decks to keep the boat dry and to stiffen the ends but eliminated them when he built GREEN MACHINE because of time constraints. Instead, he laminated thin breasthooks, finding them stiff enough. He also found the undecked boat dry under “reasonable conditions of use.”
Tony Lush
This example of John Gardner’s Herreshoff/Gardner 17 was built by Myron Young of Lauren, New York, and featured on the back cover of Gardner’s book, More Building Classic Small Craft. It replaced Gardner’s original GREEN MACHINE, and can still be rowed by visitors to Mystic Seaport Museum.
Since the boat is symmetrical forward and aft, it can be rowed in either direction. That allows some flexibility in thwart and oarlock locations to adjust for solo rowing, solo rowing with a passenger, or two-person rowing. Gardner’s plans show an interesting hinged-thwart arrangement to vary the width of the two thwarts to accommodate taller and shorter rowers. The frames and bottom cleats provide a range of foot-brace points.
Building the Herreshoff/Gardner 17
I came across the Herreshoff 17 design when looking for a rowboat for my dotage. I wanted a boat for staying fit and simply messing about on the water. I considered several and was inclined toward Swampscott dories and similar seaworthy boats. Most, though, would be too heavy to lug around, launch, and haul at my age, so I settled on the Herreshoff.
I considered building one and even bought the plans for Jim Michalak’s LFH17—a stitch-and-glue variation that I thought I could pull off. But, not having a workspace, I started searching online ads for the Herreshoff 17, hoping to find one to purchase. That’s when I saw an ad for “Molds and strongback for Herreshoff rowboat. Text this number.”
I did. Lo and behold, Paul Jutra had built a cedar strip-planked Herreshoff 17, had the tooling cluttering his garage, and lived a couple of miles down the road. We tossed everything into my car, and I stored the bits in my shed. Then I stopped to consider what I had gotten myself into. In the ’70s I had thrown together a 28′ single-chine plywood boat out of AC plywood and 2×4s. I sailed her from Michigan to England, and then to Newport, Rhode Island. But I’m no craftsman (she was courteously described in the British press as being “rough but sturdy”). Nor did I have a place in which to build a boat. However, a friend had recently purchased a home that included a separate wood shop and greenhouse, and thus the Greenhouse Boatyard was born.
Tony Lush
Tony had little boatbuilding experience and nowhere to build his boat at home. When a friend invited him to make use of an old woodshop and greenhouse, he readily accepted—they called the space the Greenhouse Boatyard. Tony would be using his boat on open water, so decided to include flotation in the ends by installing bulkheads 3′ in from the stems and building fore and after decks.
There are examples of the Herreshoff/Gardner 17 scattered around the world. It seems that even with the emphasis on light construction, they hold up well. Christopher Jones of Kansas City, Missouri, finished his in 2003: KATHLEEN SCOTT was built true to the plans, and weighs about 140 lbs. A 1979 build named SUGAR BABY weighs in around 150 lbs and is still in use near Sydney, Australia, now owned by transpacific rower Tom Robinson. Alex Comb of Stewart River Boatworks builds 17s to order. He uses steam-bent frames and says his boats weigh about 125 lbs. Each is customized to the buyer’s requirements—some are very close to the Gardner GREEN MACHINE, while others have been built with flotation tanks and other customizations.
While planning my build, I studied up on what other builders had done. I wanted the boat to be on the lighter side, initially targeting the 100-lb weight that both Herreshoff and Gardner mentioned. I read Iain Oughtred’s Clinker Plywood Boatbuilding Manual and learned a lot from How to Build Glued-Lapstrake Wooden Boats by John Brooks and Ruth Ann Hill. I began to think that Gardner’s glued-lapstrake construction with numerous ribs might be a bit of a belt-and-braces technique and decided to build-out the hull before deciding on interior reinforcements.
I followed Gardner’s instructions for the stems, bottom, and plywood planking. I put two coats of epoxy on the plank interior faces before installation to reduce sanding later. Gardner suggested taping the garboard-to-bottom joints with fiberglass tape, but I fiberglassed both the garboards and bottom inside and out. That added some weight, but provided abrasion resistance outside and would prevent water from getting between the solid-wood bottom and the plywood garboard.
Launching the Herreshoff/Gardner 17
When flipped upright the hull was still a bit flexible, but once the outwales were in place she became very stiff. Since I wanted to take the boat out into Narragansett Bay, near my home in Rhode Island, I opted for proper flotation tanks in the ends, setting 4mm-plywood bulkheads 3′ in from the stems to provide plenty of buoyancy.
Tony Lush
Tony built his Herreshoff/Gardner 17 of plywood planking over Alaska yellow cedar frames and mahogany stems. The gunwales and thwarts are also cedar. While Tony painted the hull both inside and out, he varnished all the solid wood and the decks to give contrast and define the curves. He uses a lengthened Optimist dolly for hauling and launching.
Even though the outwales alone provided sufficient stiffness at the sheer, I also installed scuppered inwales because I like how they look. I finished off the interior with three laminated frames and a seat riser. I set up two rowing stations, one for solo rowing, and one for double rowing or solo rowing with a passenger. For oars I found a pair of 1988 Collars 7′ 6″ spoons, which is the length Gardner recommends, and for oarlocks I chose Gacos. When our mooring field filled up in the summer, I added a wide-angle front-view mirror mounted above the after buoyancy tank.
A lengthened Optimist dinghy dolly works well for launching and hauling. A light boat like this—mine ended up at about 115 lbs—is easily trailerable, but cartopping might be difficult.
With the 16″-wide bottom, and a 45″ beam to the outside of the planking, the design is rounded amidships. With a heavier rower, say 200 lbs, she might displace around 335 lbs, which gives a 4″ draft, a waterline length of 16′ 6″, and a waterline beam of about 30″. When I step into the boat, it feels pretty tippy, but the flare of the hull keeps the water out and mine has never shipped water even with some pretty clumsy entrances and exits. At 4″ draft, the boat has about 120 lbs per inch immersion. If you’re lighter, the boat will have a narrower waterline beam, and will be more tender.
With her flat bottom and her stems just kissing the water, the Herreshoff/Gardner can be a bit squirrely; some owners have added a small skeg aft, but I set my rowing station slightly aft, so the after stem acts like a skeg. Christopher Jones’s solution is to place a 10- to 15-lb weight in the stern. Herreshoff’s original sketch clearly shows a shallow keel running the length of the boat. I don’t know why Gardner did not include that in his design.
I have not had my boat out in big seas, but the design is responsive and has plenty of buoyancy. It may rock a bit with the narrow waterline beam, but the ’midship flare and the fullness above the water at the stems keeps the water out. Rowers have reported being comfortable on longer trips. Gardner quotes Vaitses saying he could do 4 to 5 knots all day, and was timed at over 6 knots a number of times. The boat is certainly easily driven and, for a fixed-seat machine, offers a decent rate of speed. I can maintain 3 1⁄2 to 4 knots without breaking a sweat, and more experienced rowers say they can hold 6 knots for decent periods. The low freeboard means wind is not much of a factor.
