I built a swift little rowboat. And an absurd number of people who see it ask “Are you going to do the Seventy48?” a human powered boat race from Tacoma to Port Townsend, covering 70 miles, with a 48 hour limit, with winners under 10 hours.

No, I answer, it’s cool, but not my thing. I prefer to leisurely explore a coastline, go with the flow, take long walks in wooded trails, do photography, and be easier on the bod.

So that is just what I did, and what a wonderful time I had. In May of 2026 my wife dropped me off near Shelton WA, on the southwest end of the Puget Sound, and I set off in my newly built boat, packed with 10 days worth of camping gear and grub.

My intention was to row all the way back to Port Townsend. But a small craft warning of high winds, right when I was going to transit a notoriously nasty spot of water, prompted me to end the trip a few days earlier at a friend’s beach house in Poulsbo, which ended up being perfect.

Table Of Contents

Good Little Boat
Nights 1 & 2 – Hope Island Marine Park
Navigating Tides & Currents
Nights 3 & 4 – Penrose Point State Park
Lower High Tide?
Night 5 – Lisabeula Park
Nights 6 & 7 – Blake Island
Day 8 – Poulsbo
Thoughts On The New Boat

A Good Little Boat Lets You Hear A New Song Of Nature

Friends and family rib me when I get or build a new boat, as though it's a self-destructive addiction. They don't really understand what the experience of a new boat means to me. I love exploring in beautiful little craft. But it is how the world sings through them to me, that is their true delight. Plying the waters in a good little boat is like growing an extra sensory organ through which new symphonies of the natural world are revealed, and not just any tunes, songs that make my heart soar and sooth tempests. Is it any wonder that a new little boat gets my heart racing?

Dingy sized sailboats are particularly good at this. Sail cupping wind high in the bright, centerboard and rudder spreading ocean deep, hands listening to sheet and tiller, with a quiet but attentive mind; there is a new perception, wind uncomfortable, restrained, pressing, ocean parted into currents unusual, resisting, both plying to and fro in curious harmonic argument, this fresh music of sea, wind and self, evidenced through the surge, pull, roll, whistle and groan of this good little boat.

And here I find myself in this extraordinary new boat for over a week, a rowing craft like no other. A boat I dreamed about, drew, swore at and labored over. A fine instrument for singing of currents, wind, wake, and sore muscle. What will it be like? Will all of my design ideas work out?

Nights 1 & 2 – Hope Island Marine Park – 5 Mile Row

I started at Latimer’s Landing, a public boat ramp right next to the bridge to Harstine Island, on Pickering Passage. Before launching the water currents were ripping north at a few miles per hour, leaving a hole of water behind the bridge pillars. Unnerving, since I planned on rowing south about five miles, to Hope Island. My divining of the water oracles said the ocean would change its mind soon. And sure enough, with boat packed and ready to set out, the current slowed to almost still.

Then a wind from the south picked up, making the five mile row to Hope Island a bit of a long slog, although a very enjoyable one, with eagles and osprey soaring overhead. Harbor seals popped their heads up all around, curious I imagine about what this yellow water bug was, splashing above them; although they are color blind. The temperature was in the lower 70s. Perfect. The last time I was here in May the temperature was in the 90s.

I kept clipping the wave tops with my new oars, splashing myself, but it did not matter, as I dried quickly. I was still getting used to the pinned oarlocks on these new oars. This type of oarlock stays attached in place on the oar, captured with a pin through the shaft, as compared to an oarlock that is loose around the shaft.

The main disadvantage of the pinned oarlock is that you can’t rotate the blade angle, a process called feathering, to allow it to move easier through the wind and wave tops on the return stroke. So they are generally disdained here on the left coast. But they are the superior choice for this boat, for a few good reasons. In fact Adirondack Guideboat oars (the design origins of my boat) are very unique compared to the oars for all other craft, much like the boat itself.

Oars are to a good rowboat what a fine bow is to a premium violin, essential for coaxing the best tone out of the instrument. I had two pairs with me. One set shorter and stiffer, for upwind work. The other set longer and more flexible for downwind.

Hope Island Marine State Park is a little treasure. I almost want to lie to you about it, to keep you away, to hoard it for my future use, to tell you it is rife with rude noisy campers, aggressive raccoons and boredom. But I can’t. I love it, particularly on a weekday, early in the season, when there are only a couple of other campers and one ranger on the island.

I did not see a raccoon on the island, which was dang odd. Another camper who had visited the last 14 years in a row said he normally has 50 sightings of them, and also had not found them. He arrived by canoe with all his camping gear, son, and a giant steel cylinder that he was using to support the hole while he dug Geoducks. He did see signs of a big cat on the island, prints in the sand, big hair filled scat, as did I, which had me looking over my shoulder a bit on the trail.

Then again, maybe a disease had hit them, because nearly every campground on this trip had a reputation of aggressive raccoons, and I did not see one. Which was oddly annoying, because just before leaving I had spent a small fortune on three bear proof canisters for my food, to keep these intelligent, greedy handed, mini-bear trash pandas out of my food. Bear Vault. All they did was make it really hard for me to get at my food. Should be called Human Vault. Those frustrating lids took some figuring and lube.

Hope Island is not big, but what I enjoy most about it are the forests, and the lovely trail that winds around it. The island hints of a better past, with some truly giant old growth trees still present, and lovely groves of newer growth to enjoy as well, blanketed in Vanilla Leaf ground cover wearing necklaces of orangish-red fir tree pollen cones.

The Ranger Station cabin sits in a little clearing, with a windmill powered well, solar panels, small gardens, and an heirloom apple orchard. I salivated at the thought of living there.

Giant old growth trees hold such a majesty and weight of presence, that I feel very young and small among them. Have we cut them all down in part because they make plain our insignificance in stature and time? I find it inconceivable to cut one of these giants down. I am too awed by them, too reverent. A hypocrisy. Building our home I have cut down many of their children, chainsawed them all up, burned them in the wood stove of my workshop, while building boats out of marine plywood made from other ancient giants from rain forests afar.

Uptight Douglas Fir trees grow so straight, and hold such a consistent diameter high into the air, that they must be a lumberman’s dream. Our local Douglas Fir is a wonderful strong wood for building, and decent firewood also.

Old growth Western Red Cedar giants have more of a gradual taper from the base of their trunks to the top, a long slender cone that is mirrored in their canopy. The ancient ones appear clad in great grey beards, their silver bark. The wood is very lightweight but still fairly strong, coveted for planks of fleet craft, and favored for dugout canoes by natives.

Big Leaf Maple likes to start out with a big central trunk, often knurled with burls, which quickly branch off into several major limbs supporting a broad canopy of big green leaves, which I find rather magical to look up into from the gifted shade below.

Madrona trees were also common this trip. Crooked in nature, never growing straight, so full of twisted muscle, they are safe from the lumberman, laugh at the axe. They sidle up to other trees and sneak through to steal sun. Snake-like, they shed their papery skin revealing smooth red bark. Add drug dealer to their rap sheet. I watched a bee wrapped around a fallen Madrona flower on the beach, rolling around frantically in the sand in some form of ecstatic high.

The shorelines of Hope Island were rife with mysterious beach logs.

Hope Island is not perfect. Just across the water to the south is a hillside barnacled in homes, Carylon Beach, which should be renamed Noiseville; barking dogs, cars, generators, people yelling at each other. Tiny Steamboat Island, also just to the southwest has a certain charm, a turtle back ferrying as many homes as it can, the current rushing around it so swift it sounded like a roaring river in my tent in the middle of the night.

Close across the water to the northeast lies Squaxin Island, part of a native reservation. An entire island with no visible development. Natural coastlines, trees and quiet. Well, the eagles are not so quiet, screaming at crows pestering them.

Sitting in the middle of time on Hope Island, the future to the south; the Squaxin tribe have the right of it.

I had originally planned on breaking camp almost every day, rowing and visiting a new campground each night. But I had a very strong desire to stay another night on Hope Island. It was so peaceful, the temperatures perfect, the mosquitoes lazy, the air so fresh with a hint of marine brine charming it up.

So I spent another night, and followed that pattern as often as I could for the rest of the trip, rowing a bit further between campsites. The no-travel days allowed me to recover from the rowing effort, and gave me time to explore and do some photography. I had brought along a new camera, with over 600 settings to learn, and was having a great time with it. An added benefit to changing my travel plan was leaving a number of parks unvisited, to explore in the future.

Navigating Tides & Currents & Wind
Each night I camped at islands and shoreline parks along the Cascadia Marine Trail, rowing between. The satellite view might fool you into thinking this is like easily crossing some lakes. But the Puget Sound is more akin to an ornery river with a split personality that can't make up their minds which way to flow.

My trip began during a new moon, when it gangs up with the sun to create extra high and low tides. From a high tide of 14.5 feet, the water would drop to a negative 4 foot, a vertical change of 18.5 feet. This colossal amount of water leaves and returns through the shallow and narrow channels of South Sound, creating rivers of water flowing two to five miles per hour in narrower areas. My boat, loaded up as it was, cruises at 3.75 mph. That is fast compared to some. But against a moderate current I could be working hard and sitting still.

As much as possible, I enjoy harmonizing with the current flows, participating flotsam. That's my nature. Some enjoy pitting themselves against wind and water, proving their strength. No matter how you float your boat, there are things to learn, songs to be heard.

It's easy to know exact high and low tide times for each area. But the currents are not so easy to predict. Some channels nearly always only flow north, in rising and dropping tides, which is weird. Sometimes there will be a current going one way on one side of a channel, and the opposite just across the way. And current directions and speeds don't line up with high and low tides like I might think. There are delays, complexities. Local knowledge is king. Some apps and websites help in the daily planning.

I was also watching wind forecasts, with careful attention paid to any that might blow against the current direction. That can build up nasty big waves that might be dangerous for a small craft.

Night 3 & 4 – Penrose Point State Park – 18 Mile Row

I left Hope Island early in the morning. I could have stayed later and had a stronger current going with me. But Penrose Point State Park was my next destination, and Mayo Cove, fronting the park, is very shallow, and on negative tides there would be a long stretch of shoreline that I would have to haul my boat up, so I wanted to beat the lowest tide.

Besides, I love early mornings on the water. The winds are normally light. Marine life is active. Humans and their noisy wave machines are nearly all abed. The world and I have each other.

There was a little breeze blowing up out of Eld & Budd Inlets from the south, as I rounded the southern ends of Squaxin and Harstine Islands. I entered Dana Passage, a place that can be bumpy from strong currents, to find it calm, the water flowing my way. I cut diagonally across Dana to Johnson Point, passing the entrance to Henderson Inlet to the south. Johnson Point had a powerful current moving past it, but just around its tip to the east I took a break, captured in an eddy. Next I crossed Nisqually Reach heading for Devil’s Head, crabbing my course northerly because of currents pushing me south.

