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Gil Smith designed and built around 400 boats for the shallow waters of New York’s Great South Bay between the 1860s and 1936. In his early years he mostly built working craft, such as oyster-fishing boats. Speed was an advantage for these craft, as beating competitors to the market might ensure a higher price. These working craft typically had a generous beam to provide form stability, plenty of room for the catch, and low freeboard aft for ease of landing that catch.

Smith transferred these basic characteristics to the pleasure boats he later designed and built, when the decline of the oyster fishery coincided with a boom in local tourism. These boats have seen a resurgence in popularity in recent years, thanks largely to the efforts of Donn Constanzo of Greenport, New York, whose company, Wooden Boatworks, recently built a replica of Smith’s 36′ 9″ sloop KID—an evolution of the signature Gil Smith hull shape. Costanzo has described Smith as “the finest designer of shoal draft yachts ever.”
Smith produced his 21′ 6″ catboat LUCILE in 1891, when he was at the height of his popularity. This boat’s raked elliptical transom, plumb stem, and generous beam were typical of his designs of that time. The boat under consideration here is a scaled-down interpretation of that boat—a 14-footer built by a student at the U.K.’s Lyme Regis Boatbuilding Academy.

Nigel Sharp

Tyler built his new boat in strip planked cedar, sheathing it inside and out in biaxial fiberglass cloth. The backbone is of laminated sapele.

When Michael Tyler, a former art student and bank manager, began his boatbuilding studies in March 2011, he knew he wanted to build something “a bit different.” While casually thumbing through one of the boating magazines at the academy, he saw a very small photograph of a replica of LUCILE. He knew he’d found what he was looking for.

Tyler talked to his instructors about LUCILE, it soon became apparent that to build so large a boat would not be practical, both in terms of budget and shop space. “I might have been depriving someone else of the opportunity to build a boat,” he said of the prospect. A smaller version was considered, but as scaling a boat down while keeping the original proportions simply doesn’t work, this would not be as straightforward as Tyler had first hoped. However, the solution came from instructor Mike Broome, who offered to carry out the necessary design work, in his spare time, for a 14′ interpretation.

Broome’s priority was to ensure the boat would be “visually in keeping with the original,” with the sail plan being one of the main considerations. Smith’s boats were already considered to be overcanvased, and if LUCILE’s mainsail were simply scaled down it would have measured 163 sq ft. Broome realized this would be absurd with the reduced weight and beam of the hull; he initially considered reducing it to 153 sq ft, and ultimately settled on 120. On the other hand, the new boat’s freeboard was barely scaled down at all. “I was trying to recreate the same kind of useful performance without restricting the boat to light winds only,” Broome said. “I hoped the result would be majestic but usable.”

Athough LUCILE was of traditional carvel construction, Tyler didn’t want to follow that path, as he expected that the new boat would spend long periods out of the water; if carvel planked, she would have to swell tight every time she was launched. So it was decided that the hull would be strip-planked with 3⁄8″-thick western red cedar, and sheathed inside and out with a biaxial cloth and epoxy. After the lines were lofted, the backbone was laminated in sapele, the building jig was assembled, and it was time to start planking.

The planking provided a challenging lesson for Tyler. In carvel construction, planks are tapered to accommodate the varying girth of a boat at various sections along its length. On the other hand, strip planking normally uses parallel planks with pre-machined concave and convex edges to provide an easy and effective gluing surface. Tyler was attracted by the potential speed advantage of this technique, but he was disappointed to find that the marked twist in the stern sections of the hull meant that he had to individually taper a number of planks over about 5′ of their lengths, reducing the width from 7⁄8″ in some cases to as little as 1⁄2″. This fussy fitting slowed the work considerably.
Before the planked hull was turned right-side up, it was sheathed and then faired with an epoxy compound—a process that took Tyler and fellow student John Bicknell more than a week. It was then painted with a two-pack polyurethane paint. The deck is built of 6mm ply over sapele and Douglas-fir deckbeams. Tyler intended to lay swept western red-cedar planks over the plywood, but he ran out of time. The mast and gaff are hollow, and are built of eight Sitka-spruce staves joined along their edges with so-called “bird’s-mouth” joints. The boom is of Douglas-fir.

Nigel Sharp

LUCIE has a generous sail plan, and feels tender initially. But once her angle of heel reaches about 15 degrees, she leans on her leeward bilge and firms up considerably.

Launch Day is a fixed date on the calendar at Lyme Regis for all the students. “If you couldn’t launch on Launch Day,” Tyler said, “that would be a travesty, so you have to push yourself just to cross the finish line.” Although he often worked until nine or ten at night throughout the course, as Launch Day approached he increasingly found himself still at work at 2 a.m..

Although there were still some finishing touches such as sole boards and deck varnish to complete, Tyler’s new boat, now named LUCIE, was ready to sail on Launch Day. With her rig in place, she took her turn among the other seven student-built boats, and was launched into Lyme Regis Harbour to great cheers from the assembled crowd. It was a cold December day with a squally offshore wind, and so Tyler wore “two wetsuits and a raincoat.” LUCIE’s sail, made by Elvstrom’s Jerry White, was hoisted with a reef in it. Bicknell, by Tyler’s own admission a much more experienced dinghy sailor, took the helm initially.

“I was a little concerned about the conditions,” he said, “and so I pushed for a reef to give us more of a chance of staying upright should something jam or should the boat turn out to be difficult to handle. But as it turned out it was fine, and if we hadn’t been enjoying it so much we would have come back in and taken out the reef.”

The conditions were considerably more pleasant when I took LUCIE out for her second sail four months later on a small lake adjacent to the River Thames at Pangbourne, where Tyler has taken a job as curator of a new maritime museum. It was a beautiful spring day with a light breeze occasionally rising to about a Force 3 (7–10 knots). However, just before we launched LUCIE, it was clear that I would have no choice other than to sail away from the slipway on a broad reach and immediately jibe. This was not an ideal prospect in a boat of unknown performance.

But I needn’t have worried. The maneuver went without a hitch, and I was then able to enjoy the delights of this lively little boat on all points of sailing. She felt very stable thanks to the stability afforded by her generous hull sections and her 812 lbs displacement. She accelerated nicely and tracked well, and didn’t need much steering thanks to the large galvanized steel rudder swinging from the trailing edge of her long keel. However, she did heel more than I expected in the gusts, albeit not suddenly, and initially it occurred to me that perhaps Broome should have taken his sail reduction a little farther. However, as I got used to the boat, it became apparent that, as she heeled to about 15 degrees and the leeward bilge dug in and the leverage of the centerboard, ballasted with 58 lbs of lead, took effect, it would take a lot for her to go any farther. I later discovered that Bicknell had come to the same conclusion on LUCIE’s first sail.

There were some inevitable teething problems. The peak halyard needs the addition of a purchase to eliminate the crease between the throat and the clew, and the halyard falls must be relocated to avoid the boom jaws pressing against them when off the wind. But Tyler now has the time and opportunity to attend to these matters and will then be able to get a lot of enjoyment out of this great little boat. He’ll also turn his attention to the possibility of building other versions.

This article appears as archival material. There is no known source for plans.

LUCIE, with her wide beam, wineglass transom, plumb bow, and firm sections is unmistakably inspired by Gil Smith. Mike Broome, who drew these lines, set out to retain the aesthetic qualities of the 21’ Smith original, while creating a safe and seaworthy 14’ interpretation of that design.

LUCIE Particulars: LOA 14’1″, LWL 12′, Beam 4’10 1/2″, Draft, board up: 1’1 1/2″, Draft, board down: 3′, Sail area 122 sq ft, Disp. 812 lbs

TROUT is a 23′ outboard-motor-powered garvey designed by Harry Bryan. She was commissioned by a client whose access to a new family fishing camp was to be principally by water. The design mandate was for a boat that could carry not only 12–14 people, but also propane tanks, aviation fuel for a sea-plane, an all-terrain vehicle, and a wheelchair-bound passenger. The boat would not be fast, necessarily, and it had to fit a particular “distressed” aesthetic. Specifically, it had to look like it was a century old.

The camp would be designed to appear as if it sprung from the surrounding landscape. The boat was to have no garish features that would destroy its harmony with this backdrop. The 20-hp motor was to be hidden away in a covered well, and its controls carefully concealed but accessible. “I had to argue with the clients,” said Bryan, “to put some oil on the cedar deck.”

Eventual road access to the camp diminished the necessity of TROUT’s original mission, and soon after she was completed Bryan was asked to find a good home for her, which he did. Today, the boat serves a family compound on a remote Maine lake. Although we didn’t see her in her intended home, she indeed appears to have grown from this adopted landscape of spruce-fringed granite outcroppings.

The boat has stick steering, like a yacht club launch. This system involves a vertical tiller swinging fore-and-aft about amidships on the boat’s starboard side. Push the tiller forward, and the boat turns to port; pull it aft, and she turns to starboard. Bryan chose this arrangement both to avoid having a visible contemporary steering wheel, and to free up cargo space in the center of the boat. (One of his earlier garveys, built for a similar purpose but meant to carry less of a load, has a center console.)

Matthew P. Murphy

TROUT’s flip-down ramp is meant to mate with a dock, though with some modification it would function well for beach landings, too. It also makes a good slide.

Matthew P. Murphy

A pair of adjustable ramps allow heavy, wheeled objects to be rolled from the raised foredeck down to the boat’s sole.

The raised foredeck platform is bounded by short, painted, black-iron pipe stanchions capped with oak plugs on top and threaded into flanges at the bottom; the flanges serve as bolted-on bases. The oak plugs are drilled for rope lifelines. A pair of removable ramps stows underneath this foredeck; they can be slid out and mounted in position, their distance from each other adjustable, to allow heavy gear on the foredeck to be rolled onto the lower main deck. A short hinged ramps folds back onto the raised deck when the boat is underway. This ramp was designed to mate with a floating dock: Nose the boat into the float, flip down the ramp, and you have an effortless connection to the shore for loading or unloading of all that gear.