John Murray, who makes the Graco oarlocks, has also built about 60 Swift dories, a fiberglass clone of the Herreshoff/Gardner. He thinks the boat really comes alive in a chop. For me, the biggest challenge is powerboat wakes. I handle them by either rowing into them or stopping to let them pass.
Building a kit boat would have taken far less time, but I am happy with how this project came out. The tooling I was given by Paul Jutra was fair, and right on the money with Gardner’s offsets. The lapstrake construction is pretty and strong. I learned a huge amount about both boatbuilding and woodworking. In contrast to my “rough but sturdy” first boat, my Herreshoff/Gardner 17 draws approving looks wherever she goes.
The molds and strongback have been passed along to the next builder, a recent IYRS graduate.
Tony Lush fell prey to Joshua Slocum while in college and got in 40,000 solo miles before settling down in Rhode Island. He and his wife, Nancy, still sail and maintain a small fleet of boats to enjoy on Narragansett Bay—the Herreshoff/Gardner 17 among them.
Is there a boat you’d like to know more about? Have you built one that you think other Small Boats readers would enjoy? Please email us your suggestions.
Living in the Pacific Northwest, I never considered building a pirogue, a boat I associate with the bayous of Louisiana. But when I was given one—a decked version designed by Phil Bolger—I quickly discovered how versatile the type can be. The 16′ × 3′ 3″ Pirogue, Bolger’s Design #451, can be sailed, rowed, paddled, poled, and cartopped.
Photographs by the author
The Bolger Pirogue’s 3′ 3″ beam requires a long paddle to reach the water. The longest I have is 9′. While it’s a two-piece paddle and stows neatly in the cockpit when taken apart, an 8′ paddle would fit in the cockpit and be ready to use in an instant.
Bolger’s designs are well known for their ease of construction, and the hull of his Pirogue is as simple as it gets. His two-page plans provide measured drawings, where required, and recommend H.H. Payson’s book, Instant Boats, as a construction guide. The plans also include cutting diagrams for getting the pieces of the hull from two sheets of 1⁄4″ marine plywood and the decks, centerboard, and rudder from another two sheets of 1⁄4″ marine plywood.
The sides are cut from a single sheet in straight, parallel-sided, 12″-wide panels and the three pieces for each side are joined by plywood butt straps. Once assembled, the sides are curved around a temporary center form and two bulkheads that create the cockpit. The sides’ ends are brought together at the stem and sternpost. The boat’s raked ends along with the angled sides of the bulkheads and center form create the hull’s curved sheer and rocker—no curves are cut in the plywood sides.
The chines are fastened to the outside of the side panels, simplifying installation, and beveled to accept the bottom panel. For the bottom, three pieces of plywood are laid atop the chines and cut to shape, but slightly oversized. They are then fastened to the chines with glue and nails and the edges are planed flush to the chines. While the hull is upside down, the bottom and the stems can be sheathed in fiberglass and epoxy. Once the hull is upright, the inner corners of the chines and the bulkheads also get ’glass and epoxy.
The outriggers and thwart are listed as options in the plans, but the Pirogue is a pleasure to row and if the wind fails while you’re out sailing, oars are the best auxiliary power.
The decks are supported by and fastened to the outwales, the carlins that wrap around the cockpit area, and central ridges between the bulkheads and their respective stem and sternpost. The decks meet the sides at 90°, so the outwales do not need to be beveled.
The plans call for a skeg, which has been installed on my Pirogue but can be left off if the boat’s primary use will be on waterways where maneuverability is more important than tracking. The two bulkheads create compartments in the ends of the boat and are designed to be filled with cut Styrofoam to provide a total of 350 lbs of buoyancy. Cross-cleats beneath the foam and scuppers in the bulkhead corners allow water to drain and prevent moisture from getting trapped. The builder of my pirogue opted for watertight bulkheads and gasketed hatches to provide dry storage for gear.
The builder added hatches so the covered compartments can be used for gear as well as flotation. The plans call for a leeboard on the port side with a flange on top that rests on the deck. Here, the builder added brackets—one at the sheer, one at the chine—but the lower one snags weeds. While a leeboard has advantages, I opted to install a trunk—the slot is visible just inboard of the upper bracket—and use the leeboard as a daggerboard. After making the conversion, I removed the outboard brackets.
For sailing, the drawings show a leeboard with a flange at its top that rests on the port side deck. It’s not clear how the flange is secured—perhaps with machine screws and wing nuts. The builder of my boat installed a plywood bracket to hold the leeboard, but I opted to install a trunk to use the leeboard as a daggerboard—it’s easier to use and creates a clean chine and gunwale. A fixed-blade plywood rudder with a yoke and tiller ropes is detailed in the plans. I prefer a kick-up rudder and converted the fixed blade to pivoting in a manner used by Bolger in several of his other boats. I also installed a push-pull tiller, which I prefer for its more precise control of the rudder.
The Bolger Pirogue’s cockpit is 8′ 2″ long. The mast and sprit, both 8′ long, with the sail rolled around them, fit in the cockpit and can be tucked under a side deck. For rowing the Pirogue, I installed the outriggers and thwart, which are noted as options in the drawings. The recommended oar length is 7′ and, like the spars, they fit under a side deck when not in use. The boat’s bottom is about 32″ wide amidships and, with the thwart made to be removable, offers a comfortable space to lie down for a rest, prompting me to imagine it as a solo cruiser.
The optional thwart rests on short risers epoxied to the cockpit sides. It is removable to open up the cockpit for sleeping. The outriggers, also optional, are of 3⁄4″ oak bolted to the deck with a backing block beneath to strengthen the deck. The “mast partners” on the aft bulkhead are for a pole that will support a camping canopy.
I haven’t weighed the boat yet, but it’s around 100 lbs, which means I can cartop it by lifting one end at a time.
Bolger Pirogue Performance
The hull has very good stability whether loaded with gear or empty, and I can step aboard with ease from knee-high water or down from a high dock. If I sit on the side deck with my feet in the water, the gunwale stays just shy of touching the water and the boat feels quite steady.
During sea trials, I did a capsize drill with the cockpit emptied of gear, the sailing rig down, and the leeboard out. The Bolger Pirogue floated high, upside-down, with the buoyancy compartments supporting the weight of the hull. It was easy to right, and the decks limited the amount of water that was scooped up while rolling over. Upright, the hull had only about 1 1⁄2″ of water in the bottom—not enough to need bailing to complete the recovery. However, lunging over the side to get back aboard threatened to drive the side deck under and let more water in. I switched to the sea kayaker’s cowboy scramble and pulled myself up on the aft deck, straddled it, and scooted forward until I could drop my seat into the cockpit. The amount of water in the cockpit didn’t compromise the boat’s stability.
