Shavings Volume 9 Number 5 (September-October 1987)

©2987 The Center for Wooden Boots — Volume 9, No. 5 —

Sept.-Oct.

1987 — 25¢

WE BELIEVE IN WOOD In spite of three days of uncooperative weather, 10,000 people came to our Eleventh Annual Lake Union Wooden Boat Festival. In a way, it was worth it to have cold, gloomy, rainy days for the show. Now we know how many are totally committed. I think they would have come in a blizzard.

They had fun, too. As usual, the toy boatbuilding workshop was a magnet for kids to work with tools, wood, and let their imaginations soar.

This year our policy was that every kid got an award. They each received a diploma, just like the ones we award for our lapstrake w o r k s h o p s .

Catherine Wilson, apprentice Assistant Director, designed these awards. About 500 kids now have them tacked to the wall above their beds.

Getting into the boats has always been a big part of the show, but this year it seemed to really take off. Every time I looked at the waterfront there were at least six boats out. Biorn Sundt brought his prototype 23' Snekke motor launch.

As soon as he could get a few visitors aboard, off he would go. The Pure Sound Society used their 25' sail/row launch Discovery the same way. Our board member, Paul F o r d , took people for sails in his Y-Flyer scow any time they asked. The sailing races seemed more popular than ever: M o r e boats entered, with more visitors as crew, and more people watching them. W h e n race time came, it was shoulder-to-shoulder crowds along the quay. T h e boats included El Toros, a Rushton Princess, Steve Rander's Magic Carpet who has won first place in class twice in the Victoria-Maui race. Warren Wilson's six-meter, May Be VII, Bill Van Vlack's Yankee One Design, Yankee Doo dle, Evergreens, Blanchard Seniors, and a Norwegian kutter. The bouillabaisse of types and their courses was handled in a most competent and efficient fashion by Margaret Schultz and Terry Gosse from the Seattle Sailing Association.

and Ginger Rogers. The boat — a punt — Pogo's Revenge. The style — no rush, no hesitation. A n d full costume — T-shirts with their boat's name, matching fisherman's caps. Kristin's father was watching in amazement. He said she was a tool klutz as a kid. He gasped as he watched her using a saber saw with flourish and then practically fainted when she switched hands. It's the contest, I told him. Brings out latent talent.

For the first time there was an all-woman crew, building a paper canoe, Paper Moon. Paula Bakas has had some experience assisting Wind Whitehill in a past contest. Melanie Hearn has a few hours coaching from Wind. Both are full-time social workers. Their design and workmanship was good — heavy paper glued over molds and stringers. On race time, a squall of 20 knots came roaring down the lake and the two builders, neither weighing 100 pounds, were not able to make any headway with their light weight, high freeboard canoe. This team won the unofficial award for valiant effort.

Builders work out The Quick and Daring Boatbuilding Contest used to be regarded as the clown act of the show.

This year there were bigger crowds than ever watching, and their comments included: "There are some very good boats being built here." The rules have evolved to encourage imagination, creativity, and whimsy to produce a boat that has decent row/sail characteristics & will hold together for a while. Del Saul and T o m Bartlett built a flat bottom stem dinghy with inboard rudder. It was a sharp looking boat both in design and workmanship. If it weren't for a rudder post bearing they forgot, they would likely have taken all the marbles. They won an unofficial award for the fastest looking boat. Stan James and Mary Robello were inspired by the South Seas and built a lashed-together sailing raft. Stan and Mary went as native as the boat with flowers and leaves and colorful sarongs. Their boat set a new boatshow record as the quickest to build and the quickest to s w a m p , but Stan and M a r y said the crowd's cheers and applause for their efforts made it worthwhile. Besides, the water was warmer than the air. This team won the unofficial award as the wackiest design and most insouciant attitude while building it. Brian Lenz and Craig Vierling, who are partners in building contracting, wanted to build a "keeper." They chose a traditional flat

iron skiff design . . . the sort that should take a master boatbuilder 40 hours to construct without rig and paint. The fact that these two master carpenters, not boatbuilders, completed the job in six hours amazed me. A n d they still speak to each other. Each entrant is paid up to $150 for m a t e r i a l s . M o s t submit bills just a b o u t that amount, or less. Brian and C r a i g spent three times their stipend, but they didn't care because at last they had an excuse to build a boat they could both use. Bob Fisher with his partner, Kristin Jones, designed a charming boat and went about building it with the grace of Fred Astaire

Then there was the Gossamer Penguin, a V bottom double ender by Kathy Makielski and Doug Wilson. The good basic boat design was embellished with the penguin theme — penguin " s c h n o z , " figurehead, penguin tail at stern and paddle blades painted as penguin feet. The lateen sail had a penguin logo painted on twice life size.

The builders had apparent delight working on the boat and working together as a team. On launching time, Kathy and Doug came to the party with penguin outfits — black tail jackets, penguin beak hats, and penguin feet shoes. Behind all this fooling around was a good boat, well sailed. Kathy and Doug won First Place on a point system based on speed of c o n s t r u c t i o n , speed under oars, speed under sail, cost of materials, weight of Continued on p. 2

THREE VERY DIFFERENT CRUISES We don't think there's ever been a Wooden Boat Festival when we haven't overheard a spectator say, " O h it's so pretty. 1 wouldn't have the heart to put it in the water." Occasionally they're looking at new construction, but we've heard the remark made to someone like Chris Cunningham who has just finished taking the subject boat down the Mississippi or 2,000 miles along the lntercoastal Waterway. Alongshore loungers often confuse our beloved craft with furniture or other objects that shouldn't be left out in the rain.

Wrong. Wooden boaters use their boats, though in different ways. Here are three cruises of different lengths, undertaken for three different reasons by three very different crews. In fact, the only thing they had in common was that they were cruises in wooden boats, o

ROLLING DOWN FROM JUNEAU On July 22, our Director went to J u n e a u , Alaska to bring a donated boat to our C W B headquarters. The boat was a 25' cat, yawl sharpie from Bolger's book, The Folding Schooner and Other Adventures in Boat Design. It had unstayed masts, leeboards, and a pair of leg-o-mutton Spritsails. Since it was a fully-equipped sail-itaway donation (there was even an engine), Dick decided to singlehand it down.

