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 boat, which 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 boat 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 Bolger 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’s Pirogue Boat 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 the Bolger Pirogue 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 Bolger 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 Bolger 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.
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"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.
Gerald Trumpp, a retired automotive engineer from the upper Rhine valley in southern Germany, is a canoeist. For 30 years, he has owned an Old Town Scout canoe that he has paddled on local waters and across the border on French rivers. Sometimes he ventures out alone; sometimes he is joined by his wife, Petra, and their dog, Dipa. Before 2017, he had never built a boat—he’d thought about it, but never put those thoughts into actions. Then, in a boatbuilding class in Berlin, he built a stitch-and-glue canoe and was hooked.
As retirement approached, Gerald dreamed of building a bigger boat and cruising down the Danube. In 2020, still seeking boatbuilding experience, he bought a Chesapeake Light Craft Northeaster Dory kit. Within a week, he recalls, he had the boat stitched together. “The kit was precise, and it was nice to build,” but it would be three more months before it was finished. “We wanted it clear-finished inside and out, and that took a lot of sanding.”
Photographs by or courtesy of Gerald Trumpp
The Chesapeake Light Craft Northeaster Dory was the first boat Gerald built at home, and was the boat in which he and Petra learned to sail.
When Covid shut everything down and Gerald himself suffered some health issues, the “big river plans” were shelved. Instead, he decided to install a sailing rig on the dory and learn to sail. “Near Baden-Baden, where we live, there’s a little lake with a sailing club,” he says. “As a canoeist, the thought of doing anything on so small a lake—just 1 sq km in size—was ridiculous, but the people were nice, and the area is beautiful. The members were all dinghy sailors with more-or-less modern boats—420s, 470s, Lasers, some German class boats. But there was one woman who had a Mirror dinghy, and she was very glad to welcome another wooden-boat guy!”
Gerald installed the CLC original sloop rig in the dory, and he and Petra launched the boat on a cold day in March, when the lake’s water temperature was 5°C (41°F) and the wind was blowing a steady Force 4. They lacked experience, and the outing, says Gerald, “nearly ended in disaster. We were driven helplessly downwind, and it was only thanks to Petra’s balancing skills that we didn’t capsize when I turned onto a beam reach.” Shocked and discouraged, they managed to get to shore and lower the mast. A “friendly observer” lent them a paddle, and they made it back to the ramp. “Suddenly,” says Gerald, “the lake was not ridiculously small…it was a beast trying to kill us!”
Gerald’s building space—between the back wall of the house and the garden shed—was extremely tight. It was not until after the hull was finished and he was able to move the project to the front of the house that Gerald discovered the hull was twisted. He was able to correct the error with tie-down straps and the installation of a second plywood bottom.
That same day, Gerald bought an old 420 from the club. “I thought it would be easier if we had the same boat and equipment that the other members had, but after just two outings in the 420, we went back to the dory…plastic boats just aren’t my cup of tea. After that, it was trial and error. Sometimes I was on my own, sometimes the ever-tolerant and trusting Petra came with me, sometimes even Dipa, our 8-kg terrier, came along. And we did it, we learned to sail.”
As their experience grew, so did the realization that the dory was not the ideal boat for their needs. “It’s a perfect rowboat,” says Gerald. “Fast, light, stable in waves, but because of its narrow waterline beam, under sail it’s tippy. And it wasn’t great for Dipa…there was no shade for her, and she’d often overheat in her life vest. Added to that, when we did some capsize drills, we found that I couldn’t get back aboard and bail because of the limited flotation. It wasn’t a big deal on a small lake, but even so, the thought of all three of us floundering in cold water wasn’t ideal.”
They discussed various ways to modify the dory, but Gerald at last decided to build a new boat; one that would have more initial stability, space for four people, some shade for Dipa, and be fast—“faster than the already-fast dory and, more importantly, faster than the Lasers!”
Knowing he would varnish the boat inside and out, Gerald spent a lot of time sanding, and paid close attention to his use of meranti and contrasting softwoods.
The search for the perfect boat was defined not only by performance but also the need to keep things light. “We looked at CLC’s Southwester Dory and Lighthouse Tender, John Welsford’s Scamp, and François Vivier’s Silmaril,” says Gerald, “but none of them was quite right. We have to launch by hand at the club, and I suffer from bronchial asthma so can’t pull a heavy boat over the grass. In the end we settled on the 15′ 6″ Goat Island Skiff. It didn’t quite fit my romantic picture of a wooden boat, and in Germany flat-bottomed skiffs aren’t common, but it was known to be fast, big enough for four people, stable, and relatively light at about 60 or 70kg. And there’s a great community of owners around the world, led by the designer, Michael Storer.”
Gerald bought the plans. Finding the eight sheets of 6mm marine plywood for the hull was, he says, easy enough, but for the solid wood components, Storer recommended knot-free wood such as western red cedar, Paulownia, Douglas fir, and various hardwoods in dimensions that, Gerald discovered, are not common in Germany. Frustrated, he decided he would mill his own lumber at home and, over the next few weeks, toured home-improvement stores near and far in search of knot-free wood of between 1.5m and 2m length. No one, he says, seemed to notice “the strange guy who spent half an hour examining roofing battens only to leave with just three or four.”
Club members came out in strength to welcome the new wooden boat to their community. GAISSL stands out from the other members’ mostly fiberglass sailing dinghies, but from the day of her launching she has been adopted as the club mascot, loved and admired by all.
Then, at the club one day, Gerald was recounting his problems in finding suitable wood when one of the other members spoke up. “He had just replaced a meranti entrance door and offered to give me the old one.” For the next four weeks Gerald worked outside, milling the wood into suitable dimensions for the boat’s frames, stem, chine logs, foils, daggerboard, and rudder.
Working with Storer’s instruction manual, Gerald had no problem cutting out the plywood panels but found the framing more complicated than he’d anticipated. “Every panel is framed by battens that have to be beveled in one or even two directions,” he says, “and that was hard. Storer recommends epoxy-coating the panels before assembly, but I decided to do that at the end. When I built the dory, it seemed a great way to cover some of my mistakes. Building the Goat would have been easier if I’d had more space and if the floor of my workshop hadn’t been uneven. When the boat came out visibly twisted, I was destroyed.”
Gerald laminated the daggerboard and the rudder using a combination of softwood and meranti. The contrasting colors were aesthetically pleasing and, by using the hardwood for the edge pieces, Gerald was able to add strength to areas of vulnerability.
Not one to give up easily, Gerald sought to solve the problem. “I had already planned to install a second bottom—6mm is thin when you’re launching and recovering with a dolly all the time. So, I brought the hull into shape using tension straps, laid down the second bottom—also of 6mm marine plywood—glued it, temporarily screwed it, and kept my fingers crossed. It worked! I wasn’t worried about the slightly visible screw holes—they’d be covered by bottom paint—I was just happy to have a boat that was the right shape.”
After that, Gerald says, things progressed smoothly. He used a mix of the deep-red-brown meranti and some lighter-colored spruce to laminate the rudder and daggerboard, and to fashion the thwarts, breasthook, and gunwales. He bought a lugsail and a carbon-fiber mast both to keep the weight down and because he was mindful of the ongoing threat of wood dust to his lungs, and after six months the skiff was ready to launch.
GAISSL was launched at the sailing club of which Gerald is now vice president. He was joined for the big day by his wife, Petra, and their dog Dipa.
“We named her GAISSL (spelled Gaißl in the dialect of southern Germany, and meaning ‘Little Goat’). Our maiden voyage was in light winds—which was good as the 9.7 sq m sail is a lot bigger than the Dory’s 6.3 sq m.” But Gerald and Petra have since sailed GAISSL in a variety of conditions. “She’s fast and relatively stable—we can stand up and change places, lower the sail, reef it, and raise it again, all while we’re afloat. And the capsize drill was positive, although the freeboard is high, so to climb back aboard we use a looped rope as a stern ladder. Even Dipa enjoys the skiff—she can get under the center thwart for shade and in mid summer we rig a canopy for her under the tiller.”
GAISSL’s maiden voyage was on a day of light breezes, warmth, and calm water—a far cry from Gerald and Petra’s first sail in their Northeaster Dory, when the lake’s water temperature had been just 41°F and there had been a Force 4 wind.
The club has adopted GAISSL as a kind of mascot. “She was the club’s ‘eyecatcher’ at a local exposition in 2024, and we used her to take kids out on the water.” In the year since launching Gerald has sailed GAISSL on a mountain lake in the Black Forest, and on another lake in eastern France. “We have several plans for 2025—voyages to different lakes in France and northern Italy,” he says. “GAISSL will be perfect for those.” And as for the Lasers? The jury is still out. Gerald says that in a Force 2 or 3 he can overhaul them, but the true contest will be decided on the lake this summer.
Jenny Bennett is editor of Small Boats.
For more on the Northeaster Dory, read Matthew P. Murphy’s review, The Northeaster Dory, and for the Goat Island Skiff, read Ben Fuller’s review, The Goat Island Skiff.
For plans and more information about the Goat Island Skiff, visit Storerboatplans.com.
Do you have a boat with an interesting story? Please email us. We’d like to hear about it and share it with other Small Boats readers.
Penny Fee is a classic British wherry reinterpreted for glued-lapstrake construction—or, as her designer Iain Oughtred would say, clinker. This building method is well-suited to amateur construction—materials are easily obtainable, arcane boatbuilding techniques such as steam-bending frames are not required, and the final product is both beautiful to behold and easy to own. Because plywood lends dimensional stability to the planking, there’s no worry of planks shrinking, swelling, or splitting, which may make a difference to you as she won’t have the need for the “taking up” (allowing planks to swell until it no longer takes on water) period customary with boats of solid wood.
While the sweeping plank lines of a classic lapstrake boat are clearly in evidence, another advantage of the glued, frameless building technique lies in its clean interior—initial finishing and periodic maintenance are greatly eased by the absence of internal framing. Finally, the boat is somewhat lighter in weight than her traditionally-built sister would be, easing trailering and moving around on land.
Penny Fee’s dead-straight keel and hollow bow will make her track very well under oar or sail. She is thus best suited for longer passages than for poking about in crowded harbors. She’ll reward those who love to row with her long waterline and easy shape—the first to mitigate pitching as weights shift, the second to reduce resistance—and she is long enough to comfortably accommodate a pair of rowers.
Under sail Penny Fee displays sufficient beam for good sail-carrying ability and her roomy side seats allow creature comfort while keeping her on her feet. Oughtred shows four rigs, with one, two, or three sails, in both gaff and lug styles. She is truly a multi-purpose boat; while Oughtred’s portfolio includes boats better optimized for sailing, Penny Fee both sails and rows very well.
Oughtred’s deep knowledge as a boatbuilder shows in these beautifully hand-drafted plans for the 15′11″ Penny Fee. Eight sheets display a wealth of detail, including full-sized patterns for station molds, stem, transom, rudder, and centerboard. Traditional rigging details, too, are exquisitely drawn.
15′ 11″ Penny Fee Design Plan Details
DESCRIPTION
Hull type: Round-bottomed, transom-sterned
Rig: Gaff and lug options, with and without yawl rigs
Construction: Glued-lapstrake plywood
Phil Bolger’s Martha Jane design has character. After building mine, I loved settling back into the corner of her big, deep cockpit and looking up at that beautiful 200-sq-ft tanbark balance-lug sail as it worked us to windward—which it accomplished amazingly well at about 50 degrees off the wind. The boat is also very dry and comfortable. I remember the first time I saw a Martha Jane on the water: I was sailing a Sea Pearl 21—a relatively seaworthy open camp cruiser—and hanging on by my fingernails, while the skipper of the nearby Martha Jane was standing up drinking a cup of coffee.
Some people say that the late Mr. Bolger’s designs are an acquired taste. Perhaps that’s true, but there is an inherent beauty about this particular boat. The proportions are right, and there is no extraneous detail. The design is a tremendous study in economy and in form following function.
Brian Hunsaker
The Phil Bolger–designed sharpie-yawl Martha Jane is a big, simple, well-performing boat. She has good seakeeping ability, and can also be poled up into shallow creeks.
This is a big small boat at 23′6″ LOA. It is built of plywood that is either scarfed or butted into 24′ long pieces. I used butt joints, reinforcing them with fiberglass cloth and epoxy resin, which has proven to be strong. Construction is straightforward, and it begins upside-down: The sides are attached either at the bow transom or the stern and then bent around temporary frames and two permanent bulkheads. Two layers of 1⁄2″ plywood cover the bottom.
Interior chine logs join the sides to the bottom, but additional strength comes from a sheathing of fiberglass and epoxy, as well as from additional ’glass tape at the chines. I used extra ’glass on the forward portion of her bottom since I would be beaching this boat and sailing in extreme shallow water. Turning the hull over to work on the interior was surprisingly simple: a couple of friends and carefully placed lines, and over she went.
“She amazes onlookers with her unique box-shaped sides and cut-off bow. She also amazes people with her sailing ability.”
Martha Jane is a cat-yawl—a delightful self-tending rig. The mizzen furls around its mast for storage. (Builders might consider sheathing the mizzenmast step in ’glass cloth set in epoxy and finished off with high-density filler, since this spar will be rotated in place for furling and unfurling the sail.) The mainmast hinges on a tabernacle and is simple to raise. In ten minutes, we’re ready to launch.
The mainsail is of the balance-lug variety, and its sheet is best belayed on a swiveling cam cleat on the center of the bridge deck. The balance lug is self-vanging, and I love its simplicity, power, and beauty. The sail is big enough to require lazyjacks to make furling manageable. I added a boom gallows, too, and it’s a breeze to drop the main into the lazyjacks and then lower it onto the gallows. Coming home, I usually have the sail lowered and tucked into its cover before arriving at the ramp, and sometimes I even lower the mast onto the gallows before arriving at my destination.
Mike Stockstill
Bolger later drew an optional high house, similar to that of his Birdwatcher design, that allows for exceptional visibility from the shelter of the cabin. Owner Mike Stockstill uses this boat mostly for motoring.
The boat has leeboards, and I love them. If you have never sailed with leeboards, you might be amazed at their effectiveness. They provide excellent lateral resistance even in very shallow areas; I could sail to wind- ward in 18″ of water. The boards never jam. Big and heavy, they are ballasted with lead and pivot on simple rope hinges. There is absolutely no need to investigate or invest in any kind of metal hardware. I employ the sides of the gallows for a three-part purchase to make raising the leeboards a simple task, and belay their lifting tackle to a cam cleat on the rail.
Because Martha Jane was meant to be trailered, she was originally ballasted with 500 lbs of water stowed in tanks beneath the berths. To improve stability, Bolger later revised this, adding 500 lbs of additional ballast in the form of a steel plate on the bottom. It seemed to me, and still does, that a steel plate on the bottom of this boat complicates her otherwise simple construction.
