Write On The Water

C.E. Grundler

Improperly stowed body. Then again, the bigger they are, the harder they are to hide.

Anyone familiar with Travis McGee’s houseboat probably remembers how the Busted Flush had a strategically hidden space, all but undetectable and just large enough to hide one human. On more than once occasion Travis utilized that space, either to avoid or to ambush his enemies. And while my boat is nowhere near as big as the Busted Flush, I’ve often considered how handy some hidden space like that might be. I’ve always know there were a few odd areas tucked here and there, it wasn’t until we needed to remove the midship cleats and fuel fill pipes from the side decks that I discovered just how much space I really have aboard.

Let’s look at the dimensions. On both sides of my salon, for a length of approximately 12 feet, are vacant spaces measuring roughly 20″ wide by 30″ high. One side is accessible through the hatches beneath the dinette seats, which takes a bit of bending, but can be accomplished by even a 6’4″ 190 lb. man. As a 5’2″ woman, I had no problem slipping in there. The other side has a larger entrance, except that it involves pulling the entire stove out first. All the same, it is fascinating seeing just how much space we have aboard that we’re not putting to good use. Still, short of smuggling whatever, what could be done with this space?  At the moment, I’m considering setting up more accessible entryways, and making these caverns a combination storage space as well as cabins for our four-footed crew.

C.E. Grundler

Outside, a work boat softly idles while a gentle rain drums on the un-insulated roof. An occasional boat motors past the dock, the damp morning breeze carrying the faintest hint of diesel fumes through the open windows, and with each wake the pilings that support this miniature building shake ever so slightly. Off in the distance, a lone tug heads down-river, barge in tow.

Where am I?  Quite contently tending the fuel dock house (technically, your basic backyard utility shed perched out on a dock,) at Haverstraw Marina on a dreary, drizzly Thursday. Due to Sandy’s visit last fall, few fuel docks in the region are up and running, even all these months later, but it’s early in the season and with this weather, at the moment boats aren’t exactly lining up for fuel. This fuel dock had been yet another casualty of the storm, swept out of existence, and the scent of fresh sawdust still lingers within the newly rebuilt shed. In a few weeks the college kids will be returning for the summer, but until then, I’m quite happily doing fuel-dock duty from time to time.

From a writer’s standpoint, this is about as perfect as it gets. The atmosphere is ideal. A long dock separates me from the rest of the world, and the amenities are the bare basics:  a desk, a chair, some electricity, and a roof over my head.  There’s just enough space beside the register to squeeze in my laptop. That’s about it. The WiFi connection out here is painfully slow and uncooperative — certainly not surfing conditions. Just posting this was like pulling teeth. The head is over in the buildings on shore, which means a decent walk just to use the facilities, and now the rain is really starting to come down. I don’t think I’ll be getting many visitors today. Which leaves me with only one thing to do, virtually distraction-free….WRITE.

(Though I will admit there are the occasional passing distractions, such as Duck.)

Or the random passing dog…

It’s early May in the boatyard. As a wooden boat owner, sandpaper, paint, varnish, and brushes are my primary springtime tools. Lots of work and lots of time to think about this old boat of ours, one that was first launched just after the war…World War II to be more specific. 1946. Back when the Andrews Sisters were a top performing act.

Back then, the leading household technology came in this form (1946 Philco AM radio):

And cars looked like this (1946 Ford Convertible Club Coupe):

And authors tapped the keys, page by page, on typewriters that looked like this (Royal Quiet DeLuxe Typewriter):

What’s surprising is that we still push our sailboat hard even though it’s close to 70 years old. Yet, even when we get that old boat up to top speed we’re only going 6 or 7 knots.

So when it comes to scooting around on the water with a bit more speed we turn to a fiberglass Boston Whaler that I picked up at a shrewd price about eight years ago. That little Whaler is a great utility boat for gunkholing, fishing, and water skiing. I remember seeing similar 17 foot Whalers in my youth. It’s a timeless design that I admire as much today as I did in 1976 when it came off the production line.

Then again, a 1976 model boat isn’t exactly new. 1976. Remember that year? I do. What I don’t remember is how all the years in between escaped so fast. And how did our’76 Whaler – our new boat – end up being 37 years old!

For those of you who have forgotten, 1976 was the nation’s bi-centennial year. It was back when the Detroit auto industry was still building land yachts that were so big you practically needed tug boats to help you in and out of supermart parking spaces, ones that looked this these (1976 Chevy Caprice):

And authors and businesses would slowly start shifting from this (IBM Selectric Typewriter):

To this (Apple 1 Personal Computer):

Hopefully our 67 year old sailboat and 37 year old Whaler get through another season – hopefully many more seasons. With care and a bit of good luck, they should. But the staying power of these old boats is nothing compared to the power of books.

Consider the many reads that are as relevant and enjoyable today as when they were first released. Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby in 1925. Hawthorne’s Scarlett Letter in 1850 and Melville’s Moby Dick in 1851. Or Cervantes’ Don Quixote in 1605 and Shakespeare’s Tempest in 1610.

If you sit back and read those books and take in their lasting value, a 1946 sailboat and a 1976 skiff don’t seem so old. And what’s even better about old books and stories? They don’t require annual maintenance to keep them current. At least that’s how it seems to me as I toil away on this old boat of ours.

C.E. Grundler

It’s always nice to have something to show for endless hours of hard work.  I suppose that’s one of the reasons I enjoy brightwork — it’s so very visual and satisfying.  But my brightwork days are still far into the future. Much of the work I’ve been doing aboard Annabel Lee has been on things that ultimately no one will ever see. Passers by rarely pause to comment on the fairness of a keel, or the smooth, even curve of a deck.  And while I realize few people will ever see deep into the engine room, at long last, I can look in there and smile…because things are really starting to shine!

One more coat to go and the block will be finished.

The valve cover, starter and alternator are next in line for their makeover, then they and all the other nice painted parts, including the resealed tranny go back in. New belts, hoses, lines, clamps and more, and this little engine will at last look as good as it runs. And that makes me very happy.

I guess this means now I’ll have to start cleaning and repainting the rest of the engine room.