He hoisted sail and headed south on July 22, arriving at the headwaters of Lake Union on September 21. It was the longest he had been away from the Center for its ten-year history. This brief

We Believe in Wood, cont. from p. 1 tools, originality, and aesthetics. The ever evolving Q & D contest was sponsored by Burger King, Flounder Bay L u m b e r , Ivar's S a l m o n H o u s e , K E Z X Radio & Waterlines magazine.

A new contest For the first time, a trophy sponsored by Daly's Paints and C W B was awarded for the best ownerrestored boat. All eight entries this year were contenders and included a couple who had won first prizes at the Classic Boat Festival in Victoria.

The judges' decision was to award a boat that was built as a father-son project in 1927 and has been in continuous use by the same family for the past 60 years. It was Steve Philipp's 16-foot cedar dugout c a n o e Quill Ceda. S t e v e a n d his w i f e , Dorothy, took it on a honeymoon trip and still use it today. Steve is almost 80.

Boatbuilding, oar m a k i n g , knot tying, blacksmithing, old engines, caulking, and rigging demonstrations were also on view. The answer man on finishes from Daly's was there. The 65' sharpie Lively, designed by Jacques Thiry, just arrived at the show from John Guzzwell's shop — her first public appearance. There were daily performances on the schooner Wawona about her days as a commercial lumber schooner. We saw a hotlycontested 12 meter radio-controlled sailboat race regatta, sponsored by AG Industries. Radio-controlled powerboats were also in action, including a lobster boat, tugs, a Lake Union Dreamboat, and a submarine (all wood), and daily sawmill demonstrations. There were classic runabouts, the 101 foot schooner Adventuress, the 1887 tug Arthur Foss, the Public Library boat file and an art exhibit as well as folk music and films.

Generous donations for the boat drawing, auction, new and renewed memberships, purchases of C W B merchandise and 20% of the food booth sales made this a successful fundraising event.

O u r grateful thanks to our neighbors, the Lake Union Naval Reserve Center for use of their site.

Without their cooperation we would not have a wooden boat show.

Volunteers, volunteers, volunteers But most of all it is the volunteers that make it all h a p p e n . P l a n n i n g begins m o n t h s before.

Corinne Anderson was in charge of coordinating the boatshow volunteers. Tom Parker organized fleet maintenance volunteers to get our boats

account is from the postcards he mailed to us during his cruise. It loses something in the translation from the little cards it was written on, embellished with marginal drawings, PSes. PPSes, & arrows leading from one little gob of tortured writing to the next, but it keeps its immediacy.

28 July, Petersburg I'm sailing! Not a bad little boat, all in all. The big macho Southeast A l a s k a winds come sporadically, but it's mostly lazy sailing. First few days beautiful, next poco a poco, last two overcast, cold, foggy. I love it here. It's basically like Puget Sound: just multiply the geographic dimensions by 4 & reduce the human population & its associated dreck by 4, & that's Southeast. This is the first town I've passed in a week. Lonely coves

otherwise. Lots of whales, dolphins, seals, sealions (some), sea otters (one), seagulls, jumping salmon, eagles, space. The music of nature & a good boat.

Southeast is the space between people. H a d breakfast today at Irene's Cafe. G a v e me a paper

looking pretty. Darlene Allen ran the food booth operation. Neal Allen installed the electrical service and food booth sanitary system. Don Nichol came down from Port Alberni, B . C . , to be our dockmaster. John Gruenwald was the chief of the toy b o a t b u i l d i n g w o r k s h o p . B r i a n B o n i c a m p coordinated the C W B store. Melody Burris ran the potluck dinner. Mike Phimister was the folk music impresario. Horace Ingram selected & ran the films. Dennis and Carol Broderson and Betsy Case were the auction sparkplugs. Judy Hamilton was the roving photographer. Dick Enerson, for a six-pack of "green death" (Rainier Ale) was the auctioneer. A n d for naught but fame and glory, the multitude of events at the show were announced with wise and humorous quips by Alex Hamilton.

Not all the boat show jobs were planned ahead.

One sticky wicket this year was finding floats for the small boats. We needed 360 lineal feet of them.

After phone calls and meetings since last fall nothing resolved until I followed a lead of J o e Frauenheim of Hurlen Marine Construction.

Sure enough, there were lots of floats available at a cheap price from the construction of the new floating bridge in Lake Washington. I made a deal for the amount of floats we needed a week before the show. Workers at the Center were lined up to do double quick carpentry to make them serviceable. The only question was how to get them to C W B in a hurry. Joe and Chris Eden took the job — working from 8 Friday night to 4 Saturday morning to cut out the best floats from a jumble, grabbed some sleep, and brought them into our moorage by Sunday morning. Super heroes? Joe and Chris earned a big slug of points toward wooden boat sainthood.

Without a doubt, C W B would be a lost little lamb without all the other spear carriers who gave us their time and talents to put on the show. To them we offer our fullest gratitude: Brion Toss, Lee Earheart, Rich Stolsig, Andy Erickson, Bill Van Vlack, Betsy Shedd, Jim Frisken, Courtenay S m i t h , Paul S t r e t c h , Helen V a n d e m a n , Helen L a n g , N o n a Sullivan, Catherine W i l s o n . Faye K e n d a l l , J i m Stover, M a r k and Elise C u n n i n g ham, D a n Hinckley, A l i Fujino, A r c h i e C o n n , Caren Crandell.

See you all next year, and don't forget to pack your long Johns and oilskins, just in case.

— Dick Wagner •

from M i n o t , N o r t h D a k o t a . T h e y don't even know where they are!

The boat sails itself close-hauled. That gives me time to read, write, sing, talk to the fish, & putter.

Motor & I don't get along, so I only use it when it's in the mood, which is rarely.

1 August M a d e it to K e t c h i k a n . It's a m a z i n g h o w it perches on the edge of a cliff. There is a tunnel through one spur to widen the main (only) street.

Still sailing. L u c k y with following winds most of the time since I left Petersburg. Sail last night unbelievable, black as a coal mine & a gale wind b e h i n d m e . N o t h i n g but m e , the p h o s p h o r escence of the waves & a blinking light at N. end of Tongass Narrows — all the rest blackness.

Scared the hell out of me.

A w e d by the space without humans — big waters, big islands, big sky. S u n has come back.

Dolphins too. Alaska has the best classic trollers, gillnetters, seiners, & tugs. Saw a neat tug (Foss) that looked like a vintage 1900 still towing & looking good.