I’ve come to think of this boat as an outboard-powered pier. Imagine a situation in which a larger, deeper-draft boat were moored off of a sandy or fine-gravel beach with no pier facilities. This garvey, with a longer bow ramp than the boat I tested, could be brought into that beach, and the ramp flipped down to the beach. Passengers could be easily loaded, the boat poled into safe water, and the motor started.

This garvey is built upside-down over oak or locust frames whose heads, for building purposes, extend all the way to the building baseline. They’re trimmed to their proper heights once the hull is inverted. A keel batten and two chines are sprung along the frames, and the outboard motor’s transom is fitted and fastened into place. The keel batten is beveled to receive the bottom planking, and it comes to a point along the centerline.

Two layers of 5 ⁄8″ cedar planking, laid on opposing diagonals, make up the bottom. Thickened epoxy joins these layers, and they’re clamped the old-fashioned way, with temporary drywall screws. Not only is this bottom strong and watertight, but it also makes good use of short stock. “The secret to such a bottom,” says Harry Bryan, “is to remember that epoxy is cheap compared to the price of a repair.” In other words, don’t starve the joint between the plank layers of glue. When this planking is completed, a flat is planed into it along the center-line to receive an oak shoe. The topsides are planked in conventional lapstrake cedar, copper-riveted along the laps and screw-fastened to the frames.

There’s no denying the benefits of contemporary out-board motors: They are quiet, efficient, and lightweight. But when you’re designing and building a boat of a certain timeless aesthetic, they do present their challenges. Aside from the blaring graphics, even the simplest motor has a throttle, a shift, a kill switch, and a key. All of these features are studiously hidden away in TROUT. In fact, when I stepped aboard to test the boat recently, I was stymied for several minutes in trying to start the engine. I’d pumped the fuel bulb and priming lever, then turned the key, which is mounted on the console. The engine just cranked without a hint of firing. “Kill switch…,” I thought. “Where’s the kill switch?” After some searching, I discovered the button artfully hidden away in a locker to star-board of the engine. A nondescript-looking lanyard led through a hole in a bulkhead, allowing the switch to still function.

Matthew P. Murphy

Two simple oak sticks control the boat’s direction and speed. The inner stick is the gearshift lever.

I‘ve been aware of Bryan’s camp utility garveys for years, and have been eager for all of that time to try one of these boats. I finally got the chance last August. On my outing, I was joined by a friend of TROUT’s owner, who followed next to me in another boat. “I can’t even hear that boat running,” the friend said when I finally did get the engine started. There are two oak sticks handy to the driver’s right hand: one controls both the shift and throttle, and the other is the tiller. TROUT backed easily away from the dock, and was quite steerable in both directions, thanks to the directional reverse thrust of the outboard motor. Drivers of inboard-motor-powered boats steered by rudders will appreciate this quality, as their boats often turn in only one direction when backing up, and require special handling skills.

Once clear of the dock, I throttled up. The bow rose a few degrees as the hull settled onto its after sections, just as it’s meant to do. This is a planing hull with a displacement heart; while a bigger motor could push it onto plane, that’s not what the owners or the designer had in mind. Bryan’s earlier garvey, mentioned above, was meant to plane and attain some speed. But this one is for carrying a load. In fact, Bryan made some shop-floor changes to his drawings, to enhance the load carrying even more: He added 6″ to the boat’s beam during lofting.
I didn’t test the boat’s load-carrying ability, but I think I would have been hard-pressed that day to gather together enough stuff—or enough people—to test it to its limit. But that’s of no consequence, because the boat’s abilities are transparent. I have no doubt that the specified party of 12–14 people would remain comfortable, safe, and dry in modest lake conditions—or that the drum of aviation fuel would arrive intact at its camp-side destination.

Matthew P. Murphy

With her subdued paint scheme and lack of graphics, TROUT is meant to blend in with a lakeside landscape.

We took TROUT to a beach not far from the camp, and folded down the bow ramp. This ramp, recall, is meant for a dock, so it’s shorter and thus steeper than it might be for a beach landing. But it still proved handy, and was great for my two-year-old son, who found its pitch perfect for sliding onto the beach.

The boat beached easily, with the electric trim drawing the propeller clear of the bottom as she glided to a gentle grounding. It was easy to imagine a load of camping gear piled into the boat—or a large barbecue grill and several coolers. TROUT really opens up some otherwise-off-limits terrain, while leaving a very small footprint and making little noise.

The return to the camp’s dock from the beach was meditative. Upon arrival, though, I found that the launch-driving skills I’d honed over several summers more than two decades ago had atrophied: Coming alongside with stick steering is easy once it’s mastered, but the movement of the tiller—remember, forward for a turn to port, and aft for a turn to starboard—must become second nature. You can’t think about it too hard. Practice makes perfect; despite my initial awkwardness, I wouldn’t trade this simple and elegant option for a wheel on this boat.

After the owner’s friend and I secured the boats, we made our way up the gangway smiling at the sheer ingenuity and level of thought in this able and easy little barge. He summed up the experience perfectly: “This is a very relaxing boat,” he said.

Plans for the Trout are available from Bryan Boatbuilding, Letete, New Brunswick.

TROUT’s hull form is that of a traditional V-bottomed garvey—a small scow-shaped boat meant for any of a variety of tasks. TROUT’s principal job is to haul a load of gear at modest speed—and to remain stable while doing so.

TROUT Particulars: LOA 23′, Beam 6’6″, Draft 13″, Displacement 1500 lbs

The line of Kaholo stand-up paddleboards (SUPs) from Chesapeake Light Craft merge a trendy new sport with the world of build-it-yourself wooden boats. These kits are thoughtfully developed, and they yield a state-of-the-art wooden SUP. For those wishing to scratch-build, plans consisting of instructions and full-sized patterns are available as well.

In just a few years, the CLC boards have already evolved through several generations, refining their dimensions, strength, and ease of construction. The hulls are beamy and stable, with a flat run aft, reverse transoms, and a very pronounced V forward. The boards have an actual boaty-looking, wave-cutting bow. Two models are offered, at 12′ 6″ and 14′, to accommodate smaller and larger paddlers, respectively. The newer 12′ 6″ model was also developed to conform to class-racing rules.

As we all know, two boats in sight of each other automatically means a race, and SUPs are no exception. Classes and events have developed, as have different SUP tribes. The various denominations include surfing, open-water races, flat-water racing, whitewater paddling, and touring. There’s great potential for paddle-board expeditions, too: Two evidently unemployed 20-somethings paddled the East Coast from Key West to Portland, Maine, last year. Less ambitiously, I have added picnics and evening cocktail cruises to the list of SUP pursuits, deftly strapping a cooler to the aft deck.

Yes, stand-up paddleboards have spread across the water sports world like the flu in a college dorm. I can judge by the fact that there are now paddleboard yoga classes in Burlington, Vermont, that the boards and their believers are ubiquitous. I’m in my second season of joyfully paddling my board, so I understand their popularity, but I admit that once I agreed to write this review I had to do a little web surfing to figure out their origins.

I first noticed SUPs a few years ago, when the big-wave surfer Laird Hamilton was having his 15 minutes of fame and appearing as an American Express “It” boy. Stand-up paddling was striking, looked cool, and was easy to imagine as a “no waves day” kind of cross-training way to get out on the water. Turns out that that is just about the complete story. Ancient SUP history cites beach-boy surf instructors in 1960s Hawaii resorting to canoe paddles and the era’s long surfboards to take pictures of the tourists taking surfing lessons; standing up to paddle kept their cameras out of the water.

Jeff Meyers

Chesapeake Light Craft estimates the build time of a Kaholo to be 60 hours. Numerous options are available for customization; the deck pattern seen here was accomplished by embedding Hawaiian shirt fabric under epoxy.

The contemporary SUP was developed in Hawaii a little over a decade ago, and has only recently spread to New England—and circled the globe in the other direction just as quickly. The jump to the East Coast from the West may well have been expedited by, if not at least coincided with, the teaming-up of California SUP guru Larry Froley with the boffins at Chesapeake Light Craft for the design of the Kaholos.
The appeal of the sport is rich and complex. First and foremost is simplicity: It’s just you, a board, and a paddle. Second is the easy learning curve. Turns out the instinct not to fall in the water is pretty primal. One of my kids and I recently spent a day watching beginners try out SUPs, and came to the conclusion that if you are the least bit active and have ever done anything requiring balance, like riding a bike, skiing, or even climbing stairs without clutching the handrails, you’ll be fine. I’ve been paddling frequently for two seasons and have yet to fall in. A third appeal is that paddling a SUP can be as physically demanding as you want, again much like cycling. One can indulge in a leisurely drift around the pond, or jump on for an all-out aerobic workout. You can pick locations and conditions to suit your mood and skills. The muscles involved relate most closely to Nordic skiing, in my experience. After a long paddle my calves and the balls of my feet are the first constituencies to report, then the next day I hear from my shoulders.

The fourth reason for the SUP craze is a board’s transportability. They are just about the easiest cartop load imaginable, and their minimal accessories leave the rest of the vehicle free for whatever your real reason for traveling. Thus it is easy to keep the board handy for spontaneous outings, or to plan a paddle at the end of the day on the way home. Mine lives on top of my truck for the summer. Finally, let’s acknowledge the surreal, giggling fun of standing up as you essentially walk on water. It is hard to describe, but is a very commonly expressed feeling among SUPaddlers. The water, the scenery, the bottom of the ocean, even wildlife are all crazy different and better from a stand-up perspective.