In Bolger’s design, the rudder has a fixed blade and a transverse tiller for rope steering. I cut the original wooden blade into two parts and added aluminum plates so the lower half can pivot. The white line threaded through the rudderhead is used to lift the blade. I also added a Norwegian push-pull tiller as my preferred means of steering under sail.
For rowing, the thwart is at a comfortable sitting height of 8″, and 34″ from the aft bulkhead, which I can use as a foot brace. I’m 6′ tall and can rest the balls of my feet on the bulkhead but not my heels. I might add a few inches of closed-cell foam to the bulkhead to serve as a comfortable footrest as well as a padded backrest for sailing. The thwart is 10″ wide so there is room for a rower with longer legs to slide forward and still be fully seated.
I have a pair of 7′ 3″ spoon-bladed oars that are a good fit for the 45″ span between oarlocks. The rowing geometry is right on target with the handles coming to the bottom of my sternum at the end of the drive and clearing my thighs by several inches on the recovery. The Pirogue does 3 1⁄2 knots at a relaxed pace, 4 knots at an aerobic-exercise pace, and hits 4 1⁄2 knots in a short sprint. Bolger’s plans include the note: “Trim with the forefoot clear of the water for best performance,” and the drawings show the load waterline with the forefoot about 1″ above it and the chines at the stern just submerged. My Pirogue has almost exactly that trim when I reach aft for the catch of my rowing stroke.
With a 14′ push-pole, I can stand to propel the Pirogue in shallow water and have a view over the bow.
Tracking while under oars is excellent, and after getting the boat up to speed with several strokes, I can let it coast, and it holds its course without yawing. The maneuverability while under way is very good. I can turn 15° with a harder pull on one oar. From a stationary start, spinning the boat through 360° takes just 11 strokes, alternating forward strokes on one side with backing strokes on the other. I think the quick spin could be attributed to having the bow slightly out of the water.
I happen to have an old 9′ double-bladed kayak paddle that is just right for paddling. I sit facing forward on the rowing thwart and while that puts my weight farther forward and brings the forefoot into contact with the water, I don’t notice any change in the Pirogue’s tracking—it yaws very little between strokes and stays on course. A 9′ paddle is a lot of wood to swing, but I’d be happy to use it for exploring winding waterways that aren’t wide enough to row.
The 39-sq-ft spritsail is of modest size but a good match for the Pirogue’s 3′ 3″ beam. I added the brail so I can douse the sail quickly by gathering the sail and sprit against the mast.
Setting sail on the Pirogue doesn’t take long and I can do it while afloat by crawling forward to deploy the leeboard/daggerboard and raise the bundled spars and sail. Even with my weight at the forward end of the cockpit, the Pirogue has good stability. I added a brail to the spritsail and can raise the rig and move to the aft end of the cockpit to take the helm before releasing the brail to open the sail. To date, I’ve only sailed in light winds, no more than 10 knots, and have been able at all times to sit on the bottom with my back against the aft cockpit coaming. I’m quite comfortable there and the sheet and Norwegian push-pull tiller are both within easy reach. With my weight fully aft, the forefoot is raised a bit more above the water than Bolger’s drawing, but the boat sails well. The bow can be slow coming through the eye of the wind, but a few flicks of the rudder keep it moving until it falls off on the other tack. All it takes to get underway on the new tack is to hook the sheet around the back of the sheer-mounted cleat on the new leeward side.
I don’t often go boating in shallow backwaters like the early pirogues were built for, but I do have a 14′ Chippewa-style push pole. By standing with my lower legs pressed against the deck carlins I was able to keep the boat steady and to propel it with confidence if not skill.
My Pirogue is 30 years old and doesn’t appear to have had any maintenance since it was first launched. When it was given to me, it wasn’t much to look at, it wasn’t outfitted to row, and the plywood brackets for the leeboard were delaminating and breaking away from the hull. I didn’t expect much from it but nevertheless went to work on it and put my trust in Phil Bolger’s design. When I finally got it afloat and underway, it proved itself an able performer whether sailed, rowed, paddled, or poled. The time and effort I put in to get the Pirogue seaworthy have been worth it and I’m looking forward to some summer cruising.
Christopher Cunningham is Small Boats’ editor-at-large.
The two pages (22″ × 34″) of plans for the Pirogue, Design #451, are available for $65 including shipping within the U.S. For more information or to place an order, send email to [email protected], or mail to Phil Bolger & Friends, 66 Atlantic Street, Gloucester, MA 01930.
For more Small Boats reviews of sailing and rowing designs by Phil Bolger, read “Bobcat” by John Leyde, “Sweet Pea” by Ingrid Code, and “The Gloucester Light Dory” by Tom Jackson.
Is there a boat you’d like to know more about? Have you built one that you think other Small Boats readers would enjoy? Please email us your suggestions.
"When you approach towns and villages through rivers, you see them totally differently. You wouldn’t think they’re the same place. Rowing a river, you’re starting high up and working your way down every day; there’s always a different vista, always something different. It’s the loveliest way to see the countryside and nature. I’ve lost track of the birds, waterfowl, dragonflies and damselflies we’ve seen, everywhere.”
Jacqui Price is speaking on the banks of the River Dart in Devon, England, where she and her husband, Chris, keep their 13′ 6″ rowboat, BETTY. Since Chris built the boat in 2010, they have rowed her down three of England’s major rivers—the Thames, the Severn, and the Great Ouse—and have traversed dozens of estuaries, lakes, and even some open coast; in the process, they have clocked up about 700 miles. To their surprise, rowing their “little boat” has developed into as much of a passion as sailing their “big boat”—a 28′ sloop tugging at a mooring on the other side of the river.
It all started when Chris retired from their business, making point-of-sale displays, at the relatively young age of 60. He was looking for a project to keep him busy and stumbled across the idea of building a boat. The couple met while working as volunteers at the Exeter Maritime Museum back in the 1970s, and have owned several boats together over the years, starting with a dinghy, progressing to an 18′ wooden Hillyard sloop, a 27′ wooden East Anglian sloop, and finally SOLENT BREEZE, a fiberglass Great Dane 28 (their current “big boat”). Along the way, Chris acquired the necessary woodworking skills to maintain their boats himself—not least replacing the frames on the Hillyard—but he had never built a boat from scratch. It was time to fulfill a long-cherished dream.
Nic Compton
Jacqui and Chris Price rowing on the River Dart near their home in Devon, England
After an extensive search on the internet, Chris eventually homed in on the Tammie Norrie designed by Iain Oughtred, which he decided to build in solid wood, using Sitka spruce for the planking, African mahogany for the thwarts and transom, and oak for almost everything else, including the frames, keel, and laminated stem. Mostly, he stuck to Iain’s plans, apart from adding a small foredeck and forward locker for storage. The result was a little jewel of a boat that is admired wherever she goes.