4 August I'm actually held prisoner in this tiny boat in Port Simpson B . C . Crossed into Canada (past 54°-40') in a long easy sail. Today we have a S.W. snorting up Chatham Sound. Have 20 miles as the eagle flies to Prince Rupert & no place to stop between. I can't make it in this blow, so lolling in my detention cell. Just noon now & blue sky everywhere. This

means N.W. wind tomorrow or my name isn't Captain C o o k .

Keep the mayo off my desk, please.

12 August N o r t h e r n B . C . is just as awesome, just as lonely, & maybe even more spectacular than S . E .

It's a land that will never be tamed — too powerful. There are ruins of canneries all over: amazing energy expended to clear the trees, build the docks, the buildings, now all returning to mulch.

Prince Rupert best stop yet. Had someone to talk to; listen to. Didn't have to sing to the porpoise & eagles. I sailed so long in a world I can't measure. I slipped & slid with care & caution for three weeks. Maybe I needed a return to dimensions I can understand.

Decided to take the "inside" route; baby the boat, baby myself. Left P.R. in almost calm & ran into 25-30 kt. N.W. winds & wild seas for the rest of the day & all of the next. Two days on a roller coaster. M i z z e n sprit snapped like a toothpick but it was too wimpy anyway. Replaced it with an oar I found afloat. Works fine. Main downhaul cleat pulled out. Tie down to mast partners now. Back, shoulders, & wrists still recuperating & it's been two lazy days since that killer sail. I'm waiting for wind or enough energy to yank on engine. Never can tell with that sucker.

knew what the boat could do, but this time I asked a little too much. Now I know I can't rely on past performance. Almost the same thing happened today but I put my back to the helm & she fell off. just what I'd expected in Port Hardy.

I keep expecting more N.W. wind. Today I made 25 mi. — Robson Bight to Kelsey Bay sailing from 9-5:30. I had to stop because wind usually quits between 6 & 8 & there is no moorage for 18 miles plus I had only 1 hour of fair tide. After that a 5 kt. ebb would stop me like a wall. This is Johnstone Strait & you don't argue with the current.

Next flood begins at 1 am & if there's any wind, I'll take it. Kelsey Bay is a tiny nook filled with fishing boats. I was last in, so I tied to a fish boat next to an opening in the seawall & get all the swell. I couldn't sleep here anyway. Okay, after getting all that out, I'm fine. I've had some good sails past 2 days & I'll be back when I get back.

27 August

Rain (mist) gives that extra air of mystery to this land & it smells good. Quiet except for occasional splash of a jumping salmon.

14 August I, personally, have just heard the cry of an eagle.

I parked next to an eagle's nest at S . E . corner Dowager Isl. Not a big deal sound. Imagine a kid on a s q u e a k y s w i n g — about four s q u e a k s .

Yesterday a balmy following wind & 80 temp, like sailing in a hot bathtub. More relaxing than a rum-&-water in the cockpit, watching the sunset, but I had that, too.

K l e m t u , tiny Indian village has a bakery! I walked in & thought I smelled heaven. Bought bread & breakfast rolls, still hot. They have a grocery store too — heavy supplies of lard & Velveeta, but they do have crunchy peanut butter. Hurrah for Klemtu. Will try for Bella Bella tomorrow. Wouldn't be surprised if they had quiche.

Please no mustard on desk either.

A n d please send me a pen, I can't write in pencil.

19 August I'm on strike. At anchor in Safety Cove we have rain, cold, & S.E. wind. Y u c k . Won't go until wind (at least) blows from somewhere else. S . E . wind at this point will only help if I'm heading for Tahiti. I'm considering. I also demand a refund for 5 consecutive days with no sun. My tan is fading. I KNOW we're due for a change soon — 60% sun & N.W. winds this time of year. Statistics, where are you when I need you?

L'INSURGENTE AND THE RIVER OF THE MOON

I made this cove at 10:30 last night, milking every little puff from every direction — 18 miles in 10 hours.

So many cruise ships coming & going that I'm surprised there are no collisions. These babies are BIG & the passages are small & twisty. I'm sometimes startled to see the bow of a huge white ship suddenly emerge around an island 1/2 a mile ahead. I see passengers jogging around the deck, something I can't do.

Back to writing with a pen. I bought out the stock at the N a m u store (2). Stopped at Bella Bella, but it was Saturday night & the town was shut.

26 August Aside from one " 1 0 " day for sun (but no wind), this has been a week of cold, rain, no wind, & fog. I got into a little bash in Port Hardy. I thought I

I wrote a card to you this afternoon, just after arriving at Kelsey Bay after a good, hard, 25-mile sail to find a tiny, no facilities whirlpool of dirty water & knowing I had to wait for the tide change.

So I wrote a downer. It's just that coming back to

L'Insurgente is seven years old but still dreams of what she will be when she "grows up." Y o u may recall her from boat shows, a bright finished coldmolded eighteen foot open boat people have described as a cross between a Whitehall and an Australian 18. When the wind blows, she hoists 150 feet of canvas on two masts, using a sliding gunter rig so that the sails stow on the seats when she has to rely on an ash breeze. In short, she is a handful to sail, just barely stable enough for open water cruising, and yet a big rowboat that takes some doing to get fairly underway.

H e r limitations have little to do with her dreams. She imagines herself someday hammering around C a p e H o r n — or at least circumnavigating Vancouver Island. Knowing that children must have their fantasies, I have sailed her solo from Seattle to that "other" boat show in Port Townsend, and taken her on a circumnavigation of M e r c e r Island from her L a k e U n i o n launching point (don't laugh — it's farther than you think). On one memorable voyage of exploration — she is incurably curious — L'Insurgente made what may be the only recorded round trip from Magnuson Park to Bothell Landing. A h , but that was a mistake. She discovered rivers, and now imagines herself flying through Whitewater on the way from Yellowknife to the Arctic.

When I first proposed a voyage down the Snoqualmie to pacify my boat's fantasies, my daughter — who had done it in a canoe — and other friends uniformly exclaimed that I should not risk my beautiful boat in the fast water. That was the

the dirty, tumultuous world seemed unfair. There is no magic at K . B .

Had a special non-dimensional feeling sailing in the fog. H a d a great sense of triumph making my destination after 8 miles of blind sailing. Also the thrill of watching a great whale showing off for me for several miles. A parade of orcas followed me into Robson Bight. I could hear them breathing for an hour after dark. Just them & me in the cove.

The dear old tub Lotus came by & Curt tossed me a brown paper sack which I caught, thank G o d . Inside was a bottle of beer, an orange, & a cleverly wrapped slice of rhubarb pie.