Originally, I had reservations about water being stowed inside my plywood boat. Many Martha Janes have used this system successfully, but perhaps my location in the tropics, where wood rots in the blink of an eye, made me hesitate. I had my drill bit up against the chine and was ready to drill the hole, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. I decided to put lead shot into the ballast tanks beneath the berths instead. I figured that the greatest strain on my towing vehicle would be pulling the boat up the ramp and out of the water, fully ballasted. If my car could pull it up the ramp, it could easily pull it down the interstate. I’ve never regretted the decision to go with the full 1,000 lbs of solid ballast.
Concerned about the boat’s stability, Bolger added sponsons to the design. With these, and with the extra ballast, she became a powerful and awesome sailer. When hit by a gust, she would lower her shoulder, slowly gather speed, and just keep going while others were fighting to stay upright.
Steve Anderson
The original Martha Jane design was drawn with a standard trunk cabin. Author Anderson built this boat, and painted it green; a subsequent owner painted it white.
Other optional modifications included dual shallowdraft rudders and a high house. I added the rudders, and they’re a tremendous improvement over the original “trapdoor” design. The original rudder design was a traditional rudder on a rudderpost mounted through a “trap door” on the cockpit sole. The trap door was hinged, enabling it to kick up. I seem to recall that Mr. Bolger once said that the design of that trap-door rudder entailed excruciating intellectual effort—but he admitted that the new dual rudders offered superior virtues. They draw no more than the hull itself and with bottom plates provide excellent grip and control.
I find it very aggravating to have a shallow-draft hull negated by a traditional rudder drawing 2′ and becoming unwieldy when partially raised. The dual rudders operate flawlessly. The high house is surrounded by glass, much like Bolger’s Birdwatcher design, and gives the “new” Martha Janes standing headroom with an awesome view all around. The raised high house also contributes to even greater stability, though there’s a penalty in increased windage.
Martha Jane, like all sharpies, will pound if motored into a chop or sailed upright. Sharpies need to heel to feel good and sail well. It doesn’t take much of a heel before she begins to slice through the water on her chine rather than pound on her bottom. Sleeping in a sharpie can be a bit noisy, because the water wants to lap beneath that rockered bottom (the bow stands proud of the water). Small waves against the vertical sides make noise as well. On the other hand, with such shallow draft it’s not difficult to pull into a very sheltered cove or even motor or pole up a creek or stream to a very quiet and secluded spot. I remember once running aground upon a sandbar. We simply backwinded the main, spinning Martha Jane around on her rockered bottom and sailed off in a new direction. What fun!
Martha Jane’s flat sections suggest a propensity to pound in a chop, but a slight angle of heel will introduce a chine to the waves, smoothing the ride. Designer Phil Bolger wrote about the design in his book Boats with an Open Mind (International Marine, 1994).
The cabin has the feel of a gymnasium. Two berths run the length of it with sitting headroom. Filler boards create a V-berth, which is roughly queen-sized. One could build interior furniture, but there is a certain virtue in keeping the interior simple and open for camp-cruising with a camp stove and Porta-Potti. It’s a big step down from the companionway into the cabin; a cooler bungeed into place makes breaks up the distance. A simple ladder could also be installed.
The bow well is a great place to ride. I have many fond memories of standing there with someone else at the helm—or leading the sheets forward so I could stand in the well and steer the boat by sail adjustments. The well also provides a secure place for handling the anchor or fishing. Two openings in the bow transom form steps for climbing aboard.
Martha Jane is a delight. She amazes onlookers with her unique box-shaped sides and cut-off bow. She also amazes people with her sailing ability. I have never been disappointed.
Plans for Martha Jane were available from Phil Bolger and Friends in Gloucester, MA, USA, but unfortunately Phil passed away in 2009.
Check Out These Other Bolger Designs!
Blackbird– A striking outboard cruiser design finished by Bolger
The combination of a waterline length of 20′ and a low wetted surface area make Lili 6.10 a very good performer in light airs. For this downwind leg, both daggerboard-style leeboards are raised to decrease drag.
For 30 years, Gilles Montaubin of St. Maixent de Beugné, France, has been designing boats powered solely by sail and oars, all of them sharing much the same spirit: a combination of apparent simplicity and true efficiency. Lili 6.10 is the most recent illustration of this very unassuming man’s outlook on sailboat design.
His views are informed by performance sailing, which for Montaubin originally sprang from his experience sailing with his father, an enthusiastic racing sailor. Far from the inspiration of traditional workboats of the French coastline, his work in this vein has resulted in a large family of contemporary “trekking” sailboats, all winners of various international “Raids”—PETIT JEAN in Portugal, LILI in Scotland, WABI in Finland, and PETITELISA in Sweden, all designs which take their names from the first boats built to them. These designs all have in common a similar hull shape, with a very fine waterline entry and a long flat run. They also share the same plywood-epoxy construction method, using two or three chines reinforced by ’glass-and-epoxy fillets, making the hulls not only light in weight but also easy and relatively cheap to build.
All of Montaubin’s designs have water ballast systems, and all of the hulls achieve lift to windward by using foil-shaped daggerboards or asymmetrical leeboards. Such simplicity carries through to the rig, as well. Montaubin makes his masts freestanding, allowing them to be rotated easily, quickly furling a sail by rolling it up around the mast.
Heavily tested in use, all these features contribute to seaworthiness, whether sailing hard to windward off a rocky shore or rowing in choppy seas. The furling system not only allows fine adjustment to match the ever-changing wind conditions of coastal or inland waters but also allows sail balance to be very finely tuned according to the wind speed. Water ballast increases not only a boat’s stability under sail but her inertia under oars, yet it can be easily drained so that it adds no weight when trailering, an important feature on a boat meant to be easily transported.
Jean-Yves Poirier
The free-standing carbon-fiber masts rotate to furl the sails quickly and easily. This makes light work of stepping and unstepping the masts—sails and all.
“Lili 6.10 marshals all my thoughts about coastal trekking onboard small boats,” Montaubin says. “She has the slender hull of Wabi, with a double chine and a narrow sole. Waterline beam has been kept low enough (5′3″) to make her rowing speed as high as possible, without compromising static stability and sailing stiffness.”
The cuddy cabin is 7′ 3″ long, with headroom of 3′ 3″, making it large enough for two people to find shelter for sleeping or even sitting up. Her simple comfort will easily accommodate a camp-cruise of a few days’ duration. In addition, the boat has two large watertight lockers, one under the companionway for cooking equipment and food storage and another aft for navigational gear. On both sides of the cockpit, additional stowage spaces accommodate smaller items, such as fenders and lines.
Jean-Yves Poirier
The cockpit drains into a well situated in the area of the mizzen mast step, whence the water can be pumped overboard.
For overnighting, the cockpit, which is 7′ 7″ long, can be sheltered by simply hanging a tent or awning. The original owner of the boat planned to sail mostly solo, so the designer decided to place the mizzen in a “more forward than usual” position. This avoids the necessity of having to ship a boomkin, but the mast partner required to support the unstayed mizzen also separates the cockpit into two sections. This partner also supports the mainsheet winch and cleat—honoring another of the owner’s requests. Montaubin is experimenting with an alternative cockpit layout, with a pyramidal standing foot to support the mast without a partner.
At the price of having a short carbon-fiber boomkin to receive the mizzen sheet, one could also step the mizzenmast 2′ farther aft, where it could be supported against the aft bulkhead, which could easily distribute bending loads to the boat’s structure. Such a move would also entail shifting the leeboards aft by 2″. This would completely clear the cockpit space, making the boat very comfortable under sail and also under oars, since two oarsmen could find plenty of room to row together.
As built, the boat’s cockpit sole is almost exactly at the level of the waterline, and around the mizzen mast step a draining well and bilge pump help to clear water out of the cockpit. The aftermost area is too low for the cockpit to be fully self-draining, however—a problem that would easily be solved by raising the sole by 2″ or so.
Jean-Yves Poirier
Though divided by the mizzen mast partner, the cockpit offers plenty of space. The oars, which are her sole auxiliary power, stow neatly just under the side decks.
Oars are very cleverly stored on both sides under covering boards that run from the companionway bulkhead to the transom. There is enough room on each side to store a pair of 10′ oars (two per crew), but longer sweeps (one oar per crew) could also be stored the same way, with handles slightly protruding beyond the
transom.
The water ballast consists of two independent compartments of 14.5 gallons each. The system is straightforward to use: you only need to open the hatch fitted on the cockpit sole and pull out the drain plug in the bottom panel. When enough water has flowed into the compartment so that the boat is on its load waterline, the drain is plugged again. After hauling the boat out on a trailer, pull the plug again to drain the water.
As wind and sea conditions change while you’re afloat, you can reduce ballast by using the bilge pump to pump some of the ballast water overboard. This is a simple and very effective system, but after sailing in salt water the compartments should be flushed with fresh water to keep them sweet, and if you’ve been sailing in fresh water you must take great care to avoid transporting invasive plant species by discharging the water ballast only where it came from and cleaning the tanks thoroughly.
Jean-Yves Poirier
Gilles Montaubin, at the helm, designs light, simple boats with excellent performance under sail, with Raid events in mind. The accommodations are spartan, but adequate for adventuresome sailors.
On the water, Lili 6.10 is very easy to steer and light on the helm. Her low weight, low freeboard, and long waterline help to keep her speed well above the average of her sail-and-oar competitors. Her initial hull stability is high, so the crew can move around on board readily—but take care when handling the anchor at its dedicated trunk in the foredeck, since limited buoyancy in that area is the price paid for having a very fine forefoot. As the boat heels under sail, her upper chine submerges quickly and increases her stiffness. With the head of the sails spilling wind automatically as she heels in squalls, her stability is very high and gives a great feeling of security. In stronger breezes, the sails are easily reefed by rotating the carbon-fiber mast tubes, which are 2 3⁄8″ in diameter for the main and 2 1⁄4″ for the mizzen. Because the center of effort moves forward substantially when the sails are furled this way, the small mizzen sail comes into its own to balance the sail plan rather than provide power.
A pair of asymmetric leeboards, which angle toward the centerline, or “pinch,” by 4 degrees—a technique unknown to conventional sloops—help upwind sailing performance without overtrimming. Instead of leading the sheets more or less to the centerline, this leeboard angle is of primary importance in getting the most from a cat-ketch or cat-yawl. Trimming the traveler to the centerline is the best way to slow this boat down and add leeway.
Closehauled, she can point quite high, but, as with any sailing dinghy, keeping her off the wind a bit is better than pinching. Whether running, reaching, or sailing closehauled, the tiller stays light and responsive. When used alone, the mizzen can even be trimmed by hand to sail backwards in tight corners. When rowing with a single oar, one leeboard can be slightly lowered to keep the hull on track, especially with wind abeam. Her hollow entrance helps to maintain a good turn of speed under oars, even in choppy seas.
Lili 6.10 is an able boat for two to cruise in complete independence for a few days in a lifestyle as simple and inexpensive as the boat is to build and use, and she can easily be towed to the next shore for the next exploration. This very homogenous sail-and-oar trekker opens new recreation grounds to the “sailing in the wild” lover who sleeps in the minds of all of us.
Gilles Montaubin, Chantier Mer, “La Robinerie.”
Gilles Montaubin
Plywood hull construction is a hallmark of Gilles Montaubin’s style. The simplicity and minimalism of the hull are mirrored in her rig, which has a minimum of fittings. The inexpensive nature of the boat, however, doesn’t imply a lack of sophistication or performance: Montaubin’s designs have placed first in a number of Raid-style races in Europe. Leeboards set up like daggerboards and vertical leech battens in the mainsail to facilitate furling by rolling the sail up in the mast are among the pragmatic but effective elements of his design philosophy.
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.
This trailerable cruiser, drawn by Iain Oughtred, shows a subtle blend of Scandinavian characteristics. The strong sheer and very buoyant hull of the faering are combined with the low cabin of larger boats, such as the Tumlare and Cohoe. Rather than being a smaller version of these cruisers, this 22-footer is more what faering builders might produce if they wanted cruising accommodations.
Designer Iain Oughtred as drawn several options for Grey Seal: a jib-headed mainsail, a gunter mainsail, a full-keel hull, and a keel-centerboard hull.
Originally, Iain designed the keel/ centerboard model to allow for easier trailering and broadened cruising grounds. But, realizing that many builders will prefer a deeper boat, he added the full-keeled version. Much to our pleasure, it looks rather like a small double-ended Folkboat.
The construction is suitable for amateur builders with some experience-or considerable patience and determination. Building techniques are essentially the same as for Iain’s Acorn skiffs (the Acorn 13 and the Acorn 17): epoxy-glued plywood planks on laminated frames and backbone. With proper care, these boats should last a long time.
Grey Seal’s glued plywood-lapstrake hull construction is clean, light, strong, and quite elegant.
Three basic layouts are shown, and combinations or variations of these are quite possible. A crew of two adults is ideal-two adults and two children represent, we think, the reasonable maximum.
The Grey Seal design drawings (12 sheets) show details of deep-keeled and shoal-draft versions, and two rig options gunter and jib-headed. Construction is well detailed, and Iain includes the critically important plank layout for the builder. Several construction elements are shown full scale. Owing to possible variations, interior joinery and engine installation are not drawn with great detail.
Line drawing for the keel-centerboard hull option.
Grey Seal is a light, truly trailerable, cruiser. Although she goes together in contemporary fashion, she displays strong traditional character. WoodenBoat Plan No. 91 $275.00
Grey Seal arrangement and layout drawing.
22′2″ Grey Seal Design Plan Details
DESCRIPTION
Hull type: Round-bottomed, outside-ballasted keel or keel/cb boat
Rig: Bermudian or gunter-rigged sloop
Construction: Lapstrake plywood over laminated frames
Headroom/cabin (between beams): About 4′6″
BUILDING DATA
Skill needed: Intermediate to advanced
Lofting required: Yes
Alternative construction: Traditional plank on frame, strip, cold-molded
PLANS DATA
No. of sheets: 12
Level of detail: Above average
Cost per set: $215.00
WB Plan No. 91
Grey Seal Completed Images
Photo by Geoff Kerr
Grey Seal is a comfortable pocket cruiser. Her double-ended shape, strong sheer, and lapstrake planking hearken to her Scandinavian influence. Glued lapstrake construction makes her accessible to the home builder.
Photo by Geoff Kerr
House sides flow forward, past the cabin. Looking aft, the coaming also flows beyond its border. These extensions provide good toeholds, and their varnished surfaces lead the eye to a thoughtful interplay between painted surfaces, which contribute to WATERDOG’s stunning profile. A bright toerail completes the picture.
When Kent and Audrey Lewis sent their review of the Drascombe Dabber for this issue, it took me right back to growing up on the River Yealm in Devon, England, and summer days going to the beach by boat, often on a Drascombe Lugger owned by family friends. I didn’t think about it at the time, but now I recognize how perfectly suited the Lugger was to ferrying kids and dogs to be offloaded at the beach; to say nothing of bringing them home tired, wet, and sandy. Nor did I take note of just how many Drascombes of all sorts sat on moorings in the river. In hindsight, their presence is unsurprising: the Drascombe designer, John Watkinson, lived and worked beside the Yealm for many years.
