My childhood was filled with boat building, primarily model boats that couldn’t sail. However, I did construct a few that were somewhat seaworthy. Once, with friends, I even built a ten-foot raft. We had great fun sailing it on the local river, although it wasn’t entirely waterproof. One person rowed while the others worked tirelessly to bail out water faster than it flooded in.
Inevitably, we failed. I was rowing when we realized we were sinking in the middle of the river. I tried to help bail, but it only slowed our descent. I resumed rowing, desperately trying to reach shore before we went under.
Miraculously, we made it! We scrambled ashore just as the raft began to sink. Then we realized we were on the wrong side of the river, forcing us to choose between a long detour to the nearest bridge – a twenty-kilometer round trip – or swimming across.
We chose to swim. Seeing no one around, we quickly undressed and, holding our clothes above the water, made our way back to our side. Just as we were climbing out, a group of girls from our school walked by. It was not our finest moment.
That was long ago, but the dream of building a boat has resurfaced several times. I’ve spent hours reviewing boat building plans, but size matters. I often considered boats between thirty and forty feet, but the immense workload always deterred me.
Now, I’m starting small. I’m building a sixteen-foot Grand Banks dory, intending to equip it with a small outboard motor. I have acquired the plans and secured a workspace. By the time you’re reading this, I might even be finished.
Perhaps later, I’ll build a forty-foot cabin cruiser and tow my Grand Banks dory behind it. Then, if the cruiser sinks, I can always row to safety in my dory – dry and fully clothed.