I've found some damage from the rock incident in Port Hardy. The skeg split, but it's held by a throughbolt. It looks easy to fix — need to get the bottom painted anyway. I've forgiven the dimwitted fisherman. The skeg got busted while I was teaching him the art of tying the tower to the towee. Tomorrow I will stroll into the village & mail this. Looking forward to more sailing — fabulous days interspersed with simply good days.

Bless you all Happy Dickie •

wrong thing to say. L'Insurgente and I have grown to hate compliments, the ones that suggest she is too pretty and delicate for any real service. C o l d molded boats — especially those with 4 oz. fibreglass on their bottoms and a steel strip along their keelsons are supposed to be "tough." S o , on August 12, the rainiest day of the entire summer, I said farewell to Barbara — who had the good sense to forego her original plan to sail with me as far as Carnation in that weather — and slipped away from the D N R l a u n c h r a m p a b o v e the bridge at Fall C i t y at eight a.m. of a morning as cold and gray as mid-winter. It was great weather for remembering the Indian ghosts of the Snoqualmie tribe whose long-house once stood under heavy forest eaves along this stretch of the River of the M o o n .

There was not, however, much time for such romantic reflections. The first fast flowing water was right ahead, beneath the bridge. I spun my trusty skiff to back water through stern first, M c Kenzie style, looking for hidden rocks. Little did I know that this was a maneuver I would repeat, probably sixty times in the forty or so miles to tidewater at Snohomish. As best as I can measure the squiggles of the Snoqualmie and Snohomish on my U S G S maps, it is roughly fifty-four miles from Fall City to the open Sound at Everett. F r o m their, I intended to sail home.

It may be a class One river for canoes, but controlling depth repeatedly runs at something less than my six inch draft. I had gone about a mile when my first real rapids was negotiated in panic, an oar half at the ready to fend off a rocky bank as the boat shot through without any real direction from me once I lost control. On the other hand, by

that time I had lost the highway sounds, and a few moments later, I'm pretty sure I saw an eagle.

When the going gets tough, the tough get wetter A n hour down r i v e r , I came to a second rapids — the one my daughter had particularly cautioned me about. It was still raining — a situation which gave me the choice of watching the river through raindrops on my glasses, or taking them off and losing most of my depth perception. My supply of things with which to wipe them off had already become sodden — it was a problem I coped with in one fashion or another all day — and all night — but that comes later.

This time I deliberately beached, and stepped out in my 9" sailing boots. My jeans were rolled up inside my heavy foul weather gear. I figured on getting out o c c a s i o n a l l y and thought I had planned for it. Wrong!

Somehow, too little water to float the boat without me in it, has no trouble piling in over the top of much higher boots, or creeping up my leg to eventually saturate the jeans. Meanwhile, water pressure makes it tough to slide the boat over to a spot where it will float through. There is a good deal of dragging — and wondering what the small smooth stones are doing to the bottom (scoring it, but not badly). Afloat, splashing into the boat with boots full of water, I barely have my oars out before it is necessary to dive over the side a second time as L'Insurgente grinds to a halt and begins to swing b r o a d s i d e — threatening to plunge off the bar and into a huge tree that is stranded on another part of the bar. But, a little farther on, I delighted in watching a mother merganser try to lure me away from her hurrying brood of half grown ducklings.

As the day wore on, I discovered some amazing things about this river which skirts our megalopolis, running just beyond the outlying suburban hills, never more than twenty-five miles from the 1-5 corridor. Though it often runs through farmland, you can hardly tell that from the channel.

Roads rarely track it for long. Bridges lie eleven or twelve miles apart. Only at those points are you likely to see another human; and the deer, the hawks, the ducks, swallows, catbirds and the big migrating salmon which occasionally jump nearby can all too quickly convince you that you are deep in a wilderness only marginally scratched by man.

Of course the most common form of wildlife along the river is the black and white Holstein cow — but they're fun too.

Half water, half gravel

trickle, and the deceptive river you see from the bridge just before Monroe to be running fast over a broad flat bed about 6-9" deep, I camped on a small sandbar, building a tent over the forward part of my boat with the sails, and avoiding the water accumulating in the bottom by making a bed on the thwarts out of four oars and the lifejackets. I managed to get my plastic wrapped sleeping bag and dry clothes in with me, and with some contortions, actually spent a nearly dry night despite the fact that it was the wettest I have ever spent out of doors — still bucketing down in the morning just as it had been when I went to bed.

L'Insurgente meets a pinniped celebrity

But I have skipped the high point of the trip.

Just north of Carnation, I suddenly caught sight of what looked like a small whale. It was, in fact, a fur seal — probably " M o n r o e , " the fellow who made the headlines by ending up in a pasture off the Skykomish the following week. But if it was Monroe, he was not alone. I counted either five or six of the charming little critters — well, not so little — playing in various pools of the river along a stretch of about a mile. I assume they were steelheading just like the unfortunate fishermen I had spotted a mile further upstream. O n e of them, a smaller playful yearling, followed me for about fifteen minutes, sliding over the shallows on his/ her tummy and giving me a very good look so that I could report the phenomenon to the Aquarium later. At the time I didn't know the experience was all that unique.

SOUTH SOUND, PHILOSOPHY, AND THE CHARMS OF SUBJECTIVE REALITY Someday I will publish a Philosophy of Rowing.

A large section will be devoted to the interaction between rowing and thought. The combination of exertion and rhythm in rowing seems to virtually create thoughts. Expansive, meditative, serene thoughts. Maybe it's improved circulation, maybe it's endorphins, maybe it's just our brains peacefully rocking in the sea inside our skulls. Whatever it is, it makes rowing the ideal physical activity for the reflective temperament. I plan to dictate much of my philosophy while rowing.

It took the best part of four hours to reach Carnation, where the Tolt adds very little water to the slowly growing main stream. I grounded out once more north of the Ames Lake Road, then, when I stopped for lunch on a bucolic bar with temporarily lightening rain, decided I could dry off my sodden feet and put on my spare s o c k s .

Wrong!

The river continues to have bars at unexpected intervals. There was one bad rapids I reached about six pm between Duvall and Monroe in a driving rain, and there were three or four more nasty shoals the following morning along the Snohomish north of Highway 522. By then, I had gotten smart and was letting my feet rot in my boots without benefit of socks — at least I thought so until I tried to get the boots off and found they had converted themselves to suction cups.

