A family’s abiding passion for their boat heralds a new dawn for an old Sunset
Issue 17 : Mar/Apr 2001
Her name is Midnight Blues. She is 30 feet 6 inches long. One mast, three sails. Wooden. I love to tell her story.
It’s a story that began, really, before either she or I were conceived. It began with a young couple, an experienced boat designer, and a dream. The young couple — newlyweds in 1961 — dreamed of buying a sailboat instead of a house or a car. Having been raised near the ocean, they shared an attraction for boats and seaside adventure. In their first year together they visited the Crocker Boat Yard, in Manchester, Mass., to commission their first sailboat.
To their great disappointment, Sam Crocker talked them out of it. Crocker, known to many as a “builder’s designer” and an “owner’s designer,” urged them to buy an existing sailboat. He encouraged them to sail it for a couple of years, maintain it, get to know what they liked and what they didn’t like about it. “Then,” he said to them, “come back, and I will design a boat for you.”
The 26-foot San Katy, design number 286 (originally named Wendy Ann), had been built at Crocker Boat Yard in 1956. A modified version of Last Call, design number 273, she became Sunset when Mary Ann and Al Higgins climbed aboard for their honeymoon cruise in 1961.
Both teachers, the young couple cruised the coast all summer from Cape Cod to Christmas Cove, returning to Crocker’s in the fall. On that first cruise they visited the waters of Gloucester, Annisquam, the Isles of Shoals, Cape Porpoise, and Haskell and Seguin islands — exploring their anchorages in a seven-foot canvas dinghy built by Ned McIntosh, brother of Bud, a boatbuilder from Dover, N.H.
New plans
The following spring, as the couple prepared for the second season aboard Sunset, Sam Crocker began working up plans for the boat Sturgis (his son) would build for them. He began with the lines from Gull, design number 304, and adapted them to suit the couple’s needs. The contract was signed June 12, 1962, and work began that summer on the spars and keel of design number 334. She was set up in December, planked in February, and the deck laid in March. And my parents — who had been married at sunset — launched the boat of their dreams at sunset, July 1, 1963.
They sailed her happily and proudly for a few years until 1966, when my older brother, Eric, was born. They made a few adjustments, including the installation of child harnesses and a crib. They childproofed the galley, and they continued their summers afloat. But by 1973, Sunset had become too crowded. With three children under the age of 7, two cats, and two adults, her capacity had reached its limit.
Reluctantly, my parents sold the boat of their dreams for a larger Crocker design, number 313 (originally Green Heron), a 39-foot 6-inch center-cockpit ketch. This boat, as before, was named Sunset. Crocker Boat Yard remained her homeport until 1983, when she joined my family in Castine, Maine.
Parting with the second Sunset, the boat the Crockers had designed and built specially for them, had been an emotional decision for my parents. It truly was the boat of their dreams, and while their young family had outgrown her, she remained firmly in their hearts. They watched for her at every anchorage during every summer cruise. In the late 1980s, after several years had gone by without a sighting, my father contacted the Coast Guard’s office of registration, wondering what had become of her.
He learned she was in Texas, a gift from an ill father in Connecticut to his only daughter (and one not much into boats). The boat, now named Vakantie, was sitting in a marina in a saltwater lake, soaking up the sun and Texas heat. The boat was for sale and had been for several months with little interest from any buyers. When a business trip took him to Houston some time later, my father arranged to see her. Dad returned from that trip heartbroken.
Heavy guilt
Her bare wood was exposed to the heat and sun; she was filthy and unkempt and in such disrepair that he doubted her survival. His reaction was almost one of heavy guilt, as if giving her up so many years before had brought her to her current state. In the end, there was nothing to be done but hold on to the memories.
Years later, I began to focus on those memories. I decided to buy a sailboat. At the time, I knew only that it must be wooden and sail well. I bought books on how to buy and sell a boat. I scanned newspapers and magazines for boats for sale or free. In the end, it was my father who found the best boats for me. Who better?
Dad had spent the summers of his childhood in the coastal town of Lanesville, Mass. At 12, he bought his first boat, an Amesbury skiff built by the Lowell Boat Shop. He recalled the outing his family made to buy it and how his parents came to his rescue when he discovered that the cost advertised hadn’t included oars. As a young man, he earned money for college working the fish piers of Gloucester every summer. He went to school on a Navy ROTC scholarship, then spent three years in the Navy. He learned navigation at that time, and developed a feel for the wind at his neck. To this day the trim of his hair allows him to detect the slightest breeze and its direction. My father has fostered in me the passion for wood and wind and sail that will always define who I am.
Undeniable energy
Disappointment with what was to be found locally within my price range led to discussions of the lost little soul in Texas and the potential she might yet possess. I was skeptical, especially as I recalled my father’s reaction to seeing her. But there was an energy around the thought of her that was undeniable. Whatever the case, in April of 1994 I flew to Texas to meet her. I spent four hours with her and, although there was nothing specific about her that I recognized, something about her was familiar. It felt a little like home. I returned from that trip without a doubt in my mind. Sturgis Crocker (now in his early 80s) flew to Texas the following month with my father to survey her. He was pleased with what he found. Cosmetically, she needed help. She had a broken boomkin that would need to be replaced. But beyond that, she was sound. In June of 1994 she was returned by truck to the Crocker Boat Yard, and the man who had built her more than 20 years before saw to her reconstruction.
Later that summer, my father and I spent a week sailing her back home (in more ways than one). Gloucester, Annisquam, the Isles of Shoals, Cape Porpoise, Haskell and Seguin islands — every harbor met again by a beautiful Crocker boat trailing that same small canvas dinghy in her wake.
Rechristened Midnight Blues, she is my life’s lesson. A perfect combination of wind and wave and sun. It’s an incredible thrill to know we have a lifetime of moments to discover together. During the past few years of learning from my father, my eyes have been wide open. Every spring, as we maintain and rebuild her, I continue to learn from the best teacher I will ever know. We brought her back as a family, into the family. And she has brought us together in a way nothing else could have done.
As we sailed her home that first summer, we passed through waters of my remembered youth. As Dad told me stories about sailing her those first few years with Mom, I could sense a destination met. She is for me in this moment what she was for them then. How wonderful it must feel for them now to see me dream my own dream and to know it was once theirs. I feel in my own joy their happiness, too.
Wendy is a graphic designer who sails Midnight Blues from her homeport of Rockport, Maine, with her partner, Marc Craig, and their Rodesian Ridgeback named Cutter.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