Photographs courtesy of Douglas Elliott
John Watkinson at the helm of the 15′ speedboat he designed in the early 1960s; a young Douglas Elliott was along for the ride. Checking the engines during the sea trials was Eric Gynn.
I mentioned my connection with the Yealm to Kent, and he put me in touch with Douglas Elliott who had known John Watkinson personally. Before I knew it, Douglas was sharing with me a history that had unfolded on my own childhood doorstep.
John Elliott working on the Drascombe Lugger, REESKIP. John and Douglas Elliott would build more than 200 of the wooden yawls before John’s untimely death in 1980.
John Watkinson had owned the boatyard at Bridgend on the Yealm since shortly after World War II and had built a range of small wooden lapstrake boats. But in the early 1960s, customers were being lured by production fiberglass boats and, for a small yard like Watkinson’s, the pressure of the new competition was unprecedented. He decided to expand the yard’s range. Douglas, whose brother John worked at the yard at the time, remembers that Watkinson “designed a 15′ clinker-built motor launch of mahogany on oak ribs. It combined the rugged lines and seakeeping qualities of traditional West Country craft. It was powered by twin marinized Triumph TR3 sports-car engines, each 100-hp. It was very quick! But it was also economical and functional.” By 1964, Douglas says, the yard was building in wood and plywood, employing lapstrake, carvel, and strip-plank construction. They were doing well, but it was then that Watkinson decided to sell the yard and work full-time at design. That decision would lead to the building of the prototype Drascombe Lugger in 1965.
Douglas Elliott clamping the gunwale on REESKIP. Douglas worked alongside his brother, helping to build all the Drascombe boats that came from their yard. REESKIP was built for two Dutch sisters. When she was sold on to a new owner, she was renamed ELLIOTT in honor of John Elliott.
Douglas joined his brother at the boatyard shortly after Watkinson left, but recalls that “when he sold up, Watkinson moved to a farm in the middle of Dartmoor called ‘Drascombe Barton.’ The name was from the old English Dras for mud, and Combe for hollow; so really, Watkinson called his boat the Muddy Hollow Lugger! He designed it for his own family: a small trailerable boat that could be singlehanded and would sail well. And Kate, his wife, asked that she be able to step ashore dry shod and that there be no boom to crack skulls. The prototype had a dipping-lug mainsail and a sprit mizzen, and it sailed well. But Watkinson found the dipping lug a handful, so he altered the rig to a boomless gunter yawl. He built the first production boat up at the farm in 1967 and I was sent to load it onto a trailer and drive it up to the London Boat Show the following January. We sold it within 20 minutes of the show opening and before the show closed, we had orders for a dozen more.”
The almost-completed prototype Drascombe Scaith in the Elliott yard in Yealmbridge, Devon, England.
Despite Watkinson’s love of wood and the success of the first boat, within a year Honnor Marine of Totnes, Devon, was building the Lugger in ’glass under license. John and Douglas Elliott went out on their own and Watkinson gave them exclusive rights to build the Luggers in wood. They would go on to build other boats in the Drascombe range, including the Longboat and Longboat Cruiser, the Skiff, the Peterboats (in three different lengths), the Scaith (of which Douglas built 13 before Watkinson altered the design and it became the Drascombe Peterboat 4.5m), and the Mule 4.5m (a one-off variation of the Peterboat 4.5m but with a transom rather than canoe stern). All the boats were custom-built, and by 1979 the brothers had built 200 Luggers and were taking orders a year in advance. But the following year, on July 4, John Elliott died of a heart attack while at work in the boatyard, and Douglas wound up the business shortly afterwards.
John Watkinson in the prototype Scaith preparing to fend off from the wall at Bridgend Quay, site of his old boatyard.
John Watkinson returned to the village of Noss Mayo on the River Yealm in the 1980s and lived there until his death in 1997. After John died, Douglas Elliott went to work for Terry Erskine Yachts where, in 1980, he built a Peterboat 4.5m. From there he went to Marine Projects (now Princess Yachts) in Plymouth. “They built fiberglass boats, and I didn’t like GRP at all, so I moved on and retrained as a telephone engineer.” Now in his late 70s he still lives in Plymouth and still takes on boat repair work when he gets the chance. “I’ve remained involved in boats, particularly Drascombes. I bought back the original Scaith, FOOTLOOSE, and sailed her for several years before I reluctantly had to sell her. But I still work on people’s boats, I’m just a bit slower these days.”
The prototype Drascombe Scaith sailing in a stiff breeze in the mouth of the River Yealm with its designer, John Watkinson, at the helm. Douglas Elliott built 13 Scaiths before Watkinson tweaked the design and developed it into the Peterboat 4.5m, which Douglas describes as “a very similar-looking boat from a distance, but a bit fuller aft and a bit finer forward.”
Wooden Drascombes are still built in limited numbers, but the fiberglass versions continue to be popular. To date, there are more than 6,000 Drascombes worldwide.
With many thanks to Douglas Elliott for sharing his memories and to Kent Lewis for the introduction.
For more on the Drascombe Dabber, read Kent and Audrey Lewis’s review.
Read about a cruising Drascombe in Douglas Elliott’s story of LEGOLAS.
We didn’t need another boat, we have an even dozen—mostly small boats, kayaks, and canoes—and yet at the Overland Expo Show in Flagstaff, Arizona, right out in front of the booth run by Kokopelli, makers of a range of inflatable paddleboards and packrafts, sat our next kayak. I should explain that my wife and I are small-boat sailors, canoeists, and kayakers; we also travel in a camper van I’ve built out. On our van trips the focus tends to be hiking and cycling, but in the places we explore there are often wonderful opportunities to get out on the water. The mountain lakes of Maine and New Hampshire, the marshes and tidal rivers behind the Outer Banks of North Carolina and Assateague Island, Maryland and Virginia, are all examples of the waters we’ve camped next to but not paddled.
Photographs by the author
Kokopelli’s Platte-Plus kayak packs into a bag measuring 33″ × 23″ × 12″. Fully loaded (without personal gear) the pack weighs 54 lbs and is well balanced for carrying short distances. Two built-in wheels allow the pack to roll over smoother surfaces.
If the primary goal of a van trip is hiking or cycling, we tend to leave the boats at home. We did experiment with a Klepper Aerius, a folding wood-and-fabric kayak, and while it’s proven to be one of our favorite boats, it’s just too big to store in the van’s “garage”—the rear storage space beneath the berth—and drying it after use but before we disassemble and store it is a little too time consuming. But, we both agreed, a boat tucked out of the way, ready to paddle when the mood strikes and then easily stowed away again… that would be a nice addition to our kit.
The Kokopelli Platte-Plus inflatable kayak looked promising. We stopped to chat with the vendor and to take a closer look. Before long we were writing a check.
While designed to carry the kayak and its specific accessories, which include the seats, a pump, and two paddles, the Platte-Plus backpack has space for personal items such as a couple of inflatable PFDs, a backup pump, and even some 20-liter dry bags. The seat backs have pockets that are useful on the water but can also keep small bits of gear from getting lost in the shuffle.
The boat is a tandem, which was important to us. But more than that, it has versatility: I’m 6′ 3″ and my wife is 5′ 4″, and the system of hook-and-loop tracks that holds the two seats in place allows us to position them so we can both paddle comfortably for hours. It’s also easy to remove one of the seats and reposition the remaining one so the boat can be paddled solo.
The backpack that comes with the boat measures 33″ × 23″ × 12″ and holds the hull and drop-stitched removable floor, seats, foot braces, a pump, repair kit, and two sectional paddles, all of which come as standard equipment with the boat. There’s also room to fit in a second pump, several 20-liter dry bags, bow and stern lines, and two inflatable life vests. The pack’s shoulder straps and hip belt make it practical to carry the boat short distances, and it is also fitted with two small wheels that make it easy to move across smooth ground. The total weight of the full kit without the personal extras is 54 lbs. Once the kayak is fully inflated and rigged, there is space to stuff the empty bag in the stern, should you wish to take it with you.
The 220cm (7′ 3″) unfeathered paddles break down into four pieces and fit neatly in the pack. They’re good paddles, and it’s nice that they are included.
The drop-stitch floor is separate from the side pontoons and is inflated to a higher pressure—6 psi rather than 2 psi. It can be removed from the boat but can also be inflated, deflated, and stored in place.
Kokopelli is a Colorado-based company founded in 2012, although most of their products are made in Asia. The overall quality of the boat, seat design, and fittings is very high. The material of both the hull and floor is a rugged, 1,000-denier reinforced polyvinyl chloride (PVC), which I’m confident will stand up to thoughtful use. Having a removable floor is helpful when drying the boat for storage, makes repairs easier, and effectively doubles the bottom thickness. I seldom feel the need to take the floor section out as the boat can be inflated, deflated, and stored with it in place.
The weight capacity of the Platte-Plus is 430 lbs. Its overall length is just over 12′ 3″ and the maximum beam is 34″; I measured the internal width between the hull chambers to be a minimum of 12″ at the aft end of the cockpit and 16″ at the maximum beam. The hull has enough rocker that the bow rides slightly out of the water. The floor is textured and has deep longitudinal ridges in the main cockpit area. There is real boat shape to the hull and I was pleased to hear that typical kayak chortle sound from the bow on our first paddle. The cockpit is 7′ 9″ long, and the forward paddler has some additional leg room—7″ or 8″—beneath the foredeck, with enough foot room beneath the soft deck for the average paddler. The total weight of the boat with seats and foot braces is 32 lbs.
Each seat has four adjustable straps that can be anchored to a choice of D-rings, giving plenty of variability to accommodate crews of different sizes. The unfeathered paddles break down into four pieces for storing in the bag and come as standard equipment.
We have found the seats to be comfortable—high enough to offer good back support and with plenty of options to customize the fit—and with the 12 D-rings on the hull and four adjustable straps on each seat there seems to be infinite adjustability. It took a few outings to dial in the best seat arrangement for both solo and tandem paddling. I did add short loops of line to the carabiners that clip the foot braces in place, which effectively lengthens the spacing.
In addition to the 12 D-rings for the seats and foot braces, there are 14 D-rings for attaching gear to the deck, as well as both bow and stern bungee cords. The inflated and rigged boat is easy to move thanks to the four carrying handles—one at each end and a pair amidships. There are also hook-and-loop paddle keepers and four fittings in the floor that can be opened to act as scuppers in rough water—we have not yet needed them.
The Platte-Plus performs well as a tandem or solo kayak. With only one paddler there is ample space in which to carry gear for solo overnight trips.
The boat comes with two skegs that attach using the same keyed system common to most stand-up paddleboards. The aft skeg is necessary for tracking and adds about 8″ to the boat’s draft. The forward skeg is optional and not needed for tandem paddling. When solo paddling, strong strokes do tend to swing the bow from side to side and the front skeg mostly prevents this, but I don’t feel the added draft and inconvenience justify the small improvement in performance—in a boat that’s only 12′ long, it’s expected that some adjustments in paddle strokes will need to be made.
Our boat shipped with a hand pump that has a pressure gauge, and we also bought an optional small rechargeable-battery pump. We use the battery pump to do most of the inflating, but once the chambers are almost full, we switch to the more powerful hand pump. With this pump we finish inflating the chambers and dial in the pressure—6.0 psi for the floor and 2.0 psi for the side tubes.
For tandem paddling the seat positions can be adjusted to accommodate paddlers of quite different sizes and leg length. The unfeathered paddles are of good quality and stiff, despite coming apart into four pieces for storing in the bag.
Throughout the boat, the fittings are well designed and intuitive to use. Working at a relaxed pace a solo paddler can assemble the Platte-Plus, from bag to rigged boat, in less than 10 minutes. It takes a similar length of time to derig and store the boat—once you learn how to fold the hull, everything fits easily back into the pack. The hand pump has two outlets: one for inflating the hull and one for pulling air out of the hull to ensure it folds nice and flat. Importantly—especially if the boat is to be used for short outings and then stored away—the Platte-Plus hull can be dried quickly, and even if stored wet for a few days the PVC material will not be harmed.
When we bought the Platte-Plus, and knowing that I would be reviewing it, my working title for an article was “The Worst Boat We Own,” since I honestly did not have very high expectations for an inflatable kayak. But our first paddle in DUCKY (as we affectionately now call our Platte-Plus) was a sunset outing on Moosehead Lake in Maine and with our very first paddle strokes I knew there was nothing “worst” about this boat. It’s proven to be a fine tandem kayak and an even better solo kayak. For our van trips and short outings, it’s the ideal boat, and I believe we’ll log many miles paddling it together and solo on day trips and even overnight solo outings.
Bill Thomas has been a custom woodworker, designer, boatbuilder, and teacher for more than 40 years. He’s also a Maine Guide and has taught sea kayaking in Maine and other locations. He lives and works in South Berwick, Maine.
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.
The Biscayne’s light but strong hull and rig, combined with some outside ballast, make her perform better than most boats of her size.
Whether designed as an AMERICA’s Cup defender or the tender for it, each of N.G. Herreshoff’s yachts was very carefully thought through, and then critically examined. The comparatively simple skiff presented here is no exception. After studying the fleet of these for their first season, Herreshoff commented, “They have proved a great success, being safe, fast, and able, and they handle beautifully.” A dozen of these skiffs were built in 1925 for the Adirondack School, which had a station at Coconut Grove.
Originally intended for the shoal Florida waters for which the design is named, this 14-footer is offered in two versions: a shallow-draft, keel-and-centerboard combination, or a deep-draft fixed iron keel. The second version is the easier of the two to build, and better to windward, but the original model will float in a mere foot of water, and, of course, be handier to trailer. In addition to the keel options there are some interesting construction features that put this boat a cut above anything like it-but still within reach of the skills of an amateur builder.
The Hart Nautical Collections, M.I.T. Museum
Keel and rudder.
The Herreshoffs were noted for strong construction using light scantlings. The Biscayne Bay boat has a double-chined hull planked with solid wood and timbered with steam-bent half frames (that is, the frames stop short of the keel where they connect with floor timbers). This knuckled hull looks better than a singlechined, V-bottomed hull of plywood construction, and behaves more like a round-bottomed boat when heeled.
Beneath the foredeck is a watertight compartment: side decks and cockpit sole accommodate the crew. So there are no seats or hatches to build, and the boat has reserve buoyancy in the unlikely event of a capsize. The rudder profile is unusual, but its construction is not—this shape increases directional stability without exceeding the boat’s minimum draft.
The Hart Nautical Collections, M.I.T. Museum
The Biscayne Bay’s construction sections show 1/2″ plank thickness, but 1/4″ plywood can be used. Floor-to-frame and knee-to-frame fastenings can be eliminated—as can the breasthook bolt.
Because the Herreshoffs preferred to custom cast much of the hardware for their yachts, drawings are supplied for this boat’s original fittings—if the builder is so inclined to make or obtain castings. Alternatively, stock hardware can be substituted, as indicated in the plans.