The structure of the boards will seem familiar to anyone who has seen or built a plywood kit kayak. The hull and deck are 3mm okoume plywood, stitched around a complex but ultralight grid of transverse web frames and longitudinal stringers. The underside of the deck is sheathed with fiberglass cloth before assembly, then the completed hull and deck exterior are sheathed in 4-oz ’glass as well. Epoxy is used both as the construction adhesive and for sheathing. Dual skegs are required for reasonable tracking, and they are provided with the kits, already shaped and epoxy armored. An interesting quirk of the Kaholo’s light construction is the necessary fitting of a vent or breathing tube in the finished boat, allowing the completely sealed hull to equalize air pressure when the air inside it expands. Along with the vent fittings, carrying handles and nonskid deck pads are included in the kits. Indeed, a Kaholo kit comes complete with all materials needed, less paint, varnish, and paddle. The most important thing in the kit is the excellent instruction manual, which leads you step by step with clear, concise explanations and key photos demonstrating the techniques and standards.

The completed boards are light (officially 29 lbs and 32 lbs) and very stiff. They are structurally strong and durable, but they must be treated as wooden boats—which is to say, with some care. Losing one in the surf on a rocky shore won’t end well, nor will parking-lot falls or unruly jumping about. Skegs stick out, and as they teach you at boot camp, things that stick out get broken. The best practices for long Kaholo life are to remember to strap them down and to mount and dismount in a foot of water. In my learning to paddle and adventures to date, the only indignities my Kaholo has suffered are a few paint chips and scratches.

While on the topic of best practices, let me offer a few of “novice beware” warnings: Paddling into a wind of any strength while standing is next to impossible. Kneel or even lie down as necessary. Second, keep in mind that cold water is dangerous and dress appropriately. Paddle where you can walk home until you are confident. Make adult decisions about PFDs (the Coast Guard considers you a vessel), and contemplate an ankle leash, as your board may well drift faster than you can swim.

Jeff Meyers

Author-builder Geoff Kerr explores the thin waters on the edges of Vermont’s Lake Champlain on a 14’ Kaholo stand-up paddleboard. The board is available as a kit from Chesapeake Light Craft in Annapolis, Maryland, and plans are available for scratch-builders.

Prices for the kits make the Kaholos competitive with manufactured boards as long as you only pay yourself $1.89 per hour to build it. The performance of the finished product makes them a bargain, as of course does the personal satisfaction of building it. Perhaps the most fun is the joy of customizing the finish of your SUP. The newly popular practice of applying decorative fabric under the deck glass makes every home builder an airbrush artist without the health and social risks of smoking all that inspiration. The project s officially thought to take about 60 hours. The company’s estimates are a good-faith effort to represent the time required, and are especially valuable relative to their other boat kits. While I agree with this estimate, suffice it to say that results may vary. Nevertheless, the Kaholos are the easiest kit in the CLC quiver, and very simple to build. For some context, students can complete Kaholo kits in a one-week class with no strain or panic, driving home on Saturday with a board that is ready to sand and paint. Tool requirements are minimal, limited to a few simple hand tools plus some spring clamps, a drill, a block plane, and a sander. Shop requirements are also easy. Some floor space (maybe 5′ × 18′ ) and a pair of sawhorses will do nicely. I banged my first Kaholo together in a corner of my shop over the Christmas holidays one year, a few hours a day here and there between family visits. A project like this lends itself well to a routine of an hour or two after work each day ’til you are done.

A Kaholo is a great introductory boatbuilding experience, the sport is a “good for you” hoot, and it may well be the one boat on your beach that everyone in your family can use. That’s a hard-to beat-proposition. Try not to giggle too loudly.

A series detailing the construction of the Kaholo begins in the November/December 2012 issue of WoodenBoat magazine (No. 229). Order Kaholo plans and kits from Chesapeake Light Craft.

CLC offers two models of Kaholo: a 12’6” board and a 14-footer. The smaller board is intended for smaller padders; the larger one for larger paddlers or for those wishing to carry a companion or a cooler. The smaller board qualifies for several racing classes, while the 14-footer is meant for touring. Kaholo 14 Particulars: LOA 14′, Thickness 4 5/8″, Beam 29 1/2″, Waterline beam 27 1/2″, Weight 32 lbs. Kaholo 12-6 Particulars: LOA 12’6″, Thickness 4 1/2″, Beam 29 3/4″, Waterline beam 28″, Weight 29 lbs

The beauty of the plastics and composites that are mainstays of modern kayak construction is that they can be molded into almost any shape imaginable, but that doesn’t assure that kayaks made from them are beautiful. Plywood is nowhere near as versatile; it can’t be shaped into a compound curve or bent around a tight radius. But just as poetry is beautiful because of and not in spite of the limitations imposed by meter and rhyme, a plywood kayak like Pygmy’s Murrelet may well owe its beauty to what plywood can’t do. The four strakes of the hull are lined off in simple but sweet curves, and the chines between them underscore the sweep of a well-defined sheerline. The small panels that provide the transition between the deck and the cockpit coaming are like gem facets. They would have been lost had the kayak been modeled for plastic or ’glass with complex curves blended one into another. The Murrelet is a boat that I won’t soon tire of looking at.

The Murrelet that I describe here is one of several versions available from Pygmy Boats in Port Townsend, Washington. You can choose a hull with a gently curved keel line for strong tracking characteristics or with a bit more rocker for greater maneuverability. There are four options for decks, each with a different balance between capacity for cargo and clearance for rolling. A choice of two cockpit-opening configurations will accommodate paddlers of different sizes. The version here is the Murrelet 2PD (two-panel deck) with the rockered hull and the longer cockpit.

The stitch-and-glue construction used for the Murrelet is straightforward and very well suited to amateur builders, even those first-timers who’ll find themselves gathering skills and tools. The building begins with joining the kit pieces that compose each full-length plank. Butt joints do the trick here and are much less fussy to work with than scarf joints. I’ve cut a lot of scarfs in the three decades I’ve been building boats, and I’m rather proud of those that I’ve done well. They can be nearly invisible under varnish, and I’m sure the countless hours of running a hand plane down stair-stepped plank sections has made me a stronger paddler. Butt joints sandwiched between fiberglass and epoxy, however, save a lot of time in the making, and they are more than strong enough. Copper wire temporarily joins the planks and deck panels together. Epoxy and fiberglass form the permanent bonds.

The Murrelet kit includes foot braces, thigh braces, hip pads, and a back brace that are all adjustable, so it is easy to get a good custom fit in the cockpit. There are two options for seating: a self-inflating foam pad and a molded closed-cell foam seat. I prefer the molded seat because it gives me a more positive connection to the kayak. For those planning to make long passages in the Murrelet, I’d recommend sculpting a custom-fit seat from a 3″-thick block of closed-cell foam. The deeper contours will relieve pressure on your “sit bones,” and making the seat’s forward edge high can support the weight of your legs. That will relieve some of the isometric tension that’s otherwise required to keep your legs locked in the thigh braces.

The Murrelet has two bulkheaded compartments for coastal-cruising gear stowage. The hatches have foam gaskets to keep the water out and three straps with anodized aluminum tensioning levers for a tight fit. The early versions of these levers used by many kayak manufacturers were prone to releasing accidentally. An errant paddle stroke or a paddler climbing back aboard after a capsize could trip the slider that secures the lever. Pygmy solved the problem by shaping the lever to keep the slider from slipping off. The Murrelet’s hatch covers will stay put and tightly sealed.

Photographs by the author

The adjustable backrest and thigh rests, together with options for the seat, make the Murrelet easily custom-fitted to the user.

Blocking under the stowage compartment bands puts pressure on the edge gaskets to help keep water out.

A finished Murrelet should weigh about 36 lbs. That’s roughly 20 lbs less than a composite or plastic kayak of similar size, so the Murrelet is much easier to lift onto your vehicle’s roof rack. The balance point of the Murrelet happens to fall right at the thigh-brace flanges, so the common way of carrying a kayak—slinging the coaming over one shoulder—is rather uncomfortable. But there’s a better way to carry a kayak. Face the stern and flip the kayak upside down as you lift it over your head. The Murrelet’s coaming will rest on both shoulders, evenly balanced over your spine, and you’re ready for a short haul from your car to the beach and even a long portage between lakes.

Afloat, the Murrelet has very good stability. On one of my outings, I’d been surfing some modest wind waves where they steepened over a sandy shoal. I saw a freighter traveling upwind in the shipping lanes and waited for its wake to hit the shoals. When the wake and waves collided, the crests shot straight up 5′ or 6′ and exploded into spray all around me. Even buried in whitewater, the Murrelet kept its footing with very little help from me.

The secure fit I had in the cockpit allowed me to edge with confidence and get the Murrelet to carve through turns with ease. I should mention that having a rudder on a kayak does more to help you go straight than to turn. Setting the kayak on edge by lifting the knee on the inside of the turn brings the ends of the hull closer to the surface so they can more easily move sideways as they must when you turn. A rudder, even when angled for a turn, keeps the stern from swinging laterally and the kayak can’t respond well to the steering strokes you make with the paddle. It’s when you’re paddling across the wind that a rudder earns its keep. The stern, traveling through water “softened up” by the passage of the hull, will yield more than the bow to the lateral force of wind on the beam; the boat therefore veers into the wind. A rudder or a skeg can prevent this weather-cocking by keeping the stern from slipping downwind. There are, however, a few kayaks that can keep a steady course across the wind without requiring additional lateral resistance at the stern. They are exceptional (and to my mind, somewhat mysterious) combinations of hull design, windage, and trim. The Murrelet, in the conditions I paddled, was among them.