Reflecting on the differences between objective and subjective reality during one row, I developed a theory that there are two ways to get away for a vacation. O n e is to go someplace new and to literally get away. Another is to approach familiar territory in a new way and see it from a different perspective. It was in this sense of subjective search that Deborah and I loaded camping gear, water, and freeze-dried food in The Lady Deb for a four-day circumnavigation of Hartstene Island.

Two of our camps, Squaxin and M c M i c k e n Islands, would be familiar, but the theory of the subjective getaway held that approaching them as part of a trip instead of as day rows or overnights would invest them with some new aspect. O u r first stop would be a new one, Jarrell Cove. That would add considerable subjective distance, since it was already something of a Flying Dutchman or Moby Dick destination for us.

Y e s , I did spend the night on the river. I made 37 miles or so in almost 13 hours — not quite the pace I had imagined, but by nine it was getting too dark to see. I had reached the junction of the Snoqualmie and the Skykomish — just south of 522, expecting to find a broader deeper river beyond there, only to discover the S k y a mere

We'd tried to get there twice before. The first time, we got a late start on the hottest day of the summer. A basic characteristic of small open boats is their total lack of shade. Combine that with the effort of rowing and a strong adverse current (I've never found any other kind) and nobody's gonna get to Jarrell Cove. Our second

M o s t of the seals didn't stay upriver. T h e y passed me about three am on their way back to sea. I know that because the river there was shallow and they made the most terrifying slaps of their tails right nearby to shock me from my sleep.

It took a while, but there was just enough light to see them heading down — the birds in a marsh across the river went crazy, and didn't settle down for an hour afterwards. By then, it was morning and time to push on down my wilderness river in the rain.

The rain had pretty well stopped by the time I reached Snohomish and civilization of sorts. I had planned to call Barb to let her know I was all right, but the bank is rock and sixty feet high. I kept rowing only to discover I was now fighting a flood tide and a northwest wind. Even this lower tidal river has some beautiful stretches and tends to be desolate. I saw only a few people in a day and a half on the river, and no boat underway until I had entered the city limits of Everett. There, I made my call, and, though behind schedule, banked on that lovely nor'wester for a fast passage home.

Naturally, it died as soon as I put up my sails off Everett. I rowed on to Mukilteo, where the wind came up again — from the south. Sailing for two hours netted me three miles, so I went back to the looms. Finally, at eight pm, a total of 28 hours underway, 26 of those and 70 miles on the oars, I decided that Edmonds was close enough to call it home. It was a great trip on a very special river.

My only concern is what that silly boat is going to dream up next. — Jim Sand •

try was in early October. There was a brisk headwind that grew brisker with every stroke. By the time every fourth whitecap started crowding aboard, we decided to heave to, have lunch, and wait for things to abate a bit. They abated not a jot. It took us only twenty minutes to row back over a course that had taken us two hours to row outbound.

This time, things looked much more promising.

The sun, though bright, lacked the polished brass intensity that had scorched us like two peas on a griddle. The wind was from dead ahead (I've never found it to blow from any other quarter) but it had nothing of briskness in it. After about an hour, I slipped into the thoughtful, musing habit of mind I've been talking about.

Paddling a kayak or a canoe might combine exertion and rhythm in the proper proportions for rowerthought, but both have the disadvantage of facing uncompromisingly straight ahead. Looking a h e a d , there's a l w a y s the nasty t e n d e n c y to strive. Ahead is the goal, the destination. It is the nature of destinations to cry out for arrival. They call one forward, making the getting there more important than the going there. By contrast, everything a rower sees has already happened.

Instead of being reduced to a frame surrounding an objective, the rowing vista is a totality, with each part equally important. It can all be regarded with equanimity. It is past and can trouble you no more. Rowing is for historians.

Jarrell Cove and Tin Canoes Jarrell C o v e proved to be an excellent firstnight destination. It trails off into five or six narrow dead-end inlets which grow, shrink, and change shape with the tide. There's shade on a hot day, shelter on a windy one. M o r e to the point, exploring little leads like these is what gives small-boat cruising its own unique interest and charm.

O u r campsite looked out at the sunset and down at the float The Lady Deb shared with a group of teenage Wildlife Federation field-trippers in aluminum canoes. I know tin canoes are cheap.

There's also no comparison between the packing, driving, launching, and recovery bustle of a day trip and just climbing into the boat each morning and starting to row. Let's face it, rowing a heavily-loaded boat 10 to 15 miles in a day can be quite relaxing if it's all you're going to do.

Boston Harbor was filled with fishermen, all cheerily shouting "stroke, stroke, stroke" at us.

Watching them we wondered why all small powerboats have their wheel on the right-hand side. The requirements of driving on the right that moved auto drivers to the left-hand seat seem to have been completely ignored by naval architects. A n d why don't people in boats of less than 30 feet ever bring their fenders aboard? Even more baffling is why they never sit down in the driver's seat. No matter what sort of simian s t o o p they must assume, no matter how much they must kink their neck, they stand. It doesn't matter if they're going three knots or thirty, there they are, looking as if they're trying to bite their windshield on the jugular vein. Probably they can't see from the right side of the boat.

I know they're light, interchangeable, and wellnigh indestructible. But being paddled across a mirror-smooth, sunset-gilded inlet in the twilight's placid calm, they have the charm of a garbage truck in the compact and pack cycle. It must be sheer agony to a.teenage paddler. Imagine being stuck in the hell of huge feet, cursed with not enough beard to shave and too much not to, aflame with acne, and trying to look for once as if you're good at something. Yet no matter how minor your mistakes, each one is amplified by the magnificent resonance of the metal hull into a ringing announcement that once more, you've done something hopelessly inept. As for stealing up on wildlife, you might as well try creeping quietly over a loose stack of iron skillets. I don't think there's ever been a quietly paddled aluminum canoe. By the time paddlers can manage a canoe well enough to avoid banging the gunwale, they're too knowledgeable to get in a tin one. All these paddlers had braces on their teeth. I don't know if that is another aspect of tin canoes or not.

The next day brought the longest pull of the trip, down Pickering and Peale Passages. The chart showed a one and a half knot tide that should have helped, but as with any favorable tides c h a r t s s h o w , it never m a t e r i a l i z e d . I'm always amazed that something that has been demonstrated so often still has the power to disappoint me. There was a moment of excitement just before we r e a c h e d the H a r t s t e n e Island bridge. A n o t h e r boat was approaching under oars. In seven years of rowing, we've only met another rowboat four times and twice it was Bryce Woods. This time it was two nine year old boys out fishing in a converted El Toro. It looked like the fish were safe.