After a short break on the beach at Devil’s Head, stretching my legs and expelling the morning coffee, I continued on north toward Pitt Passage, another narrow and strongly currented choke point. Along the way I really wanted to duck into Filucy Bay, to explore the nature preserve at the head, but the rowing miles were adding up enough that day. As the current swiftly drew me past the little speck of an island in the middle of Pitt Passage, I was surprised to see a sign on it saying keep off, penitentiary island. Must be a penitentiary for one. I found out that it is associated with McNeil Island to the east, which has a long sordid history as a prison island, its shores off limits with warnings not to pick up swimmers.

All and all it was an enjoyable row, but long, covering 18 miles. And when I arrived at Penrose I still had to haul my boat up 1,000 feet of tidal flat. This trick requires inflatable beach rollers and labor, getting the boat up on the tubes, and pushing it up the shore while keeping it running straight. As one roller at a time exits out the back, I run around and get it started again in the front, over and over. I would like to have first emptied the boat of all gear weight, but could not face all the extra distance walked, ferrying gear bags. I was well and tuckered out that evening.

Penrose has a single campsite for those arriving by human powered watercraft, very close to the beach. There is a larger campground further within the park. But after the day visitors left, I had the entire north end of the park to myself in the evenings. It was very quiet.

However, I was ripped from a deep sleep on the first night by a stupendously loud noise that was shaking the ground. My lizard brain explained that there had been an earthquake and a tsunami was coming. Reasonable. I came to peace with my end.

Then the noise and vibration became less, and I realized it was a huge military helicopter that had come close, and did twice more during the night. In the morning I talked to a park ranger. He said it is common. His own old house is often shaking under the assault in the middle of the night.

You know who else are noisy? Birds, singing in the first signs of light at 4:30 am. I was rediscovering how little noise insulation tents offer. At Hope Island there was another camper, who’s tent I had not thought was very close, rotating all night on a camping pad apparently constructed of full bags of potato chips. I returned fire with the loudest old man farts I dared risk.

Penrose has some nice forest trails to walk.

Penrose has a small boat dock tucked around the west shore, in a little protected area of Mayo Cove that nearly all goes to mud during a negative tide.

In the same part of the bay is the old Lakebay Marina building, which has been closed for awhile, its docks removed. The State and the Recreational Boaters Association of Washington bought it and began restorations. In the process of cleanup they found a massive volume of contaminated soil from a buried fuel tank, which stalled some progress. Below you can see an expression of tide height changes in the cove.

Penrose has natural feature surprise that I loved. Jutting out into the middle of the bay is a ridge that drops in height so evenly that a trail atop it is almost magically revealed, inch by inch, as the tide drops. I walked out slowly, following the water retreat, the trail revealed, and by the end I was 2,230 feet into the previously water covered bay.

Shorelines being exposed during a low tide are not at all unusual around here. But this trail reveal was like a water clock of natural art, expressing the movement of the moon, Earth, sun and tides at human scale. It is superb.

High Tide & Lower High Tide? What?
This place had me thinking more about tides. We get two high tides a day and two low. The second highs and lows are normally of smaller magnitude. The high high makes sense. The gravity of the moon (and also the sun) bulges the water out closest to the moon (high tide), and flattens out on the sides of the Earth (low tide). 

But why is the second high tide not as high? The lower high tide, is another lesser bulge of water out away from the Earth, but on the opposite side of the world as the moon, yet still caused by the gravity of the moon. What? How?

That's a brain twister to understand. Tidal Force is caused not just by gravity, but graduations in gravity strength around the world. Gravity has less force on masses that are further away. The water on the opposite side of the earth appears to bulge away from the moon, but really it is just being pulled toward the moon at a slower rate of speed than the rest of the earth, almost as though being drug behind. This produces a smaller bulge, hence a lower high tide.

Even other planets have tidal influence. The layout of the shoreline also greatly influences the timing and height of the tidal changes.

Watch the tide come and go sometime. You are witnessing our world and moon and sun hurling around each other and sloshing shit around! It's a marvel!

Out at the end of the tidal trail, trying not to get squirted by startled clams, I found what from afar looked like logs balancing on rocks, but it turned out to be resting seals.

I stayed two nights, and took a number of pictures in different lighting.

Night 5 – Lisabeula Park, Vashon – Via Tacoma Narrows – 20 Mile Row

I left Penrose early in the morning, with much more ease at high water. On this day I would be going through Tacoma Narrows. I was nervous because many years ago my wife and I were heading north through the narrows on a funky liveaboard motorboat. We had been living in Mud Bay at anchor while she attended Evergreen College.

I must have been dumb and came through when there was a strong current against a big headwind, and got our asses handed to us in some of the tallest, close-set waves I have ever experienced. We were taking lots of water over the bow, getting tossed all over the place and overall it was pretty miserable. And then our old motor decided it was hot enough and froze up, right in the middle of it. Obviously we survived, but were left scarred by this place.

Watch this video, that models the current flows through the narrows. All the water in south Puget Sound passes through this restricted channel; a lot of water, pumping through a very narrow place, at hard angles.

I planned this trip such that the current speeds would be low when I was going through the narrows, and going with me.

I had a lovely row across Carr Inlet to the northern tip of Fox Island, seeing many Dall’s Porpoise, seals and waterfowl along the way. There was no wind in the forecast. So I figured the narrows would be calm. But I still wondered if I should get my drysuit on. I talked to a local fishermen at the head of Fox Island, asking what I might expect, and he confirmed what I thought. It was going to be like floating a calm river. I continued on through Hale Passage and into the narrows.

And it was calm. I hardly had to touch the oars, and enjoyed the ride, effortlessly heading north at two or three miles an hour, firing off a few quick pictures under the bridges as I whizzed by. The only bumps in the road came from boat wake. A number of big motor boats were bucking the tide, and thought they could find an eddy of opposite current close to shore, which was right where I was, heading the opposite direction. There was no eddy. Fortunately my boat is intentionally bright and easy to see on the water, and I had the VHF radio handy to communicate more verbally if they came too close.

One of these bridges was built in 1950, the second in 2002. But there was an earlier bridge built in 1940, that was soon after known as Galloping Gertie, for its propensity to start violently twisting and jumping around when windy. Failing to fix the issue, just a few months later it collapsed. It’s remarkable to watch.

Exiting the narrows, even Point Defiance was devoid of the normal lumps and bumps of tidal chop. I was afforded a nice view of Mount Rainer just the other side of the narrows.

I continued heading north up the inside of Colvos Passage, which is one of those weird places in Puget Sound where the current mostly runs north, no matter a rising or dropping tide. Toward the end of my row a light headwind developed. But I was making good time. I put in ear buds, listening to good music to help with the work and distract from sore butt bones.

There was a big sailboat heading north with me, tacking back and forth across the channel. I imagine they were slightly surprised that I was holding steady with them over a number of miles, rowing directly upwind so covering less ground, tapping my foot and singing along to the tunes. By the time I made it to Lisabeula Park, midway up Vashon Island, I was wrecked. 20 Miles was another long row, even with the current.

Lisabeula is a nice little park, but small. You can only camp one night, by reservation. There is no drinking water, but there are porta-potties. There are some nice big trees in a deep valley behind the park, but really there is not much walking to be had, with private property all around. I was still very grateful for the resting spot.

Here I had a good conversation with a couple of young lads who grew up on Vashon. One of them had recently completed hiking 1,000 miles of the Camino de Santiago trail from Portugal to Spain, which sounds pretty damn fun. Every night he slept in a hostel. There is food available all along. So you have just a small day hiking sized pack. From them I also learned that Vashon Island is one of the best birding spots in WA.

I would like to explore Vashon more. Really this entire trip was reminding me of what a special place it is we live, and how many little islands and parks I have yet to explore.

Night 6 & 7 – Blake Island – 10 Mile Row

Once again I broke camp at the crack of dawn. My next destination was Blake Island. And I would be there at the beginning of Memorial Day weekend. Bad timing, but unavoidable. I was worried that I would not find a campsite unless I arrived as early as possible.

I had gorgeous light in the morning, no wind and a current running with me. I should have felt great. But something was off. I kept rowing into things, little logs and mooring balls, and had other near misses. I have never had a rowing mirror before this boat. And in these light conditions I could not see well enough with the mirror to trust it. If I ride up on a floating log I could capsize. And over the journey I had also noted that my eye was nearly always frozen to the mirror while rowing, which is frankly a crappy little thing to look at when the horizon is full of beautiful scenery.

So, much like my social media accounts, I took it down, and felt instant relief. Suddenly my view astern was no longer split. That damned thing had been fissioning my soul. I starting enjoying the scenery, and returned to a very natural panning of my view from left to right, back and forth, utilizing my peripheral vision. It felt great. I returned to twisting around regularly to get real eyes on the course and heading. That twisting is good for this slightly aging body. I realized I hate that mirror and doubt I will ever use it again. Good, one less thing. Next I might move my seat a bit to stern, let my feet push on the rear bulkhead, and tear out all that foot brace stuff. Other users with different length legs be-damned.

A kayaking friend of mine is bemused by my love of rowing, enjoying the view behind, using where I have been to keep lined up with where I want to go next, rowing merrily, blindly, into the future. Isn’t that life?

After sorting my mirror issues, the rest of my row to Blake Island was quick and enjoyable, with a short delay waiting for one of the Southworth catamaran fast ferries to leave the dock, heading for Fauntleroy.

Blake is a mixed place. I enjoy the beaches and forests, with miles of trails. There are some nice big trees on this island. But it is close to a number of cities on both sides, is easy to boat to, and so attracts a lot of both campers and day users. There is also a lot of marine traffic and WA State Ferries cruising around it. So the campgrounds are a bit loud and busy. The island is bustling, so I would prefer to visit it on the shoulder seasons, or weekdays at least.

But I made the best of it, walked just about every trail on the island, finding the Tillicum Village facilities closed up, apparently a causality of COVID.

Despite my internal complaints about all the people and boats I sure was chatting it up. At the seedy little marina I talked with the owners of a nice big wood motorboat, recognizing one of my favorite designers, Sam Devlin. They commonly have the craft in the Wooden Boat Festival in my home town, so I surely had seen it before.

I also made a new boating friend who arrived by paddle board and camped next to me. We had some good talks, and it was nice to see someone else out camp cruising in such a minimalist way. We were not alone in this. There was also a small group of kayakers camped in the Water Trail sites. I had splurged on an expensive campsite with a better beach and some shade.

There were many nurse stumps around the island, old giants giving life to new.

Despite all the boats and people around the island, there is still a decent amount of wildlife. Canada Geese seem to love the place, and there were many cute little goslings, as well as many other birds and seals.

In truth I prefer to be on the water alone, in wilderness, with few to no other boats. But that is a very rare thing. Of course I enjoy boat trips with friends as well. If it is a small group. But there is a different quality of intimacy, awareness, and connection with the natural world when alone, so most often I am alone.

Photography also works better alone. I make a poor walking partner with camera in hand, stumbling along slowly, looking at everything while trying to see nothing; light, color, line, shape and feeling.

