Issue 135: Nov/Dec 2020
When I think about my friend, Larry Pardey, I picture an old cowboy crossing the open range and coming across a barbed-wire fence. Though he cuts it in disgust and drives his herd through, his head hangs in sorrow, for he knows this marks the end of a glorious era.
Larry, who died at 81 on July 27, was a true Jack tar, his lifetime dedicated to the open sea and the elegant craft that sailed upon her. What must he have felt when he first tacked engineless into a modern harbor crammed with synthetic boats lined up like shoes on a shelf, boats that rarely slip their lines to venture into the wild sea beyond? And having crossed the ocean expanse by sail alone, how would he have viewed the few boats that did pass him, having not so much as uncovered their mainsails?
Larry was a man of unbending opinions. But his opinions were not collated from online forums; rather they were forged by thousands of nights at sea and countless hours in the workshop. Real boats are made of unidirectional cellulose fiber, that is, wood. And that wood can only be held together in one of three manners: bronze silicone fasteners, wooden dowelling, or resorcinol glue. One dared not whisper the word epoxy in his presence, not unless you were in the mood for trouble. And once built, the intended means of propulsion lay obvious in the craft’s moniker—sailboat.
Larry drifted down to California from British Columbia as a strapping young lad with a head full of nautical dreams inspired by his lifetime hero, Captain John Voss. He was masculine in a fashion no longer in fashion—that is, burly, competitive, confident, and lusty. He had a charming smile and a mischievous nature, but all the beer and girls aside, he was a man on a mission.
He charmed a young Californian girl named Lin Zatkin into a day on the water, which turned into a 50-year floating love affair and partnership. The details of their adventures are too numerous to illuminate here but are well chronicled through their many acclaimed books. Their larger picture is poignantly captured by their biographer, Herb McCormick, in As Long As It’s Fun.
But the couple’s impact on the cruising culture grew beyond their own lives as they became the inspirational figureheads of a counterculture movement best described by their motto, “Go Small, Go Now.”
It could be said that they took the torch from Eric and Susan Hiscock and carried it forward to another generation. Some feel a generation too far, for there was always an entrenched resistance to their message of self-reliance and simplicity. New cruisers asked, “GRP, GPS, radar, EPIRB, AIS: Why deny ourselves these modern advances?”
In every port in the world, I heard the same apocryphal story of Lin and Larry once accepting a tow into a harbor, as if this shattered the foundations of their philosophy. But the true core of their philosophy was that no piece of modern gadgetry can ever replace the honed skills of true seamanship and an intuitive connection with one’s boat and the sea. They talked the talk via their many seamanship seminars, videos, and storm tactics books. And they walked the walk with their engineless passage around Cape Horn and journey up the tortured canals of southern Chile.
Less known but equally important was Larry’s contribution to the craft, nay the art, of wooden-boat construction. His book Details of Classic Boat Construction is a tutorial masterpiece that belongs on the maritime bookshelf nestled between other timeless tomes.
Larry’s demise was an agony to watch. I think he would have preferred the fate of Colonel Bill Tillman, who was lost at sea on his 80th birthday. Parkinson’s and dementia were robbing Larry of a lifetime of cherished memories, but not his cheeky smile and sense of mischief. On one of my last visits to his rest home, I smuggled in just a wee dram of his favorite whiskey. He smiled, took a conspiratorial glance left and right, took a small sip, let out a sigh of satisfaction, and said, “I’m thinking of building another boat.”
Trim those sheets smartly, Brother, as you sail on into the Sea of Eternity. You may have lost your memories, but fear not. They remain safe in the hearts of the thousands of cruising sailors you so touched.
Alvah Simon and Larry Pardey enjoyed a 25-year friendship formed from their love of the sea. Alvah and his wife, Diana, have sailed Roger Henry to extreme latitudes and shared their adventures in Cruising World and the gripping North to the Night.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