At the head of Squaxin Island, we finally found a tide on the water that corresponded with a tide on the chart: strong, predictable, right where it should be, and of course going the wrong way.

Someone is logging the island just north of the park. Unsettling.

I got out the 200 foot mooring line, purchased specially for offshore mooring. O n e good working definition of a sailor is someone who can't abide the way someone else coiled down a line. Fresh from the chandlery, my new anchor rope looked

like the motor of a rubber band airplane ready for launch. Two hundred feet of line is just too much to keep in order. I don't believe even the Divine Fisherman could keep 200 feet of line clear. By the time we got the whole shebang stretched out on the beach and the kinks taken out we decided to haul the boat up with the tide and leave it where the morning high would float it off.

F r o m o u r c a m p s i t e , about ten miles f r o m Olympia and fourteen from Tacoma, there wasn't a single light on the opposite shore. The Milky Way stretched from horizon to horizon and we spent a goodly time observing it.

South Sound's Relentless Predators That was the night the mosquitoes found me.

I'm someone the mosquito nation regards as a major crop. Deborah is never bitten. She thinks this is really funny and makes jokes about it. I think it's funny too, but not quite as funny as she thinks it is. Even with years of experience as a food source I was impressed by the artistry of Squaxin Island's mosquitoes. One had such an elegant sense of proportion that she was able to nip me on the back of the wrist on just the point my watch stem touches at the end of each stroke.

Imagine. That's more than 3,000 little taps on that mosquito bite in a ten-mile row. It isn't exactly the Death of a Thousand C u t s , but it does its best.

Another musca artiste managed to put the bite on me in one of the creases of my right thumb knuckle where it flexes at the beginning of each stroke. Compared to the teamwork of those two, the Iron Maiden who stabbed through a knee-high Dunlop deck boot and two pairs of bootsocks to tag me just above the anklebone was nothing more than a vicious mugger.

By the time we rowed into Boston Harbor for water, Deborah and I decided that two factors were responsible for the effectiveness of our subjective getaway. First, even though the area we were cruising was poxed with development, one or the other side of our course was still wooded and wild. By ignoring the side with the houses we could feel as remote as if we were rowing in Southeast Alaska. It's much easier than ignoring the telephone. To those who complain that South Sound is half ruined by suburbs, we reply that it's half forested.

C o m i n g around from the southeast end of Hartstene we rowed by an aquaculture experiment. Every half-mile or so a group of young divers in a rag-tag collection of grimy workboats were setting out what looked like grey plastic egg c r a t e s , trying t o i n c r e a s e o y s t e r y i e l d s . T h e Fisheries prof in charge was cruising from ship to ship of his ragamuffin navy in a beautiful Coolidgedesign L a k e U n i o n D r e a m b o a t , typifying the usual relationship of management and labor.

Lord Nelson Never Had These Problems At M c M i c k e n , 11.4 acres of island, we were the only campers. T h e beach is r o u g h , barnaclecovered cobble dotted with r o c k s the size of office desks. It was our first chance to use the legendary C W B Clothesline Reel M o o r i n g , described in these pages by Dave C o x several years ago. Lots of people have talked about this technique and everybody seems to agree that it's a good idea, but the concatenation of circumstances that make it both possible and necessary for a rowboat are few and far between. I rowed out and hunted for a large area free of big rocks that would make a good surface to ground out on. I rigged and dropped the anchor. Returning to shore, we took down the expedition's flag and hoisted an anchor light on our jackstaff. Finally we hauled the boat out onto its station. There were three other boats anchored near the island that night and only ours had an anchor light. It took until next morning to see the rock hidden directly under the stern that would give our boat the posture of a prayerful Muslim when the tide ran out. Oh well.

Rowing for home the next morning, we were surprised when the rocks on the north beach suddenly erupted into a frenzy of spasmodic activity. It was a herd of 25 harbor seals. O n e minute there was only an inert, anonymous collection of lumps and the next minute the whole beach was a frenzy of clumsy, ungainly motion all heading for the safety of the water. Then just as suddenly we were surrounded by a silent flotilla of smoothly-gliding heads that look engagingly like dogs. I might mention that Sound Sound is chockablock with harbor seals. We have had them come up under us and bump our keel, just to attract attention. The same rhythm that produces rowerthought seems to be a powerful seal attractant.

A r r i v i n g a t our V a u g h n B a y l a u n c h p o i n t , Deborah defined the whole secret of a successful subjective getaway: " Y o u have to be away long enough that you feel like you've been away longer and not so long that you thought it would never end." — Charles D o w d •

CALENDAR OF EVENTS Friday, October 16 CWB MONTHLY MEETING 8:00 p.m., CWB Boatshop The amazing adventures of Dick Wagner who spent two months this summer sailing a 25' Phil Bolger sharpie from Juneau to Seattle.

Saturday, October 31 - Saturday, November 7 (Launching November 8.)

BOATBUILDING WORKSHOP 8:30 a.m. - 5:00 p.m., CWB Boatshop Simon Watts, Instructor

to establish a racing fleet and probably retire to Bermuda. In his letter, Rob describes Pussyfoot in glowing terms.

"The boat has been very successful," he crows.

"I have sailed her in quite a variety of conditions including a recent 'long distance' race off Cowichan Bay. In this race she proved faster than any other gaffer, and as fast as some of the modern sloop-rigged dinghies. She points up extremely well. She planes readily on a run. In following seas she has plenty of buoyancy forward and never tends to bury her bow. Sailing with a crew aboard doesn't seem to bother her performance. Sometimes, a little extra weight is helpful. There is

Friday, November 20 CWB MONTHLY MEETING 8:00 p.m., CWB Boatshop

Classic Boats is the same size as Brand X, with large squares to write appointments and important happenings in. It has the same top quality color. If you're a regular Wooden Boat Festival attendee or a steady S H A V I N G S subscriber, a lot of the boats and settings will be familiar. There's the tug Echo, designed and built by the late Al G i l e s . There's Shine, Marty's former Poulsbo boat. There's Mer-na, Marty's current Blanchard Dreamboat. Marty was quick to assure me that the folks at Landmark were the ones who picked the photos and that it was only a coincidence that boats of his showed up at all. I think it says something about the excellence of the art director's taste.