BETTY was launched onto the River Exe, in Devon, in September 2014. She was named after Jacqui’s mother, whose grandfather was a fisherman from Looe, in Cornwall, and had also named a boat after Betty, when she was a child. Betty died before Chris’s boat was launched, but her name lives on and, along with it, Jacqui’s sailing ancestry.
Chris hadn’t really thought about what he was going to do with the boat once it was built. The whole point of the project was the build; they still had SOLENT BREEZE, and any cruising trips naturally revolved around her. But both he and Jacqui had long been interested in rowing. At age 16, Jacqui had taught herself to row in a collection of Thames skiffs at the Exeter Maritime Museum. So, the first thing they did after BETTY was launched was grab an oar each and pull away together. To their relief, she was a joy to row, although it took them a while to get the most out of her.
Chris Price
On the Thames near Oxford, Jacqui tidies the boat for an overnight stop. The river offers a variety of stopping places from marinas and rural tie-ups to bankside moorings near locks.
“It was a huge learning curve,” says Jacqui. “When we first launched her, we had one set of oars, which we rowed with one oar on each side. A few weeks later, we took BETTY to Looe and were rowing against the tide, making no progress, when I said, let’s try two oars each. It made all the difference, of course, and we’ve never looked back.”
Over the next few years, Chris and Jacqui rowed BETTY extensively up and down the rivers and estuaries of Devon and Cornwall, including trips up the Exe, the Teign, the Dart, the Avon, the Fowey, the Fal, and the Helford. They took her to lakes along the Tamar River and even found a lake on Dartmoor to launch her into. Within a few years, there was barely a patch of water in the West Country they hadn’t explored. It was time to strike out, farther afield.
Roger Siebert
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From Oxford to London
On July 1, 2019, Chris and Jacqui set off with BETTY from Bossoms Boatyard on the outskirts of Oxford. Ahead of them lay a 124-mile journey down the River Thames, through 34 locks, into the heart of London and on to Rotherhithe, the capital’s former shipbuilding center. They had been planning the trip for months, calculating distances, finding pubs and hotels to stay in, and preparing BETTY for her big adventure.
“We planned the trip to take roughly a week,” says Jacqui. “We had no idea how far we could row and, more particularly, if we could row day after day after day, and how that was going to pan out, or whether our hands and muscles could cope with it.”
“Or whether our arses could cope with it,” interjects Chris.
“Once you’ve done it for a day…that’s the worst bit,” resumes Jacqui. “It gets easier after that. Your muscles get used to it.”
Nic Compton
Over the years Jacqui and Chris have brought some comforts and conveniences into BETTY, from the simple two-layer thwart cushions to the custom-made canvas drink holders strapped to seat risers and strategically positioned to be easily reached by the rowers.
Their target was to cover about 16 miles per day, though the availability of accommodation dictated that one leg was 23 miles long, while the final sprint on the tidal Thames was a daunting 25 miles. Their journey started in rural Oxfordshire, where mile upon mile of empty countryside was punctuated only by the occasional farm building and waterside residence. Willow trees drooped over the water, in the manner of The Wind in the Willows, and the riverbank was lined with reeds and water lilies.
From the outset, Chris and Jacqui were amazed by the tranquility of the journey and the wildlife they encountered.
“Slow travel is what BETTY is all about,” says Jacqui. “You get to appreciate the wildlife. We saw motorboats hammering down the river, scaring everything away, but when you’re rowing you don’t miss anything. Traveling slowly means you’ve got the time to focus on nature. There were grey herons on almost every corner. We saw geese gathered sometimes in their hundreds. They always kept in formation and tucked neatly into the side of the river to let us past. Because it was June, there were a lot of young birds, and [the mature ones] looked after them very well. The swans, too, would take their young to the side.”
“Once, the geese were so unaware of us that I accidentally knocked one of them with my oar!” remembers Chris.
As well as the larger birds, they saw moorhens, coots, kingfishers, ducks, cormorants, black-headed gulls, red kites, swifts, and thousands of dragonflies and damselflies. Livestock sometimes lined the riverbank to watch them go pass. “Mostly cattle,” says Chris. “Cows are quite inquisitive and tend to follow you along. There were sheep too, but they weren’t very interested in us.”
Jacqui and Chris Price
The variety in architecture on the Thames was as interesting to the Prices as the wildlife. Near towns such as Oxford, Henley, and Reading they passed boathouses old and new, large and small. Here, in Caversham, near Reading, a grand Edwardian house with boathouse beneath stands tall beside a much smaller boathouse, its accompanying house set back from the riverbank.
It was hot and sunny for most of the week, and Chris and Jacqui soon found themselves setting off from their lodgings at 6 a.m. every day, to make the most of the cooler mornings, and sometimes rowing on into the evenings to keep to their self-imposed schedule. They fell into a rhythm of having two or three breaks per day, usually just pulling over to the riverbank to stretch their legs and have a snack.
“That’s the joy of a small boat,” says Jacqui. “On SOLENT BREEZE, if you see somewhere lovely, you can’t just stop. She’s deep-keeled, so you’ve got to anchor off and sort all that out. But with BETTY, if you think somewhere looks interesting, you can just put her into the reeds, tie her up to a branch, and wander off, leaving her quite happily.” And the joys of non-tidal waterways were not lost on them either. ”You can go back in two hours’ time,” says Jacqui, “and she’ll be there [just as she was]—unlike a dinghy we once tied to a quay, which was hanging from the painter by the time we came back!”
The trip downriver wasn’t just about nature. Chris loves architecture almost as much as Jacqui loves plants, and there were plenty of architectural gems along the way. On their first night, they moored the boat at a campsite next to an elegant red-brick bridge with Gothic arches at Clifton Hampden, and on the second day they wandered the streets of Dorchester-on-Thames with its two medieval coaching inns and abbey church dating back to the 1100s. Two days later they would row past Temple Island with its elegant temple folly designed by James Wyatt and built in 1771 as a fishing lodge. Later, they passed by Windsor Castle (clearly visible from the river) and Hampton Court Palace (hidden behind a raised bank).
Chris Price
Waiting for locks to open slows progress but offers often-welcome opportunities to stop and rest. Here, on their post-Covid-lockdown trip down the upper reaches of the Thames, Jacqui waits for the Godstow Lock, near Oxford, to open.
There were also private buildings aplenty, from elegant old boathouses to dramatic modern architect-designed homes, and everything in between.
“There would be an ultra-smart house, with an immaculate lawn and a docking area for boats,” remembers Chris, “and then right next to that was almost a shed—an absolute shambles that someone had owned for years and still hung on to for their river frontage. And loads of houseboats, of course. Some were narrowboats, but also there were purpose-made floating houses, with two stories and a balcony on top. You could see all that from the river; you’d never see it from the road.”
Reading from the Water
On the third day, they reached their first major conurbation: the commuter town of Reading, population 178,000. But still the scenery was unexpectedly verdant.