This sailing skiff will make a fine building project and an excellent day boat when done. She has the added distinction of having been designed by the best. Six sheets of plans for the Biscayne Bay Sailing Skiff design—two of which were developed as supplements by WoodenBoat—show construction and offsets, keel and rudder details, spar details, sail plan, sails, rigging, fittings, ballast keel, stem details, hull sections, and boom crotch. WoodenBoat Plan No. 66. $75.00.
The Hart Nautical Collections, M.I.T. Museum
She is an unusually fine boat, and one that can be built easily by careful woodworkers.
14′ 5″ Biscayne Bay Sailing Skiff Design Plan Details
BUILDING DATA
Skill needed: Intermediate
Lofting required: Optional
Alternative construction: Plywood
PLANS DATA
No. of sheets: 6
Level of detail: Above average
Cost per set: $75.00
WB Plan No. 66
Completed Biscayne Bay Skiff Images
More Herreshoff Designs
Nathanael G. Herreshoff designed some of the most iconic small boats on the water today. Here are a few more designs for you to consider for your next project.
The Drascombe Dabber was designed by John Watkinson around 1970 when Honnor Marine, builders of the fiberglass Drascombe Lugger, requested a smaller version of that enormously popular boat. Watkinson based the resulting Dabber, a 15′ 6″ yawl, on his slippery 19′ double-ended Peterboat. With little prep time before an upcoming boat show, Watkinson shortened the Peterboat design by 4′, swapped its canoe stern for a transom, and sent the lines along to Honnor Marine. The first fiberglass hull was created just in time for the show. It was well received, and full production began around 1972. The boats continue to be produced in England, and to date more than 900 Dabbers have been built, with many shipped abroad.
When introduced, the Dabber was described as a “top quality GRP [fiberglass] polyester resin long life hull built to specifications approved by the Ship & Boat Builders’ National Federation, with genuine teak trim.” In 2016, we restored a 1978 Dabber, and the fiberglass was in great shape, despite having received no care for decades. After a $75 rinse at the carwash to remove pounds of oak leaves and acorns, the hull showed little sign of wear except for a small portion of wood rot in the keel and bilge runners, which were designed with ease of replacement in mind. Also impressive was the quality of the marine-grade stainless-steel rigging and oiled teak used for the tiller, rudder, thwarts, rubrails, and centerboard trunk. The original Terylene tanbark sails and cordage were still serviceable. The varnished spars were select Douglas fir, and the centerboard was galvanized mild steel—all in reasonable shape. On early Dabbers, expanded polystyrene foam blocks in the bow, beneath the side benches, and in the stern compartment provided enough buoyancy to keep the boat and crew afloat when swamped, but not enough to float the boat sufficiently high for the crew to bail it out. Some owners would stuff a sponge or towel into the centerboard trunk opening to slow the ingress of water. Newer Dabbers have additional flotation in the bow, sides, and stern, and a redesigned centerboard in which the lifting arm is angled to extend out of the top of the trunk rather than the forward face.
Gijs van Kemenade
With its pivoting centerboard and relatively flat bottom the Drascombe Dabber is easy to trailer, launch, and recover. The two rowing thwarts are both removable.
As with the earlier and larger Lugger, the Dabber offers the choice of adventure by sail, oar, or motor. The yawl rig is set low on short spars, and while originally a gunter or sprit rig was available, most Dabbers now sport a standing lug mainsail, some with a boom. The multiple sail choices of jib, main, and/or mizzen along with the low sail plan contribute to the Dabber’s stability and desirability as a coastal boat. Thanks to the use of both a bowsprit and a boomkin, the sail plan is spread out to both the bow and stern, freeing up as much space as possible within the boat. Indeed, the Dabber has as much, if not more, open space on the floorboards as the Lugger. The spacing of the sails relative to the keel helps drive crisp handling and reduces rudder force when well-trimmed. The sail plan stretches the Dabber from an overall length of 15′ 6″ to a sparred length of 23′ 7″, demanding alert attention from a skipper and crew when sailing in a tight anchorage.
Some Dabber owners have flown small spinnakers with good results, and one common upgrade is a roller-furling jib. If a furler is installed, the forestay can be replaced by a wire stay within the jib luff, and a bobstay is added to balance forces on the bowsprit.
Kent Lewis
The lockers are the ideal location for an anchor, sponge, and other items that are needed on a regular basis but do not need to be kept dry. The removable forward thwart sits in locators molded into the side benches.
The Dabber has a towing weight of 1,100 lbs and is easily trailered, especially on a tilt trailer, which facilitates launching and recovering; on a regular trailer, the hull is rugged enough to be moved on bunks and rollers. Rigging is easily accomplished by one person in well under 30 minutes. The mainmast steps easily, and the bowsprit and boomkin simply slide into place and are held by the tension of the forestay and mizzen sheet. Often, we will wait until the boat is in the water before we set up the boomkin and mizzen to avoid bumping into them or catching them on land objects. Because we are both righthanded we rig the mainsail’s yard to the port side of the mast so that the halyard comes down to the starboard belaying pin where we have good access when raising and lowering the sail. We added a quick-release snapshackle on the end of the parrel, so we can easily move the lowered yard and mainsail off to the side when we’re rowing.
The long, straight keel and well-veed stern contribute to responsive steering at low speeds, and the tucked stern helps to push the stern wave aft and keep the small rudder covered when heeled at higher speeds. The rudder’s wetted surface area is small but adequate, although some care must be taken to avoid excessive heel and crew weight too far forward.
Gijs van Kemenade
The underwater shape and pivoting centerboard and rudder blade make the Drascombe Dabber an ideal beaching boat, as it will sit almost upright while drying out. The Dabber’s wood trim, varnished spars, and tanbark sails add a touch of tradition. When the sails are furled, the lug-yawl rig leaves the cockpit uncluttered.
When rowing, the Dabber’s wineglass transom, relatively light 585-lb hull weight, and 13′ 7″ waterline combine to make an easily driven hull. There are two rowing stations. For the aft rowing station there are various configurations: no thwart (the rower is seated on the centerboard trunk), a fixed thwart that rests on the aft end of the centerboard trunk, and a removable thwart that rests in brackets below the side benches. The forward thwart, just aft of the mainmast, is removable to give easy access to the bow and forward side-bench storage. A pair of 8′ oars can be stowed on the cockpit sole or on deck, out of the way forward.
Storage space is generous. There is a large cuddy locker aft, some open stowage (which can be enclosed with hatch covers) below the bench seats, and limited space below the removable floorboards. While the side lockers are well protected, none of the stowage is watertight and the bung for the bilge drain is in the open aft locker.
Dick Pizer
On some Dabbers owners have made minor alterations such as moving the forestay to the outboard end of the bowsprit and adding a bobstay, and replacing the straight tiller with an arced version to give better clearance of the outboard when it is raised. The original arrangement for the mainsheet (as seen here) is to lead it through a block on the tiller so that both sheet and tiller can be easily held in one hand.
When motoring, a short-shaft 2- to 4-hp outboard will easily push the Dabber to hull speed. The outboard is set in a well to port. It is hung on a wooden bracket, and when lowered, the propeller shaft is forward of the rudder. When not in use, the motor can be tilted up to reduce drag; in the raised position, the propeller is above the arc of the rudder blade. The outboard well is roomy enough that steering can be from the motor itself, but it can also be set in a fixed position so that the rudder can be used. For best directional stability and maneuverability, the centerboard is lowered slightly when motoring. The standard Dabber tiller is straight, and in most under-power operations there is no need for the helm to be pushed hard over. However, if this does become necessary, the tiller must be lifted slightly to pass above the motor. To avoid this, a curved tiller has become a common modification.
The cockpit of the Dabber offers plenty of space for two adults, and lines are placed so that it is also easy to sail singlehanded. The boat’s volume is sufficient to carry up to four people, but when sailing this does lead to some crowding, especially when reaching for sheets and halyards. The mainsheet traditionally runs to a block mounted on the tiller so that both the sheet and the tiller can be managed with one hand, freeing the other hand to tend to the jib- or mizzen sheets. However, many owners have changed this, choosing instead to lead the sheet directly to hand from a block on a stern-mounted traveler. There are no cleats for the mainsheet, but nearby docking cleats below the side benches can be used to take a turn and thus relieve some pressure while keeping it easy to let free.
Gijs van Kemenade
For the singlehanded sailor, all the sheets are readily to hand, although care must be taken when coming about as the jibsheet at the clew of the sail can get hung up on the forestay.
The jibsheets run through fairleads mounted on the side benches to cam cleats and are easy to manage, although when tacking the sheet attachment at the jib clew can snag on the forestay. A short, small-diameter piece of PVC pipe wrapped around the forestay and a sharp tack helps to keep the clew from getting fouled. The mizzen sheet runs from the boomkin through a fairlead mounted on the mizzenmast, and down to a jam cleat on the after deck; we have found that once the sail is set, we can forget about it, easing the sheet only when running or if sailing closehauled in high winds when the sail can introduce too much weather helm. In high winds, the Dabber sails best with just the mainsail, while the jib and mizzen are both stowed. With just the jib and mizzen set, the boat is well-balanced, but with little sail area the arrangement is primarily good for maintaining directional stability while slowly picnic-drifting.
It is always fun to read old advertising brochures and see how well a boat has lived up to its marketing hype. In an ad from the 1970s the Dabber was described thus: “The attractive and seaworthy little Dabber is also tough enough for serious inshore fishing from tidal beaches.” Almost 50 years on, our Dabber has, indeed, proven tough enough for the fresh afternoon breezes along the Florida Gulf Coast and for excursions from our tidal beaches in Virginia. It sails well and brings us home safely and securely through wind and wave—a small but great boat for messing about on lakes, rivers, and inshore coastal areas.
Audrey and KentLewis mess about in Drascombes as well as a private fleet of small boats in the Tidewater Virginia region, southside of the James River. Since 2013, they have logged their adventures at smallboatrestoration.blogspot.com., where they have also published pictures of their Dabber restoration.
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.
I was in the middle of Washington State’s Lake Roosevelt when the wind and waves built to a crescendo, overpowering my tiny skiff. Although the lake is 133 miles long it’s rarely more than a mile wide, but a 100-lb, 11′ 6″ flatiron skiff has its limits. The lugsail was already reefed down to 45 sq ft and when the gust hit, I let the sheet fly just to keep the boat upright. The “gust” didn’t go away, the wind had risen to about Force 6 with an 8-mile fetch, and the waves were growing to match. I was hove-to, abeam the wind and waves, the sail broad off, the boom dipping into the water now and then as the boat rolled from side to side and surged up and down in the waves.
I was out in the big bay near Hunters Campground. It is my favorite cruising area. From Hunters there are undeveloped shorelines stretching some 50 miles both north and south, with hidden coves, dramatic sand bluffs, clean, fresh water, surprisingly few people, and endless opportunities to beach a small boat and pitch a tent. High summer can be broiling hot, and I prefer the cooler early and late seasons. It was now mid-October, and this would be my last trip of the year. My bigger boats were already in storage, but my little skiff—a Summer Breeze designed by David Beede—is always the first out and last to be put away. It was ready and waiting when the weatherman forecast one last warm, fine weekend of the year.
Photographs by the author
In the big bay off Hunters Campground, I put in a reef. To the north, peering under the sail, I could see the entrance to the Nez Perce canyon (here in the center distance) and the beach where I would eventually land for the night in the cleft of the bluffs to the left of Nez Perce.
A small sail-and-oar boat is my preference for shoreline exploration and simply messing about, and that was my goal for the weekend. My initial plan had been to head south, maybe all the way to Enterprise, a boat-in campground at the mouth of Oh-Ra-Pac-En creek about 7 miles away. It is an area of white sand beaches and shallow, sun-warmed water, a favorite destination of motorboat campers during the peak season, but at this time of year it would be deserted.
The day had dawned cold and drizzly so I delayed my departure from home until the sun broke through the clouds and it looked like I might have a chance at good weather. When I arrived at Hunters about noon it was partly sunny and warm. Out in the lake, the winds looked light. It didn’t take me long to launch the boat and stow my dry bags of food, spare clothing, and camping gear, but by the time I was done, the wind had picked up from the south and across the bay whitecaps gleamed in the sun. Winds can be fickle on Lake Roosevelt, but often there is a northerly in the morning, a calm at midday, and a strong southerly in the afternoon. I was launching just in time for the strong south wind. I have learned the hard way to keep my little flatiron out of a chop. Just north of Hunters, the lake makes a dogleg to the east, which offers some shelter from the worst of the south wind, so I left the ramp and headed north.
Roger Siebert
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The boat swept away from the dock. The water was dark blue, the sky above bright blue with streaming white clouds. Before I knew it, the ramp was a mile behind me. I angled out and across to the western shore where dark green pine-clad hills rose up from the lake, Soon, the wind built behind me and I realized the boat was starting to surf. My skiff carries a 63-sq-ft poly-tarp standing lug with a sprit boom angled to hold the clew down and keep the sail from twisting. Downwind the boat is stable, but we were soon skimming along at an exhilarating but scary speed. In a small boat that’s low to the water it’s hard to judge true speed, but I estimate we were doing 6 knots. David Beede has written that he’s hit a GPS-measured 7.5 knots in his Summer Breeze “quite a few times.” I had always been skeptical; now, not so much.
I landed on the beach that would be my home for the night, with a view down the lake facing south. The wind was still blowing hard, although you wouldn’t know it from my pictures.
I sped a few miles north along the western shore, mostly downwind, sometimes on a broad reach. Water streamed up the leeboard, topping the gunwale; small waves broke around me, and I was getting wet. I was still in control but I’m a conservative sailor, so when I spotted a small beach curving in between rocky shores I shifted my weight aft and ran the boat up onto it at speed. Having a cheap boat and not minding if the bottom gets scratched up a little can be liberating.
To me, beach-bumming is an important part of cruising. While I decided whether to stay or not, I left the boat where it was and inspected the beach for any treasures before settling down, my back against a driftwood log, to eat lunch and consider my options. With the strong south wind, I could probably make it all the way to Gifford, some 20 miles north. There were plenty of spots along the way on the western shore where I could camp and catch the morning sunlight—an important consideration when nights are freezing. It would be an exciting run. The trouble would be getting back south again. If this wind persisted, it might take two days of beating and rowing to windward. I had plenty of food and the following day was forecast fair, but after that there was the threat of snow or cold driving rain, day and night. I didn’t want to be out in that; it would probably be best to stay within easy reach of the launch ramp. Besides, Hunters is an interesting area to explore and at this time of year was practically deserted. Then, as I sat and pondered, the wind eased. Maybe I could work my way south after all.
I climbed to the top of the bluff above my campsite. The deer trail was so steep that at times I was climbing on all fours. The waves that had seemed so large when I was out in the middle of the bay looked like mere ripples from my high vantage point.