Marty Loken will share photos and stories from his visit this summer to Italy. C o m e and chase away the winter chill through Marty's enchanting photographs of boats with Italian sun shining on them.

WANT TO VOLUNTEER? HERE'S HOW TO PUT YOUR OAR IN

But you can help. The Center has several pairs of oars waiting in the Boathouse rafters. All they need is leathering and several coats of varnish Here's a chance for all the non-woodworkers, n o n - b o a t b u i l d e r s , n o n - m e c h a n i c s , a n d nonriggers among us to do some work on the fleet.

C o m e down any weekend and someone will give you your own boat project!

•

ANOTHER ADDITION TO THE C A T A L O G Paul Gartside must be a very busy man. We've run several of his designs for small gunter-rigged sloops, the kind of wooden boat that goes headto-head with the thousands of plastic daysailers.

N o w he's done one for the cat fanciers among us. if you're one of those folks who believe that on the eighth day G o d created catboats because there hadn't been anything fun to do on the seventh, cast your eyes over this.

Pussyfoot was designed for Rob Denny and his eponymous company, Rob Denny Enterprises, who plans to build them in large enough quantities

This reviewer was a little miffed last year when the 1987 Calendar of Wooden Boats featured a skiff from the Bahamas and a launch from England but not one boat from the West Coast. We bought it anyway of course, caught in the same straits as a professional gambler once seen playing roulette in a notoriously c r o o k e d casino.

"Don't you know this game is rigged?" a friend a s k e d in a w h i s p e r . "I k n o w it's c r o o k e d , " responded the unhappy bettor, "but it's the one wheel in town."

No longer.

In 1988, Landmark Calendar and Marty Loken, World — Class marine photographer and sometime S H A V I N G S editor, are producing the Classic Boat calendar which features boats from this side of the continent. It may seem a tad early to start thinking about 1988, but Marty assures me that not only are all the major calendars ready for distribution, the printers are already setting up for the 1989 editions.

This is a workshop designed for the novice woodworker who has always wanted to build a boat. Simon Watts is dedicated to the notion that anyone who wants to build a boat can. He will guide a group of seven students in construction of a simple scow he calls the "Raggedy-Ann Scow."

C o s t : $400 for C W B members; $425 for nonmembers.

With powerboats, there's always trouble with the engine, with sailboats, there's always trouble with the sails. With rowboats, the trouble, at least at the C W B , seems to be with the oars. It isn't that our rental fleet's oars don't work, it's just that there aren't enough of them. It's been a busy summer at the rental and it's taken its toll on our oar inventory. In an attempt to limit breakage, rental rules don't permit more than a single pair of sculls per boat unless Fleet C o m m o d o r e Ingram (or someone else in charge) knows that he's dealing with experienced pair rowers. We've found that when inexperienced or casual rowers set out with two pairs, they usually return with one rower at the sculls, the other sitting disconsolately in the sternsheets, and oars that look like they'd been used to navigate a Cuisinart.

Special SHAVINGS Review: THE YEAR IN CALENDARS

certainly lots of room for extra people.

"She's easy to row when the wind dies, and she can plane with a 3-horse outboard."

Another reason Paul is such a busy naval architect may be the completeness of his designs.

S H A V I N G S readers, who see only parts of the study plans he sends us, have never seen the notations on the corner of the drawings: 4/25 or 1/18 or 7/22. Those aren't dates, folks. I wonder how many sheets Paul provides in his construction plans... •

FAME, FAME, AIN'T IT WONDERFUL What do the Ballard L o c k s , the Pike Place Public Market, Pioneer Square, and the Center for Wooden Boats have in common?

They were all featured as exciting Seattle destinations in the "Itinerary" section of the Alaska Airlines in-flight magazine. The Center had the lead-off slot with an accompanying photo of some rental fleet sterns in the early am, taken by Marty Loken. The article talks about our Wooden Boat Festival, names several kinds of craft we rent, gives our rates, and generally implies that if you missed the Center, you've missed Seattle.

We're also gaining some grass-roots recognition. A n associate and long-term S H A V I N G S recipient had never seen our boathouse, living as he does in the wilds of San Francisco. Wanting to visit as soon as he hit town, he asked the Seatac cabbie that he wanted to go to the Center.

"The one with the Space Needle or the one with the boats?" asked the driver.

I suppose we can't be too upset that the hackie thought of the Space Needle one first. •

Powerboats predominate, a pleasant change from the usual array of sail. The two exceptions to the general rule are both rowing boats, which I also find nice. My favorite runabout picture is of a 1948 Fairliner Torpedo. It's not just the boat, amazing as the boat is. It's the combination of the boat and owner. In his red LaCoste golf shirt and with a sprinkling of grey at the temples of his slightly thinning hair, he looks like just the sort of responsible boatowner we all respect. He looks grandfatherly and friendly, but I don't get the idea that any grandkids are ever allowed to stand on the seats, certainly never when the boat's away from the pier. He obviously enjoys his boat but he's very emphatic about its not being a toy.

My favorite picture overall is of the steam launch Firefly, moored at the C W B and photographed early one autumn morning. The boathouse is in the background, and the bow of Wawona. The Navy Dinghy has been hauled out for work. The water is so still that every delicate detail of Firefly's pipes and valves is perfectly reflected. Everything is suffused in the pink of the sunrise.

The calendar will be available at area bookstores but it's also down at the boathouse, too.

Buy it there and the C W B gets the profit. Ben Mendlowitz, watch out.

Related events There's also a Marty Loken photo spread in The Yacht, a very tony East Coast magazine. The article was the one that tipped me off that the photo of Firefly was taken in the morning. Marty contends that morning is the time to take marine pictures. The air is clear, the wind is still, and the light has a gentleness it has at no other time of day. He says that most of his pictures are shot before 7:00 am.

It's the price he pays for art. — Chas Dowd

•

21 June 1987 The Editor, S H A V I N G S c/o Center for Wooden Boats 1010 Valley St. Seattle, WA 98109 To the Editor: Suffice it to say I was taken aback when I read your article "A Lake Union Maritime Heritage P a r k " in your J u l y / A u g u s t 87 issue of SHAVINGS. In p a r t i c u l a r t h e s t a t e m e n t innocently nested in the second paragraph which reads in part " . . .the Navy has said it will move as soon as the city has a definite p l a n . . . " . Speaking as the Commanding Officer of Naval Reserve Center, Seattle and the local representative on behalf of the Navy's interest in the city's South Lake Union project, I would like to say that your statement is not only factually unfounded but also grossly misleading.

