I'll have to find some old pictures of the boat my old man built as I was growing up. Some of my earliest memories are of the hull sitting in the front yard, me standing on one side and looking through to the other side. It was an old navy rescue boat, a whaler hull.
He spent the next thirteen years rebuilding it by hand. The keel was hand poured farrow cement. The mast was made from a pine tree that was delivered to our house and deposited in the back yard. He spent weeks after work shaping it with a hand plane. The ribs were steam bent in our garage.
The result was an absolutely beautiful gaff rig boat that drew about 4', and garnered the attention of everyone in the harbour when we sailed it. It had an inboard Buhdda diesel engine, circia 1947. Sometimes it took 2 hours to get it cranked up, but it always came through when we needed it too. There was a 47' yacht that was well known in Charleston harbour. It got stuck on a newly formed sandbar close the the entrance to the harbour. Halo, 26' long, and her 50+ year old diesel pulled her off and towed her back to her berth. Everything, even the cleats, was hand made by my old man. Wire splices, sail tailering, hand plugged cotton between the hull planks.
Hurrican Hugo sent something to cut both bow anchor lines, and Halo was beaten under a barge. The mast was ripped out of the deck. That was the only time I saw my old man cry.
Dennis got me thinking. to you guys down there.