“We thought by the time we got to Reading,” says Jacqui, “it would be totally industrial and all built up, but it actually wasn’t at all. We hardly noticed Reading as we rowed through. There was a big embankment as we came in, then a park.” Beyond Reading was Maidenhead, not so big, with a relatively small population of 67,000, but says Jacqui, “when we visited on business it seemed to be just lots of roads and ugly buildings.” Now, as they pulled up in BETTY, the town had “a continental feel…. We tied BETTY up there and wandered off to have breakfast—and to look for [band-aids] for our blisters!”
Chris Price
On their final day on the non-tidal section of the Thames in 2019 Jacqui rows BETTY into Sunbury Lock. They would reach Teddington Lock and the tidal Thames late in the afternoon.
Mostly they ate ashore—an all-day English breakfast being a particular favorite—but they also carried basic provisions on board, along with an ultra-efficient camping stove for making coffee. “We asked a friend who knows all about survival techniques what food we should take,” remembers Jacqui. “He mentioned various freeze-dried foods and fancy energy bars; but in the end, he said we’d do just as well taking bags of nuts and raisins, which are ideal for snacking.” Which is what they did—along with their beloved Yorkshire parkin (a traditional ginger cake) and several pots of Wolfy’s Nutty Porridge.
To interrupt the gentle progress of the days, there were the locks—an average of six a day. Each was different, which was intimidating to start with, but they soon found their rhythm, with Chris disembarking at the drop-off point and, if no lockkeepers were on hand, opening the lock. Jacqui then rowed BETTY into the lock using her “short-oar” technique—pulling the oars in to reduce their length and rowing with crossed hands. Once inside the lock, they looped a pair of extra-long lines around the bollards, and Jacqui held the boat in position while the water drained. The fall ranged from 2′ 7″ at Iffley lock to 8′ 8″ at Teddington. Some of the locks were mechanized, so all Chris had to do was press a couple of buttons to open and close the gates, but others had to be winched up and down by hand.
Once the lock had emptied to the downstream level and Chris had opened the lower gates, Jacqui rowed out and Chris hopped back on board at the lower drop-off point.
Although the locks slowed them down, Jacqui and Chris enjoyed the rowing breaks and being able to admire the lockkeepers’ well-tended gardens and socialize with passers-by. In turn, BETTY was also much admired not only for Chris’s fine craftsmanship but because, they discovered, she was apparently unique on the river. They came across paddleboards and canoes aplenty, but no other long-distance rowboats. Wherever they went, people asked about her and offered to keep an eye on her, should they want to leave her…they called it “the BETTY effect.”
Chris Price
BETTY made it through London without incident. Tower Bridge was the last bridge they passed under before arriving at their destination—the South Dock in Rotherhithe.
The fifth day of the trip proved to be the toughest: Over the course of eight hours, they rowed 23 miles and traversed nine locks, all with the wind on the nose, as usual. “There’s something about the Thames,” says Chris. “Even though the river wriggles around in all directions on the map, the wind always blew against us. It’s very obvious with the ensign: you see it lift up and start fluttering and you think, here we go again!”
Navigating the Tidal Thames
Finally, after six days and nearly 100 miles of rowing, they arrived at Teddington lock. The most nerve-wracking part of the voyage now lay ahead: the tidal Thames. It was 26 miles from Teddington through the city center and out to their final stop at South Dock in Rotherhithe, on the south bank of the Thames just upstream of Greenwich. And they had to get there by lunchtime, before the tide turned and the flood came in against them.
Through London, the rules of the road are straightforward: inform the Port of London Authority of your intentions beforehand; stick to the middle of the channel wherever possible (don’t be tempted to pass under the side arches of bridges where there may be hidden obstructions); carry a VHF in case you need to communicate with other river-users; and wear a life jacket.
“When you get to the tidal bit, you’re committed. It’s all about timing,” says Chris. “We decided the Sunday would be a good day because the tides were just right to start early in the morning—at 6 a.m., one hour before high water. We had brought charts and a book of bridges with their heights and the position you should go through. But we didn’t look at any of it. Once the current picked up and we were on the move, everything went so fast, we didn’t have time.”
Courtesy of the Price family
A few years after their first Thames expedition Chris and Jacqui explored the River Severn. Here, Chris pulls them into the Gloucester Lock, where the river connects with the Sharpness Canal via the Gloucester Docks.
“It was disconcerting,” adds Jacqui, “because you’ve got to navigate around several islands, but by the time we spotted one approaching and looked at the chart, it was already too late, and we were committed to going down one side or the other.”
Richmond, Twickenham, Hammersmith, Wandsworth, Battersea, Chelsea, Vauxhall, Westminster, Waterloo, Blackfriars, London Bridge, Tower Bridge…the history of the great city swept past them like a flipbook animation. It was a helter-skelter ride through one of the busiest waterways in the world, negotiating 30 bridges, dodging high-speed Clipper ferries, and keeping clear of multiple tourist boats and other commercial traffic.
As they whistled through, the tidal current sweeping them downriver at 6 knots, Chris and Jacqui barely had time to appreciate their surroundings and the sites, including the elaborate decorations on some of the bridges, which are mostly only visible from the water. And, they noted, they passed under the oldest (Westminster), the newest (Millennium)‚ and the longest (Waterloo) bridges in central London.
They made fast progress, arriving at South Dock after five and a half hours of non-stop rowing. They finished with a flourish, throwing in a “handbrake” turn to avoid being swept downriver for an unscheduled visit to the CUTTY SARK.
Chris Price
Almost as soon as they entered the Gloucester Docks, Chris and Jacqui found an empty corner beneath the imposing Georgian warehouse buildings where they could tuck in for the night.
“There’s something about the Thames,” says Jacqui. “It’s an iconic river: it starts in mid-England then goes down to the capital; it has an extra grand feeling about it. And it’s so much more beautiful and there’s so much more nature than we expected.”
They learned several valuable lessons from that cruise: The 16-mile daily target to get to their accommodation every night set too tight a deadline and meant they were too tired to do anything else when they arrived. Better, they decided, to row shorter distances, be more relaxed and able to explore the various places they visited. Instead of booking into paid accommodation every night, they decided a few nights’ camping would give them greater flexibility.
Jacqui Price
In 2024, Chris and Jacqui ventured down the River Great Ouse where, on a wet day, Chris operated the sluice gate of one of the many locks.
They also discovered (thanks to the crane that lifted her onto her trailer at South Dock) that BETTY weighed 300kg (661 lbs). For future expeditions, they would try to reduce their gear to the minimum. They settled on a cargo weight of 60kg (132 lbs) which, including their combined weight of 120kg (265 lbs), added up to an overall weight of 480kg (1,058 lbs).