The Naval Reserve is firmly committed to its Lake Union facilities and property. In fact they have recently invested nearly a million dollars to its upkeep and repair. In addition, the Naval Reserve looks to increase the size and scope of training to be conducted on site beginning in the near term. While it is true the Chief of Naval Reserve has offered to take under consideration a serious proposal from the city compensating the Naval Reserve with comparable facilities and properties available for immediate o c c u p a n c y should the city planners wish to pursue that o p t i o n . T o d a t e , n o s u c h p r o p o s a l has been tendered.

U n t i l s u c h an offer is m a d e , I respectfully submit that your implication is at best extremely premature and, at worst, overly optimistic not to mention controversial. The Naval Reserve has always been a good neighbor and sponsor of community events at Lake Union. It is unfair to us and the community at large to suggest that the Naval Reserve is willing to "just walk away" from our commitment here in the Greater Seattle area.

Sincerely, (signed) M. C. WHITE Captain, U.S. Naval Reserve Commanding Officer We stand corrected. — Dick Wagner, Director

Tools for toy boatbuilding — Hardwick's Swap Shop Glue for toy boatbuilding — T & A Supply C o .

3 Band Concerts — Seattle Summer Concert Band 1 Band Concert — U. S. Navy Videotape — Brian Toss Books — Jim Feltrup, C h a s D o w d , Joseph Catell-Roberts, Phil Thiel, Dick Wagner, Newport Sailing Foundation Special thanks for over 70 nautical books donated by Dan Warner on the occasion of his move from a house to a boat.

CLASSIFIED ADVERTISING FOR SALE: Classic Wood Sailboat 'Sea Bird Yawl,' built 1935, excellent condition, 30' x 26' x 8-1/2' x 4'. See Wooden Boat Magazine #43 & #44. The nicest seabird in the N.W. Only $8900. Call Dale at 784-8475. Seagull O.B., D.S., Dinghy, trophy winner!

WOODEN BOATS FOR SALE Unbelievably cheap prices! All fixer-uppers, great family projects, where is, as is. Center for Wooden Boats, 1010 Valley St.. Seattle. 382-2628.

Boats Asking Price 15-1/2', Plank on frame canoe $ 35.00 18' Motor launch w/trailer 350.00 16' Monk-design sailboat w/trailer 450.00 30' Buchan sailboat 3000.00 EVERYTHING MUST G O ! MAKE US AN OFFER!!!

WOOD HALF MODELS. Scale handcarving of your boat, beautifully mounted. Unique gift for the yachtsman. From $123.00. Call Andy Erickson, 206-842-2232 or write Box 10856, Bainbridge Island, WA 98110.

FOR SALE - 28' Grandy Flybridge Sedan Bristol $28,500. 746-9401.

Many thanks for these recent donations: 30' Dragon sloop — Kathy Bradner 18' Chamberlain Gunning Dory — Jonathan Laye 25' Cat-yawl Sharpie — K e n and Beth Melville 30' Buchan sloop — Larry Nefzger 16' Petersburg canoe — Gary Nelson 8' Thailand Sampoa — John M. Watkins 1935 Geary 18' — Scott Lufkin 18th Century Galleon model — Andrew Miller Refrigerator — George Corley Drill Press — D o n Jovac 30' Youngquist cabin cruiser — Terry Cupples & King County Harbor Police Decking for C W B Pavilion — Lake Union Host Committee Grading and Paving — Washington Natural G a s C o . & Lakeside Industries Sandpaper — The Norton C o .

Salish Canoe — Earl Cahill Set of sails for Hampton Onedesign — Barney Abrams Model Display stand, trophy display stand & set of drawers for boatshop — George Levin

L A K E UNION D R E A M B O A T - I N F O R M A T I O N WANTED. Histories, tall tales, photos, plans, etc., wanted on Blanchard 32's and 36's, Lake Union Dream boats, and related boats for article in progress. Call Corrine Anderson, 467-9610.

FOR SALE: 1928 26-foot double ender. Original 6.8 hp Easthope. Runs excellent. Alaskan yellow cedar on oak, no rot. Completely rebuilt. $5,500. Todd Powell, 839 4405.

FOR SALE: Contractor wholesale prices: Clear Alaska Yellow Cedar up to 20 ft; Baltic Birch Ply; Hardwood lumber. Gary, 883-2466 or msg: 827 7782.

FOR SALE $6,000 1936 Blanchard Senior Knockabout (B-6), 26 ft. Restored 1980, surveyed 1981, excellent condition. Manual bilge pump, 3 sails, stereo, Seagull Century Plus and Honda BF-75. Hull and topsides repainted 1986. Call Tom Gillette, (w) 621-1950, (h) 285-7886.

C O N G R A T U L A T I O N S . C W B o n another growth year. We are representatives for Cruise Aire heat pumps, sales and service. Packaged systems for any size boat. Allen Commercial Refrigeration. Neil Allen - 206-932-0198, or 206932-4671.

WHY WE COULDN'T HAVE PICKED A BETTER LOCATION We always have some serious and significant answer ready whenever a visitor asks, " W h y are you guys on L a k e U n i o n ? " We talk about "a

Walking and rowing along the shore this summer, we found these little examples.

Have you ever seen a saltier bench? The ends are a boom jaw and a gaff jaw from some forgotten schooner. Sit here for a few minutes and you can hear the sea, just like holding a seashell to your ear.

These deck cleats are a lot more reminiscent of the Venice of the Doges than the Seattle of the Seahawks. But they're on the porch of a very modest houseboat, not a palace.

logged floats. This houseboater developed a floating garden. L o o k close for the waterfalls, the sculpture, and the ducks.

Here's a unique variation on the idea of a mailboat. I'd like to see an accompanying sampan to take care of the junk mail... — Chas Dowd •

working lakefront" or "significance in Seattle's maritime development." Sometimes we mention the Indian canoes that used to beach here or the windjammers that used to wait along the shore, hunting just one more cargo before the trip to Richmond Beach and the shipbreaker's.

But there's another side to the Lake, one that harmonizes with our slightly different view of the world. Along with our serious side, we occasionally have an attack of the whimsies and the Lake is always ready to give us its unique support.

Most people with houseboats trade the worries of yard work for a preoccupation with water-