Cruising_World_2016-06-07

33

june/july 2016

cruisingworld.com

I

was 8 years old, and the Vinoy

Basin, in St. Petersburg, Florida,

was my private kingdom to patrol.

Making my rounds, I spotted a skiff

barely fl oating off shore. A few days later,

I noticed that it had drifted into the

harbor, awash with the tide. The next

day, there it was: half-buried in sand in

the northwest corner, the one closest to

the Flagler-built hotel. It was an honest-

to-goodness treasure!

The frayed, sunburned painter told me

it had come adrift long ago, as did the

barnacles inside and out. There were no

markings. But the thwarts were sturdy, the

oarlocks stout. It was a 16 -foot generic

fi shing skiff — or, more accurately, it had

been a generic skiff , until I started to

dream upon it.

Two wide athwartship bottom planks

were missing, but who was counting?

“Worthless,” my father said when I told

him of my fi nd. “Besides, she’s too heavy

for a little guy like you.”

“Please?” I asked. Something in the

tone of my voice made my father look up

and narrow his eyes.

“OK,” he said, “but you’ve got to do the

work, not me.”

We were both true to our word.

The following day I scrounged “one-by”

wood from every unguarded source I

knew. On the weekend, my father carried

the saws and planes while I lugged the bits

and brace.

“Don’t chop at it,” he instructed me

while I sawed. “Just allow the teeth to

eff ortlessly fl ow. Keep the blade at the

same angle. Picture it cutting in your mind.

Breathe regular. Use the whole length of

the saw. Slow and easy wins the race.”

Getting the planks to fi t tightly was

diffi cult.

“Creep up on it, son,” my father

advised. “It’s easier to cut again than it is

to glue that sawdust back on.”

He held up a bronze wood screw.

“You’re going to need exactly the correct

bit in your brace. And you’re going to

draw the screw threads on that bar of

soap I brought to help them turn in.

Keep going slowly. If you stop and the

screw cools, it might bind and then twist

off its head.”

Using the brace and staying perfectly

aligned above the holes was particularly

All her ports were smashed. Gang graffiti was spray-painted inside. There was no rig, a fire had been

lit in the head area, and the engine was frozen solid with rust. Like I said, she was lovely.

BY CAP’N FATTY GOODLANDER

MAGIC

Moments

On Watch

COURTESY OF GARY M. GOODLANDER

Wild Card, the hurricane-damaged Hughes 38 the Goodlanders pulled off a

Virgin Islands reef, carried the couple twice around the world.