Once again, beach logs were compelling at Blake.

And other beautiful little things.

When the sun was low, it would reflect off the water, up under the tree canopy along the shoreline, lighting up some beautiful green growth on the rocks.

Day 8 – Poulsbo 10 Mile Row 4.5 Miles Sailed

As mentioned, originally my plan was to row back to Port Townsend. North from Blake Island, the route becomes less enjoyable and more dangerous, with more open water, ferries to dodge and big ship wake. And there would be a stretch between campsites requiring a 26 mile row, around one of the most dangerous spots for a small boat along the way, aptly named Foulweather Bluff, where the Hood Canal branches off and the ocean gets all bunched up, indecisive and pissy, particularly with the high winds forecast. After that I would be in home territory, that I have rowed and sailed in most often.

The thin attraction to finishing the trip that way would be for bragging rights, to say I had rowed the entire distance, which I just didn’t care about. So I let the strong winds of tomorrow blow me the way I really wanted to go today.

As was the pattern, to catch the tide, I left Blake Island fairly early, around 7am, which meant I was up at 5:30 am for breakfast, broke camp, got the boat down to the waterline, hauled my gear down and packed it, and hauled my body to the toilet to unpack it. I was headed for Rich Passage, a tight curving blind alley that is narrow and full of current, that the Bremerton to Seattle ferry runs through.

Washington State Ferries are deceptively fast, and sneaky. At first glance, they seem far away, uninterested, look back and suddenly they are pouncing, great metal hunting cats. So I edged up to the shipping lane just north of Blake Island, where I had decent visual range, to see if any ferries were on the stalk, and quickly rowed across. Then I hugged the south end of Bainbridge Island west through Rich Passage.

Along the way I came across Orchard Rocks Conservation Area, just covered in resting seals and immature eagles. You are required to keep out of a 400 yard circle around this rock. I drifted by, riding a slow current, and took some pictures.

Once I rounded Point White and was able to head north again up Port Orchard Passage, a nice little southern breeze picked up, and I put up my downwind sail for the first time of this trip. I have an extra oarlock socket further back on the boat that I can hang an oar off, turning it into a rudder.

If you are a sailor, you know the immediate sense of peace when the motor is turned off, and you are fully under sail, particularly downwind. I was surprised to find a similar feeling when taking a break from the oars. Turned around, sitting on the boat bottom with my back supported by the rear bulkhead, sailing easily along at a couple of miles an hour, it was a great pleasure. I sailed about 4.5 miles up to Battle Point.

It was still Memorial Day weekend, people were waking up and getting out on the water, and I was rather suddenly surrounded by a large number of big white wave machines, coming and going from Poulsbo, Agate Passage and from where I had just come. I dropped sail and returned to the oars for more control of the boat. The entire surface of this large bay was being turned into a turbulent washing machine. I was becoming a connoisseur of power boat wake.

Give me ferry wake any day of the week compared to this, which are like little gentle ocean swells. Our local ferries seem to part and close the water efficiently.

I was very pleased to find that this little boat was handling it all like a champion. Only once did I nose into a set of waves that were steep enough that they gave me concern. Otherwise this nicely rounded hull was not bothered by waves from any quarter. The lively little cork never took on a drop.

At one point I heard one big power boater hailing another on Channel 16, saying they were changing course because they said, in what sounded like shock, “there is a little row boat out here!” I got on the radio and thanked them. They replied with a toot of the horn and a wave out the window.

I was lilliputian, the only small boat on the water, let alone one under human or even wind power. The contrast was ludicrous. Only a very short time ago in human history we all got around on coastal waterways like I was doing. It’s so easy and fun.

I arrived by about noon at my friend’s beach house. And it is a beach house in the truest sense. It was handmade by a distant grandfather, and somehow held and shared by a large family group for over a century for all to enjoy. It is small, and very rustic, its dirt driveway a winding maze between giant old growth fir and cedar. It is a place of endless memories for this family, memorials, weddings, parties and quiet times of relaxation; for myself as well. Only in recent years was it even insulated and dry-walled inside. Most of my life I recall it being bare studs, filled with cobwebs, dark inside, sleeping in the cold until you got the fireplace going. From the water it is so obviously a thing of the past, with big modern homes along the shore all around.

I have visited and played on the water here countless times in the last 40 years, and always desired to arrive by boat. After 70 miles covered, rich in experience, what a satisfying and apropos place to end my trip.

Thoughts On The New Boat (and maybe another???)

I am immensely pleased with the boat. It handled everything so well. I was not in good rowing shape. But I completed a 70 mile trip in so much ease, with so little drama, that I almost cannot fathom it. I did not even get a hand blister, just one little hot spot. I will change very little on the boat. Maybe I will make another set of oars, if I can find the right wood.

I mostly credit the success of this trip to the highly refined lines of this craft, so efficient and well tuned to the water, by a master designer from a century before, and am so grateful to my friends Rob & Allison for gifting me with its lines. And I must take a little credit. My own additions and modifications to the design gave me a great feeling of safety, and did not seem to detract from the boat’s performance at all. And I really like the looks of it. I expect to keep this one for a long time, exploring in it, listening to its songs of the ocean.

And now, you can all chuckle heartily at my expense and then go choke on it. On this trip I started thinking about building a smaller guideboat, in skin-on-frame construction, maybe 13′ in length, that could use the same oars, but would only weigh around 35 lbs. For day trip explorations it would be much easier to get up and down a beach.

More to come….

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It was a multi-year project, acquiring and drying wood, designing and building, and making new boat friends along the way.

Below you can learn the inspiration and requirements of this boat and see how I built it.

Where Did The Desire For This Rowboat Come From?

Nearly every day I walk from my house to a bluff with a view across the Strait of Juan De Fuca. To the north the San Juan Islands, to the east Whidbey Island with Mount Baker in the background, and five miles out to the west Protection Island and Discovery Bay.

During the calmer summer months I started getting a strong desire for a capable little rowboat that I could throw on a bicycle trailer, peddle my ass down to North Beach, and launch for some explorations along the shoreline of the strait. Once in good rowing shape, I could see circumnavigating Protection Island, a 20 mile row from North beach, and exploring Discovery Bay.

This is not a piece of water to take lightly though. It is big, with strong tidal currents; treacherous for even big boats in bad weather. I see folks in little boats and paddle boards out here, with seemingly little safety gear, but that is not me. To even consider it I wanted a rowboat capable of handling some waves, and with a turn of speed to overcome currents and wind, positive buoyancy for self recovery, with room enough for some safety gear and foul weather clothing. I also need to be able to carry it over some parking lot barriers to launch.

It also needs to be easily car-toppable, to access other local waters that don’t have trailer launch ramps for my other boats. Often it will hitch a ride on the cabin top of my Lavro Power Dory, with which I can quickly cross the strait heading north, or zip south to remoter areas of the Puget Sound. Once at a destination the dory becomes an anchored cabin, and the rowboat will be used for more intimate explorations.

It rowboat will also be used for multi-night camp cruising trips in the Salish and local lakes.

My Rowboat Requirements:

1. A fast design proven to be capable of handling some coastal ocean conditions, waves and currents
2. Significant volume of positive buoyancy chambers for self recovery
3. Very lightweight, hopefully 65lbs or less, 16′ in length or less, and 40″ beam or less
4. Fixed seat rowing
5. It must be pretty
6. Good load carrying capability for some camping trips
7. Small downwind sail, but no foils
8. Highly visible paint scheme

And I am pleased to say that I just about achieved everything on that list, except the weight. It ended up being 79 lbs. A bit heavy for portaging on my shoulders. I made some weight compromises for durability, appearance and ease of construction. But it is still remarkably lightweight for a 16′ rowboat with big decks and buoyancy chambers.

With the changes I was most worried about flattening the sheerline too much. But I am very pleased with how it looks. I tapered the outer gunnel height, reducing it as it reaches the ends, to convey a little more spring to the sheerline.

The combination seat back/portage yoke was very complex to figure out and build, out of carbon fiber, paulownia wood, and a very thin G10 fiberglass plate for the back. I would not use those materials again. And although it works, and the balance on my shoulders is good, I don’t think I will ever use it because of the boat weight, at nearly 80 lbs. It is likely I will remove the pads and supports, and just glue the seat into place on the boat. Simpler, and lighter and stronger.

To use it, I turn the seat around, and move it aft. A couple of little legs fold down on the sides to transfer the load to the seat.

I did some simple buoyancy and capsize recovery tests on a calm day in Mystery Bay. Initially I was standing next to the boat in my drysuit in shallow water. I had a hard time pressing the rail underwater. So I sat on the gunnel. And just kept sitting there. It was not going to go further without effort. I had to work a bit to pull it all the way over. Flipping it back upright was effortless even when swimming next to the boat.

Re-entering was easy from a swimming position. I did this several times. The amount of water inside was not too bad, and it floated with a lot of freeboard. In waves, with water sloshing inside, this entire process would be much more challenging. When I have a safety boat present I will test that in the future. But with a load of camping gear and drybags strapped into the cockpit with me, there will be less water inside, and less of the sloshing effect. The boat is also much more stable and difficult to capsize with a load of camping gear inside.

This combination of buoyancy chambers and a drysuit gave me a good bit of confidence in voyaging in this boat.

Choosing A Lightweight & Capable Rowboat Design

After a very thorough look at what was available, there was really only one design that almost fit my design brief, an Adirondack Guideboat. It had the speed, low weight, correct dimensions, and capability of handling some rough conditions. I figured I could use the basic hull shape functionality of a guideboat, and modify it to fit my other needs.

If you are unfamiliar, over a 100 years ago this boat was regularly being built to a weight of only 60 lbs, before any modern composites or glues. They are fully double ended, slender, low in the middle, with high ends, and tippy. Initial stability comes from sitting very low in the boat, like a kayak. They have very little wetted surface area for speed, but pick up lots of volume when people and gear are added. At first glance it might be mistaken for a canoe, but it is an entirely different creature.

They proved themselves as very capable boats that could be carried over long portages by guides. And in more recent years, they also commonly won the Blackburn Challenge Ocean rowing races, for fixed seat. There have been very rough years of that race where some guideboats made it, when many other designs did not complete. Here you can read an exciting story that Brooks Towns had in a production guideboat that he let me row, in the very waters I want my boat for. Another friend of mine has had a guideboat for a few years in the PNW. You can read about that here.

I was able to row a couple of guideboats locally. And I liked them!

Which Guideboat To Build?

Now that I had settled on a guideboat the question was which boat to build? There are a few plans and kits available, most are based on the B. & I. Parsons boat “GHOST”, but I did not find the lines of that boat pleasing.

Fortunately, through my process of research, I had made good friends with Rob Davidson and Allison Warner, two highly accomplished traditional guideboat builders on the east coast. Allison spent many years building reproductions of nearly every known design of guideboat for the Adirondack Museum, and Rob built a number of custom boats for clients. Together they offered a rare insight into this very rare form of boat building. And it turned out that Rob had a connection to Port Townsend, and planned to move here. Over a few years we have become good friends, and have had them to our home on visits.