I stowed my gear, reefed the sail, and set off beating southward. The water was surprisingly smooth, and the wind soon died to a gentle breeze. After making little headway for 10 or 15 minutes, I decided to shake out the reef. I headed the boat into the wind, caught the boom, and unclipped the sheet from its end. Then I scooted forward, sat on the rowing box facing the mast, let the snotter go, and set the boom down in the bottom of the boat. Now came the tricky part: releasing the downhaul while holding the end in my teeth to keep the sail tamed, then lowering the halyard and bundling the sail into the boat as the yard came down. I’ve been doing this for eight years now and only once have I smacked my head with the yard. With the sail safely in the boat I set about untying the reefpoints and the downhaul, but the downhaul knot wouldn’t budge. It had jammed tight. I worried at the knot for a minute or two, resisting the urge to use my teeth or a knife and wondering all the while why I couldn’t bring myself to buy a clip for this connection. At last, I had it; I raised the sail and lifted my head to survey my surroundings: in the time it had taken me to reset the sail, I had lost all ground and was once more just off my lunch beach.
From the top of the bluff Lake Roosevelt opened up before me and I could see all the way down to Enterprise where the lake turns to the west. The knee-deep grass that covered the summit was tinder dry.
With full sail and a moderate wind, I made good speed, but it still took me an hour and a half to tack back to the ramp—three times as long as the trip down. I continued on, beyond the ramp, following the eastern shore, and tried to round a point south of the campground but the wind was too strong, so I fell back into its lee. From the relative calm, I scanned the water out in the middle of the lake. There were no whitecaps so I figured the true wind couldn’t be that strong, it was merely being funneled around the point. I would put in a reef, sneak around the headland, and gunkhole my way south along the more sheltered eastern shore. I dropped the sail into the boat once more and tied in the reef. Under reduced sail, the skiff isn’t quite as weatherly, so I bore off a couple of degrees to keep her moving well, and made longer tacks away from shore and out into the bay. Which is how I came to be out in the middle of the lake when the fickle wind really picked up again.
I sat hove-to, waiting for the wind to steady and figuring out what to do. Perhaps, if I were careful, I could sail in this. I hauled in the sheet, the boat sprang ahead, a wave slapped the side, and a good 5 gallons sloshed in over the gunwale. I released the sheet. In the bottom of the boat, the water soaked into my pants and, not for the first time, I envied people with seats in their boats. I bailed most of the water, then half-heartedly sponged at the rest—there’d be more, maybe much more, real soon. At least it was a warm day. Even the water felt warm, although it was supposedly only about 62° at that time of year. I wondered what would happen if I capsized. Would the boat turn turtle or lay on her side and be easy to right? I had plenty of flotation and a bailer strapped in, but I knew she’d come up completely swamped. Would I have to get the sail down before she’d right? I regretted that I’d never practiced a capsize recovery in this boat.
On the small rock-strewn beach, I was lucky to find a flat spot above the driftwood pile where I could pitch my tent. With no tides to contend with, I could just pull the boat up out of the water and know it would be safe.
I was being blown downwind toward some cliffs with no beach at their base. I needed to angle west to line up for a cleft in the bluffs where I knew there was a little pebble beach. I tweaked in the sheet just a little and pulled the tiller over to windward, then let the sheet all the way out. The sail blew out over the bow and the boat turned downwind. I knelt facing the stern and watched the marching waves; I had one hand on the tiller, the other on the sheet. The sail, flying ahead, kept the boat pointed downwind. Behind us, the waves rolled right up the 12″-high transom, but not one broke in on us and hardly any water came aboard. When there was a break in the waves, I pulled the sheet in just a little and angled the boat westward.
Twenty minutes later I’d made it to shore. It wasn’t much of a beach, a 50′-long crescent, more pebble than sand, filled with driftwood 10’ above the water’s edge. Behind the beach, a narrow brush-choked gorge led up into the forested hills. The wind blew right up the cleft, but there was a partially sheltered flat spot among the jumble of driftwood where I could pitch my tent. It would even catch the morning sunlight. All in all, it was not a bad place to be cast away.
On the second morning the lake was like glass. The difference from the previous day could not have been more marked. As I rowed toward the western canyon, I was looking over the stern at the big cove at the mouth of the Nez Perce canyon.
After setting up camp, I followed a deer trail up to the top of the eastern bluff. The trail skirted the edge of the ponderosa pine forest and in places was so steep I had to bend double and pull myself up by grasping clumps of the thick, dry, prairie grass. I kept well away from the sheer edge. These cliffs are nothing but sand and are unstable. Several times I’ve seen huge chunks collapse into the lake, like ice calving off a glacier. Such falls are the cause of all the fine beaches, but it’s a foolish person who camps beneath a sand cliff. I puffed my way to the top, a hundred feet or more above the lake, and was amazed by the panoramic view: the whole expanse of the bay lay open to the south, 8 miles to Enterprise where the lake turns west. The summit was covered in thick, knee-deep grass that gave way to open forest—all bone dry; there’d be no campfire tonight. I stood in the wind, watching the tiny ripples marching up the dark lake…in a small boat, those ripples had been anything but “tiny.” I could see no sign of human life in any direction. The night would be dark, with very few lights on the horizon.
Back at my camp on the beach, I sat comfortably against a log with my back to the lake and the wind and wrote in my journal while dinner cooked: Madras lentils, cheese, tomatoes from the garden, biscuits I’d made the day before, and a pot of tea. Before snuffing out the Trangia stove I filled a plastic bottle with hot water and slid it into my down sleeping bag—there’d be no cold feet tonight; I’m getting soft in my old age. As the sun went down, the temperature dropped precipitously but it did stay above freezing that night. By full dark I was snuggled in bed, listening to the wind as it ruffled the tent, and read by candlelight until I drifted off.
Deep in the western canyon (later identified on a map as Ferry Gulch) on the morning of my second day, I turned toward the lake and admired the sheer, unbroken bluff, its ponderosa pines clinging precariously to the edge.
The sun woke me at 7 a.m. but I dozed while I let the day warm up and didn’t leave my cocoon for another hour. The morning was still and warm, the sky the purest topaz blue with a few high, wispy clouds; the lake a sparkling, translucent turquoise mirror without a breath of wind. After breakfast I went for a swim and even the water seemed warmer than it should at that time of year. I took my time breaking camp—I was in no hurry to leave. With no wind, I would have to row. I unshipped the rudder, tied the leeboard up, lashed each oar to its tholepin, and rolled the spars into the sail, setting the bundle to one side sticking over the bow so that it would not interfere with my rowing.
Beyond the bluffs at either end of the beach were fjord-like flooded canyons. I’d spied them on past trips but had never explored them. They were narrow with little room to maneuver; with a following breeze I could sail in but would probably have to row back out. This glassy-calm morning gave me the perfect opportunity to explore them. I set out for the western canyon, less than half a mile away, rowing close to shore. The tall sand cliffs loomed above as I rowed through the clear shallows just off the beach.
As I rowed up Nez Perce canyon, I could see the holes that swallows had carved out of the sand bluffs to make their nests. The layers of sediment—that create the dramatic stripes and ripples in the bluffs—were deposited during the last ice age.
The canyon cut into the bluffs for about half a mile. One side was a sheer, unbroken cliff; the other sloped down to the water more gradually. A tiny creek, not quite dry, trickled into the very end of it. About halfway up the inlet there had been a landslide on the eastern slope and about half an acre of hillside had slumped into the water forming a small, brush-grown island where I landed to explore. The shore was soft, and I sank in, ankle deep, before belatedly removing my shoes. The center of the island rose about 6′ above the lake and was thick with brush and small pine trees. It might be possible to carve out a hidden campsite there, but I didn’t tarry; I was eager to be on my way.
I rowed back out into the lake and turned east, paralleling the shore a few hundred yards off. The day was now so warm that I took off my shirt. The lake was as still as an undisturbed mirror, but it had turned a deep blue, reflecting the sky and forested hillsides. Near the beach I had camped on, I stopped rowing, letting the oars trail in the water as I drifted and took a break, drinking tea from a Thermos. There was not another boat to be seen, no wakes or wind disturbed the lake. I soaked up the warmth and silence, marveling at the difference from the day before.
At the head of the canyon the way was blocked by the narrowing of the stream and some fallen trees. I could hear the roar of falling water, so I decided to explore farther up the creek on foot.
Half a mile farther east, the canyon of the Nez Perce Creek opened up. There is a sheltered cove at its mouth, large enough for a dozen trailerable boats to anchor, with a crescent beach of fine sand shaded by a ring of willows and ponderosa. In peak season, especially on weekends, the beach is often lined with motorboats, and sprouts tents, dogs, people, and even volleyball nets. Today, it was deserted save for two bald eagles standing at the water’s edge, unmoving sentinels. I rowed in along the western side of the fjord, landing occasionally on the muddy shore to get a closer look at the exposed strata in the low cliffs or to gather trash and add it to the growing pile in the bow of the skiff. About a mile in, the canyon narrowed to no more than 40 yards across before opening out into a sheltered bay large enough to anchor several boats in. At the head of the bay was a low promontory with a good campsite—flat, wide, dry, and open to the sun—but sadly it is accessible by a dirt road and was littered with broken furniture, trash, cartridge casings, and liquor bottles.
In peak season the crescent beach at the mouth of the Nez Perce Canyon is a popular spot. But this weekend, it was deserted—I had it to myself.
The channel continued past the promontory, still deep enough that I could not see the bottom, but now no more than 40′ wide. After a few hundred yards it shoaled and became so narrow between marshy banks that I shipped the oars and stood to pole the boat against an unexpected current. Finally, the creek was blocked by fallen trees, but just beyond I could see it tumbling down from the hills and hear the rush of cascading water. I poled back out and landed on the low, wide, marshy west bank. I bushwhacked my way back to the head of the creek and found falling water pouring down in a series of cataracts, through pools and over ledges long carved into the basalt bedrock. I cupped my hand to catch some as it fell—it was cold and tasted deliciously pure.
From the beach at the mouth of the Nez Perce I could see the shore where I had camped for the night. Shortly after I took this picture the wind picked up and I was forced to row, rather than sail, back to Hunters.
Reluctantly I returned to the boat. The south wind had risen while I’d been exploring the canyon, and it was now funneling in between the high fjord sides. Rowing against it was tough but after half an hour of hard pulling I made it to the cove at the mouth of the canyon and landed for a late lunch. Out on the lake, the wind had freshened but was still less than yesterday’s near gale. The direction was in my favor: all I had to do was raise sail—maybe reefed—tack out around the end of the fjord, and I’d be on a close reach for the ramp a mile or so away.
I lingered in the sun-filled cove, went for one last swim, collected trash, and relaxed.
Suddenly the wind rose to a shriek and slammed like an explosion into the wooded ridge whipping the trees above the cove. I hurried out to the exposed end of the beach and was stung by sand and grit blown off the bluff and swirling down into my face. Within minutes, just as suddenly as it had started, the tempest subsided but the wind held at a steady Force 6. There was no way I could set sail now, I was wind-bound. I considered staying where I was until the wind calmed in the evening or next morning. I still had plenty of food, and it would be a good excuse to extend my trip another day. But I was more or less expected home that night; the fine spell of weather was sure to come to an end and, besides, it was just a little wind…if I couldn’t sail, I’d row.
Back at the ramp, my small boat safely loaded onto my small car, I took one last look across the lake. I was ready to head home but knew I’d be back next season.
I walked down to the boat and unstepped the mast, stowed it with the bundled spars, and made sure everything was shipshape. I put on shoes, a wool shirt, and windbreaker, strapped on my PFD and shoved off. I fought my way out of the mouth of the cove into the lake. Time and again I was brought to a standstill by the wind and waves, the spray whipping up over the bow. Once I was clear of the land and far enough out that I wouldn’t be blown back onto the cliffs, I turned the bow to the east and rowed with determination. The boat plunged and rolled in the chop, but few waves were breaking and little water slopped in. After a few hundred yards, I was in a more sheltered area, somewhat protected by the point to the south of Hunters. I paused to straighten my back, roll out my shoulders, and strip off the PFD and windbreaker. But I couldn’t stop rowing long; I was being blown down-lake. I picked up the oars again and leaned into the work. It took me 45 minutes of almost constant rowing, but I made it to the ramp, more exhilarated than tired.
As evening fell, I drove home slowly with my elbow resting on the open window; I still couldn’t get enough of the crisp fall air. It had been an exciting couple of days. Sailing forces me to slow down and live in the moment…and what a glorious moment it had been.
Bob Van Putten and his wife live off-grid deep in the Washington mountains in a straw-bale cottage they built for themselves more than 20 years ago. He is a self-employed systems integration technician specializing in smaller municipal water and wastewater systems. Small boats and being close to the water provide him with dynamic engagement with the real, natural world and force him to live in the moment and continually renew his interest in life.
A wind vane is a useful tool on a small sailboat. This example is designed for easy removal and storage when the mast is lowered; has only a few parts that can typically be purchased at a local DIY or hardware store; is fun to make; and can be personalized to add character, featuring your boat’s name, your family name, or any design of your choosing.
Wind Vane Materials
40mm* length of 10mm-diameter brass rod
1,000mm length of 2mm-diameter brass wire
350mm of 5mm brass rod
200mm × 500mm (or longer) uncoated ripstop nylon fabric, approximately 40g/sq m
1mm-thick brass or stainless-steel sheet large enough to cut one 90mm x 20mm piece and one 45mm × 20mm piece
2 M3 grub screws
2 stainless-steel wood screws
Tools for cutting, drilling, soldering, and shaping
*For U.S./Imperial measurements, see “How to Make a Brass-Frame Wind Vane in the U.S.” below.
Step 1: Prepare the Drilling Jig and Brass Rod Pieces
Cut the 10mm brass rod into three pieces: one 20mm-long piece for the head; and two 10mm-long pieces for the counterweight and stopper.
Create a drilling jig using a 10mm drill bit to drill down through a sacrificial block of wood. A saw kerf along the grain across the hole will provide slack for inserting each piece of brass rod and flexibility for clamping it. Hold the block secure in a vise.
Using the jig, drill centered holes in each of the three pieces of brass rod as follows:
In the head, use a 6mm drill bit to make a 15mm-deep blind hole. Then, using a 2mm bit drill make a through-hole across the top of the rod for the 2mm brass wire that forms the frame of the wind vane. Wire diameter can vary in different batches, but I had no problem using 2mm wire and a 2mm drill; it was a perfect match. However, if the fit is too loose or tight, you can adjust by switching drill bits.
With a 5mm drill bit, drill through the stopper, end to end. (As with the 2mm drill, 5mm was perfect for the 5mm brass rod.) In the side of the stopper, drill a 2.5mm pilot hole for a grub screw. I use a cordless drill/screwdriver for tapping—it’s easier and quicker than using a tap wrench to cut threads by hand. Thread the hole with an M3 tap.
With a 2mm drill bit, drill all the way through the counterweight, from end to end. Drill and tap the counterweight for an M3 grub screw as you did for the stopper.
(If you are unable to find grub screws, use M3 stainless-steel screws, cut off the head with a hacksaw and make a groove for the screwdriver. Make sure to burnish the cut edges to keep them from damaging the nylon flag.)