For future trips their gear would include: a shore tent, mattresses, sleeping bags, boat cover, ropes, block-and-tackle, padlock, fenders, folding bucket, inflatable rollers, pump, cushions, tool kit, binoculars, VHF radio, Primus stove and spare canister, picnic rug, toiletries, waterproofs, Wellington boots, books, maps, notebook, ensign, and lights. One of their best buys was a pair of sou’wester hats, which allow them to look around and see where they’re going while also being highly visible to other river users. Jacqui made a pair of cushions to sit on, to save their bottoms, as well as a pair of fabric storage lockers that hang under the thwarts and keep BETTY looking neat and tidy. They also bought some cycling gloves for Jacqui, to prevent blisters, and a pair of waterproof gloves to keep her hands dry (and clean) when handling mucky lines in the locks.
The Severn, the Great Ouse, and a Return to the Thames
The Covid lockdowns put paid to any further trips for the next couple of years, but by 2022 their daughter and family had moved house to Gloucester, giving them the perfect excuse for a cruise on the River Severn, which passes just west of the city. This time they based their schedule on 10 miles per day, for a total of 60 miles in six days, including only six locks along the way. They opted for a mix of camping and lodgings, spending two nights in their tent, two nights in hotels/pubs, and the last night with their daughter in Gloucester.
The following year they returned to the Upper Thames. They started their trip at the highest navigable point, near Lechlade in Gloucestershire, and worked their way east to Oxford and then on to Reading—70 miles, 23 locks, six days.
Jacqui Price
Two days later and the weather had changed. Jacqui and Chris pulled into the riverbank for a picnic lunch on a quiet narrow section of the Great Ouse. A couple of miles back up the river, says Jacqui, they had been rowing alongside trucks on a busy road.
Four years and one pandemic since their first trip, they found the Thames much changed. Most of the locks were now unmanned and the associated facilities and campsites were closed. Generally, the river seemed more neglected, with abandoned and sunken boats a common theme, along with other floating debris—though whether this was an attempt at rewilding or due to lack of funding was hard to tell. On the plus side, the wildlife was more abundant than ever, and they used a pair of paddles to explore some of the narrow tributaries they couldn’t navigate with full-length oars.
For the first time, they tried sleeping on BETTY. Not having a dedicated boat tent, they used an oar as a ridgepole and draped the boat’s regular cover over it. Then they laid their mattresses on the floorboards and squeezed under the thwarts in their sleeping bags. It was rudimentary and not everyone was happy (Chris found it most uncomfortable), but it showed what could be done.
The couple’s most recent trip, in June 2024, was to the east of England, on the River Great Ouse (the longest of many Ouse rivers in England), starting in Bedford—about 22 miles west of Cambridge—and heading northeast toward King’s Lynn, the great fishing harbor on the north coast of Norfolk, a six-day voyage of 83 miles through 18 locks.
Each trip involves a huge amount of planning—not least working out where to launch the boat, where to recover it, and how to get between the two locations by public transport in order to retrieve their car. But Chris and Jacqui admit they love the planning stage, and spend their winter evenings poring over maps, coming up with their next adventure.
Nic Compton
Jacqui and Chris, seen here on Devon’s River Dart, grew accustomed to rowing into a headwind on the Thames where, says Chris, despite the twists and turns of the river, the wind always seemed to be against them. Jacqui was the first to get gloves, but now cycling gloves have become a much-appreciated piece of kit for both rowers.
Increasingly, cruising on BETTY is taking precedence over sailing on SOLENT BREEZE. Chris finds the maintenance of a 28′ yacht demanding and hopes to hand it over to their son, Alex. Jacqui, meanwhile, “likes to keep busy” and finds the constant activity on the smaller boat appealing. She likes being able to jump ashore and stretch her legs at a moment’s notice, rather than being stuck in a cockpit for hours on end.
When Chris and Jacqui started out on the road to their big adventure, with a simple boatbuilding project, Chris was 60 and newly retired, a time when many people choose not only to slow down, but also to take things a little easier. In the 15 years that have followed, theirs has been a less orthodox approach to aging: they have gone from a comfortable cruising yacht to a simple and much smaller rowboat and from the daily luxuries of hotel rooms to camping by riverbanks. In short, they have not chosen an easier life as they have grown older, but a harder one. Still as sharp as pins and extremely active, Jacqui and Chris show no sign of slowing down or of slipping into a sleepy retirement; rather, they are actively seeking out new challenges. And it’s hard to tell… is it BETTY that keeps them young, or did they choose to have BETTY in their lives because they were already young at heart? Either way, it’s a winning combination.
Nic Compton is a freelance writer and photographer based in Devon, England. He has written about boats and the sea for more than 30 years and has published 16 nautical books, including a biography of the designer Iain Oughtred. He currently sails a 14′ Nigel Irens skiff and a 33′ Freedom cat ketch.
I’ve always set up my boats so that I can insert oarlocks and place oars with one hand. It’s a useful technique that comes in handy on multiple occasions: beach launching, when I can’t preset oars and locks but need to push off hard and get going; changing rowing positions while underway in order to trim the boat for shifts in wind and waves; switching between sailing and rowing, when I need to ship or remove oars and locks while handling other gear; and, when coming alongside another boat or dock, it helps to be able to quickly ship one oar and its lock while using the other oar to scull the boat in sideways.
Many conventional horn oarlocks have a lanyard or little chain with a toggle leading from an eye on the bottom of the lock through the socket. Such connections are useful for tying the oarlock to the boat, but for me they render one-handed operation impossible—I need one hand to insert the oarlock and another to pull-through the lanyard or chain, either of which can get bunched up inside the socket. However, tying your locks to the boat is undoubtedly a good thing, so a lanyard that doesn’t feed through the socket is called for.
Photographs by the author
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Tying a Lanyard Around the Oarlock Stem
Some locks have a flange beneath the horns, which provides a bearing on the socket. Between the flange and the horns is a groove. A lanyard can be tied with a constrictor knot or clove hitch, or spliced into place so that it lays snugly in the groove. Splicing is a little tricky as the splice must be tight enough to keep the eye in the groove, but it is a neat solution—long-lasting and it won’t unravel.
Drilling a Hole for an Oarlock Lanyard
Some oarlocks, such as patent swivel and antique locks, have a lanyard eye on one of the horns. Both Duckworks and Shaw & Tenney sell horn oarlocks with eyes.
But if you don’t want to invest in new oarlocks you can make eyes in your existing locks. In a conventional open-horn lock, there is enough material in the web below the horns to drill a 1⁄8″ hole. Doing this with a drill press works best if you block up the horns so that the lock is exactly horizontal. Use a center punch to make a dimple to guide the drill bit, clamp everything tight, and drill. If you don’t have a drill press and are working with a hand-held drill, use a bit of wood to support the lock when punching a good dimple, then put the horns of the lock into a vise so that it is vertical and upside down.
Make sure the bit is sharp, use a slow speed, and take care to keep the drill perpendicular to the oarlock. Buff the sharp edge at each end with a small fine file.
Modifying Round Oarlocks
Round oarlocks are available online and in most marine-supply stores. Being permanently attached to the oars, they are ideal for inexperienced rowers, liveries, or dinghies used as tenders, but they do slide around when not in use and can damage nice finishes. Nevertheless, they can be useful for rough-water rowing, but I find I need two hands to set the oarlock into the socket: one lifting the oar, the other inserting the lock.