Rob & Allison gave me the lofted lines for what they consider to be one of the most refined guideboats, a 100 year old, 16′ design by Caleb Chase, with a few of their own ideas added in. The boats they had built to these lines were drop dead gorgeous (pictured above), and are apparently not as “cranky” as many other guideboats. And my friends were cool with me using the lines in this experimental way.

Watch this video which happens to feature Rob and Allison and other guideboat builders to learn more.

Choosing A Building Method – Strip Planked In Paulownia Wood

Guideboats are traditionally built in a unique way, compared to other boats. They don’t use plans, or offsets. Instead each builder had their own full sized templates for the ribs, the bottom board and stems. Those are all cut out (the curved ribs from spruce roots), and joined together. Then the planks are attached over the ribs, each edge feathered together into a smooth round bottom, held together with a gazillion little nails. There are no building forms, other than a stand to hold it up for planking. In more recent years a few folks have created plans, and lofted lines. Most wooden shipwrights won’t touch one of these boats when repairs are needed. They require a specialized skill set.

I don’t have the skills to build a boat like that, nor the patience. And I desired a boat that was less a work of art, more durable, easier to clean out, and painted for active use and easy touch ups.

There are some production fiberglass/kevlar guideboats available. Why not start with one of those? Mostly because of weight. They start at over 70+ lbs. If I modified one with decks and hatches, it would likely be close to 100 lbs, and would be a foot shorter in length.

I decided to strip plank mine, which is now a fairly common way to build these boats.

Most folks strip in Western Red Cedar. But I had heard about a type of wood called Paulownia (or Empress Tree), that was about 30% lighter than WRC, that some boat builders were using, particularly in Australia. It is not commonly used in the USA. It is one of the fastest growing trees in the world, so is very renewable, and a very good carbon sink. It can even regrow from a stump up to seven times.

Besides being very lightweight Paulownia glues well, without absorbing a bunch of like balsa does. It is very stable, and is not prone to rot. It’s even fire resistant. But it is definitely not as strong or as dense as cedar, and more prone to denting. So it is most suitable as a core material, with fiberglass on each side.

I happened to find a small mill in Aberdeen that had acquired a log of Paulownia, and I bought up as many planks as they could get out of it. I stickered it and got it good and dry in my shop over a number of months.

It’s entertaining to hand someone one of these planks. When I let it go, their arms inevitably jerk up, expecting more weight, and they look at me in shock. The planks are crazy lightweight, and almost feel like foam boards.

Converting Guideboat Lines For Strip Planking

The lines plan had full sized lofted rib profiles, stem profiles, and bottom board offsets, and the respective bottom board rocker and sheerlines. Actually there were only rib profiles for 1/4 the total number of ribs, because it is a fully double ended design, and symmetrical on each side as well.

First I used tracing paper to transfer the rib lines to plywood, that was going to be cut into station forms. I created half as many stations as there were ribs, except in the ends, where there is a lot of shape and hollow to the planks.

Besides converting the plans to a strip plank building method, I also made the following changes to the design:

• No Ribs – The boat has no ribs, which are replaced by 4 oz S-glass inside and out.
• End Decks & Buoyancy Chambers Bulkheads – There are large decks for and aft, full bulkheads, and access hatches. They are fully water tight. There is 6′ of distance between the bulkheads, so I could technically lay down inside with the seat removed. I can’t imagine trying to sleep in this boat though.
• Less Freeboard In The Ends – Guideboats have very tall bows, necessary for an open boat designed to carry a heavy load in wavy conditions. But since I have sealed decks I decided to reduce windage and weight by lowering the ends, a good bit in the bow, more in the stern. I also slightly raised the center freeboard.
• Asymmetrical Sheerline – Fully double ended sheerlines have never really turned me on. So I moved the center of the sheerline curve slightly to the stern, about where the oarlocks sit.
• PNW Stems – I also was not drawn to the reverse curve of guideboat stems. Mine curve outboard, and the stem head shape is also more to my liking. They are also in inner and outer pieces.
• Backrest With Built In Portage Shoulder Pads – I can flip my entire seat around, and there are shoulder pads on the back of the back rest that make it so that I can put the boat up on my shoulders for portaging.
• Rowing Mirror Mast – There are holes in the stern deck that support a carbon fiber tube with a rowing mirror on top.
• Downwind Sail – See more about this below.
• Carbon Fiber Cart – I built a carbon fiber cart to move the boat (missing a necessary strap between the uprights in this picture)

The Downwind Sail Design

I designed and built a downwind sail, stealing ideas from three others, a Dyson fan sail, a BSD Twins sail and a Cape Falcon Canoe Rig.

Since I first saw a picture of Dyson’s fan sail, probably 35 years ago, I have been enamored with its organic and beautiful appearance. Although the lack of forward visibility is unacceptable. The BSD Twins is a very good downwind sail for a small tippy boat. I stole the handle idea for controlling the two sheets, but ditched it after the first sail as being unnecessary. It’s easy to manage as a continuous line. From Cape Falcon I copied the very fast way the entire rig can be raised and dropped, without moving forward.

My sail works great. Goes up in a second, and down as quick. For a quick 50% reef, just flop one side over to the other. Let go of the sheets completely and the rig flies forward, dumping all wind.

It is built from 4oz tanbark dacron material on the perimeters and sleeves, with some 1oz spinnaker fabric in the middle and carbon tubes for the mast and booms/battens. The entire rig, in its storage bag, mast included, weights just 1.8 oz.

I can steer a bit with the sheets and a bit of weight shifting in the boat. But I added an oarlock socket further back on the stern, and I move an oar to it for a bit more steering range when sailing.

I have also learned that I get more power and speed out of the boat if the sail sheets are pulled a good bit to the stern, such that the entire sail is more of a v-shape in how it catches the wind. Thinking about it, that makes sense. It presents less forward windage, and works more like a spinnaker in shape to cup the wind. It makes me want to try a small spinnaker instead, which might be an even lighter weight and simpler downwind sail system, using the same mast.

Building Pictures

I am not going to go into full details on how it was all built. It is much like any other strip planked small boat. Really the only thing unique is using Paulownia wood instead of Western Red Cedar, which I like a lot. It is very easy to glue, it was very flexible, taking the complex curves nicely, and not toxic like WRC.

Paulownia will dent easier than Western Red Cedar. But I fiberglassed the boat inside and out in 4 ounce S-glass, doubling up over the bottom board top and bottom, and then added another 4 oz tape on the bottom corners and a bit up the stems, that will receive the most abuse. S-glass, compared to the more common E-glass, offers much higher tensile strength, elastic modulus, and greater stiffness, which will help reduce dents. I also added a bit of hardwood at the ends of the bottom board, and along the outer stems, to prevent impact denting.

I built a strongback and attached the cut out forms. The bottom board was attached next (also in 3/4″ thick Paulownia), with a beveled wedge to receive the planking.

I used a two piece stem system. The inner stem allows the strips to easily lay along side, and to be cut off flush. Then the outer stem was epoxied to that surface, before glassing over.

The boat only weighted 37 pounds with exterior glass. All the inside stuff nearly doubled that weight, with hatches, hardware, and lots of paint weight. The supports for the coamings look beefy, but are in Paulownia and weighed very little. Paulownia was also used for framing the deck hatches and deck supports.

The gunnels were made of vertical grain spruce, leftovers from the building of Tally Ho’s spars. There is a tiny bit of purple heart integrated into the inner gunnel for the oarlocks. 3mm Okoume marine grade plywood was used for the bulkheads and decks.

Next I glued on the decks, added a few items inside to support the seat and foot brace, and then painted. I installed tie points to lash gear inside the decked areas and cockpit.

I hated my first foot brace design. The boat now has a very simple carbon fiber tube that goes across, with many adjustment points. Although after the recent trip I did in the completed boat, I may tear that all out, and just put my feet on the stern bulkhead.

I already owned that pair of 8′ Shaw & Tenney spruce oars, so I cleaned them up with six coats of varnish, put on new leathers and gave them a try. I did not like them on this boat. They are not flexible enough, and not balanced with the big overlap required on this narrow boat.

So I built a couple pairs of new oars, that are closer to what traditional ones are like, with pinned oarlocks. They are unlike oars from any other craft, with very slender dimensions, and lots of spring. Sometimes, the reason for the way things were done traditionally becomes crystal clear with direct experience of the boat.

After a lot of research into woods normally used, I ended up making them out of cherry. One set of working oars at 8′, and a shorter set of 7’6″ oars for upwind work. And of course I had to mess with tradition, and instead of leaving the upper loom big and boxy for counter weight, I instead installed lead weights inside the handles. But this caused me a lot of trouble. And despite the dimensions of the blades and looms being very slender, the overall weight of the cherry oars with lead counter balance made the oars too heavy for my tastes. I also could not find any air dried wood, settling for kiln dried, and I think the cherry lost a lot of its limberness due to the kiln drying.

Above you can see the slot I routed to install lead weights in the handles, and covered with fiberglass. In the past I have drilled holes from the ends for this, but I had big problems drilling long enough holes for as much weight as I needed to get them balanced. So I ended up with this, and was not happy about it at all.

They did end up being very pretty. I put a little hardened epoxy tip on them, and an inch of 2 oz fiberglass to protect the tips.

I also had to have some custom oarlocks made for these, because no one had any traditional pinned guideboat oarlocks in stock.

In the middle of having so much trouble adding the lead weight, someone in Seattle happened to be selling an 8′ pair of professionally built, traditional guideboat oars, which I bought for a song. What luck. You just don’t see these types of oars on the west coast very often. And boy are they amazing. Extremely thin, very flexible, and very lightweight. I think they are made of soft air dried maple. They taught me what guideboat oars are supposed to be like. So I will be building another pair of 7′ 6″ oars more like those in the future.

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I took a full time job for nearly two years at the Northwest Maritime Center in Port Townsend, as the Program Operations Coordinator. I and one other fellow maintained the 60 boat fleet. I also managed and repaired a vast horde of associated equipment and ordered any new gear needed. I was on the water a lot, moving all types of boats around, fueling them up, helping with the adult and kids maritime educational programs, and crewing on sailboats for public charters and down to Seattle for the school. And there were staff meetings. Lots of meetings.

It was an interesting job, but my personal boating adventures and boat work mostly evaporated during this period. Although I did manage to build a new boat, in my spare time and vacations in 2025.

Then it was time for a change. After leaving the job I had a good long think about what I wanted to do next.

What I came to should not be at all surprising. I am going exploring, the Pacific Northwest waters I love so much, in my little boats, with my camera. The photography in particular I plan to focus on with renewed passion.

You can read some updates about my history with the ocean and photography on my about page here.

If the stories and images I bring back from those explorations sound interesting to you, sign up for my newsletter to stay in the loop.

