A serendipitous turn brings a small sailboat full circle.
Issue 145: July/Aug 2022
“I owe Kelley a letter. I wonder how Doug and Laura are doing? I need to call Mom and Dad. I should find a new dentist for Ava.”
Then, my stream of consciousness skipped back into the physical realm, launching a journey that would bring my family’s small boat sailing story full circle: “I wonder what’s down this dirt road?”
Although I had been running this route near Michigan’s Interlochen Center for the Arts for five years, it hadn’t occurred to me until that winter morning in 2020 to check it out. So, I swerved, like we all do when we listen to our inner voice, ran down the road a bit, and took a left turn. I stopped. My eyes grew wide as I wondered at this providence.
Sitting next to a pile of logs, likely destined for the dump, was a Boston Whaler Harpoon 5.2. It had a mast, boom, rigging, and bags of sails. But, with gashes in the hull, cracks, and weather-worn seats, it had clearly seen better days.
Nevertheless, having grown up with Boston Whalers since my dad was a sales rep for the popular brand, I knew this was a fortuitous find. Though Boston Whaler is mostly known for its small powerboats, the company built 1,700 of these C&C-designed, 17-foot, centerboard sailing dinghies between 1977 and 1983.
This is the sight that greeted Amy when she decided to follow her curiosity about a dirt road she’d jogged past several times but never followed. She knew right away this was a Boston Whaler Harpoon 5.2.
I called the maintenance department of Interlochen Center for the Arts.
“Is there a plan for that sailboat on the side of the dirt road?”
“No. If you have a trailer to haul it out with, it’s yours.”
I called my dad.
“Hmm…Well….” Long pause. “Well, now, that’s a sailboat. That’s not a boat for one person.” He paused again. “You would really need to learn to sail if you’re going to get that.”
Ever since sailing with my high school boyfriend on his Hobie Cat on Lake Michigan nearly 40 years ago, my love for and interest in sailing had been steadfast. For several years I had been wanting a small sailboat to try my hand at solo.
I called my brother, Scott, another Whaler lover, and owner of a 15 Sport.
“Really? I’ve been looking for one of those for years!”
We sealed the deal after a few more phone calls and a donation to Interlochen.
The Boston Whaler Harpoon was in rough shape when Amy found it, but all the parts were there.
In June, Scott bought an old trailer and picked up our treasure. The maintenance department employees who helped him lift the boat onto the trailer seemed thrilled to get rid of it. We were thrilled to acquire it. Scott hauled it to Ludington, where our parents live, to show them our find. Dad came outside, leaning on his walker, eyes focused and brows furrowed as he assessed whether we had a prize or a problem.
“You’ve got a shrinker,” he remarked to my brother.
“A shrinker?”
“On some of the Harpoons they made back then, the foam between the two hulls shrank in certain places, creating dimples on the exterior. I don’t think it will be a problem, but I’ll call Hobson and find out.” He could hardly wait to call Jack Hobson, his old Whaler buddy, and tell him about the boat.
But Dad’s first phone call, after getting the serial number from the stern, was to Boston Whaler. He discovered that our boat had been manufactured in October 1978 and sold to Irish Boat Shop in Harbor Springs, Michigan. My dad started selling for Whaler in September 1978, which meant, by a freak of fortune, that he
himself had sold this baby, which now sat in his driveway, to Irish Boat Shop!
He was tickled pink. Though he had retired from Boston Whaler years ago, in keeping with his meticulous nature he presented us with a manila folder containing the original Harpoon manual and advertising brochure.
Amy and Scott are all smiles aboard the restored
Harpoon 5.2.
Scott presumed, correctly, that the hull was water-saturated, having sat in the dirt for at least a year. He drilled several holes in the hull and let the water drain out. As Scott cleaned the boat, freed the impacted centerboard, took out the weather-worn seats, and spent hours buffing the fiberglass, my dad supervised the work from the seat of his walker, chuckling in amazement.
