Boating actually means working on boats — and loving it
Issue 29 : Mar/Apr 2003
In a half-century of being thrilled by boats and boating in myriad facets, from racing Naples Sabots in Southern California to float-fishing the Susquehanna, I have had many very different boats on many different waters. Yet the single feature of every boat, no matter whether it be factory-fresh or a rehab project, is working on it. My view is that working on your boat, far from being an annoyance, is the heart and soul of the whole endeavor.
Here we run into a serious vocabulary problem; maintenance, fixing up, upgrading, and other commonplace terms of the sort all are too restrictive and create distinctions which ought not to be present. Thus, I began a search for a term to use for the entire process whereby one washes, paints, polishes, tightens, oils, tests, and generally checks everything serially for any flaw. It is, I submit, an epic (if miniaturized) clash of man or woman against the laws of thermodynamics. It can be seen, I claim, as a chess game involving physics and chemistry in which the human tries to find, if not anticipate, the next move by Father Time and Mother Nature. This is the real dynamic duo. Always, you prevent damage to the extent possible, and repair it if discovered.
This process of caring for and nurturing a vessel needed a fresh nomenclature, which I wish to present as the “Shipwright Principle.” In days of yore, when vessels were made of wood and the crew of iron, the shipwright was an admired, skilled, and indispensable member of the crew whose sole task was to keep everything on the ship in working order. Any damage was promptly dealt with by some combination of repairing, rebuilding, replacing, or jury-rigging. Shipwrights were strongly motivated, from internal and external pressures, to catch the process of progressive disrepair before failure — at which time lives and limbs, if not the entire ship, could be lost.
Constant vigilance
It is said that many ships arrived back in port in the best shape they would ever see. This was due to the constant vigilance of the crew toward every piece of gear aboard. The term “maintenance” poorly describes what the shipwright brought to the ship; it was a thoroughgoing study, really a continuous survey.
Every time something aboard a boat gets attention, it needs study simultaneously. You go to fix one thing and find four more. The key to the full enjoyment of boating is to find pleasure, satiety, and even excitement in the search for the flaw. The real Zen of boat maintenance is doing the washing, polishing, tightening, lubricating, and just plain old rubbing of your vessel with the emotional and intellectual mindset of your childhood Easter-egg hunts. Just as then, your eager search is guaranteed to be fruitful, and the potential for reward is ever-present and invigorating.
This is not maintenance forever in a vacuum of drudgery and perspiration, but rather care of your vessel . . . keeping it in the complete and total rectitude and shiny strength that you seek. Upgrading is simply the replacement or repair to new levels of functional and/or aesthetic excellence. You must be determined to leave nothing as it was but always somehow better. The end result is a vessel that looks and works with ease and grace and exudes that special aura of the well-found and shipshape.
The rewards here are not only monetary. You will reap money and fulfillment of spirit by your attention to your vessel, and it will be far safer and more effective at everything it does. My wife chides me about speaking (and feeling) of my vessel as one would about a pet. But of course it is! Just as a dog fancier/trainer/breeder/showperson grooms, rubs, cleans, and tends to the totality of the animal’s needs, the true boater behaves identically. The vet is the mechanic and so on. The secret to success, as defined by hedonistic standards or objective achievements, is the totality of the approach. Boating is working on it, and the rest is frosting.
Specific points
Allow me to extend the above thesis into two more specific points.
1. The true joy of boats is not solely the possession of the larger boat, the sailboat, the wooden boat, or the elaborate and high-tech. The spiritual refreshment from boating is derived from clear and complete insight into the never-ending struggle between man and the thermodynamics of the universe. You can join the fray with any vessel at all simply by committing to making it better each time you are together. I try to do something for my boating appetite each day. I may order a part, check a magazine or catalog, or service some item I brought home for work. True boating is neither seasonal nor dependent on the proximity of water.
2. The really big change in behavior from what I see around me would be in the approach to used vs. new vessels. First and foremost, the Shipwright Principle predicts and explains the attractiveness of the used boat. You will survey the boat, formally or personally, and then get to work on it. The shipwright doesn’t do anything different. The big mythology in today’s market is that between buying new and some warranty feature, the consumer is lulled into the demonstrably false proposition that the boat is perfect and free of defects, and that any that arise will be corrected by someone else. From the Shipwright Principle, you can be sure both have defects of varying severity and need considerable time, money, and careful analysis before you will have a truly good boat.
I will even take this reasoning to its logical extreme and state that a used boat is a safer purchase than new. The used boat will get a thorough and analytical survey with price pegged to allow for the needed work. The soundness of the design and construction are a known factor, and the wider range of all-boats-ever-built vs. built-this-year is a plus in shopping. Lastly, you go into the deal with a plan and the proper orientation, namely, the Shipwright Principle that you will take charge of this vessel and make it ever better . . .
In sum, the purchase of a boat is a life-changing event, comparable to the arrival of a pet or even a child into your life. It is the Garden of Eden story lived out in real life for the billionth time: once you have tasted the fruit of knowledge, you are condemned to labor all of your days.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