Galen

I decided to take a break from this unpleasant path. It was starting to feel like all I was doing was destroying a boat. I needed to see some visual progress, to build something fun.

So I decided to rebuild the v-berth area. If you have been following along, you may recall that I had to tear out the sealed bow area, to remove the old fuel tank within. And a little further back in the boat are two boxes/seats that used to have some live fish wells inside, with thru-hull drains. After finishing up the plan for my new cabin, I decided that the position of the original v-berth and those fish well boxes could remain. I would bridge between them, leaving open storage areas between.

First I had to clean up where the gas tank had been sitting. The fiberglass was not very saturated with resin in that area, and there was fuel residue. So after a bunch more cleaning and sanding I filled in the fiberglass weave with thickened epoxy.

I also added in a new hardwood block for the bow tow ring, just above the v-berth. And you can see on the floor in front of the v-berth I have glued back in the 6″ plug I had removed to inspect and remove water from the foam core floor. It is now dry below.

Next I decided to reuse the original fiberglass bulkhead, and epoxied it back in place, after fairing it up a bit. Then I installed five tie down points made out of dyneema line inside the bow area. They would be for lashing down heavy items like anchors in that compartment for rough passages. And then some structural supports were put in place for the new marine plywood top, and for the waterproof hatch. Finally I painted inside with grey Interlux Bilgekote enamel.

What a pain those boxes were. The sides had curves, and the tops were saggy. So I had to spend a bit of time adding new wood tops, to make it all level and fair. And I could not stand the unfaired fiberglass panels, so added a bit of fill with thickened epoxy.

That done, I added supports between the old live wells and the v-berth area. Then some hot glue and lightweight scraps of wood were used to make quick templates for the plywood tops.

Then the plywood tops were epoxied on, and filleted to the hull sides. The exposed edges were rounded over with a router. And then a layer of 4oz fiberglass was applied, for abrasion resistance, and to tie it in more structurally to the hull sides.

With this work the boat will have three big waterproof compartments for gear storage, which will also serve as reserve buoyancy in the boat for the worst case scenario of flooding. And the area between is open faced, for the storage of a toilet, spare anchors, and other gear. There are dyneema tie points in that area as well, to secure the gear for rough weather.

I am very pleased with how the new sleeping platform for two people has turned out, with all the storage below. And it will all weigh a lot less than what was removed.

The rear Alaskan bulkhead of the cabin comes next. Oh, and if I can make myself do it, more destruction is required, laying on my back and removing some areas of gelcoat on the underside of the hull, to get it ready for the new chine wings.

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When younger, I used to try and take in the entire show. But as my boat interests have evolved, it is the small boats that draw my eye, and the unique characters who own them. I still have a massive appreciation for the beauty of the larger craft, and the labor of love and expertise and money that goes into them. And you can’t beat the sight of all those tall ships cutting swiftly across the bay during the Schooner Race and Sunday Sail By.

If you missed the show, check out the video below. I rowed my Skerry all around the marina. It’s 15 minutes long, so probably not that interesting for folks who attended the show. Each day was unique, from dense fog, to blue skies. I was actually sore for a few days from all the rowing back and forth from the boat launch a number of times.

Show Favorites

There were four sail/oar boats that I particularly enjoyed seeing this year.

The first is the HV-16 designed and built by my friend Eric Hvalsoe. Eric is a very skilled boat builder and designer out of Seattle WA. The boat is traditionally built, with a lug-yawl rig. He has done a lot of camp cruising in this boat. The HV-16 in my eyes is a great compromise between sailing performance and rowing, all wrapped up in beautiful lines. Eric has been very helpful with suggestions on my own boat.

Eric also designed the glued-lap HV-18, built and owned by Tim Yeadon. This is another best in class sail/oar boat, with a lug-yawl rig. Tim has extensively camp cruised this boat. Although I knew of Tim, this was our first time meeting. We had some good chats, and seem to have a few things in common outside of sail/oar boats, like our motor boat desires. He is currently putting together a 19′ Bartender. We both have had ideas of doing a Vancouver Island circumnavigation in our motor boats (see my Lavro Dory). So who knows, maybe we will cruise together.

There was also a nice 14′ Vivier designed Alur, again with a lug-yawl rig. Roger Barnes in his popular YouTube videos and dinghy cruising book greatly popularized this design.

The final favorite is a new 14′ sail/oar boat prototype designed by my friend Brandon Davis of Turnpoint Design here in Port Townsend. I had seen the boat in Brandon’s shop being built, but this was the first time in the wild. Duckworks will be offering a kit for it in the future, maybe called the Super Scout. It borrows the same open center layout with offset daggerboard as the Scout, a similar simple sail rig, while adding a bit of length. The beam has been kept narrow, which will make it easy to row. It is a very lightweight and simple boat.

I also really enjoyed seeing the four Thunderbird 26′ sailboats all lined up, including the prototype model #1 launched in 1958, and #2 in 1959. These are iconic NW boats, that are still very fast sailers to this day. There are a mess of them in the Boat Haven in Port Townsend. I used to own one and sailed most of the Inside Passage in BC in it, just shy of Alaska. On the way up I explored deep into a number of inlets, including through one of the fastest tidal rapids in the world, Nakwakto Rapids, to access Seymour Inlet. Not an ideal boat for the trip, but it worked.

I did not take as many pictures during this festival as in the past. I decided to spend more time just rowing around, talking to folks, and enjoying the festival. But here are a few.

Learn more about the Wooden Boat Festival.

Learn more about the Northwest Maritime Center.

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But this trip ended up being much more about the friends I was traveling with, and let’s face it, their boats. They were both in sail and oar boats designed by Iain Oughtred. And I was very keen to see how they compared to my little sail oar boat, although I knew setting out that there was really no comparison.

One boat was an Artic Tern, belonging to my friend Bruce, who has soloed it the length of the Inside Passage (read his entertaining stories here). And the other was a Ness Yawl, built and crewed by my talented new friend Dan. They are very similar boats, one 18′ in length, the other 19′, with nearly identical beams, 62″ and 64″, and designed to weigh between 240 to 260 pounds. They both sport lug yawl rigs, and both are drop dead gorgeous boats.

For many, Iain Oughtred’s designs represent the very best sail and oar camp cruising boats you can build and use. To my eye they are the most beautiful of the type, and are known to be capable of handling challenging ocean conditions, while not being too heavy. Pulling all of that off is some trick, because designing a small boat that can both row and sail well is challenging. The ideal hull shapes for each are rather dissimilar.

By quick comparison, my modified CLC Skerry is 15′ long, has a 54″ beam, and weighs about 125 lbs empty. And this is one of those situations that shows you how just a little bit of extra length and beam in a similar shaped hull quickly turns into a much more substantial boat, with all the associated pros and cons. My boat Joy appeared a bit toy-like next to theirs, and could handily fit inside theirs. You can sort of get a sense of that from the picture below, taken by Bruce.

Where Did We Go?

Before we get into the more interesting stuff of talking about sail/oar boat sizes, let’s get this rundown of where we went and what we experienced out of the way.

Our little trio of sail and oar boats traveled about 32 miles, over two and a half days, circumnavigating Harstine Island clockwise. Harstine is ten miles north of Olympia, in south Puget Sound, and is not too big, just ten miles long and three wide. So it was no great effort to get around it.

We had planned on venturing further, but had a serious lack of wind the first two days. And it was stupid hot for this early in the year, with temperatures in the high 80’s to low 90s. By the way, did you know that if you varnish yourself with seven or eight consecutive layers of sunscreen you can achieve a superior state of weather protection?

Day 1

A couple of us launched at Arcadia, close to Shelton, and the third from a ramp more to the east (I never learned where), and met up on the east side of Hope Island. We then rowed up the west side of Squaxin Island, and continued up Pickering Passage. We had a good strong current moving with us up the side of Harstine Island. So much so that we really did not need to row, and at times just sat round chatting as the shore passed by. At one point we were almost in a circle. I grabbed my camera to take a picture of their beautiful boats, and laughed to find we were all a bunch of circle jerks, each with a camera in hand.

Eventually we ended up in Jarrell Cove State Park. We stretched our legs on shore, used the facilities, and then tucked ourselves back behind the park dock, in very shallow water. After rafting up for a social dinner, we separated for a glassy calm night on the hook, with a big tide rise called for.

In the middle of the night I woke up to a soft banging on my boat. Peaking out of my tent I was surprised to see I had drifted nearly under the state dock. Turns out I had not put out enough anchor line, and the rising tide had floated my anchor. Stupid of me, but no harm done, and a good lesson; one that I thought I had already learned years ago. The upside of the incident was rowing back into position through a bioluminescent light show with every oar stroke.

Day 2

The next morning we rowed up around the north tip of Harstine, and hung out for nearly an hour on the water at Dougall Point, hoping for wind. Dan and I snacked and chatted a bit, while Bruce did some sketching. But no luck with the wind.

So we continued to row down to McMicken Island State Park, with a short stretch of sailing. We hung out in the shade at the park there for a number of hours. The tide was dropping some 14 feet that day, and Dan and I had to regularly reposition our boats just offshore, using anchor buddies (giant bungee cords). Bruce anchored out and bummed a ride to shore in a dinghy from another sailing family. Note if you visit here that there is a bunch of Poison Oak along the shoreline at McMicken. Fortunately Bruce recognized it before any of us touched it.

It was here that a woman off another boat gave Bruce a very expensive block of truffle cheese. Odd. Pity cheese, you might suspect? For surely these thin, ripe gentlemen must be starving, having rowed from the horizon to this sandy shore, on a blistering hot day? No, not pity cheese. Tribute cheese, we elected to believe. For we three bold adventurers, in our motorless wood boats crafted with our own hands, must cut quite a spectacle of virility, compared to the weak chinned specimens available, that arrived through a haze of sensory corruption, aboard floating motor homes made of frozen-snot, through no effort of mind or body or skill. OK, it was probably pity cheese. It was damn good pity cheese, thrown on a cracker with some smoked Salmon Dan shared.

We had intended to stay the night, but in the afternoon a nice wind came up from the northeast that was too enticing not to use. So we headed off, and crossed the sand bar between McMicken Island and Harstine, with just a few inches of water below our keels, and sailed south down Case Inlet.

Typical though, the wind mostly died a short time later, and I started to row again, to get around Wilson Point. The other two boats were further out in the channel and had put a bit of distance on me. We were headed for Henderson Inlet. The wind came up a little again and I sailed crossed the channel to Henderson. My travel companions selected a more eastern approach, closer to Johnson Point, and seemed to run out of wind for awhile, and I gained a little ground on them. And around the time the wind died for me again, they got too much wind. I was rowing, they were swearing.

Despite our different boat sizes and routes, we all ended up arriving at nearly the same time. We were fairly tired at this point and opted to anchor just behind Dickenson Point. That was probably a mistake, because for the first half of the night we had rolling waves that made for little sleep. My rudder was constantly clunking, which had me fretting about stronger attachments, with closer tolerances. We probably should have continued on down into Woodard Creek for better rest.

