splashed in Tacoma in 1937. “[We] use history to look at our future,”
said Chase. The sardine hold will become a laboratory. A submers-
ible will be launched from a mast and boom—a davit would sully her
original lines. The former machine room will be crew accommoda-
tions and she’ll be propelled via an electric propulsion system, with
battery banks backed up by diesel gensets.
On the day I visited the Co-Op’s sprawling Port Townsend lo-
cation, the yard was buzzing. A team of about 40 employees were
splitting duties on both commercial and recreational projects, from
restoring interior joinery to rigging and spars. “There’s a big talent
pool [here] in a small space,” owner and partner Tim Lee told me as
we toured the grounds. “We have a pretty deep bench.”
The boat arrived in very poor condition. One of the first things
the team did was reconstruct the stringers to solidify the frame. The
starboard side was in worse shape than her port side, so they worked
carefully there. The goal was to “get her back to a shape that’s stable
and give the boat some integrity,” Lee said. “There are a lot of choices
you have to make.” After they felt the Flyer was stable, they lifted off
her deckhouse, which now sat just off her stern.
After I spoke with Lee and Chase, it was hard not to get caught
up in the sheer excitement and scope of the project. Chase had just
returned from Kentucky, where he sourced the white oak that will be
steam bent into frames. After months of fruitless searching and doz-
ens of phone calls, he connected with Barea College, which supplied
the Co-Op with the approximately 20-foot, 8,000-pound logs they’ll
need for the frames. “[We] used a team of four Suffolk Punch draft
horses to pull logs out 30 inches in diameter,” Chase told me, still
energized from the experience. He had the wood milled in Kentucky
and put in a shipping container, but not before coating the precious
cargo in wax to seal moisture inside the wood.
Chase had also just accepted delivery of 14,000 board feet of Sipo,
an FSC-certified tropical hardwood that will become the hull plank-
ing (it was originally planked in Douglas fir). Sourcing materials has
been a challenge, a sad reminder of what’s changed since the Flyer
was built by shipwrights from materials that were found in local
forests to chase the Pacific’s vast schools of sardines. “In a human
lifespan, that’s all gone,” lamented Chase. “The sardines, wood and
shipwrights are all victims of environmental change.”
Once launched, the boat’s mission will be to address environmental
issues from Puget Sound to the Sea of Cortez. A team of scientists will
create a curriculum, using the Flyer to identify the human impact on
these fragile ecosystems, teaching students how overfishing and plas-
tic pollutants are effecting oceans not just locally but the world over.
Wo r k o n t h e Western Flyer moves steadily forward, with a team
that’s organically grown to 11 people “all at the top of their game,”
said Chase. Lee believes that they’ve been successful due to the na-
ture of the cause. “People want to donate to projects, not capital proj-
ects,” he said from the deckhouse. I restrained myself from messing
with the fasteners on one of the ports that still held its original glass.
I can see why Chase feels that the rebirth of the Flyer is much deeper
than another restoration. He referred to the vessel as “the embodiment
of a moment in time” when Steinbeck and Ricketts met at the beautiful
intersection of art and science. If all goes well after the boat splashes
and systems and sea trials get the proper wring-out, the team will be
celebrating at the Port Townsend Wooden Boat Festival in 2021.
This will be followed by a trip back to the Sea of Cortez in March,
2022—81 years to the date of her first voyage. Perhaps I’ll be along,
squinting off into the middle distance and pretending I’m Steinbeck
for a moment, before once again descending into the old sardine
hold. This time, it’ll be to alert the crew of something interesting I’ve
just seen off our starboard bow. U
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