On a downwind heading, the Murrelet surfed well in following seas. As long as I got the bow properly squared up to the wave faces, the Murrelet accelerated easily to catch some good rides. On several waves, it cut through the water so cleanly when it was at speed that it suddenly went silent. I expect a lot of drama when a kayak is moving at flank speed, but the Murrelet threw no spray and uttered not a peep.

The author chose this Murrelet 2PD, which has a slightly rockered hull to improve maneuverability, together with the long-cockpit option, and found it fast, steady, responsive—and lovely to look at.

To gauge the Murrelet’s speed on still water, I ducked into a marina and fired up my GPS. It showed I could maintain 41⁄2 knots at a relaxed pace, 51⁄2 knots at a workout pace, and could do 6 knots in a short sprint. That efficiency under power should keep you from falling behind your paddling partners.

The Murrelet was designed for rolling up easily after a cap-size. If you haven’t learned to roll a kayak, you should—and not just for the margin of safety the skill offers, but also because with a boat like the Murrelet you’re missing out on the fun. The low after deck makes roll-ing a breeze. The aft end of the coaming sits a mere 71⁄2″ above the bottom, and I could lean back and lie flat on the after deck. Bringing the weight of your head and torso so close to the kayak substantially reduces the effort you have to put into rolling. Rolling using only my hands isn’t a skill I practice regularly, but I hit my first attempt at it in the Murrelet. After that, it was no surprise that many of the roll techniques I can perform in skin-on-frame Greenland kayaks I’ve built specifically for rolling translated well to the Murrelet. You could have a lot of fun in the Murrelet without ever paddling away from your launch site.

The Murrelet is a kayak that you could easily manage as a novice paddler and yet never outgrow. As your skills improve to include longer passages, rougher water, and rolling for self-rescue and for fun, the Murrelet will not come up short. And when you’re not paddling it—if you have a living room wall long enough—you’d have good reason to put it on display. It’s a work of art.
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Update: Pygmy Boats is no longer in business and kits for the Murrelet are not available. This review is presented as archival material.

The Murrelet, a plywood-epoxy kayak kit designed by John Lockwood of Pygmy Boats in Port Townsend, Washington, uses multi-chined construction, emulating round-bottomed handling characteristics and enhancing the lovely lines of the hull. Murrelet Particulars: LOA 17′, Beam 22″, Depth 12″, Weight 36 lbs

FILO is a winsome gaff-rigged sailing dinghy reminiscent of catboats first seen along the New England coast in the 1840s. At 11′ LOA, with a 5’0″ beam and 8″ draft (daggerboard up), this beamy daysailer—designed for protected waters—combines characteristics of a Cape Cod cat with elegant features of the classic Whitehall. She is charming and graceful under sail.

FILO’s saga began when her owner, Tom Darnton, replaced his old, leaky waders with a new pair, seeking comfort during the annual spring ritual to install the dock at the family cottage on Lake Charlevoix in northwestern (lower) Michigan. Snug against the elements, he stood hip deep in frigid water, as a zephyr skimmed the surface under azure skies—a beautiful day to sail. Gazing across Oyster Bay, he imagined himself tacking a small wooden daysailer with traditional lines, a boat that he could put on a cart, roll to the water’s edge, launch, and sail alone.

After considering various designs, Darnton was smitten with designer Charles Wittholz’s 11′ catboat dinghy, with its round bottom, nearly wineglass transom, sweeping sheer, gaff rig, eye-catching details, and versatility under sail, or, unrigged, under oars or outfitted with a small out-board engine. Relatively large for a dinghy, with fine lines despite a broad beam, she is a throwback to a simpler time in America. She is ideal for Lake Charlevoix, with its rich maritime heritage. Over a century earlier, the lake teemed with wooden schooners and steamers carrying passengers and freight along the shore.

Darnton commissioned the Great Lakes Boat Building School (GLBBS) in Cedarville, Michigan, to build FILO (meaning first in, last out). Wittholz had drawn his well-detailed plans with an eye toward the home-based builder, starting with a cold-molded hull, which has no frames, thus eliminating steam-bending. The first layer is 1⁄4″ western red cedar running fore-and-aft. That layer is covered with two diagonal layers (set at 90 degrees to each other) in 1⁄16″ African mahogany. This monocoque hull requires only minimal maintenance and weighs less than a comparable one built in either solid wood or fiberglass. FILO features a constellation of woods, including white oak for her keel, tiller, and its extension, sapele for her inwales and rubrails, Douglas-fir for the rudder, and Douglas-fir marine plywood for the stem. Okoume marine plywood was used to build the foredeck, thwarts, daggerboard, and daggerboard trunk. Her spars are in Sitka spruce, and floorboards and oars are Alaska yellow cedar.

George D. Jepson

Whether sailing in a stiff breeze or light airs, the robust little cat is lively on a reach.

This project requires intermediate to advanced skills; even Patrick Mahon, lead instructor at the GLBBS, found bringing together the wineglass transom and narrow skeg at the stern to be a bit of a brain-teaser. But once the hull was completed, he found building and installing the daggerboard and trunk, foredeck, thwarts, trim, and spars to be straightforward. The stem is composed of three laminated layers of 3⁄4″ Douglas-fir plywood. The foil-shaped daggerboard and barn-door rudder (made of okoume plywood) are sheathed in epoxy and fiberglass cloth. Wittholz only suggested lofting as an option, but those who have built the boat strongly recommended it to enhance interpretation of the plans and better grasp some of its more complex details.

The dinghy’s plans offer various options for builders and owners. Darnton chose a daggerboard—Wittholz’s original specification—over a centerboard in order to conserve cockpit space. The designer added a pivoting centerboard option in his plans for those who prefer that alternative. Darnton ordered a second tiller with an extension for singlehanding FILO. The gaff rig was chosen over the optional marconi rig for its appearance from bygone days. Finally, the sternsheets stretch forward to the ’midship thwart, a deviation from Wittholz’s plan, which offers a bit more seating for the helmsman.

FILO is finished with a traditional livery; the top-sides and cockpit are painted white, while the bottom from the waterline down is sea-mist green. The stern-sheets and thwarts are buff colored. Standard marine enamels were used, allowing Darnton to do touch-ups in his garage. Rubrails, thwarts, foredeck, and spars are finished bright, clear-coated with epoxy and varnish. The floorboards are unfinished. The dinghy was fitted out with off-the-shelf stainless-steel hardware, with the exception of the stem fitting that secures the forestay, which was custom fabricated in stainless steel.

FILO’s custom, full-battened white Dacron mainsail was cut and sewn at Sperry Sails in Marion, Massachusetts. This is a slight departure from Wittholz’s traditional design, which did not include battens. Darnton chose the Sperry sail based on an article he read in WoodenBoat about the gaff-rigged daysailer-weekender WAVE, designed by Nat Benjamin (see WB No. 214). Full battens facilitate balanced load distribution and shape the sail, while a single reefpoint allows shortening it in a blow.

Raising or breaking down FILO’s rig takes only a few minutes. The sail is laced to the boom, gaff, and mast, and is raised and lowered with a halyard. The mast, which passes through the foredeck and is stepped on the keel, is supported with a 1⁄8″ stainless wire forestay. Darnton leaves the rig in place and keeps the boat on a mooring in front of the cottage, when the family is in residence. A custom canvas boom tent keeps the sail and cockpit dry.

The versatile 11′ dinghy is an ideal cottage craft that can be sailed or rowed from the beach or a mooring. She is also well suited as a tender for a power yacht or deepwater sailboat. She will tow easily behind a larger boat in relatively calm conditions but may bounce around quite a bit in a chop. Wittholz originally conceived the dinghy as a tender for a power or sailing yacht, hanging from davits when not in use.

Weighing just 150 lbs, FILO can be easily towed on a small trailer and launched from a ramp or stored on shore and floated off a hand-pulled dolly. Two or three people can also carry her to the water’s edge. She is ideally suited for waterfront cottage life or for trailering to favorite destinations.

Under a slate sky, a stiff northerly breeze is blowing down Oyster Bay. It’s mid-June, but this is northern Michigan, where the weather can bring a chill beneath storm clouds, followed within hours by cerulean skies and warm sunshine. The wind is whipping near 15 mph, with higher gusts, creating a chop on the bay. This is the type of weather that will put FILO through her paces.

Darnton dry-sails FILO off a dolly parked on the shingle at the base of a cedar-covered hill below the cottage. Already rigged, she is ready to sail within minutes once he removes the cover and rolls the dolly through shallow water to a mooring buoy. Darnton releases the painter as he raises the sail. She catches the breeze heeling as she cuts across to the opposite shore on a reach. Occasional puffs put her rail in the water, exposing her green undersides.

George D. Jepson

Though traditional in appearance, FILO’s cold-molded hull makes her easy to trailer and very easy to maintain.

FILO’s fine entry slices neatly through the waves. She makes broad turns while tacking and likes to go to windward. Sailing singlehanded, the helmsman’s optimal position is just abaft the ’midship thwart to achieve fore-and-aft trim. Sitting too far forward results in the bow pushing water, rather than sailing through it.

Although she has a relatively high free-board and is reasonably stable for a sailing dinghy, FILO is probably not a boat for absolute novices; she will not tolerate a lot of shenanigans under sail. An unexpected knockdown or pushing the envelope in a robust breeze can capsize her. Her intended capacity is four passengers, but I recommend two for comfortable sailing. She is a delight to sail and has little weather helm.

By early evening, the skies are blue as the sun dips toward the horizon over nearby Lake Michigan. A light sea breeze propels us back and forth on the bay, as we take turns at the helm. The only sound is the peaceful gurgle of water against the hull. This comely cat will make her mark for years to come on Lake Charlevoix, crisscrossing the wakes of ghosts from another era, when canvas sails puffed full and steamers’ stacks trailed ribbons of smoke.

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Plans for the Wittholz 11′ Dinghy can be ordered from The WoodenBoat Store.