Day 3

The next morning the weather report was not good. It was already blowing a steady 10 knots, and was calling for gusts from 20 to 30 later in the day. So we cut out early. Dan sailed off, and took a long time short tacking his way north until he rounded Johnson Point, heading east. Bruce and I opted to row against the wind and then continued to row mostly downwind through Danna Passage to the west. Not long into our row Dan contacted us on the radio and recommended drysuits and reefed sails, because he was experiencing some very gusty conditions. I was already in my drysuit. But we tucked into Big Fishtrap Inlet, and did put a reef in, while checking out the many Sand Dollars in the shallows. We still ended up rowing across Danna Passage, to Brisco Point, because the wind was very gusty.

At that point I got fooled into thinking the breeze had stabilized. So I put up a reefed sail, only to take it down very shortly after. The wind was still stubbornly gusty. I would go from barely moving, to white knuckling the tiller, as my double ended dinghy started surfing, an unnatural activity for her. As we entered Squaxin Passage, and headed north around Hope Island, the wind became even stronger. We ended up crossing Pickinger Passage to our ramp in a steady 10-15 knot wind, that was mixed with stronger gusts. With conditions forecast to get windier, we called it an early day, and pulled our boats out at Arcadia. I had a beautiful drive up the Hood Canal on my way home to Port Townsend.

Observations On Sail And Oar Boat Sizes

OK, now the interesting stuff. But first some rules. Rule #1 – get it out of your head right now that what I am about to say are suggestions for you or anyone else, or in some way judging my friend’s boat choices. Nope, these are just my current thoughts on what I like in a sail/oar boat; for me. Me, me, me. Rule #2 – there is no such thing as the perfect sail/oar boat. Any such comments are pure hubris in my mind. This type of boat in particular is a pile of compromises.

Traveling with my friends on this trip, two things really stood out to me.

Bigger Boats Are More Stable

Duh. And I knew that. But experiencing the actual difference between the stability of their boats and mine was illuminating on a different level. Their boats were massively more stable, when a human body was moving around within, and could clearly carry a much greater load, in gear or people. These guys can stand on a rail, or even up next to their masts in the bow or stern (like Dan is below). Sure the boats heel a bit, but there is plenty of stability for that type of activity.

By comparison, I can very carefully stand on a seat close to the rail in the center of the boat, and the boat nearly dips a rail. And I definitely cannot put any significant weight off center up in the bow or stern without the boat saying to me, “absolutely not, I will dump your ass in the water”. Notice in the picture below, that even though my boat is evenly loaded with a bunch of cruising gear weight, my weight still squats the boat down in the stern.

The greater stability of their boats makes them more comfortable to hang out on when the boat is at rest, and certainly more comfortable when the wind and waves are up and they are sailing, when my boat becomes very athletic. Although my boat is easier to deal with on the shore.

The Larger Boats Were Slower Under Oars

The other stand out difference, was that my boat was noticeably quicker under oars. This is something I have theorized about in the past when traveling alone, but was proven out in the company of these larger boats. As every armchair boat geek knows, longer waterlines are faster. Right? And yet my boat has a nearly three feet shorter waterline, and was quicker. So what gives?

I am no expert, but there are two things at play here. First, the average human makes for a wimpy motor. There is just not that much power behind the oars. Second, the larger boats not only have more weight to move, but more importantly a good bit more wetted surface area. The more boat surface you have in the water, the more drag you will need to overcome at the oars. My boat weighs about half as much. And being small, it also forces me to take less stuff along, for more weight saving. I pack like I am backpacking. All of that means there is less drag inducing wetted surface area.

Throw some Olympic class muscle behind their oars, in a short race, the story might be different. But when cruising over many miles, and applying the average amount of power at the oars, my boat moves about 3-4 mph compared to 2-3 mph of the larger craft. That might not seem like much difference, but in slow boats attempting to row 10-15 miles in a day, it can mean a few less hours at the oars. And when rowing along at the pace of my larger friends, it is fairly effortless.

I always seem to row over 50% of the miles on a cruise. And I like rowing, partly because my boat is easy to row, and I can actually cover some miles that way. So this is a very important consideration for me.

The larger boats are definitely designed to be better at the sailing side of the sail/oar equation. And they are. It was clear when the sails were up they are faster, and less athletic to sail as well, because of their greater stability and length. And on longer cruises, they would be much more comfortable.

Did I Come Back Itching To Own A Bigger Boat?

No, not really. Or at least I successfully fought off the urge. Maybe.

It is not that I consider my boat the perfect sail/oar boat for me. That was never my goal. I just happened to own the boat, and was curious to see if I could turn it into a usable mini-cruiser. And I was sick of buying new boats. And it turns out to be pretty dang good.

Having gained some experience cruising it now, I find it a little too minimal. Over a number of days of cruising, my back starts to complain. And the sleeping is just a little too tight at my shoulders. And as mentioned, it is an athletic sailing craft because of how light and small it is.

After this trip I realized that much of my physical discomfort would more wisely be addressed with a regime of stretching and core strengthening in my daily life, instead of changing boats.

Nope, it is far from perfect, and I am sticking with it. In fact, after I finish my Lavro Dory motorboat project, hopefully this summer, the next boat I build will be an even lighter weight rowing boat that I can throw on top of a car, or on top of the Lavro. The Lavro will be my little water truck, taking me safely across big water like the strait between Port Townsend and the San Juan Islands. Then the Lavro becomes an anchored camping site, and I can spend my days exploring in the smaller rowboat. That rowboat will get far more use than a larger sail/oar boat would.

But What Would Be My Perfect Sail/Oar Boat?

But half the fun of boating is thinking about what boat you might like instead. So, if I were looking for a different solo sail/oar boat, for the Puget Sound, the San Juan Islands and other protected areas (avoiding larger water crossings), I would still opt for a smaller boat than my compatriots, for better rowing performance, and easier handling on shore. A true 50/50 boat, with equal balance of rowing and sailing.

I am not a big guy, at 5′ 8″, 155 lbs, and that definitely comes into play on my boat choice. A sail/oar boat should fit your size and strength and agility.

I also keep in mind that with boats, a little bigger can actually be a lot bigger, in terms of overall material costs, weight, oar length, trailer size, storage space, and maintenance hours.

Windage is a factor that seems important in a human powered craft. While it is easy to say that I will just sail if it is windy, there are many circumstances where I have had to row in wind and waves. And as you can imagine, a larger boat presents a lot more windage.

In my experience sail sizes and spar size and weight are important on a sail/oar boat. I constantly take the rig down and put it back up, on the water. If rowing lots of miles, I definitely want my spars down. Even my single skinny carbon fiber mast reduces my rowing speed when it is up. So the sails and spars need to be very manageable, and they need a good place in the boat when rowing.

Sailing in dangerously cold waters, whatever boat I have must have a lot of reserve buoyancy chambers, and be easy to recover from a capsize.

I also like a boat I can push on and off a shore, and get on and off a trailer, without too much struggle. Numerous times I have launched at a shallow ramp that does not float my boat off the trailer, and I have to manhandle it off and back on.

Every bit of cruising gear must be secured or strapped down in case of capsize in a sail/oar boat, so there needs to be places and systems for that.

It has to have a quick to put up and take down tent to keep the weather out, and does not present a lot of windage at anchor.

It has to have have nice lines that I enjoy looking at.

Taking all of this into account, my current boat gets a lot of things right. It is really very very good. Honestly, the only things I would try to improve would be to have a bit more stability at rest and sailing, and a touch more comfortable sleeping and sitting positions. And I do covet the advantages of a lug/yawl rig.

Possible Options

So for going solo, something around 16 foot sounds about right, so long as it is designed with lots of rowing in mind. There are no current designs that have everything I like in a sail/oar boat. I would want to modify all of them. But contenders are Iain Oughtred’s Tirrik at 16′ 9″, Iain’s 15′ Tammie Norrie, John Welsford’s Walkabout at 16′ 2″, John’s SEI at 14′ 8″‘, Eric Hvalsoe’s HV16, maybe Clint Chase’s 16′ Calendar Islands Yawl, or a Mantinicus 16′ peapod, although it is rumored to be pretty tender. Another strong option recommended to me by Ben Fuller is the Antonio Dias designed Harrier dinghy. The Harrier is 17′, and just under 5′ in beam, with a flat bottom panel. The boat is definitely rowing focused, and is fast under sail. Unfortunately I am not terrible fond of her shear line looks.

Iain’s Tirrik might win purely because I think it is the most beautiful, even if the Tirrik is a bit longer and heavier than I have in mind. John’s Walkabout is the closest to what I like in features. It is a great boat. But there are a few things about the boat I would want to change, to suit what I like, and to make it a little lighter weight. John’s SEI on the surface appears very similar to my Skerry, but it has more beam, a fuller stern, and a good bit more stability, allowing a touch more sail area. He said it would be “a little more sticky to row” compared to mine, but much more stable. Strong contender, that one, although I would want to modify it in a similar way to mine for cruising.

If I wanted a boat very similar to mine, with a few minor improvements on the sailing side of things, I would go with a Ross Lillistone’s Phoenix III. Remember this is for cruising in fairly protected waters. The length and freeboard are the same as mine. And it is well setup for rowing with one person. It has a little more beam, and fuller stern sections with a transom. That, combined with a very fine entry, makes it a bit better sailing, both upwind and downwind. It is still fairly lightweight, at about 160lbs, and is reported to be easy to recover from a capsize. Lots of people have successfully camp cruised on these boats. Below is an example of one at a recent wooden boat festival in Port Townsend.

But I recently sailed and rowed one. And my initial thoughts about how the fuller stern and transom would greatly improve the initial stability, as compared to my boat, did not pan out. It is still a very tender boat. Sitting on a side bench, when not sailing, heels the boat over an uncomfortable amount. And the layout in my boat is better for how I like to use it. It is also a fairly complex build. Ross has partnered with Duck Flat Wooden Boats on a new version of the boat, called the Phoenix 15, that is easier to build, with a flat plywood bottom. It is nearly identical otherwise, with just a touch more beam and length. If I did not have my boat, and wanted a very minimal cruiser, I would start with that design, but make an interior similar to my boat, with an off-center daggerboard.

My Choice

If I had to chose and existing design that fits my desires, John’s Walkabout seems best. I have first hand experience with how stable it is compared to mine. Although I would talk with John about making some changes. For how I camp I would prefer to open up some of the forward area of the side benches, like I have in my boat, for easier storage of larger items like drybags, soft coolers, anchor stuff, and water containers, that can all be strapped down. But that might require a slight reworking of the end tank volume, to make sure the boat can still recover from a capsize.

Although, I have come to value a transom, having lived with a small double ender for awhile now. It would be nice to able to occasionally use one of the new electric outboards. It would open up some cruising options. And transoms give better access to the rudder, and a good strong place to mount a mizzen.