It was good to see him taking such an interest. For a few months now, he’d not been his usual industrious self. Summer had been busy with various doctors’ appointments, and my mom was worried about his lack of energy. Before Scott left to return to Toledo with the boat to have the cracks, gouges, and drilled holes in the hull repaired, Mom took him aside.
“Dad could use a little project,” she said. “Could you leave something here for him to work on?
So, the boat was hauled to Toledo, while the seats were left behind. Standing at his workbench in the garage, his walker in the locked position behind him, my dad began sanding the mahogany seats. An hour here and an hour there, a bit each day, before retiring for a nap.
Meanwhile, I began dreaming up a name for the boat. The image that kept appearing in my mind was that pointed index finger, rubber-stamped on an envelope, with the words: “Return to Sender.”
In August, my dad was admitted to Meijer Heart Center. Because of COVID-19, I could not visit. I called him on August 18.
“My situation is very complicated, Amy.”
“Well, Dad, do the doctors and nurses know your birthday is coming up this Saturday?”
Amy steers De Vuelta, the boat she knows is going to teach her much more about sailing.
“Yes…I think they do.”
“Well, tell them you’ve got to be out of the hospital by then because you have a birthday party to attend!”
As we were about to hang up, I remembered one more thing.
“Dad, I decided on a name for the boat!”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it’s De Vuelta—Spanish for ‘Return to Sender.’ Get it? You sold it to Irish Boat Shop and now it’s back in our family. And it’s in Spanish because remember how you used to teach us how to count in Spanish at the dinner table?”
“Oh. Ok.” He hung up the phone somewhat abruptly.
A few days later, I was granted hospital visitation rights. On the morning of August 22, his 82nd birthday, with his sons-in-law and grandchildren Facetiming from the hotel nearby, we sang Happy Birthday to our dad and grandfather. And that afternoon, I was there, holding his hand, as he was returned to his Sender.
For the next year, Scott worked on refurbishing the Harpoon. Fortunately, we had the help of Mike Yauch, another former Whaler colleague, friend of my dad’s, and a Harpoon expert.
Amy and her brother, Scott Nelson, toast the newly launched De Vuelta.
Mike spent countless hours on the phone with us, explaining how to stain the seats, rig the boat, which cleats to buy, what kind of lines we needed, which kind of motor to buy, and the list went on. When we had a question, we called Mike.
Among other things, we had the bottom of the hull painted, repaired loose seams in the mainsail, and replaced the bailers and cleats. Scott expertly finished the seats that our dad had begun sanding on those afternoons when he had enough energy to do so.
Meanwhile, in a scrapbook I found a note that my dad had written to me in college. He usually wrote in cursive, but this was printed. I emailed it to a graphic design shop and requested a font matching his printing as closely as possible for the boat’s name: De Vuelta.
On July 20, 2021, the week of our family reunion in Interlochen, we launched De Vuelta. I was filled with nervous anticipation as we motored away from the launch ramp, and our maiden voyage abruptly stopped when we couldn’t get the centerboard to lower. Two days later, Scott successfully cleared the stuck board,
and we two “wannabe” sailors set off in a gentle breeze.
Our family followed us around the lake in our Boston Whaler Montauk, cheering us on. Scott manned the centerboard, mainsail, and jib, while I handled the lines, tiller, and rudder. With everything set and cleated, we looked over at one another and smiled. Dad would have been so proud.
De Vuelta’s destiny was not the dump. It was to be well loved and cared for by a Whaler family and to continue to grace Green Lake with her beauty. As for those
serendipitous thoughts that pop into your head: heed them. And Dad, thanks. Your legacy sails on.
Amy Devanney, a retired teacher, is raising her teenage daughter while also being a Kids Hope USA volunteer, Girl Scout leader, and yoga teacher. Her hobby list is long, and sailing is now near the top of it.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