While borrowing her narrow entry, raised transom, and sweeping sheer from the classic Whitehall, the Wittholz dinghy remains a true catboat with her broad beam, tum-blehome stem, and barn-door rudder. FILO’s owner chose the gaff rig to complete the catboat look.

Wittholz Dinghy Particulars: LOA 11′, Beam 5′, Draft (cb up) 8″, Draft (cb down) 2’11”, Weight 150 lbs, Sail area 80 sq ft

The Thames skiff is a lightweight, narrow, lap-strake rowing boat native to England’s River Thames. While it dates to the 10th century, and emerged first as a ferry boat, ship’s tender, and fishing craft, it became popular in Victorian times for racing and leisure. The boats ranged from about 18′ to 30′.

I live in the north of Scotland, about as far from the River Thames as it is possible to get while remaining in the U.K. So it may seem odd to think of building a Thames skiff up here. It all started when my wife and I rented a holiday cottage on the Thames and had the good fortune to visit the boatbuilders Henwood & Dean at Henley. There I was inspired by a magnificent small skiff (18′ 3″ long) recently completed and immaculately varnished, with its gold-leaf cove lines and woven cane armchair aft. I thought it would make an excellent project because it is lightweight and lends itself to ornamentation, which would provide good occupational therapy for one of advancing age and diminishing physical ability. My wife was enthusiastic too, imagining some rather more ladylike boating than that to which she had been subjected hitherto.

I took as many photographs and measurements of the boat as possible, but did not have time to take the lines, even if I had known how to do so. Fortunately, boat designer Iain Oughtred has plans in his catalog for a 19′ Thames skiff for glued-plywood construction, and I decided to build that boat—with some departures from Iain’s specifications. I used the mold shapes detailed on Iain’s plans, but chose traditional, solid-wood construction rather than plywood. And I changed the interior to my own tastes.

The Thames skiff has six planks per side, topped by a seventh, the “saxboard,” which is twice as thick as the normal planking and constitutes both the sheerstrake and the gunwale. I built my boat upside down to make it easier to fit the first few planks; I then turned the whole thing over in order to be able to do a neat job of fitting and fastening the saxboard.

The Thames skiff’s principal backbone member is formed from two pieces: the on-edge keel timber and the on-the-flat hog, or keel batten, which sits above the keel, forming a T. I chose close-grained Douglas-fir for the keel. Slender oak knees at each end of the back-bone support the stem and transom. All of the back-bone joints were glued and screwed.

KINGFISHER’s frames are 3/8″ thick, except in way of the oarlocks, where they are 1/2″. All are joggled to fit the planking. In some original Thames skiffs, the frames taper inboard in order to save weight.

I planked my boat in 5/16″ Brazilian cedar. Because the first two planks have a pronounced twist, I steamed their ends using a wallpaper stripper attached to a sleeve made from sheet plastic. This device could be passed over each plank end to allow steaming where needed, while the rest of the plank was temporarily clamped in position. The half-inch plank laps were fastened using 14-gauge copper nails and 3 /8″ roves. Because of the awkwardness of working inside the overturned boat, only intermittent nails were riveted to “spot-weld” the plank into position, and the rest were left until the boat was turned upright.

With six planks on, it was time to turn the boat over to start work on the saxboards. This turned out to be a time-consuming performance involving the removal of the molds from the strongback and, once the boat was turned over, replacing them inside the boat, realigning them, and then bracing them from an overhead beam.

The saxboards are 5 /8″ thick and have a 5 /16″ × 5 /8″ rabbet cut in the inside lower edge to fit over the top of the sixth plank so that it is flush inboard. An ogee molding routed along the lower edges of both sides of that board delineates an area of gold-leaf decoration. Given the boat’s low freeboard, the upper edge of the saxboard is raised in way of the thole arrangement to elevate the oarlocks. (For simplicity I elected to use bronze oarlocks rather than the more traditional square-sectioned tholepins.) It took quite a lot of adjustment to get the upper edge of the sixth plank to fit neatly into the saxboard rabbet the full length of the boat, but with this done and the fastenings in, I could finally remove the molds and begin the fitting out.

The majority of historical Thames skiffs were planked in mahogany. Colin Galloway chose Brazilian cedar for his boat, because he found a stash of it of suitable length and quantity. This lightweight, pale brown wood is fairly soft and rot resistant. “It is nice to work but produces an irritating peppery dust,” reports the builder.

The floor timbers span the lower three planks except at the very ends, where they are shorter. They are fastened to the hog with a central nail and normally have limber holes only at the garboard; however, I put limber holes at each plank lap, as well, to make it easier to fit the floor timbers. Furthermore, the additional holes, which allow water to pass freely through the floors, seemed a sensible addition after an experienced builder told me that one of the first things to rot in the older boats is the floors.

I set the cedar thwarts on cleats fastened to the planking and strengthened them with oak knees. Then I added quarter knees and the breasthook, followed by the framework to support the adjustable footrest for the oarsman. I made floorboards from cedar and Douglas-fir.

One of the most recognizable features of the Thames skiff is the comfortable armchair aft. These chairs sometimes have a solid wooden back with ornate wrought-iron arms, but I thought I would have a go at the woven-cane type, which looks a bit better to my eye. Brass fittings allow the seat to be assembled and taken down quickly. Two studs (brass screws with the heads sawn off) protrude from either end of the back and pass into holes on the inner sides of the arms. The arms are then held closely onto the back by hooks and eyes. The seat assembly’s only attachment to the boat is by a hasp-and-eye arrangement at the forward ends of the arms.

The final touch was a fine red velvet cushion with buttons and gold braid, made by my wife.

Builder Colin Galloway, with KINGFISHER.

I launched my Thames skiff, KINGFISHER, after two-and-a-half years of construction, on a fine June daPortsoy, Scotland. She was christened with the aid of a small quaich (a highland drinking vessel) of whisky shared with family and friends. She is not a sea boat, but it was a calm day and we all enjoyed a great outing using borrowed oars—oarmaking being a job I’d saved for the following winter.

I asked several oar and skiff builders what length of oar would be best for a skiff with a beam of 3′ 9″, but each had their own special formula, with lengths ranging from 7′ 6″ to 8′ 6″. So I decided to make the oars 8′ 6″ and allow for shortening in the light of experience. I chose Sitka spruce, and gave them hollow looms.

These 8′ 6″ oars proved to be unwieldy and did not allow enough leverage inboard. So I removed 6″ and adopted the practice of overlapping the handles during the recovery phase, and they were just right for someone with my relatively modest muscle power.

KINGFISHER uses square-sectioned oarlocks, rather than the more traditional tholepin arrangement.

In the summer of 2011, we had some exhilarating recreational rowing, mainly on Loch Ness. Most commonly there has been just one passenger, but the boat is perfectly comfortable with four aboard. She has proved to be quite fast and to carry her way well, especially in smooth water, but I would guess less so than the more usual longer (about 21′ ) and less beamy single skiff. Having a long keel with very little rocker, she is slow to turn using oars alone, but is remarkably responsive to the transom-hung rudder. I would estimate the turning circle to be around 50′. Choppy water significantly affects her performance—but, then, she is a river boat.

This Thames skiff has provided a great deal of enjoyment both in the building and the rowing, and can be thoroughly recommended as a project for anyone who wishes to have some fast and comfortable rowing in sheltered inland waters.

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Plans for this  Thames Skiff, Iain Oughtred’s Badger, are available from Oughtred Boats.

Colin Galloway built KINGFISHER to Oughtred’s Badger design, shown here, but included only one rowing station. Badger’s plans are an enlargement of the 16’ Mole; the lines plan is common to both, but the station spacing is revised for the longer boat. Thames Skiff Particulars: LOA 19′, Beam 44 1/2″, Draft 15″, Weight 150 lbs

Elegant in its simplicity, the Rhodes 18 has many attributes that have made it a classic among the daysailing and weekend one-design racing classes. Similar in many ways to the Sparkman & Stephens Lightning Class boats I grew up sailing and racing on Long Island Sound, it is dynamic, lively, quick to accelerate, maneuverable, and sails magnificently.

A soft chine and graceful longitudinal rocker contribute to the boat’s maneuverability and great turning characteristics. The outboard rudder, hung with a standard pintle-and-gudgeon arrangement on a transom that is flat and has slight reverse rake, allows the boat to carve tacks and jibes efficiently. A 5″ skeg extends from the bottom of the transom and tapers forward 3′ to ensure good tracking qualities. The graceful bow curve has a soup-spoon shape, which complements the hull form. By my observations, the transom is the only flat surface of the entire hull of the Rhodes 18. From stem to stern and along each station, the boat is as fair as a beach stone.

The Rhodes is the perfect daysailer for up to five people, or it can be raced by a crew of three in one-design fleets. The cockpit is spacious, comfortable, and practically designed, with port and starboard longitudinal benches for comfortable seating for three on both sides of the cockpit. The cockpit coaming lies flush with the deck, which is a significant attribute when you and the crew are hiking out with legs extended over the edge of the cockpit and side decks. The cockpit is set back by about 10″ to the inboard from each side, allowing for significant deck edge immersion, which helps to stave off swamping. The foredeck, which extends from the stem to just aft of the mast, provides a stable platform to pick up the mooring line, set an anchor, or tie off a dockline. From the afterdeck, which is equally ample, such necessary tasks as fastening the boom tent or tying off the tender can be completed.

For a centerboarder, she is a forgiving and relatively stiff 18-footer, which you especially notice when stepping aboard before the centerboard has been lowered. Her initial stability feels reassuring when you move your weight around the boat. Under full sail and in a moderate breeze, the Rhodes 18 is well balanced and easy to rein in.