So my ideal sail/oar boat might be sort of a mixup between a Phoenix 15 and a Walkabout, with some of the interior from my boat, a lug/yawl rig, and maybe a water ballast tank for more stability under sail and relaxing at anchor. I have started drawing up some of those ideas. Who knows, maybe I will someday build it.

That is just me though. Boats are highly personal, and addictively interesting. They contain multitudes. With more experience and an older body, my desires are likely to change.

And it seems to me that more important than trying to get the perfect boat, is to use the one you have a lot, learn its strengths and weaknesses and become skilled at teasing the best performance out of her. My little boat always seems to get me to where I want to go, often ahead of larger craft.

What can you take from all of this, to help your own sail/oar decision? Probably not much, other than to ignore advice that does not take into account how you will dominantly use the boat, where you will use it, how long you will be cruising for, your size, strength and skill level, your adventure seeking to stress endurance quotient, how many miles you want to cover in a day, and how much rowing vs. sailing you will be doing. And then ignore that advice also. Figure out what works for you, through experience.

No matter what sail/oar boat you have, they all are really fun for exploring, like Bruce is below, checking out a shallow bay on the west side of Hartsine Island. I am just about my happiest in my little boat, sometimes with a camera in hand.

P.S. You will often see us without life vests in the pictures above. That was only in calm conditions, when rowing, in hot weather, with virtually no chance of capsize. When sailing, we were all wearing them. Well, two thirds of us at least. Probably best not to follow our example. I did recently get a new life vest that is better for rowing that you can read about here.

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What Are They For?

Many people think they provide extra planing surface. Or that they are just spray rails. And they do a little of both. But from what I have read, the reason for them is because double ended boats do weird things when you make them into fast planing boats.

When George Calkins, of Bartender boats fame, was first figuring out his hulls, he discovered the boats would make some rather violent and sudden turns, almost tossing passengers out of the boat. They also would turn in other unpredictable ways, particularly when there were weight shifts side to side in the boat.

That led to the development of the chine/spray rails you see on Bartender boats, that stick out at the stern. In the picture below of a small Bartender, the rails start up high on the bow, and swoop down to the hull bottom. The primary purpose of the chine/rails is to provide some clean edges for more predictable turning at speed. They stabilize the boat. The folks at Lavro Dory discovered the same problems in their testing, and added their version to make the boat work.

What Is My Problem With Them?

There has always been something about the Lavro rails that look wrong to my untrained eye. They are rather short and are at a steep angle, and don’t have very sharp edges on the bottom side, which is important for cutting clean turns. And as you can imagine, the angle increases when you are trying to get up on plane, as the bow raises and the stern squats. At that angle the current chine/rails seem like big inefficient water plows to me.

I suspect the company was using that high angle to try and solve another issue of squatting, by forcing the bow down. The Lavro Dory has an open motor tunnel, which decreases the planing surface in the stern, compared to a Bartender, which likely contributes to the squatting.

I could not stop thinking that there is a better solution. My attitude towards them is not particularly fair. All of the owners I have talked to say the boat works. But since I am going to refurbish the entire boat, I felt I could come up with a solution that would allow the boat to get up on plane easier and earlier, and use less horsepower. Weight placement in the boat will be part of the solution.

Professional Help

While trying to understand this odd boat I talked to experienced boat designers, particularly folks with experience with Bartender boats. Local small boat designer Carl Chamberlin came by and looked at the boat, which I was very grateful for. He did some plans work for George Calkins on some of his Bartender boats. He actually thought I should just use them as is, and gave me lots to think about.

And Tad Roberts, the esteemed boat designer from British Columbia, also responded to my concerns about these chine/rails with a quick paragraph of suggestions that were pure gold. I also talked to the current owner of Bartender boat plans (also George). He looked at pictures of my boat, and we talked about what I was considering, based in part on Tad’s suggestions, he agreed it sounded like a good idea. I would have talked to the original manufacturer of the Lavro boat but could not find their contact information. The company has been out of business for years.

The Problems As I See Them

Talking to lots of owners of these boats, there are a few repeated issues with the boat.

1. The boat is a bit hard to get up on plane, requiring a lot of power and speed, and you have to have weight up in the bow. To me that hints that the boat is too heavy for its planing surface area, particularly in the stern. The normal response is to try and add more horsepower, but that is a downward spiral of additional weight in the wrong spot.
2. The boat tends to ride with a high bow, squatting in the rear. Again, maybe the boat does not have enough planing surface in the stern, and a weight imbalance issue?
3. Nearly all owners complain the boat is rather tender (tippy). This is due to a narrow waterline and the double ended hull. Coming from sailing, a bit of tenderness does not bother me. And there is so much hull flair all around that it picks up a huge amount of stability when it heels a bit. But some improvement in its initial stability would probably be welcome, for comfort when at rest.
4. The boat tends to steer itself around when weight shifts side to side. It is a quirk of a double-ender, and may also suffer from a bit of bow steering.

The Big Change

So here is what I am going to do. I have already removed the existing wood rails (read here). In their place I will be extending the existing chine flats on the bottom of the hull. These extensions will start all the way up at the bow, taper out to about 3″ wide mid ship, and end up being 14″ wide in the stern. This will effectively turn the bottom of the boat into something more like a standard planning hull.

Besides increasing the planing surface area, particularly in the stern, I think it will help stabilize the boat, giving it wide sharp edges for controlled turns. And it should make the boat less tender overall. Hopefully it will get the boat up on plane earlier, and with less power. And I believe it will keep the boat on plane with a lower angle of attack, further decreasing how much horsepower is required.

I am also going to be closing in a bit of the motor well tunnel, adding a little more planing surface. And if it seems necessary after testing I may add a plug behind the motor, for more planing surface, like many Bartenders boats use.

Combined with all of this I will be adjusting the weight placement of some heavy items. The helm station and main passenger seat are moving forward a couple of feet. The fuel tank will be right in the center below the passenger seat, with room under the helm seat for extra fuel for longer trips. That way as the fuel volume/weight changes the fore/aft trim does not change. The battery will also be central. Other heavy items can be moved around the boat to balance things out as needed, like fresh water jugs, anchors, coolers, etc.

What Are My Concerns?

I don’t have any concerns about building the extensions. But I am so far from an expert in hull dynamics that even attempting this is hubris. The design and function are a huge experiment, with a decent chance of it not working like I think, or it causing other problems. But I am fine with having to rework them if necessary. It is a fun project to learn from.

One unaddressed concern I have is regarding the steering issues on a double-ended planing hull. There is a train of thought that it is the water wrapping around the rounded stern that causes most of the steerage issues. And it has been suggested that interrupting the flow of that water around the stern is necessary. If you think about leaning a kayak on its edge to turn it, it is not hard to imagine why this boat turns when it leans over.

Some early power dories used to attach nearly vertical batons to the hull at the stern to break up the water flow to help these issues. My new chine extensions will not interrupt that water flow around the stern when at slower speeds, and the current chine/rails do. Then again, the chine/rails on Bartenders boats don’t really break up that flow either at slower speeds. I guess we will see.

Other concerns are that these boats like to bow steer a bit, in following seas. That may be due to a combination of what is mentioned above, and because the boat has a fairly sharp v-bow, and the lowest point of the boat is up in the bow. So I wonder if I am successful at lowering the planing angle if I will also be increase bow steering? Maybe the hull is designed to ride bow high, like a semi-displacement lobster boat? If that happens, I may be able add some vertical rails under the hull in the stern, for better directional stability.

These hull extensions may also not be great if the boat is broached in big waves, or even a big following wave. The chines might give a wave good purchase. If I intended to cross river bars regularly, heading out to the open ocean to fish, I don’t think I would add these chine extensions, or least I would not run them all the way to the stern. But that is not my kind of boating. In fact, if I never have to cross a river bar again, I will be happy. They freak me out.

How Will They Be Built?

These chine extensions will be made from a fairly high density foam core, with fiberglass skins. A local friend sold me a couple 1″ sheets of a structural foam made from recycled PET plastics, that he uses in boat construction. It is nice and dense, although not as lightweight as some other much more expensive foam cores.

I took some ideas for their shape and construction from an article that Eric Sponberg shared about adding some lifting spray rails to a big powerboat. You can read that PDF here. Of course the scantlings for those rails are massive compared to what I need, but it was a helpful article nonetheless.

I will shape the chines in foam, and then add about 30 ounces of fiberglass around it, blending it into the hull sides and bottom, using West System epoxy.

In order to get a good bond to the boat I first have to remove a thick layer of gel coat on the hull. Not a fun project, particularly on the underside. In fact, I expect it to be the worst part of this entire project.

After the hull work is done the boat will be painted. I am not messing around with trying to cover it in gel coat again.

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Not knowing exactly how it was constructed, or what foam was used, I thought that there was potentially a lot of water weight below the deck. Other owners have reported a rather wide range of top speeds, with the same horsepower motors. And I feared that the reason for that may be lots of weight in water saturated foam below the floor. I thought it was certainly possible that I might have to remove the entire floor and the foam below, if I found wet foam.

What to do? I considered lots of options, the simplest being installing a drain plug in the stern. But normally water saturated foam will not drain, so this would likely do little good. And the lowest point in the boat is actually up in the bow, and I was not keen on installing a drain through the hull up in the bow.

So I decided to cut a 6″ diameter access hole in the floor, directly over the lowest point in the bow. I wanted to see what the foam was like, and if it was wet. I could either re-cap it later, or install an inspection hatch for the future.

Well, after cutting it out, I discovered that it had a very well bonded structural foam core below. It was really hard stuff. And when I plopped it into a bowl of water, it did not absorb any. I even drilled a hole in the top of the plug and left it full of water overnight. And the water level was only slightly lower in the morning. So the good news was this foam was not damaged by water, nor does it hold much water.

After some internet sleuthing, and asking boat builders, it appears the foam is Divinycell H. That is good news. It is a very good core that in fact will hold very little water.

So it appears this boat is made with a structural foam core, bonded to the bottom and the floor, with no stringers. And that is really a good thing, because it is a lightweight way to build, and it provides enough positive buoyancy that the boat will not sink. And I don’t have to tear it all out.

Next I drilled a hole down through the foam core, down to the fiberglass in the bottom of the hull. I then stuffed a towel down into the hole. And sure enough, within a few hours the towel was wet, having wicked water up it. So although the foam is not damaged by water, it is certainly holding a bit of water. And it does seem to have moved to the low point in the boat, because a similar wicking test of another hole where a seat was mounted yielded no water.

It probably is not a lot of weight in water, but it would still be nice to dry it out. Having talked about this problem with some composite construction experts, it is not easy to remove. It likely will not drain out by itself, because of all the surface tension in the tiny spaces that it resides.

I considered setting up a vacuum system to pull the moisture out. But it was explained to me that in order for this to work, I would need to create a very high level of vacuum, so that the water would essentially boil, allowing it to be sucked out as vapor. That high of a vacuum made me nervous about the structure of the boat being damaged. Plus it would cost a bunch of money to get the equipment to achieve it.