Step 2: Shape the Brass Axle and Wire
Bend the brass wire to the required shape using the measurements shown in Figure 3. Do not forget to slide the head and counterweight onto the wire before making the bends. Using a pair of round-nosed pliers, create the loop that will hold the axle, first practicing on a piece of sample wire; you will have a short offcut suitable for this once you have cut the wire to length. Bend the wire through 90° to bring it up to the top. Connect it with a loop and solder the connection. I used a 25W pencil soldering iron and solder with a very low melting point; the Sn60/Pb40 solder wire used for electronics has a melting point of around 360°F, well below the 600°F temperature that will anneal brass and soften it. I made sure the solder filled all the gaps in the joint, from both sides, and cleaned up afterwards with file and sandpaper.
Step 3: Fit the Axle
Ensure that the head is aligned perpendicular above the axle loop (see Fig. 4). Secure it by tapping a center punch or nail set on its top to pinch the 2mm wire inside.
File a sharp cone point into the top end of the axle. This point will sit centered in the dimple of the head’s blind hole.
Hacksaw a shallow groove around the axle 10mm from the bottom. The spring will push the axle to the side in the mount to engage the hole at the bottom.
Feed the axle through the loop, slide the stopper over the end, and set the point into the head. Tighten the grub screw in the stopper to set it just above the axle loop—you want the axle to stay engaged with the head but not sit against the wire below the vane.
Step 4: Create the Mounting
Cut the 1mm-thick brass sheet into two pieces: the mount (90mm × 20mm) and the spring (45mm × 20mm).
Drill a 5.5mm-diameter hole 10mm from each of the mount’s ends and two more holes (suitable for the mounting screws of your choice) 30mm from each end. Round the mount’s ends with tin snips and bend them to a 90° angle between the pairs of holes. Drill a 4mm-diameter hole in the spring 10mm from one end. Leave this end square and round off the other end. Shape the spring in the vise so it will gently press against the axle to keep it secure.
Step 5: Prepare the Banner
Test the fabric marker on the ripstop nylon before cutting a piece for the banner—if the marker’s dye bleeds, you may not get crisp edges to the letters. Cut a piece of fabric long enough to fit your design, and at one end leave an extra 15mm on the end and along the top edge to overlap the wire frame (see Fig. 4).
With the waterproof and UV-resistant fabric marker, draw your design onto both sides of the banner, placing a pre-printed template beneath for guidance.
Sew the fabric to the wire frame.
To balance the vane, hold the axle horizontally in a vise and slide the counterweight to the point where the vane frame balances horizontally. Tighten the counterweight grub screw.
Step 6: Final Assembly
Install the mount with its spring just below the top of your mast using stainless-steel round-head wood screws. Feed the axle into the mount from above until the spring snaps into the axle’s groove to hold it in place. Step the mast and watch the wind vane turn to indicate the wind direction.
Sebastian Schröder lives near Leipzig in southeast Germany and sails in the nearby lakes of Neuseenland as well as farther away in the Baltic Sea. His homemade wind vane can be seen in action in his article on the Blekinseka.
How to Make a Brass-Frame Wind Vane in the U.S.
Notes by Christopher Cunningham
To make this wind vane in the U.S., I had to find imperial equivalents of the metric sizes Sebastian used in Germany and cited in his article. Here are the materials I used.
Wire: 3⁄32″ × 36″
Axle: 3⁄16″ × 12″ (1 3⁄4″ shorter than Sebastian’s 350mm, but 12″ is a standard length and long enough for the purpose without having to buy additional length)
Head: 3⁄8″ × 7⁄8″
Stopper and Counterweight: 3⁄8″ × 3⁄8″
Mount: 0.032″ × 3⁄4″ × 3 1⁄2″
Spring: 0.032″ × 3⁄4″ × 1 3⁄4″
Grub screws: 1⁄4″ × 10-32Sebastian found that the 2mm wire would fit into a hole drilled by a 2mm bit and that the 5mm axle would fit the hole in the stopper drilled by a 5mm bit. However, when I drilled a 3⁄32″ hole for the 3⁄32″ wire and a 3⁄16″ hole for the 3⁄16″ axle, that wasn’t the case. I measured the brass rods with a digital caliper and found both were a few thousandths oversized. I have a set of numbered drill bits that have very small increments between sizes and found that a #41 bit was a good fit for the 3⁄32″ wire and a #10 bit fit the 3⁄16″ axle.
Photographs Christopher Cunningham
An alternative way to drill a hole through the center of a cylinder is to turn the cylinder rather than the bit. Here, the 3⁄8″ brass rod used for the head is in the drill-press chuck and the drill bit is held stationary in a drill-press vise; the blue tape indicates the depth of the blind hole. To center the bit in the vise, put it upside-down in the chuck and lower it into the vise. Tighten the vise on the shank end of the bit and then clamp the vise to the table. Loosen the chuck, raise it, and insert the brass rod. When drilling the hole through the counterweight, you can keep the slender drill bit from wandering off-center by setting the bit as short as needed to drill the hole. That short length will be stiffer and more likely to stay on target.
The head has an oversized 7⁄32″ hole to reduce friction on the 3⁄16″ axle; it’s 5⁄8″ deep.
To drill a centered hole in the side of a cylinder, use a wooden V-block. To check that the block is centered, lower the bit into the apex of the groove. When drilling through metal, bits tend to grab as they emerge through the bottom side, making it dangerous to hold the workpiece by hand. Here, the 3⁄8″ rod is held securely in the V-block by a scrap of flat-bar and a drill-press-table clamp.
For the 10-32 grub screws, I drilled a 5⁄32″ pilot hole; a #21 bit will also work. The taps I have taper to a point that extends beyond the teeth that cut the threads. For the stopper and the counterweight, I had to drill the pilot hole all the way through to make room for that point. I tapped threads all the way through, from one side to the other, and inserted grub screws from each side.
It’s easy to make a sharp, centered point on the axle by using a drill to turn the brass rod against a spinning sanding disc.
To lock the head in place on the wire, I used a small nail set to press a dimple into the 3⁄8″ rod, pinching the 3⁄32″ wire inside of it. The dimple can be pressed into either the side or the top of the head; I chose the side as it was easier to hold the vane steady on the workbench.
I’m accustomed to using silver solder to join pieces of brass, but the high temperature required for silver solder will anneal the brass. I wanted the brass to retain its stiffness so decided not to use solder. The loop in the wire at the bottom of the frame didn’t require any solder, but at the top of the frame I needed something to keep the wire from slipping out of place. I roughed up the horizontal wire in way of the loop, squeezed the loop tight, and applied a few drops of cyanoacrylate glue.
Balancing the assembled vane so that it rests level ensures it won’t twist on its axle when it’s installed upright on a boat’s mast. Here, in order to offset the lightweight fabric banner, the counterweight is positioned close to the bottom of the vane’s leading edge. For a heavier banner, the weight would be positioned higher up the leading edge, farther from the axle.
In lieu of sewing the flag, I used permanent double-stick fabric tape.
The tail of the wind vane will fly clear of a jib-headed mainsail but may drape over the head of, say, a spritsail or lugsail if the mast does not extend high enough above the throat of the sail. The banner doesn’t need to be long to work—even the rectangle supported by the frame is sufficient—so, before finalizing the design and length of the banner, consider how much space there is above the sail.
Christopher Cunningham is Small Boats’ editor-at-large.
You can share your tips and tricks of the trade with other Small Boats readers by sending us an email.
Having spent my life sailing and working on boats, I know how important it is to have reliable gear—especially lighting. So, when my dad raved about the Omni 2K Work Light from NEBO, I had to try it for myself.
This past weekend, I dove into some projects on my newly acquired 1959 Gulfstream 30. Its Beta 20 marine diesel engine has been idle for 15 years, so we pulled the starter and alternator for cleaning. Working in tight spaces with low light is always tough, and it seemed like a good test for the Omni 2K.
Photographs by the author
The handles of the NEBO light rotate to provide a stable stand on uneven surfaces. The two lamps can swing through 360° and, because they act independently from one another, can be set up to shine in different directions.
The Omni 2K is cordless and features two lamps that can be angled independently, allowing you to direct the light with precision. Like most work lights, it can be used hands free: its handles, which are magnetized on their long end and have non-slip rubber-coated corners, can be used to hang the 8-oz light, or can be hinged open to create a stable stand. The light can be opened flat, folded in half, or set anywhere in between. Its compact design makes it easy to store; it measures 4 3⁄4″ × 6 1⁄4″ × 1 7⁄8″ when folded and 8 3⁄8″ × 6 1⁄4″ × 1 7⁄16″ when opened flat.
All of the Omni 2K’s corners are protected by non-slip rubber coatings. When folded away for storage, the lamps are protected while the power bank, charging port, and power/charge status lights—located on the back of one of the two lamps—are all still accessible.
Each of the Omni 2K lamps has three settings—high, low, and red LED. At the high setting, with both lamps on (2,000 lumens), the beam distance is 230′ and the light can run continuously for 1.3 hours; switching off one lamp reduces the lumens to 1,100 and the distance to 164′ but increases the run time to 2 hours. On the low setting, both lamps combine to give 250 lumens and 5.5 hours run time, while a single lamp gives 150 lumens and 9 hours run time. When adjusting the lighting, the lamp cycles through the various white-light settings, but when powering up, it will switch directly to the last setting used. The red-light mode can be switched on without cycling through the white lights in order to preserve night vision. The red light has two settings: constant, which can run for 11 hours; and flashing, which can run for 20 hours.
The Omni 2K comes with a USB-C charging cable and can be fully recharged in about 2 hours with a 2-amp charging block. The light can also serve as a portable power bank with which to charge other devices.
Being able to hold the NEBO Omni 2K and direct the light in more than one direction at a time makes it the ideal tool for illuminating awkward and tight spaces such as a boat’s engine compartment.
The light is water- and impact-resistant—it has an IPX 4 rating and a 1m drop rating—and its minimum expected lifetime is 50,000 hours; it comes with a one-year warranty.
The NEBO Omni 2K would be a great addition to anyone’s toolkit. Its combination of brightness, durability, and battery life coupled with the easy hands-free operation makes it ideal for the boat, the workshop, and anywhere in between.
Jasmine Thomas, WoodenBoat Publications’ editorial assistant, grew up on boats and in her dad’s workshop on the coast of Maine. She has worked in the Maine Windjammer Association fleet as mate on MARY DAY and ANGELIQUE and has both her 100-ton Near Coastal USCG license and STCW certification. She is renovating a 1959 Gulfstream 30 on which she’ll be offering picnic charters and sharing the magic of sailing the Maine coast this summer.
Capt. R.D. “Pete” Culler designed this 24′ outboard-powered launch in lengths ranging from 15′ to 30′; Bill Perkins adapted the construction and cabin design for his particular purposes, and built this example.
Bill Perkins is a tall, soft-spoken man with an easy Southern grace. The man knows boats, so when he needed one to transport supplies and people from the Atlantic coast of Georgia to his old family house on Cumberland Island, he looked around pretty hard before settling on Pete Culler’s 24′ Fast Outboard Launch. Capt. Culler designed a whole series of these boats, ranging from 16′ to 30′, all with that signature Culler sheer and stem, and all based upon the design and construction practices of the old Chesapeake Bay working skiffs.
The boats of this series were drawn, as their name implies, with outboard power in mind. This is an important distinction: For long-term reliability and economy, I prefer an inboard diesel on a boat this size, but if your particular situation calls for convenience, shallow draft, and a better power-to-weight ratio than an inboard diesel affords, it is hard to beat a modern four-stroke outboard. Boats must be designed for where the weight will be concentrated, though, and to simply slap a big, heavy outboard motor on the stern of a boat intended to carry an inboard engine amidships is bad form. Considering that this series of boats has such a traditional pedigree, being designed from the outset for outboards makes these launches distinctive.
Culler’s plans call for conventional plank-on-frame Chesapeake construction: caulked herringbone bottom planking, and massive backbone pieces and transom. But Bill’s needs dictated that he come up with something different: OTTER is stored in a shed, and her hull is supported by just two rails—though, with the boat’s 425-lb motor hanging from the stern, Bill requested a ground-floor berth “so I could support the transom with blocks.” The boat is transported by forklift from the shed to water, and this requires additional strength. “I made a conversion,” said Bill, “to glued-up construction that has proven itself over the past few years in rough water and rough handling ashore.”
Bill began construction by setting up the molds on 3′ centers, and then placed topside frames at 18″ on center. Structural plywood bulkheads, thick floor timbers, and a robust keel help hold the shape.
The bottom is composed of a 1″ × 4″ Western red cedar herringbone-pattern inner layer, and 1⁄2″ fir plywood — laid as diagonal plank opposite to the first layer — on the outside. Bill reports that, working forward from the stern in this high-chined hull, the twist required in the cross planking becomes unworkable in about the forward third of the boat as the chine curves up. From there the planks are gotten out of thicker stock, with the required twist planed in before bringing them down to the correct thickness (an electric plane is a key tool)—a process covered in Howard Chapelle’s Boatbuilding and in various writings of Pete Culler. “The amount of shape this technique produces in the bow is surprising,” says Bill. “I think aspiring builders might like to know about this alternative to sheet ply.”
Starting from the stern, the second bottom layer was laid down in epoxy on an opposing diagonal to the raked herringbone first layer, so the after two-thirds of the bottom is double-diagonal construction until the required twist in the planking again becomes too much. The remaining forward portion was then cold-molded in two 1⁄4″ layers, the laminates glued and stapled to the faired first layer. The finished interior shows the traditional herringbone planking. The cedar bottom is sheathed in two layers of Xynol on the outside and one layer of 6-oz ’glass on the inside so the inner face of the planking may be finished bright. “I watch carefully for deflection or damage of the planking,” says Bill of the boat’s rugged treatment and equally rugged construction, “but can see no problem. The boat has never made a sound when being handled by the forklift.”
Corky Gallo
OTTER, Bill Perkins’s Culler launch, displays her nimble handling (left). Perkins beefed up OTTER’s hull construction to accommodate the rigors of dry-stack storage and forklift transport (right).
OTTER’s topsides are of 5⁄8″ glued-lap okoume plywood—an effort to keep weight low in the boat. No lap bevels are required for this hull shape, though gains must be cut at the bow and stern. The sheerstake was hung with the boat right-side up. “When it was dry-fit to my liking,” say Bill, “I followed a note on the drawing and twisted the aft end a bit to produce some tumblehome there. This looked good, so, again following Culler’s note, I cut a flat in the transom to receive the sheerstrake, then twisted 1 1/2″ over the 3′ from the last mold. It adds a nice bit of shape to the quarters.”
OTTER’s hull is fair. I got the chance to see the boat picked from its storage rack and launched, and can also vouch for the strength of Bill’s construction. It is a startling thing to see the boat, stern-to on the huge forklift with over half of its length hanging there unsupported, being trundled to the dock. These are demanding conditions, indeed. I also appreciate Bill’s efforts to remain loyal to the herringbone, or so-called “file” bottom planking, despite his need for a tight, glued construction. That bright planking inside the cabin just looks right.
“…shallow draft, impeccable manners off plane, and an imperceptible shift onto plane.”