I came to know the Rhodes 18 because for a number of years I’ve enjoyed sailing PYG, a wooden-hulled boat that my friend Richard Van Voris restored in Massachusetts. With a little review of Greek mythology, I found that PYG is aptly named: According to the myth, the sculptor Pygmalion created a statue so life-like that he fell in love with it. After becoming familiar with the Rhodes 18, I can easily understand how any owner would become so enamored. Michael Warr, PYG’s previous owner, described the Rhodes 18 as “a perfect little lady with no bad habits.” Ultimately, when asked to write about basic sailing techniques in WoodenBoat magazine’s “Getting Started in Boats” section (see WB No. 218), I chose the Rhodes 18 as the model for its all-around characteristics. I tried sailing her alone, without crew, just under the mainsail alone, and PYG remained a gracious silent partner without any noticeable weather helm.

The key to sailing any centerboard boat like the Rhodes 18 is to sail her flat. Those of us who teach sailing preach, “Flat is fast.” On the Rhodes 18, this translates into either hiking harder, adding additional crew for extra ballast, sailing under main alone, or even taking a reef in the mainsail. On the wind or on a reach, the adjustable centerboard position on the Rhodes 18 can be “played” up or down a small amount to change the center of resistance and thereby change the balance of the boat. This adjustment corrects the boat’s tendency to head up into the wind or to fall off away from the wind. Downwind, the centerboard can be raised entirely to reduce drag and increase speed.

The boat is easy to manage on a trailer or to leave on a mooring with a boom tent over her cockpit to keep the water out of her bilges. There is also plenty of storage under the foredeck or under the afterdeck to store necessities.

Donald Sorterup

SWIFT gives an excellent idea of what the Rhodes 18s looked like when the type was new. Peter Eastman, who has won numerous Rhodes 18 national championships, found the boat in a barn and restored her to original specifications.

The Rhodes 18 is the work of yacht designer Philip L. Rhodes (1895–1974), who designed everything from 7′ dinghies to 123′ motoryachts. Arguably his most famous design was the 12-Meter WEATHERLY, the 1962 AMERICA’s Cup winner. According to Richard Henders on’s excellent biography Philip L. Rhodes and His Yacht Designs, the designer drew his 18′ daysailer in 1938 for use as a junior trainer for the Stamford (Connecticut) Yacht Club.

At present, Rhodes 18 racing fleets remain active at Barnstable Yacht Club and Dennis Yacht Club on Cape Cod and at the Biddeford Pool Yacht Club in Maine. The International Rhodes 18 Racing Association (see www.biddefordpool.org/bpyc/public/rhodes_18/rhodes_18.htm), sponsored by the Biddeford Pool Yacht Club, specifies strict rules and regulations for boats and sails that must be followed by racing contestants.

Donald Sorterup

In the original rigging plan, which is retained in SWIFT, the boom has a “T” cross-section, and the mainsheet reeves through deck-mounted turning blocks without a traveler.

The Rhodes 18 fleet quickly adapted to fiberglass construction in the post–World War II era. The Cape Cod Shipbuilding Co. in Wareham, Massachusetts, which advertised a complete wooden Rhodes 18 with mainsail and jib for $718 in 1942, started building fiberglass versions as early as 1948. Since then, the company has launched some 700 of them in both centerboard and keel versions.

The fiberglass keelboat and centerboard Rhodes 18s are raced together. Additional weight is added to the centerboard boats to bring them up to the set minimum weight requirements and to make them equal in weight to the normally heavier keelboats. The fractional-rigged Rhodes 18 is raced with any combination of mainsail, jib, genoa, and spinnaker. According to Peter Eastman, six-time winner of the Rhodes 18 Nationals, about 25 boats turn up for the competition. Eastman is fond of sailing the Rhodes 18 because “it is a family kind of [sailboat] class.”

It is unknown how many wooden Rhodes 18s were built, but they are rare today. Despite all that I have said about the graceful and handsome wooden Rhodes 18, the truth is that the wooden version of this daysailer is a dying breed. According to Eastman, only a handful of them still exist, and only two wooden boats that he knows of are still sailing. Many boatbuilders dream of coming across a rare boat tucked away in an old barn somewhere, but unless you are willing to obtain plans from Mystic Seaport and undertake an extensive building project in wood, a new or used fiberglass Rhodes 18 may be the only realistic way to enjoy this classic daysailer.

Donald Sorterup

Richard Van Voris of Massachusetts completed a fine restoration of PYG, one of a handful of surviving wooden-hulled Rhodes 18s. Philip Rhodes was an early advocate of fiberglass construction, and in 1948 production manufacturing of his 18-footer began in that material.

Building anew, of course, is not out of the question for an experienced builder, and constructing a Rhodes 18 could be the experience of a lifetime. To learn more about the construction of the boat, I ventured to the Daniel S. Gregory Ships Plans Library at Mystic Seaport, Connecticut. The collection includes more than 300 designs by Philip Rhodes, including the Rhodes 18, which is his design No. 448 and Mystic Seaport’s Catalog No. 80.132. In 21 separate sheets, Rhodes supplied every necessary detail, although the original construction plan (sheet No. 14) is in very poor condition.

Rhodes’s original specifications called for a 5⁄8″ galvanized steel centerboard or an iron ballast keel. The timber keel was to be either white oak or longleaf pine, with continuous white oak frames 7⁄8″×7⁄8″ on 8″ centers, and with 5⁄8″-thick cedar carvel planking fastened with bronze or Monel screws. He called for varnished mahogany trim, canvas-covered plywood decks, Sitka-spruce spars, stainless-steel rigging, and bronze fittings.

Should time constraints or a lack of experience preclude the “build it yourself” approach, another option might be to save and restore an existing Rhodes 18—if one can be found. This is a quicker way to get out on the water on a wooden Rhodes 18 while retaining some of the hands-on experience of boatbuilding and all of the satisfaction of restoring a classic, as my friend Richard found with PYG. He sistered or replaced frames, replaced her mast and sails, rebuilt her center-board trunk, and duplicated or renewed many of PYG’s wooden structural and trim pieces. Essentially, PYG is as good as new!

Philip Rhodes drew the 1938 plans for the Rhodes 18 for construction by the Cape Cod Shipbuilding Co., which built them initially in wood, starting fiberglass construction, including a later fin-keel variation, in 1948. Like all of Rhodes’s plans, those for the Rhodes 18 reside at the Daniel S. Gregory Ships Plans Library at Mystic Seaport in Connecticut.

Particulars: LOA 18′, LWL 16′, Beam 6’3”, Sail area 162 sq ft

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Plans for the Rhodes 18 are available from Mystic Seaport.

Dories, dories, dories. Perched above the mighty Merrimack River on Main Street in Amesbury, Massachusetts, Lowell’s Boat Shop is a boatshop built by dories, many thousands of dories over a great many decades. The building one sees today is old in a general sense but, dating to around 1860, it wasn’t erected until about 67 years after Simeon Lowell started building boats on the site in 1793. By the time Simeon’s progeny had more or less perfected dory mass-production methods in the mid- to late-1800s, the shop’s capacity was staggering. Figures burned into a wooden beam indicate that in 1911, 2,029 boats were built, probably a record.

The Lowell model under discussion here might be thought of as the answer to this question: What do you get when you cross a Lowell dory with an outboard motor? Answer: a Lowell Amesbury Skiff.

“Our design,” said the shop’s lead builder, Graham McKay, “is essentially a Lowell Surf Dory from the middle part of the boat forward.” The Surf Dory (see Small Boats 2011) is “round-sided” by comparison to Banks fishing dories. (“Knuckle-sided” is considered a more descriptive term as the frames are not curved but have variously angled flat sections where planks attach.) But what about the Amesbury’s hull shape from amidships to transom? That’s where the skiff part comes in. While the Lowell Surf Dory’s hull narrows to a traditional tombstone transom at the stern, the Amesbury Skiff remains beamy from midsection to stern, and the flat bottom ends at a broad transom. The result is an outboard hull that will plane. It’s a boat type known generically as a “dory skiff” or “semi-dory,” though not all such boats are as decidedly outboard-oriented as this one.

The Amesbury Skiff is offered in models ranging from 12′ to 20′. Like other Lowell models, this one is built upright using the old, original patterns for frames, stem, and bottom, along with the garboard, or lower-most, plank, thus ensuring a certain level of both labor efficiency and consistency. This means, of course, that Lowell’s builds completed boats but does not have plans available, although a similar boat was documented by John Gardner in his The Dory Book, and the plans are reproduced here.

Stan Grayson

Instead of using plans, Lowell’s Boat Shop relies on tried-and-true patterns developed and refined over time for every piece of each type of boat.

What may come as a pleasant surprise to many is that this wooden boat can live happily on its trailer. “What you see,” McKay said, “is essentially a traditional boat atop a plywood and epoxy foundation.” Such newfangled yet useful innovations were introduced after Lowell’s was sold in 1976 to the late Jamieson “Jim” Odell. Odell was an out going, remarkably insightful man who combined business and engineering experience with a passion for wooden boats. Odell introduced epoxy, marine plywood, and fiberglass cloth to the shop’s repertoire of materials. The caulked fore-and-aft bottom planking typical of dory construction was replaced by Lloyd’s-certified meranti plywood. Plywood is also used for the garboard strakes. The outside of the hull is ’glassed with 6-oz cloth from the garboards down. On the interior, the bottom, the lower portion of the frames, and the lap between the gar board and the broad strakes, which are the second plank up from the bottom on each side, are all coated with epoxy.

These maintenance- and leak-reducing innovations are combined with traditional dory construction elsewhere in the hull. The knees and stem are oak, the frames oak or locust. Plank stock is Atlantic white cedar, pine, or cypress, depending on preferences. Bronze ring nails fasten the planks to the frames, while the laps—where one plank overlaps the other—are fastened with copper rivets.