Ultimately I decided that continuing to wick water from the core with a towel would do a good enough job. There was a bit of fiberglass damage from beaching at the lowest point of the boat in the bow. It already needed some fiberglass repair. So I drilled a hole from that spot outside the boat up into the foam core, and over many months wicked what seems like all the remaining water out of the core with towels. The floor will have no holes in it when I am done, and all future hardware connections will be epoxied on.

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First I moved the boat into my smaller workspace, which is heatable for winter work. I needed it off the trailer, because of work I need to do on the full length of the hull bottom. I wrapped a tow strap around the stern, and slowly pulled the trailer out from under the boat, adding in boat stands at four points during the process. I thought this was going to be a nerve-racking process, but it was actually easy and fairly low stress.

The boat will stay up high on the stands for all the hull work. Then I will lower it onto some floor dollies, to complete the work inside. After the cabin is built the boat will not fit out the door on its trailer, so it will have to be hauled outside on the dollies, before going back on the trailer.

Currently I am still in deconstruction mode, cutting out every bit of weight and non-essential structure in the boat. Previously I had removed the v-berth to get at the old fuel tank. There was also a number of small water diverting ribs on the floor that were going to be in the way with the new cabin layout, as well as some supports for the old helm station. All of these were made from plywood ribs covered in fiberglass. Those all were cut out. The bow tow ring was also removed. The bolts were so corroded that they had to be broken off, and would not have lasted for one good tug on them. It’s good to go through every item on a 43 year old boat.

There were also two heavy duty pads on the stern rails for mounting fishing outriggers, that you can see in the picture above with the strap. This will be a photography/mothership work boat, not a fishing craft, so these also needed to be cut off. I carefully used a sawzall and discovered they had a core of what appears to be cedar, with about a quarter inch of glass around them.

In the stern, to each side of the motor well, are two sealed buoyancy chambers. And in front of those were some curved seats that I cut away. They were designed to have portable fuel tanks below them, or a battery. And I also think they were designed to keep people from sitting too far back in the boat, for better weight balance. They limit the cockpit space too much with my new layout.

I will also be removing the bulkheads, and moving them forward, adding structure between the motor mount and the hull sides, while increasing the size of the buoyancy chambers. I plan to build some truly watertight hatches on the tops of those chambers for storage access. On one side will be stored my old 2hp 2-stroke, twenty pound Suzuki outboard, for emergency power. I will be able to run it right behind the current motor, in the well. The chamber on the other side will be a good spot to store big fenders.

Finally, I removed the wood rails on the stern. You can read the full details about what these rails are for, why I removed them, and what will replace them, on this page. The rails were held on by three big stainless bolts, screwed into about 1″ of solid glass. The wood was very dense and heavy.

I also used a razor blade to remove all the lettering and numbers on the boat. The lettering was in vinyl stickers. But I discovered that someone had done a wonderful job of hand painting the grey shadowing around the letters and even the bow numbers. The boat hull is going to be painted, so all the lettering has to go. Besides, by the time I am done with this boat, it will be modified so much that it will not be fair to call it a Lavro Sea Dory anymore.

Between all the unused metal hardware and unnecessary fiberglass structures, a bunch of weight has been stripped from the boat, which should help this narrow waterline boat. Soon I will get to start building, and I will be keeping a keen eye on added weight.

This project is a bit crazy. There are simpler ways to go boating for sure. But I do enjoy the process, of thinking through a boat, and trying to improve it, and make it just right for my personal needs. And it is also kind of cool to give a 43 year old boat a second life. Instead of it hitting the dump, I expect to personally use this boat for another 20 years.

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I recently purchased a Portage Pram from a friend. I had planned on building a similar pram as a shore boat for our Lavro Dory, so this saved a bunch of work, and building Portage Pram oars was a very enjoyable project.

The Portage Pram was originally designed by William (Bill) Peterson back in the 1970s, and proved to be a great little tender. This more recent version is available as plans or a pre-cut CNC kit from Duckworks.com. It’s 6′ 8″, with a 42″ beam, and it weighs a remarkably lightweight 35 pounds.

And that is exactly what we wanted for our dory, a very lightweight shore boat that was super easy to bring aboard when we are traveling at higher speeds. The initial plan is to invert the dinghy, and store it over the motor in the Lavro Dory.

Nicole and I had a very similar pram 25 years ago that we used with the little trimaran I built that we cruised up inside B.C., and we loved it. The Portage Pram is a good rower, and has plenty of freeboard with two of us, and is fairly stable. Although, it is so lightweight that with two people you have to carefully shift your weight toward the center as the second person enters or exits. This boat should hold us, a bit of groceries, and our small dog just fine.

Searching For Decent Oars

The boat did not come with oars. After asking around locally to see if anyone had a decent pair I could buy, and finding nothing suitable, I decided to build my own Portage Pram oars. This was the first time I had made a set of oars, although I have built a couple of kayak paddles in the past.

The truth is I am spoiled for good oars, and can’t stand to use the typical store-bought, overweight, unbalanced clubs, even on a little pram such as this. My friend Bruce calls those OSOs – oar shaped objects. If you have never used a good pair of lightweight, balanced oars, I recommend you do not. Because afterward, you will not be content with anything else, and they are not easy or cheap to come by. Seriously though, it makes a huge difference.

Oar Design Theft

I started by testing a variety of oar lengths, loaned by friends, and talked with other Portage Pram owners about their preferences. I sketched a few on paper, then drew up the plan on the computer. What I came up with is 90% inspired/stolen from other designers and traditions, but my oars have a hint of originality because they are such a mish-mash of types.

I have had a long interest and appreciation for Adirondack Guideboats, like these made by my friends Rob & Allison. These very narrow beam, lightweight rowboats developed a rather unique oar. Traditionally made of cherry wood, they have a large boxy inboard shape for counter balance, but the loom tapers down into a very slender connection to the blade, which provides a surprising amount of flex and snap. They are slightly unusual in the USA for using pinned oarlocks, so you cannot feather them. They tend to use a big overlap at the handles, allowing up to an 8 foot oar on a boat as slender as 38 inch beam.

So I drew heavily from this tradition, with slender looms, a counter balancing boxy top end, and pinned locks, although I did not use an overlap at the handles. I love the idea of pinned locks for some boats. No more prying at the rusty lid of the tallow can, only to find it dried out, using it anyway, and having unsightly white paste on the leathers. And no more buttons that wear out, nor heavy bronze oarlocks sliding down the loom and beating up the blade top.

There are downsides to this style of pinned oar, but guideboaters swear by them, and have done very well with them in some pretty yucky ocean conditions in the Blackburn Challenge, a 20 mile open water circumnavigation of Cape Ann.

If my oars are 60% guideboat, where they diverge would give traditional guideboat builders fits. Another 20% of the design can be credited to Pete Culler, with the boxy top ends for counter balance, and rounded the length of the loom. And instead of very expensive bronze guideboat hardware, I used cheap stainless steel oarlocks. It is just a pram.

The next 10% of inspiration comes from having used Shaw & Tenney spoon blade oars, the spruce Qualicum Harbor (that unfortunately appear to be out of business) oars on my Skerry and the beautiful oars Tom at Grapeview Boats. Guideboats never seem to use spoons. There are claims of 20% more efficiency with a spoon, which I highly doubt, unless the competition is using a fork. Mostly I like the looks of them, and did not find them that difficult to build.

The last 10% of the design is all me. I drew all the lines, and made a few modern additions.

There is a very lightweight layer of 1.5 ounce fiberglass on the inside of the blades, because the outer edges are very thin cedar, and I did not want them cracking. There is also a thickened epoxy tip, to help protect the end grain. And the hole for the oarlock pin has been oversized, filled with a high density epoxy, and redrilled, to prevent water ingress and reduce wear and potential splitting.

Oh, and then I painted them with some leftover exterior latex paint from my shop doors. I have a theory that bland looking painted oars have less chance of being stolen at a dock, compared to beautiful brightworked wood. Plus these had a variety of blemishes that would have bothered me to see brightworked. I quite enjoy their practical no-nonsense looks.

They work great, with nice flex in the blades, and decent balance. And they fit in the boat on a diagonal.

Wood From A Sixty Year Old Family Sail Boat From The UK

Maybe the most interesting thing about these oars is the wood they are mostly made from. Living in Port Townsend I figured I could run down to Edensaw and pick up some nice cherry or spruce, air dried or kiln. Nope, nada, nothing even on order. For awhile though I have had in my garage the mast that came off my father-in-law’s old sailboat, and I decided to use some of it. It was thought the mast was spruce, but it is too heavy for that, and is likely fir.

The 33′ Alan Buchanan designed sloop was built in the UK in 1963, made its way across the Atlantic, through the ditch to the Pacific. My wife’s folks cruised it a bunch locally, up to Alaska, and around Vancouver Island. Currently she is a sad sight in their back yard, planks rotting off, only the ribs left for a poor hungry boat school student to chew on.

The mast had been constructed in two parts, hollowed out to cut weight and to run wiring within. The glue joint had failed when I received it, so it was already split up the middle. Unfortunately none of it was 2″ thick, which I needed. So I had to cut away some of the inner edges and then laminate two pieces together. And from that I was able to cut two sticks out.

The wood is really nice, with tight grain and no knots. Unfortunately, when I laminated the pieces together, I must have flipped one, because the grain on each side ran the opposite direction, which made carving them down challenging.

I decided to use some cedar I had for the full width of the blades, to keep the weight down.

Build Steps

After roughing out the shape on the bandsaw the rest was done by hand with a drawknife, spokeshave, and sander, over a few days.

Oar Realization

My subconscious spit out a little nugget of insight when I was making these oars. As the wood shavings flew, hour after hour, I wondered why I seem to enjoy these projects more and more, that take so much work, like the rebuild of my Skerry. It is certainly not from some great work ethic, nor do I really identify as a boat builder. Sure, I love boats, and enjoying getting out into nature on them. But those thoughts did not satisfy the persistent question; why do I enjoy this so much?

Well, an answer popped out. And it makes sense. In life, there are a hell of a lot of things that you just have to swallow, that you realistically have no control over, but that drive you nuts or make you feel powerless. A central point of pain for me is humanity’s destruction of this beautiful world. Huge gas guzzling vehicles and massive homes, endless piles of plastic trash, and electronics that only last a few years. And there are many other things that are endured. It is of course insane to believe you can make everything in the world as you would have it. But still, just under the surface, there is this quiet pool of rage for all that is so clearly not right.

But you know what? I can make a pair of oars that is perfectly fit for their job, are exactly the right length for their boat, balanced for the weight of my arm, fit for my hand, are fairly respectful of the environment, and even honor a bit of family boating tradition.

It is something I can do, that addresses a problem, with a good answer. A little pocket of sanity and power returned. They are not perfect, nor was I shooting for that. But dipping them into the water, over and over, a heartbeat so fitting in place and body that it nearly disappears from notice; that soothes a little bit of my ragged soul. And that is why I enjoy these projects so much.

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