Bill designed and built the cabin and interior, and got the proportions and details dead-on, to my eye. The only aesthetic complaint I can make is that the 115-hp engine appears a bit oversized to me. But that’s an aesthetic bias. Bill has a 15-mile commute in the boat, often with it heavily loaded. His feeling is that the extra speed he can get in the right conditions justifies the engine choice. In different circumstances, I think the boat would be perfectly happy with a 70-hp engine, maybe even less. That should be plenty to drive the boat on plane, and its proportions would be much better.
Reading Bill’s description of the construction and scantlings of OTTER, the reader will not be surprised to learn that this boat feels big, solid, and substantial on the water. She handles waves and chop well. Although like any planing hull she will slap in the right conditions, there is never any impression of fragility. The trade-off for that slight tendency to pound is shallow draft, impeccable manners off plane, and an imperceptible shift onto plane.
As a displacement boat, OTTER has a comfortable motion and good speed, and is easily controlled — even with the extra weight of that big motor. Cutting some of that excess weight in the stern would only improve the fine low-speed manners of the boat. Bill took her up to her 30-knot maximum speed for me, and while zipping through marshes was thrilling and I can certainly see the advantages of top speed on his long commute, I think I am most impressed with the boat just pooting around at idle. In my opinion, far too many powerboat designers seem to be completely unconcerned with the low-speed performance of their boats, while my experience leads me to believe that low speed is more important than top speed. Judging by OTTER’s behavior, I suspect Pete Culler felt the same.
The bays and estuaries of the east coast of Georgia are famous, or infamous, for oysters, strong tidal flows, and the tendency to develop a heavy, short, wicked chop in the right conditions. To be successful here, boats need shallow draft and fine entries. That Chesapeake style of bow with the thick staves planed to shape allows for a much sharper entry than sheet ply would, which let Culler leave the stem a little less raked, and improves the boat’s ability to breast that chop, especially running into the backs of the waves. She didn’t display any tendency to root or broach.
I’ve never spent any time on the Chesapeake Bay, but judging by how well Pete Culler’s design adapts to Bill Perkins’s stomping grounds, I’d suspect that the conditions there must be mighty similar to those in Georgia. In any event, the compromises that Culler chose to make in designing OTTER and those that Bill made in building her have resulted in a wonderfully successful marriage of boat and conditions. Bill still has his molds, and I got the distinct impression that he would love the opportunity to refine his methods, if there is anyone out there who feels the need for a similar set of compromises.
OTTER Particulars
R.D. "Pete" Culler
OTTER’s lines and cross-planked, or so-called file-bottom, construction are endemic to Chesapeake Bay; designer Culler popularized this form and construction technique in New England. This drawing shows Culler’s addition of a “Rhode Island box” shelter to the original design.
Plans for this launch — and other designs by Capt. Pete Culler — are available from Mystic Seaport, 75 Greenmanville Ave., P.O. Box 6000, Mystic, CT 06355–0990; 860–572–5315
Some of my most memorable and exciting sailing, rowing, and paddling outings have been in the “off season” when the water is cold and the spray is flying. What has made those outings thrilling—rather than worrisome and risky—has been a dry suit. After 35 years of enjoying the comfort and margin of safety they provide, I’m now on my third suit, a Quadra by Mustang Survival.
The Quadra is made of MarineSpec BP, a three-layer fabric that is both waterproof and breathable. The outer layer, which is tightly woven and abrasion-resistant, is of UV-resistant 70D nylon; the middle layer is a polyurethane membrane that keeps liquid water out and lets water vapor generated by the wearer pass through; and the inner layer is a nylon tricot. (I did some homespun testing of the fabric’s characteristics in my review of Mustang’s Taku jacket.) On the outer layer of the suit, added patches of 500D Cordura protect high-wear areas: on the back from waist to knees and on the front from just above the knees to above the ankles. The seams are all centered on and flattened by nylon tricot seam tape that is fused on the inside of the suit. There are no gaps in the edges of the tape anywhere. The sewing is flawless, and with the use of a 12× magnifying glass, I counted 16 stitches per inch.
Photographs by the author
The Quadra, by Mustang Survival, is a well-made dry suit with all the essentials needed to extend the boating season into the colder months.
The Quadra has integral socks that keep the feet warm and dry, while latex gaskets seal the suit at the wrists and neck. The wrist gaskets are protected by cuffs. While many of the Quadra’s features are familiar and common to other dry suits I’ve owned, there are several that are new to me. The waist belt is a real belt—1 1⁄2″ webbing with a ladder-lock buckle—which is a great improvement on the bungee and spring-loaded toggle of my previous suits. I’ll often take off the top of a dry suit to cool down or take a break from the gaskets, but a bungee drawstring isn’t enough to hold the suit around my waist; I’ve had to resort to tying the sleeves tightly together to keep the suit in place. The Quadra’s belt, set in a sleeve sewn into the suit, can be cinched tight to do that job by itself. Another new feature is the addition of Velcro straps to cinch the legs tight at the knees. They fasten just above the calves and keep the suit from feeling sloppy around the legs.
The entry zipper’s slider has a toggle that makes it easy to operate even with cold hands. The webbing belt can be cinched up tight to keep the Quadra in place whether it is fully on or with the top pulled down to cool off.
The zipper, too, is different from the metal-toothed zippers on my previous suits. The Quadra has a YKK Aquaseal zipper with plastic teeth and a different way of sealing. While a metal zipper presses its tapes together face to face outside of the teeth, the Aquaseal butts its tapes together edge to edge within the teeth. Metal zippers are protected by storm flaps, but the Aquaseal zipper, evidently, doesn’t need the extra layer of protection. The Aquaseal slider has a T-grip on the toggle making it easier to operate. I’m confident that the plastic teeth won’t react badly to saltwater exposure making the slider harder to pull over time, and because I always have a hard time keeping track of the zipper lube that the metal teeth require, the Quadra will save me time while suiting up for an outing.
It’s good practice to wear a dry suit for a while before trimming the gaskets to get a more comfortable fit. They’ll stretch a bit with use, and trimming them early will result in a too-loose fit later. However, during the breaking-in phase, it can be difficult to get in and out of the untrimmed gaskets and usually they come to rest folded back or rolled up, making them even tighter. A tip I picked up from sea kayakers in the San Francisco Bay area solves the problem: personal lubricant, formulated to be compatible with latex, makes getting into the gaskets much easier. A bit applied to the skin is all it takes.
Velcro straps below the knees can be cinched up to keep the legs of the suit from feeling sloppy and to keep the Cordura knee patches in the right locations.
In my December and January sea trials—rowing, sailing, paddling, and stand-up paddling—the Quadra kept me comfortable and dry. I like to remove the air trapped in the suit to reduce its bulk, so I wade into the water and crouch down to shoulder level while holding the neck gasket slightly open. This is also a good way to check for leaks before embarking on an outing. The Quadra gave me a full range of motion and stayed where it should whether I was scrambling aboard a SUP or paddling it.
With wool and fleece insulating layers under the dry suit and a neoprene hood to keep me warm, I could float on my back, fully supported by the air remaining in the suit—it’s more comfortable than any bed.
Mustang promotes the Quadra in an unusual way: “Heading out for a good time, not a long time?” I asked their PR representative about the emphasis on “shorter-duration adventures” and learned that it was the company’s way of addressing the absence of a relief zipper. Those zippers would add to the cost of the Quadra, so they’ve been left out for economy’s sake, not for a lack of ambition on the part of Mustang’s customers. I’d be content using the Quadra for “a long time.”
The Quadra is a beautifully made dry suit that does its job faultlessly. Used wisely, it can add a measure of comfort and safety to boating when the water and weather get cold.
Christopher Cunningham is Small Boats’ editor-at-large.
When Dick Vermeulen was six years old, his parents bought an 8′ wooden sailing pram and signed him up for lessons. It sowed a seed that would grow through the rest of his life. “My parents had a cottage at Green Pond in northern New Jersey. We summered there from 1951 to 1961. It was idyllic. Our cottage was a five-minute walk from the lake and there were kids everywhere.” Once he had learned to sail, Dick says, “I spent most of my weekdays out sailing and exploring the lake. The feeling of the power of the wind in your sheet hand, the little twitches on the tiller when changing course…I had total independence to go anywhere I wanted.”
On weekends at Green Pond, there were sailing races and Dick won some in his pram, but when he was 10 his father bought a Sailfish and “racing got more competitive and was open to adults. My father and I would wax the bottom of the Sailfish before each race. I weighed about 70 lbs at the time and the heavier adults could never keep up in the lake’s light winds, nor get up on plane when the wind increased.”
Photographs by Dick Vermeulen
Dick’s first Pygmy kayak was the Osprey Standard, a popular kayak among paddlers of all experience levels. He built it in 2011 and still paddles it off the coast of Maine. Its cambered deck suits his size-13 feet.
By the time Dick graduated college in 1970, boats were firmly in his blood. He had earned a degree in mechanical engineering, but in 1973 he and his wife, Lynn, moved to Maine and Dick went to work as a joiner at Luke’s Boatyard in East Boothbay. Within six years, the young couple had built a house and a shop, and Dick was making and selling kitchen cabinets. But, he says, with two children and a third on the way, “it was time to get a real job.”
For the next 12 years, Dick worked as a project manager in commercial construction—until, in 1991, “in a weak moment, Lynn gave me the okay to start building boats for, hopefully, a living.”
The Osprey Standard was followed by an Osprey Double. More than 4′ longer than the Standard, Dick built it so his wife, Lynn, could go paddling with him. Both kayaks were built of stitch-and-glue okoume plywood.
Dick established Maine Cat where, for almost 30 years, he was responsible for the design and build of a range of high-performance composite sail-and-power catamarans from 30′ to 47′. In 2005, his Maine Cat 41 was awarded “Best Boat of the Year” by Cruising World. “It was,” Dick says, “very satisfying to have my company build these boats to my design, but it did little to satisfy my longing to build my own boat.”
Which is why, even before his retirement in 2020, Dick started building boats at home—a whole bunch of small boats, including a Chesapeake Light Craft Skerry built from a kit; a Joel White 9′ 6″ Nutshell Pram dinghy, which was his first glued-lapstrake build working from plans; and a couple of Pygmy Osprey kayaks.
When Dick built the outrigger for his Osprey Double, he worked from instructions in the Chesapeake Light Craft sailing rig manual. The two bulkheads in each of the amas were extended above the deck to provide connection plates for the amas.
He started on the single Pygmy Osprey in 2011. “The kids,” Dick says, “were out of the house, and it was time for me to build a boat for myself that could achieve 5 knots—if you push it—under human power. I figured that sitting with your butt below the waterline and a spray skirt around your waist while pushing through 2–3′ ocean waves would demand some attention and be hard to match for getting the adrenaline going.” He chose the Osprey because the cambered deck panels would allow ample room for his size-13 feet and, with a 24″ beam, it offered good stability for an inexperienced kayaker paddling the lower reaches of Maine’s St. George River and the coastal waters around Port Clyde.
The Osprey did not disappoint. Since building it 14 years ago, Dick has paddled extensively along the Maine coast, most recently cruising from Spruce Head to Birch Island, crossing Muscle Ridge Channel, some 3.5 miles of open water. Inspired by the Osprey Standard, three years after building it Dick decided to build the tandem version. “I built it to share with Lynn. She’s not a sailor and even though she’s put up with my many sailboats, she’s not comfortable when the wind starts to blow and things start tipping and getting exciting—she’s pretty sure we’re all going to end up in the water, and swimming is right up there with sailing as an activity to be avoided.”
Fully assembled, the finished rig took up a good deal of the workshop space. Dick installed 1⁄4″-thick neoprene pads under the aka flanges to protect the varnished deck.
Like the solo, the build of the Osprey Double went smoothly. Dick again worked with plans rather than a kit. “I’m an engineer,” he says. “To me, looking at a set of plans is almost better than reading a great book. And I’m always asking questions: Why did the designer choose that detail? How can I fabricate that part so it’s easy to install and will look like it was born there with as little of the glue line showing as possible. I’m not looking at how fast I can build; I’m enjoying the build.”
He built the stitch-and-glue tandem out of 6mm okoume plywood and finished it with six coats of Pettit gloss varnish on the deck and three coats of Pettit Matterhorn White EZPoxy on the hull. The only modification he made was to enlarge the cockpit opening so that it was easier “for long legs and big feet to enter and exit the boat.” And, like the solo before it, the tandem was a success. For a while, Lynn enjoyed going afloat with him, but then the engineer in Dick raised his head. What if he built a couple of outriggers and converted the kayak to sail? Looking for plans online, he landed at Chesapeake Light Craft and found their instructions for converting a kayak to sail. He bought the manual and set about building his own rig.
Wanting to carry the kayak and rig down to the water in sections, Dick epoxied support flanges to the akas but did not permanently attach them to either the amas or the kayak. Instead, he bolted the akas to the vertical mounting plates on the amas and tied them to through-bolted eye straps on the deck of the kayak. He built full interior bulkheads below the straps to take the loads. The upper mast partner is through-bolted and glued to the forward face of the aka but is not fastened to the hull.
He laminated a jig for the curvy 10′-long akas from clear 2 × 8 spruce ripped down to 1⁄4″ strips. He made each aka 2″ high by 1 5⁄8″ wide. The CLC-designed amas are 10′ long by 10″ maximum beam, and 9″ depth. Dick added 2′ to the length in the hope that it would give the amas more buoyancy when going to windward in a breeze. He realized later, he says, that he should have also increased the depth to “really keep the boat on her feet.”
Next, he constructed the amas of stitch-and-glue 4mm okoume plywood panels with 6-oz fiberglass inside and out, creating the aka connection tabs by extending the amas’ 9mm interior bulkheads—also reinforced with 6-oz fiberglass and epoxy—above the deck. He constructed the single leeboard out of two layers of 9mm okoume and attached it to the aft face of the port forward aka with a 1⁄4″ bolt supported by 2 1⁄2″ × 2 1⁄2″ × 1⁄2″-thick aluminum angle brackets, bolted through the aka 16″ from the centerline. When all was assembled the finished boat had a maximum beam of 11′ 4″. Finally, and with a nod to his work with high-performance sailboats at Maine Cat, he bought a tapered 18′ 6″ carbon-fiber mast from Forte Carbon in Connecticut, and a 3.8-oz carbon-laminate 75-sq-ft sail with three reefs from Pope Sails in Rockland, Maine.
The sail’s halyard and downhaul prevent the mast from jumping out of the maststep. The forward passenger has a clear view, unimpeded by any rigging or sail, but is at risk from spray when the kayak is sailing at speed in even the smallest chop.