Putting together a boat in this fashion according to techniques practiced by long-gone generations of Lowell craftsmen would be more of a challenge than it is without Jim Odell’s foresight. Odell made sure that longtime builder Fred Tarbox stayed on to teach the “Lowell way,” and the collective wisdom of the past was preserved in a big three-ring binder known at the shop as The Book. “The Book,” McKay said, “was the key to making it possible for those coming here after the Odells to be able to build a boat that carries on the shop’s unique methods. We call those methods ‘Lowellisms.’”

Space doesn’t permit going into detail about Lowellisms, but they describe a basic dory construction in which planks fit flush to the flat portion of the frames only at the laps, resulting in what McKay calls a “certain amount of desirable flexibility.” There is a prescribed method for using a straightedge to measure up from specific points on the bottom as an efficient way of outlining planks. The Book has instructions for how much to “tip out” the forward frames to deliver the desired spray-reducing flare in each hull. A note instructs to alter the rocker—the longitudinal curve of the bottom—to make it slightly “negative,” or bend downward, for the aft end of the 14′ Amesbury Skiff’s bottom, as is done on the other models to improve performance on plane.

Stan Grayson

The larger skiffs, like the 16-footer shown at left, have center-console steering, and this boat also has enclosed storage beneath the forward seat. The boat is stoutly built, with white oak for the stem, breasthook, rails, and stern knees, and with its plywood bottom and cedar topsides, it is tough and easily trailerable.

Each Amesbury Skiff is fitted out to meet individual preferences. The 12′ to 14′ models are tiller steered, but those 16′ or longer are usually set up with consoles. A storage locker is built into the bow thwart and other thwarts as desired. McKay is ever watchful regarding weight distribution. “We just did a 13-footer,” he noted, “and because of the enclosed stowage compartments the owner wanted back aft, we compensated by mounting the battery and fuel tank in the bow locker to even out the weight.”

Three finish levels are offered. The standard all-paint finish includes a primer coat and three top coats. Yacht finish includes varnish on the transom, rails, and thwarts. The shop will also deliver a boat with just the primer coat and encourages some customer participation in a boat’s construction.

We had a chance to use the 16′ model on the Merrimack one splendid day in September. While dories can be tippy when boarding, the Amesbury Skiff is quite stable. That can be particularly important in a family boat that may often have non-boaters aboard. This hull is very easily driven and certainly doesn’t require its rated maximum horsepower—35 hp for the 16-footer—to deliver satisfying yet economical performance. I’m afraid that we rather exceeded the river’s speed limit for a brief period and have it on good authority that 25 hp will drive the 16′ to over 25 mph while 40 hp will push the 18′ to the high 30s or more. Such velocities, however, are largely academic, for this is not a speedboat. The Amesbury Skiff will be at its best for all manner of less frantic explorations, family outings, fishing, and utilitarian purposes.

We encountered no seas on our river journey, only a few wakes through which the well-balanced boat rode smoothly. With the hull banked into a turn, the lapped planks add stability. One gets the impression that the boat possesses enough seaworthiness to venture beyond the river’s mouth in fair weather. Typical of most flat-bottomed boats, this one requires some practice to dock gracefully in a breeze. Twin skegs mounted on the bottom aft certainly are a plus in this regard. This is a boat that will teach the newcomer nuances of powerboat handling and seamanship while rewarding the more experienced with its capabilities. Of course, a pair of good 8′ to 9′ oars should be kept aboard. A 16′ or 18′ Amesbury Skiff is no rowboat, but, if necessary, either can be rowed from the forward thwart.

A wooden “dory skiff” like this, professionally built of both solid lumber and plywood, is a comparatively rare commodity these days. Yet, one can acquire a 16′ model with console for around $11,000 to $13,000 and then have it rigged with the preferred motor. Right now, I’m picturing a white hull with a buff or light gray interior, painted or bright rails and a shiny, white, 25-hp Evinrude with power trim and tilt. A fully equipped 16-footer would probably weigh around 600 lbs, making it readily trailerable behind even a small vehicle. For that reason, a nice-fitting cover should be included in the budget.

The Amesbury Skiff represents good value in a salty boat that will both teach and provide years of stress-free enjoyment. If you’re debating ordering one, remember the words of America’s great poet John Greenleaf Whittier, who lived in Amesbury from 1836 until his death in 1892 and who frequently walked up on Friend Street—sometimes accompanied by his pet squirrel, Friday:

“For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: ‘It might have been.”

The lines plans shown here for a 16’ outboard-powered “semi-dory” were published in The Dory Book (International Marine, 1978) by historian John Gardner, who called it “a big, small boat.” The plans, which are shown for comparison, describe the alternative of an outboard well (which Lowell’s also offers) and the author felt 15 hp would be “useful and normal.” 16′ Outboard Semi-dory Particulars: LOA 16′, Beam 6′ 5″ Lowell’s Boat Shop 16′ Amesbury Skiff (plans not available): LOA 16′ 1″, Beam 6′ 5″, Depth amidships 21″, Weight ~300, Rated hp 35 Note: The boat is available in lengths of 12′ to 20′.

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Completed Amesbury skiffs are available from Lowell’s Boat Shop.

The Redbird canoe has been around for almost three decades. It’s a timeless design that people just keep building. Designer Ted Moores of Bear Mountain Boats first published the plans for this boat in 1983 in Canoecraft, a handy book, still in print, that tells you everything you need to know about building a cedar-strip, epoxy-glued canoe. It includes plans for seven different canoes, including Redbird.

A Redbird canoe is a beautiful thing, with a sweeping sheerline terminating in boldly uplifted ends. Her fine entry widens gently into a moderate vee, giving onto a flattened U-shaped midsection. A slight tumblehome adds lateral strength and allows outwales wide enough to turn aside waves and spray. The boat paddles easily, can carry a mighty load, and tracks straight and true.

Redbird is a touring canoe, which means she doesn’t turn as quickly as more nimble whitewater models. For whitewater maneuverability you would need a canoe with more pronounced rocker. So, if you have in mind such use, with the ability to make rapid changes of direction, a Redbird is not the ideal choice. She doesn’t mind a bit of rough water, though. In his notes accompanying the design, Ted Moores writes: “The Redbird has proved execeptionally seaworthy, even in the heavy seas around the Magdalen Islands in the Gulf of St. Lawrence.”

The Redbird’s sides have a modest tumblehome; this shape adds strength to the hull, and it allows for wide outwales to deflect spray. Jay Burreson built this boat.

Before continuing, I should present my credentials. I’ve had a lifetime’s experience messing about in boats, from cruising my own boats around Australia and the Pacific to round-the-buoys yacht racing. When I decided to build a canoe 12 years ago, I knew a lot about maintaining boats but I’d never actually built one from scratch; I was handy with woodworking tools, but no master craftsman. In that regard I suspect I may be a typical Redbird owner.

I chose the Redbird because I liked the look of her. I knew I didn’t want to shoot rapids, so her straight-tracking touring qualities seemed right for me. Ted Moores’s book guided me methodically through the building process, from setting up a workshop, to reading the table of offsets, making the molds, gluing up the cedar strips, ’glassing the hull, and finishing off.

All went well except for some minor flaws in the ’glass sheathing. This was not Ted Moores’s fault. His instructions are very detailed and thoroughly illustrated. He does point out, however, that “only experience can teach the proper timing” when wetting out the fiberglass cloth. He’s right there. I ended up with a couple of cloudy areas and some small patches where the epoxy had failed to soak into the wood sufficiently. I could have lived with it, but instead I decided to paint the outside and leave the inside bright. No one knows that I didn’t plan it that way.

Some Redbirds I have seen are works of art, where the builder has carefully selected the color of the cedar strips to add accents, such as a differently colored water-line or cove line. Undoubtedly, one of the most appealing things about this form of construction is that you can finish the boat bright and enjoy the subtle beauty of the wood. With a skillful ’glassing job and the recommended cane seats, a well-built Redbird canoe is akin to a piece of fine furniture.

The Redbird’s cedar-strip construction is within the reach of beginning boatbuilders—especially those who keep Ted Moores’s book Canoecraft close at hand.

Cosmetic flaws aside, my Redbird performs very well indeed. My wife and I have done several camping trips in lakes and slow-moving rivers. With a tent, sleeping bags, air mattresses, fold-up table, two folding chairs, a box of food and utensils, a cooler filled with ice, food, and drink, and a camp stove, we do not travel light. The boat has sometimes been so loaded that there has barely been room for the paddlers. Despite the extra weight, we have been able to paddle for hours on end without the trip being too arduous. Once you get moving, the momentum carries you along. Of course, I’m talking about sheltered waters, as it would be foolhardy to load a canoe like this in rough water.

Paddling two-up without a cargo is a sweet experience. It’s positively therapeutic to glide along close to shore with barely a sound, sneaking up on waterbirds or perhaps surprising a kangaroo who has come down to the shore to drink. I live in Australia, by the way. There are quite a few Redbirds here—and kangaroos.

Lesson number one in solo canoeing is the J-stroke. The paddler thrusts the boat ahead with the paddle. If the paddle were on, say, the port side, the boat would steer to starboard if the stroke ended with that. But, as the name implies, the paddle follows a J pattern, thus compensating for the steering tendency. Once this has been mastered, the boat tracks well—especially with two paddlers. As is characteristic of canoes of this type, paddling alone in a breeze can become more of a challenge: With the paddler kneeling more towards the center and the boat lightly laden, those high ends can make her quite twitchy.

In correspondence with other Redbird owners on Internet forums, some have commented that the boat is a little tippy. One owner added the rider that he is a big man and perhaps his seats were a little high. From my own experience I would not describe the Redbird as “tippy.” I’ve found that in rough water, stability is improved by adopting the standard canoeing technique of kneeling on the bottom to paddle, thus lowering the center of gravity. The difference this makes is quite remarkable.