You can transform round locks into horn oarlocks that provide the benefit of open horns (letting you change oars and set up with one hand) together with the oar retention associated with round oarlocks which is useful when sea conditions are rough. To modify the round oarlock, you must cut it, which does take some courage. Measure the oar’s diameter 1′ or so up from the shoulders of the blade. Mark that measurement on the top of the round oarlock, and cut through, using a hacksaw or metal-cutting bandsaw. File the edges of the cut surfaces until rounded over and smooth.
You now have a horn lock but with a narrow opening; the oarlock can’t come off the oar unless it is slid down toward the blade, but the lock and the oar can be separated. Also, the tighter curve of the modified oarlock holds it against the leather better than would a traditional horn oarlock. Round oarlocks don’t have a web in which to drill for a lanyard, but you can splice or hitch a lanyard into the groove just beneath the cradle.
Modifying a Gaco Oarlock
When Christopher Cunningham reviewed the Gaco oarlocks, I was impressed and wrote to John Murray, the developer, to ask if he’d ever tried them without the gate. He hadn’t but sent me a pair of seconds to test. It was easy to cut off the gate, and the polymer horns, ungated, seemed strong and sturdy. I tried them in my relatively heavy dory and could easily one-hand each lock into place then drop in the oars. I could switch between oars—I often carry a pair of oars 6″ shorter than my principal pair, to use when rowing upwind into whitecapping waves—and, while I’ve not spent hours push-rowing with them, which would strain the unsupported side of the lock, I have pulled hard and spun the dory around often, and there are no signs of flexing or failure in the locks. The advantage of the Gacos over a traditional horned oarlock is that they are quieter and less wearing on oar leathers.
Making Oarlock Lanyards
For oarlock lanyards, use a lightweight small-diameter line: 1⁄8″ three-strand cotton line is readily available at hardware stores, or look for three-strand tarred nylon seine twine (#60 is a good size) often sold as fishnet twine. Both can be spliced in place.
When creating the lanyards, think about how you will use them in the boat, which will determine how long they need to be. You may have only one rowing position and a convenient stringer immediately below it. Or you may have two rowing positions and only one set of oarlocks, in which case you will want to make the lanyard long enough to reach either position without being untied. Lanyards can be tied to a fixed point, but if you want to easily move and unfasten them, make an eyesplice in the bitter end of the lanyard large enough for the lock to pass through. The loop can then be fed through a fastening point and over the lock to hold it in place. Boats built with a smooth interior may not have a riser or stringer on which to fasten a lanyard, but a hole drilled near the edge of a thwart is a neat way to create a belay point.
The author’s North Shore Dory with modified Gaco oarlocks
Whichever oarlock and arrangement you choose for your boat, getting your oars and oarlocks set up for one-handed operation will be pleasing every time you leave the dock. Having untied the boat, you can step aboard and then, holding on to the dock with one hand, set up the outboard lock and insert the oar. Now, with your dock hand, you can push off and set up the other lock and oar—no fuss, no drama, just control.
Ben Fuller, curator emeritus of the Penobscot Marine Museum in Searsport, Maine, has been messing about in small boats for a very long time. He is owned by a dozen or more boats: kayaks, canoes, a skiff, a ducker, and a sail-and-oar boat.
Read “North Shore Dory,” Ben’s profile of the early 1900s dory design, here.
You can share your tips and tricks of the trade with other Small Boats readers by sending us an email.
Audrey and I enjoy working on and restoring small boats. An oft-repeated task is the application of coatings, and one of our favorite tools is the Preval Sprayer, a versatile and portable aerosol spray gun ideal for applying finishes to small areas or complex surfaces like the interior of a lapstrake hull with closely spaced frames, or when just a touch-up is required. We first learned about it through an informational video put out by Jamestown Distributors, and later got a strong endorsement of the sprayer’s versatility from a friend who runs a marine repair business.
Photographs by the authors
The Preval Sprayer components can be purchased separately, but we have found the Valpack to be comprehensive and cost-effective: it includes a complete sprayer with extra power unit, several reservoir jars with extra caps and tubes, and a vGrip Universal Handle.
The Preval Sprayer can be used with oil-based, polyurethane, and latex paints, varnish, and even polyester gelcoat. The sprayer consists of a power unit and a reservoir. The power unit is an aerosol can that contains 1.94 oz of propellant (a mix of dimethyl ether, isobutane, and propane)—enough to spray 16 oz of liquid at 70 psi. The top of the power unit has a finger-operated spray button, and the bottom has a screw cap and siphon supply tube with a nylon filter on its end. The tube comes in two lengths and the power unit can be screwed onto either a 2.9-oz “touch-up” reservoir or a 6-oz reservoir. The reservoirs are available in plastic or glass, are reusable, and come with their own screw-on caps. Both the plastic and glass reservoirs are solvent-proof, and the glass ones are also shatterproof.
Painting with the Preval Sprayer
Using the Preval Sprayer is straightforward. Strained and thinned paint is poured into the reservoir—filling the jar no higher than its shoulder—which is then capped and shaken. Next, a supply tube is inserted into the bottom of the aerosol, the cap is removed from the top of the reservoir, and in its place the power unit is firmly screwed on, the supply tube setting down into the paint. With that the sprayer is ready to use.
The Preval Sprayer is very portable and can be used in small spaces. It can be operated at an angle of up to about 45°—as long as the end of the supply tube remains immersed—but beyond 45° liquid can flow out of the power unit’s vent. The supply-tube filter is recommended when using thinner liquids but can be removed for thicker liquids. Some coatings must be thinned, and the user’s manual offers baseline thinning guides and coverage estimates for commonly used finishes.
We have found that the spray comes out of the nozzle at a steady rate and the flow is easily controlled either directly with a finger on the spray button, or with an optional vGrip Universal Handle, which comprises both a pistol grip and trigger. We like the vGrip as it gives us better control, is less tiring on the fingers, and keeps our fingers away from whatever finish we’re spraying.
Spraying at a distance of between 8″ and 12″ from the workpiece gives the best overall result: any closer and sags can develop, farther away and incomplete coverage shows up as a pebbled finish. We find that varnish lays down more smoothly with the sprayer than with a brush or roller and, with no need for repetitive brush strokes, it’s a lot quicker to apply. However, since the varnish is thinned more coats are required, and the thinner knocks down the gloss a bit. We prefer a satin finish, but for a high-gloss look a final coat could be applied with a brush or using the roll-and-tip method.
Cleaning the Preval Sprayer
Cleanup is easy. The reservoir is separated from the power unit, which can be flushed out with a compatible solvent and reused. Solvent (or water for water-based coatings) should be sprayed through the system for at least 10 seconds. Compared to cleaning brushes, much less solvent is used, and the cleanup process is considerably faster. If any liquid remains in the reservoir, the jar can be capped and stored for future use—a considerable advantage when compared to coatings left over in a cup during conventional painting, which cannot be poured back into the can. If the finish is all used up, the jars are easy to clean—again, with compatible solvent.