The converted Osprey sails well in winds of less than 12 knots, Dick says, “but when the breeze comes up going to windward the amas don’t have enough buoyancy to keep the wetted surface to a minimum, and she develops a heavy weather helm. Off the wind she’s a rocket ship and a blast if you don’t mind the spray. I had hoped I’d be able to reef the sail while underway, but it’s not possible to get out of the cockpit, move forward, and keep the boat head to wind in order to bring the sail down—if the bow falls off the wind a hair, the luff tape binds in the bolt-rope track so the sail can’t be lowered.” As for the steering, Dick says, “I’d never sailed a boat with a push-pull tiller before, but the only issues I had were how to control the kick-up rudder from the cockpit 8’ forward of the rudder. I ended up using a bolt with rubber washers inside the rudder cheeks with a large threaded knob so that it could be tensioned just enough to stay down when sailing but swing up when going ashore. I could lower the rudder in a couple of feet of water and then hop into the cockpit. There was quite the learning curve before I got it right, and I had some exciting times steering with my kayak paddle while looking for a spot where I could land to readjust the tension. Thank goodness the rudder was easy to remove…it was often back in the shop getting the leading edge faired and reglassed.”
The kayak ghosts along in even the lightest of breezes, but when the wind picks up it flies, especially downwind.
Sadly, but perhaps inevitably, Lynn is not a fan of the sailing development. “She was in the forward cockpit and got the worst of the cold spray that’s kicked up by the forward aka kissing the tops of the waves. Needless to say, after her first sail on the outrigger she was done.”
This winter Dick’s building a 16′ Calendar Islands Yawl. He hopes at last to share his love of sailing with Lynn, but if he can’t, he says, he’ll build a second pair of oars and be happy that they’re out together on the water.
Jenny Bennett is editor of Small Boats.
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The two boats featured in our profiles this month could not be more different: the Gorran Haven crabber, a 16′ yawl built to traditional working-boat lines; and the Optimist Dinghy, a spritsail pram just 7′ 9″ in length. Yet, despite their clear differences these two boats have something in common: they have withstood the passage of time.
In the Maine Maritime Museum in Bath, Maine, among exhibits that tell the stories of the region’s early maritime and later shipbuilding history, there are two original boats that, like the crabber and Optimist, have survived while countless others of their types have vanished without a trace. The 14′ 7″ Rangeley Lakes guideboat, built by Charles W. Barrett in around 1915, is one of a style that first emerged in Maine’s Rangeley Lakes region in 1869, designed and built for fly-fishing. Flat-bottomed and shallow-drafted, with their maximum beam carried well into the ends, the type was roomy enough to accommodate a sportsman and his guide, stable enough for one or both men to stand up in their endeavor to hook and net fish, and shallow enough to maneuver through shoal waters. In its original form, the Barrett guideboat would have been double-ended, but sometime after 1930 it was modified to accommodate an outboard motor. Indeed, so successful was the type that as outboards became more popular, later models were simply adapted and built with transom sterns. Even though guideboats were designed and built with utility in mind, there is beauty in this example’s functionality, the closely spaced frames and narrow, carefully lined-off planks accentuating a sweeping sheer that rises to the high straight stem. Rangeley Lakes guideboats are still in use in parts of Maine, and new examples are built every year.
Photographs by the author
When built, c.1915, this Rangeley Lakes guideboat was a double-ender. Despite the alteration to a transom stern made after 1930, presumably to accommodate an outboard motor, the boat retains its sweeping lines, accentuated by the carefully lined-off narrow planks.
The guideboat is not the oldest boat in the museum. That distinction goes to a Wabanaki birchbark canoe, thought to have been built around 1745. Its bark has been carbon-dated to between 1729 and 1780, likely establishing it as the oldest birchbark canoe anywhere in the world. The construction of the canoe, from harvesting the bark to fashioning the wooden pegs used as fastenings, to shaping the frames and splitting and shaving the spruce roots used to bind the gunwales and tie in the bark, would have taken hundreds of hours. But even more remarkable than the labor required is the beauty of the workmanship, the care seen in precise measurements repeated over and over and mirrored end to end and side to side.
Despite the vast differences in age, and the materials and tools used, the guideboat and the canoe share a distinct quality: beauty. For those taking more than a passing glance, beauty is evident in the boats’ fair curves, their symmetry, and the uniformity in their details from bow to sterns. Is it beauty, then, that has given them both longevity far beyond the purpose for which each was built to serve?
The Wabanaki canoe, on loan to the Maine Maritime Museum from Pejepscot History Center in Brunswick, Maine, is thought to have been built around the middle of the 18th century. Its length would have been between 19’ and 20’ overall but now, missing one of its ends, it measures 17’ 6”. Construction details such as wide ribs, edge-to-edge planking, and significant tumblehome were typical of Wabanaki-made canoes. The method of attaching the thwarts to the gunwales is unusual—commonly the thwarts would have been mortised into the gunwale, but here they are inserted into controlled splits. Conservation work on the canoe was carried out by Steve Cayard, a non-native builder who has worked with native communities to revive birch-bark canoe building.
The Gorran Haven crabber traces its story back 150 years to a sloping Cornish beach once busy with working fishermen. Like the canoe and the guideboat, the crabbers were not built to last for decades; indeed, most had short lives. Nor were they built to be beautiful. Yet, with their long shallow keels, raked transoms, slender ends, and balanced rigs they were undeniably pleasing to the eye, well beyond what their use required. The new crabbers being built today in Cornwall, U.K., continue in that pursuit of beauty.
But what of the Optimist Dinghy? There are few who would describe the Optimist as beautiful. Indeed, even its designer, Clark Mills, described it as looking “kinda funny.” And yet the Optimist has not only survived since its creation in 1947, it has thrived—growing from a simple plywood pram sailed by a bunch of kids in Florida to a still-simple fiberglass dinghy that has been sailed by millions of kids around the world. It has done so not because it is a beautiful boat, but because it serves its purpose exceptionally well. And while it may seem that its utility has won the day, perhaps its beauty is in the experience it offers and the lifelong memories it can create.
The small village of Gorran Haven lies on the south coast of Cornwall, U.K., and has an east-facing drying harbor partly protected by a seawall. Gorran Haven crabbers, the traditional working craft of the harbor, were small boats, usually between 16′ and 18′ long. They were worked by two men, or a man and a boy, and even singlehanded at times, for both crabbing and conventional fishing. They were typically straight-stemmed, with a long keel with much less draft forward to suit the slope of the Gorran Haven beach, hollow waterlines, maximum beam just aft of amidships, and a steeply raked wineglass transom. According to a mid-Victorian letter quoted by Cornish historian James Whetter, “The crab boats of St Gorran Haven are superior to any of the kind in the country, perhaps in the world.”
Debbie Purser, co-founder of Classic Sailing in St. Mawes, Cornwall, for several years has owned the 17′ Gorran Haven crabber OUTDOOR GIRL, a 2008 replica of ELLEN, built in 1882 by Dick Pill in Gorran Haven. ELLEN was reputed to be the fastest Gorran Haven crabber ever built and is now owned by the Cornish Maritime Trust. Debbie uses OUTDOOR GIRL commercially, taking guests on sailing and wild-camping trips—complementing the charters she offers on her 44′ LOD pilot cutter TALLULAH. When she decided that a second crabber, to be named WILD BOY, would be a welcome addition to Classic Sailing’s fleet, she was inspired to build a replica of CUCKOO, built by John Pill in 1881.
Photographs by the author
The seams in the traditionally planked carvel hull were caulked with linseed putty and red lead. The jib is hanked to the forestay with traditional bronze spring-clip hanks, and the forestay is shackled to the stemhead while the two shrouds are attached with simple lashings.
In his book Spritsails and Lugsails, naval architect and maritime historian John Leather described the CUCKOO as being “16′ 5″ long × 5′ 9″ beam by 2′ 6″ moulded depth, [with] a plumb stem and small, well-raked transom. She was undecked, built for rowing as well as sailing, with well rounded sections and steep rise of floor, which resulted in very fine waterlines at the ends […] Although centreboards were not used, the [crabbers] went well to windward due to the sharp bottom and large staysail though they needed reefing early in freshening winds.” The original CUCKOO no longer exists, but her lines were taken some years ago by Philip J. Oke and are now kept at the National Maritime Museum at Greenwich. They were also published in Inshore Craft—Traditional Working Vessels of the British Isles, by Basil Greenhill and Julian Mannering.
Debbie took the idea of building a new CUCKOO to Mike Broome, course tutor at the Boat Building Academy (BBA) in Lyme Regis, U.K., who says he “tweaked the lines to produce a fair set of lines and offsets,” and digitized them.
A second crabber is under construction at the Boat Building Academy. In this second build the planking is of yellow cedar and additional, larger frames were fitted to give the hull better strength. In all other details the two hulls are the same. The long keel, with its depth astern acting like a skeg, gives the boat good directional stability with minimal draft. The foot of the rudder is angled up from the keel so that it will not touch bottom if the boat is grounded.
Construction started with the full-sized lofting and building the molds. Then came the backbone—keel, hog, inner and outer stem, and sternpost, as well as knees for the stem and sternpost; all in solid sapele—which was set right-side up on a temporary framework a couple of feet off the ground. The seven molds and the 1 1⁄4″-thick oak transom were fixed to the centerline, the former temporarily, and the latter permanently at an angle of 29° off the vertical. Ribbands were temporarily fixed to the outer edges of the transom, molds, and stem, and then the frames—7⁄8″ × 5⁄8″ at 8″ centers—were steam-bent inside the ribbands. (After WILD BOY was finished and taken home to sit on a beach supported by legs, a handful of the frames broke; in a subsequent build of a second Gorran Haven crabber at the BBA, the frames were sized up to 7⁄8″ × 3⁄4″ centered at 6 3⁄16″.)
With the frame complete, work began on the carvel planking. The sheerstrake was fashioned of oak, for its extra strength and resistance to wear, while the rest of the boat was planked in Siberian larch. There are 11 planks per side, with an additional stealer plank immediately above the garboard in the aft 7′ of the hull. The planks were cut from 10″-wide boards and, other than the garboards and stealers, all had to be scarfed and steamed to take the curves and twists at the bow and stern. The finished thickness of the planking is 5⁄8″, but to allow for the backing-out of the interior face of the planks, particularly at the turn of the bilge, some had to come from 7⁄8″ stock. The planking process started with the garboards and then the sheerstrakes. Thereafter, planks were fitted alternately—up and down—finishing each side with a shutter plank. The V-shaped seams—created by the beveling of the plank edges—were caulked with linseed putty and red lead.
The build process continued with the fit-out of the hull. Nine 1 1⁄4″-thick oak floors were fitted with their top edges level so they could also act as bearers for the sapele sole boards. The risers for the four 1″ oak thwarts are 2″ × 1″ oak. The aft thwart serves as a helm seat; forward of that is a removable rowing thwart, then the mast thwart, and finally a thwart in the bow for strength. The oak inwales and outwales are both 1 1⁄2″ x 1 1⁄4″ with a 4″-wide × 1⁄2″-thick oak cap with two scarf joints. The rudder is of 1 1⁄2″-thick solid oak, its blade made up of four biscuit-jointed pieces.
For the singlehanded sailor, the yawl rig with jib can seem daunting at first, but Debbie has her crabber set up so that all the running lines are close to hand. If the mizzen sail is sheeted in, it will act as a steadying sail, holding the boat up to the wind and allowing the crew to go forward to raise or lower the other sails.
The CUCKOO drawings in Inshore Craft do not include details for a rig other than showing short stumps to indicate the two mast positions, so Mike drew a spritsail-lug rig similar to the rig on OUTDOOR GIRL. All the spars are solid Douglas fir, with the 3 1⁄2″-diameter mainmast made from two pieces assembled longitudinally with opposing grain for stability. All the spars fit easily inside the boat except for the mainmast, which lays atop the boat from stem to rudderstock. While it is possible for a tall, strong person to step the mainmast singlehandedly, it is much easier for two people. Once the mast is upright, the bronze gate in the mast thwart holds it steady so that the shrouds can be lashed to the shroud plates; the forestay is shackled to a stemhead fitting. The mizzenmast and bumkin can both be easily stepped and rigged by one person.
On the day that Debbie and I went for a sail the winds were very light, but she was able to tell me about her experiences of sailing the boat. “She goes to windward amazingly well considering she hasn’t got a centerboard or [deep] keel,” Debbie said. “She points better than some other boats with centerboards, although in strong winds she makes a bit of leeway, and when tacking it is often necessary to back the jib to make sure the bow gets through the wind. We once managed to do 7 knots on a reach in quite a lot of wind with two people on board.”
There is plenty of room on board for a crew of three (or more if they are prepared to be close to each other) but the boat is also set up for singlehanded sailing, which Debbie takes advantage of quite often. The rotating jam cleats for the jibsheets are positioned so the helmsperson can reach them, and there is a bungee dampening system for the tiller so that Debbie can move forward to drop or hoist the sails; the bungees also can center the helm while she is rowing. In stronger winds—around 15 knots or more—she has found that she cannot hike out enough to make much difference to the heel and that the boat does make a bit of leeway as a result.
The crabber’s traditional pedigree is instantly recognizable from the wineglass transom to the capped gunwales, wooden thole and belaying pins, wooden blocks and spars.
Debbie has two rows of reefpoints in WILD BOY’s mainsail but finds that deploying the second reef is impractical as the bottom of the sprit is then too low and would need to be replaced by a shorter sprit. Nor has she found that brailing up the leech is practical as “there is still a lot of sail up. But it is great in no wind when you just want to get it out of the way to row.” (Because of its limited use, Debbie doesn’t always rig up the brailing line, especially if she’s going out for a short sail.) Although the boat weighs about half a ton with ballast and a crew of two on board, Debbie finds it surprisingly easy to row in light winds, and says that with the deep skeg aft, it tracks well. On one occasion, she comfortably rowed the crabber for about a mile in a flat calm.
Although Debbie has found it handy to be able to sail off a beach with just the jib and mizzen raised and then to hoist the mainsail when under way, she says that the overall performance with just those two smaller sails isn’t very good, especially to windward, “but it works [if I’m] taking inexperienced sailors out in a blow and [don’t want] to scare them.” With a draft of about 8″ forward and 15″ aft, Debbie particularly likes the ease with which the boat can be taken into a beach to offload gear, and she has found it relatively easy to get the boat on and off a trailer.
In light airs and with the sails trimmed, the crabber tracks well and, at times, will sail itself.
While clearly suited to day-sailing, the removable middle thwart and absence of a centerboard also means that the crabber offers plenty of space for overnight accommodation, when the sprit can be set up between the two masts as a ridgepole for a cockpit tent. There is no enclosed storage space or built-in flotation, but a foredeck could be added forward of the mainmast and buoyancy bags could be attached on the underside of the fixed thwarts.
With plenty of capacity for people and expedition gear, the Gorran Haven crabber is well suited to coastal exploration. The hull is seaworthy and can easily be trailered, and the traditional construction—while not for the inexperienced builder—isn’t particularly complicated.
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.
Digital plans for the Gorran Haven Crabber are available from Mike Broome for £165.
Both Inshore Craft: Traditional Working Vessels of the British Isles and Spritsails and Lugsails are available used from multiple book dealers; Inshore Craft is also available as a Kindle from Amazon.
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Christopher Cunningham
Courtesy of Douglas Elliott