Redbird Canoes have been built all over the world. Here we see one built by an American diplomat, Jack Diffily, in Belize; the boat is competing in that country’s distance race, La Ruta Maya.

My Redbird weighs about 65 lbs, which makes portaging theoretically possible. I confess that I never have done this, and I wouldn’t like to try it. I think it would be hard work.

Cedar-strip construction can take a lot of punishment. You would have to hit something really hard, such as a rock in fast running water, to hole the hull. If the worst happens and you do hole the canoe, there is a section in Canoecraft devoted to repairs.

Redbirds have been built in the most unlikely places. Jack Diffily, the U.S. Chargé d’Affairs at the U.S. embassy in Belize, came across a copy of Canoecraft at his previous posting in Togo, West Africa. He helped a buddy build his Redbird, and when Jack was posted to Belize he took a bunch of cedar strips and ash with him. Using Ted’s book he built a Redbird of his own.

Jack paddles the canoe on the Belize River. For the last two years a team of American and Belizean embassy staff have entered the Redbird in the annual La Ruta Maya. This is a 180-mile race held over four days on the Belize River. They came sixth in the pleasure craft division out of 76 finishers. Like me, Jack has been delighted with the canoe’s performance. And it’s had an unexpected benefit. “I had no idea the canoe would be such a catalyst for pulling our Embassy folks together and for so many people to have so much fun along the river.”

It’s hard to say how many Redbirds have been built. Certainly hundreds; probably thousands. The sheer number of them in use all over the world is a testament to the design.

The Redbird has a moderate amount of rocker to its bottom, no keel, and a relatively long waterline. These traits combine to makes the boat fast and responsive—though not as nimble as a whitewater boat.

Particulars: LOA 17’7 1/4”, Draft 4”, Beam 33 1/2”, Weight 50-60 lbs

Plans and kits for the Redbird are available from Bear Mountain Boats. Canoecraft is available from Bear Mountain Boats and The WoodenBoat Store.

The Salty Heaven is a 17′ by 5′ 9″ cat-yawl intended for day-sailing and camp-cruising. Her Australian designer, Mikey Floyd, is an admirer of traditional working boats, which used to go about their business using a minimum of fancy gadgetry. There are only four strings to pull: two halyards and two sheets. Roll her off the trailer, erect the two unstayed masts, slide the boomkin and rudder into place, hoist sail, and you’ll be on the move within 15 minutes.

The sails are standing lugs, a rig which has proved itself over centuries in working boats, where trouble-free practicality is a commercial imperative. They are carried without booms, which has pluses and minuses. On the plus side, there’s nothing solid to beat passengers over the head during maneuvers. You still need to be careful of the blocks attached to the clew of the main-sail, but their positioning is such that they are generally out of the way of both skipper and crew. Advocates for booms point out that you cannot run directly downwind without them. Indeed, if you try, you risk the dreaded death roll, which on a boat that can capsize is to be avoided at all costs. On a Salty Heaven, you make your way downwind in a series of broad reaches—so-called “tacking downwind.” Modern racing boats often adopt the same tactic; you sail farther, but you get there faster.

A Salty Heaven looks old-fashioned, with a straight stem and a nice sheer terminating at a pretty wineglass transom. Her raked masts give her an air of elegance and purpose. This boat would not have seemed out of place drawn up on the beach beside an English fishing village a century ago. But, look closely: Her lapped marine plywood planks are fastened with glue rather than nails and roves. In fact, thanks to the wonders of epoxy, there are hardly any mechanical fastenings in the entire boat.

Paul Boocock

After reefing, a simple toggle-and-eye makes reattaching the sheet easy. Note rope-stropped block; hardware is kept to the minimum.

Mikey Floyd designed the first Salty Heaven 11 years ago for himself. After a lot of use in a wide range of conditions, subsequent plans were slightly altered. The planking size was beefed up from 1⁄4″ to 3⁄8″, and the seven frames now run from gunwale to gunwale. Previously they were more like extended floor timbers. The original boat had a separate skeg. Subsequent boats are planked down to the heel. The original daggerboard was replaced by a pivoting centerboard.

In keeping with the designer’s wish to keep things simple, there are few bolt-on fittings. Fairleads are fashioned from hardwood. The halyards are made fast on wooden belaying pins, held in place by Turk’s heads. To link the tiller to its extension, a piece of line is passed through the tiller and led to a hole in the end of the extension. It is then knotted at both ends. Even the sheaves in the wood-shell blocks are made from hardwood. The bronze rudder fittings and the oarlocks are the only manufactured items. Of course, a home builder could use more off-the-shelf fittings if desired.

You may suppose that all this old-fashioned technology makes for a clunky sailer, but this is not so. I’ve owned my Salty Heaven, JESS, for nine years and the more I sail her, the more I appreciate her qualities (see WoodenBoat No. 176). She will move in a zephyr and, provided you rig her to suit, she will keep on sailing in up to 30 knots of wind. The first reef goes in at about 15 knots, the second at 20, and the third at 25. If things get desperate there are two rows of reefs in the mizzen as well. Sailing in 30 knots is not recommended in an open boat, but if necessary it is possible. I carry two canvas bags that I can fill with sand to augment the 110 lbs of lead ballast permanently installed. No matter what the conditions, the boat remains well balanced and manageable.

Paul Boocock

Halyards are made fast to wooden belaying pins. Fairleads and the grommet in the tack of the sail (not shown) are also wooden.

As with any open boat, you need to reef in good time and to be constantly alert when it’s blowing hard. Once or twice when I’ve been lazy about reefing, I’ve dipped the rail and shipped a few bucket loads of water. With the mainsheet started, the little mizzen screws the boat around head-to-wind where she waits patiently while her foolish owner bails her out. The design calls for two blocks of foam buoyancy strapped underneath the side seats. Testing these in a deliberate capsize, Floyd confirmed that the boat will float with the top of the centerboard trunk clear of the water.

Going downwind it’s a good idea to raise the centerboard so that the boat will not trip. Once or twice on a hard reach, again with a bit too much sail up, JESS has been on the verge of being overpowered. The trick is to bear away. The boat heels, then skids sideways for a moment or two before the hard turn of the bilge pushes her back on an even keel. During these somewhat nerve-wracking moments, she maintains fingertip control.

Paul Boocock

Designer Mikey Floyd sailing his original SALTY HEAVEN on Pittwater, Sydney, Australia.

In practice, these boats are so forgiving that it would require a catastrophic situation for a complete capsize. Sailed conservatively, Salty Heavens are stable and predictable. I should mention, though, that the crew can get a wet ride going to weather, from spray thrown back over the windward side of the boat.

Salty Heavens are a lot of fun to sail singlehanded. True to their workboat heritage, they are also willing load carriers. Four (or, at a pinch, six) passengers or a big load of camping gear are no problem. In fact, the boat seems to like the extra weight.

The designed draft is 8″. With the centerboard and rudder pivoted into the raised position, you can skim through the shallows into little hideaways that are barred to most boats. When you find that hidden anchorage, if you wish to sleep aboard you will not be able to lie down on the sole; the thwarts get in the way. Sleeping space can be achieved by using inserts between the thwarts.

The boat is intended for use with sails and oars. I suppose you could attach an outboard motor, but it seems to me that that would spoil a graceful design. I have rowed my Salty Heaven for five miles at a stretch in a dead calm, but it’s hard work. You need only the slightest breeze to put away the oars and carry on under sail.

Paul Boocock

A pair of Salty Heavens hard-pressed. Time for the first reef.

Glued lapstrake is a popular and proven method of construction. The pages of WoodenBoat contain hundreds of successful boats that have been built by amateurs using the method. Even so, lapstrake construction is a challenge for a novice. A search of WoodenBoat’s archives will turn up how-to articles, with useful advice on such things as spiling the planks and fitting the gains. Another good resource is the Clinker Plywood Boat Building Manual, by Iain Oughtred, available through The WoodenBoat Store. The book takes you through the whole process step by step with clear instructions and plenty of illustrations.

Much has been written about coating wood with epoxy to seal it off from moisture. The designer, who is a trained shipwright, disagrees, maintaining that the epoxy will eventually crack. When water inevitably soaks into the wood, it may then be trapped. When finishing off the Salty Heaven, he recommends using paint and varnish, and keeping the coatings in good condition. On Mikey’s own boat the varnish has been replaced with a mixture of linseed oil and pine tar.

Why a two-masted rig on a 17′ boat? The spread-out rig keeps the center of effort low, so the boat heels less than if it carried a single, tall stick. Some might argue that the mizzen is so small that it doesn’t earn its keep. If she were ketch rigged, the larger mizzen would sit right in the middle of the working part of the boat, where it would be much in the way. The yawl leaves the space clear. The mizzen is especially useful when reefing. Sheeted in hard, it holds the boat’s head into the wind while you drop the mainsail to tie in the reefs. Salty Heavens carry their mizzen stepped off to one side so as not to interfere with the tiller.

To sum up: The Salty Heaven is responsive and fun to sail, without the demands of a modern high-performance sailing dinghy. She’ll take you for an afternoon solo sail, carry a few friends down the bay for a picnic, or accommodate one crew and a load of camping equipment on a week’s camp-cruising. She’s a good, wholesome all-rounder.

Salty Heaven is a surprising blend of resourcefulness, tradition, and performance. The boat is intended for day sailing and camp cruising, and most of its hardware and fittings are shop-made. Simple lug sails set on unstayed masts

Particulars: LOA 17”, Beam 5’9”, Draft 8”, Sail area 146 sq ft

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This boat profile was published in Small Boats 2012 and appeals here as archival material.