As our handle shows, we have used the Preval Sprayer for varied finishes and have had good results. The sprayer can be used without the handle, but we appreciate the extra control it offers.
Power units and reservoirs for the Preval Sprayer can be purchased separately from hardware and online stores, but we purchased the Valpack kit directly from Preval. The kit includes one complete unit—aerosol, reservoir, vGrip handle, and siphon tube—plus two replacement power units, and an assortment of reservoirs, caps, lids, and tubes. It has proven to be excellent value, and just the right size for our small projects.
Audrey (Skipper) and KentLewis mess about in the creeks, rivers, and bays of Virginia’s Tidewater Region with their tiny fleet of 16 boats. Their adventures are logged at smallboatrestoration.blogspot.com
Buying a battery-powered tool can seem like a simple enough decision, but beware: you will find that you’re actually buying in to a whole and often growing ecosystem of power tools. When I bought my DeWalt 20V portable compressor—to reinflate tires after deflating them for extended rough-road trips—it was the first and, I felt sure, only DeWalt cordless tool I needed. I now have ten DeWalt cordless tools. The DeWalt 20V system has proven to be a good choice, and I’m pleased with each of those ten tools. But the DCS334 jigsaw is a stand-out.
While jigsaws are handy around the house, they are nearly indispensable for boat work, in the shop, and any time clean, precise cuts are needed in plywood, solid lumber, composites, and sheet metal. With the proper blade, the DeWalt does all these jobs well. In addition to my boat work, I also build out custom camper vans where the most daunting tasks are cutting openings in a van’s sheet metal for vents, windows, and fittings—the tolerances are extremely tight and there is no recourse if a cut goes wrong. The DeWalt cuts with unrivaled precision and on my last three van builds I’ve used it exclusively, despite having three high-end corded jigsaws in the shop.
Photographs by the author
The DeWalt 20v-system power tools use interchangeable batteries across the range from smaller 2AH versions up to 10AH options. Here, my jigsaw has a 5AH battery and a 2AH is on standby in the background. Blades are standard T-shanked blades available at any hardware store.
The heart of any cordless tool is, of course, the battery. DeWalt offers numerous battery options in its 20V lithium-ion series. These run from smaller 2AH batteries all the way up to huge 10AH options. I’ve found that the 5AH 20V Max or the 5AH 20V PowerStack batteries offer the best balance between power, battery life, and weight. Furthermore, any of the DeWalt chargers is fast enough that, with two batteries—one in use and the other on the charger—workflow is seldom interrupted by waiting for a battery to charge.
The saw is powered by a brushless motor with a no-load speed of 3,200 strokes per minute at its fastest setting. It weighs 4 lbs 8 oz without a battery and 6 lbs 1 oz with a 5AH battery. It is available with two handle configurations: the DCS334 has a “D” handle while the DCS335 has a “barrel” handle. Both are well built with hard-composite bodies and soft-rubber overmolding for comfort and grip. I have the D-handled version and find it well-balanced and easy to hold. Operation is nearly vibration free. Had I known about the barrel-handled option, I might have chosen that: in general, a barrel handle positions your hand lower on the tool, which affords greater control. However, in this instance there are compromises with the switch operation.
The roller that guides the blade is low and close to the shoe, giving excellent control and accuracy in the cutting.
On the D-handled model, speed is controlled by a variable-speed trigger and a speed dial, which is located on the top of the handle and acts as a limiter for the trigger. On the barrel-handled model, there is no trigger but a dedicated on/off switch on the side of the handle and a speed control on the bottom of the handle. I would miss the variable-speed trigger; I generally keep the dial set at its fastest speed and control the blade speed with the trigger. There is a lockout on the trigger to keep the tool from accidentally turning on in a tool bag—for safety, it’s still best practice to remove the battery during blade changes rather than relying on the switch lockout.
Changing the blade on the jigsaw could not be simpler: open the blade release latch on the front and remove or insert a standard T-shanked blade. The blade housing and all the critical parts are metal. The roller that guides the blade is located low and close to the shoe; having the blade supported this close to the material being cut reduces the blade’s deflection while cutting tight curves. With the correct wood-cutting blade, the Dewalt cuts hard- and softwoods up to 1 1⁄2″ thick cleanly and with little effort. With a long blade, the saw can cut up to 2″-thick stock, but it does struggle just a bit in hardwood of that thickness. Metal presents its own inherent challenges when being cut and, given the shorter length of the cutting blade needed, material thickness is limited to 3⁄8″. The thickest metal I’ve cut is 1⁄4″ aluminum, and the saw performed well. I’ve also cut thinner pieces of steel, and the cuts have been clean and accurate.
LED lights and a blower keep the cut well illuminated and clear of dust. The jigsaw is available with a barrel handle, which can afford greater control, but the D-handle option includes a variable-speed trigger that the barrel-handle version does not have.
There are four settings for the blade’s cutting action—three orbital and one straight—and these are controlled with a switch on the side of the tool. In an orbital setting the blade moves through a forward arc as well as an up-and-down stroke. Such settings are useful for quick cuts in softwood. For metal and hardwoods, a straight cutting action is necessary. For most of my work I tend to use the straight pattern or the lowest orbital setting and make sure to change blades as soon as I feel the resistance of a dull blade.
The tool has a blower that clears the dust away from the cut to improve visibility. On a few of my older jigsaws that have this feature, the blower can be disabled if you are cutting metal lubed with cutting oil. This is not the case on the DeWalt and is something to be aware of if this is your primary use. The blower is efficient, and two well-positioned and bright LED lights also illuminate the blade’s path.
The sole of the saw is metal with a replaceable hard-plastic cover and an optional anti-splinter insert. The base can be tilted in either direction to 45° simply by moving the shoe bevel lever to the side and pulling the base forward to release it from its locked 90° position. There are accurate stops at 90° and 45° and detents at 15° and 30°. However, the shoe can be set and locked at any angle between 90° and 45°.
When I find hand or power tools that work for me, I tend to hang onto them. I still use tools I bought in the 1970s every day. Many of the distinctive yellow DeWalt tools on the shelf behind my bench fall into this category, though the DeWalt jigsaw is seldom among them—more often than not, it’s out in the shop being used.
Bill Thomas has been a custom woodworker, designer, boatbuilder, and teacher for more than 40 years. He lives and works in South Berwick, Maine.
The Dewalt DCS334 Variable Speed Jig Saw can be purchased with or without the battery and is available from most hardware stores and many online stores; prices vary. To find a local store and to compare prices, visit the DeWalt website.
For Bill’s review of the Jorgensen 60-1⁄2 block plane, see our November 2024 issue.
Is there a product that might be useful for boatbuilding, cruising, or shore-side camping that you’d like us to review? Please email your suggestions.
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