described "boat 

 groupies." I often 

 look up to find 

 someone caressing 

 the laminated 

 sassafras frame or 

 the sanded cedar 

 seats. 



Water Lily 

 shares the construc- 

 tion floor with a 28- 

 foot-9-inch sharpie, 

 a historic design 

 being built by 

 watercraft center 

 volunteers. 

 Generous with 

 time and talents, 

 many in this 



laudable squadron contribute much to 

 Water Lily. Not only do they help me with 

 countless tasks, they share their doughnuts 

 at break time. 



It is a friendly and fun place. Allen, the 

 other student and I make up a silly little song 

 about lamination — gluing thin strips of 

 wood together for frames. We sing it often. 



The course runs for 16 days in a row 

 — not enough time for one slow student. 

 But thanks to help from Allen, shop 

 technician William Prentice, volunteers and 

 friends, most major construction is done. 

 It's good I don't know how much work is 

 still ahead. 



It takes the better part of six more 

 weeks to bring Water Lily to launching. 

 Despite growing competence and confi- 

 dence, there are trying times. 



"The devil is in the details," Allen 

 says. I am bedeviled. It seems I have miles 

 of edges to shape and acres of surface area 

 to prep and sand. And sand. And sand. My 

 significant other takes pity and pitches in. 

 Still, my hands ache, my sinuses swell and 

 my spirit wilts in the sanding dust. 



Finally, it is time to trade the sandpa- 

 per for paint rollers. I get my first glimpse 

 of the boat I have envisioned — green and 

 white, with varnished transoms and trim. I 

 am ecstatic. 



The painting epiphany invigorates me 

 for the last hectic days. We plan to launch 



Patience is the key to finding the exact fit for the forward quarter knee, 



the boat at the annual in- water meeting of 

 the Traditional Small Craft Association, a 

 group of wooden boat fans affiliated with 

 the Friends of the Museum. 



Water Lily isn't done until 6 p.m. on 

 the eve of the meet. "Done" is another 

 relative concept in boatbuilding. There are 

 minor matters to tend to, but she is ready to 

 be launched. We put up the mast and hang 

 the rudder as she sits on sawhorses in the 

 shop. Then we hoist the sail — sewn in 

 another watercraft center class — and 

 stand back for the first look. 



The effect is stunning. Allen shakes 

 my hand. I shake my head in disbelief. 



The next day on the shores of Bogue 

 Sound, the bright new boat sparkles in the 

 sunshine. Admirers gather. Water Lily is 

 bound to be the belle of the ball. The 

 builder matches the boat. I have dried paint 

 on my knees and varnish on my ankle. 



I worry the audience will pick out the 

 imperfections such as the ill-fitting cleat I 

 fashion at the last minute. But it isn't that 

 kind of crowd. These people know what it 

 takes to build a boat. They heap on praise. 

 They also understand my seeming lack of 

 humility. They know it is awe, not 

 arrogance, that makes me agree with all 

 compliments. 



The boat launching is a joyful 

 occasion. There is much applause as I pour 

 a bottle of Perrier over her bow, christen 



her Water Lily and 

 ask the sea gods to be 

 kind. 



I invite Allen to 

 join me for the first 

 sail, and we set off 

 past the moored fleet 

 of grand wooden 

 sharpies and spritsail 

 skiffs. It is a sweet, 

 sweet moment when 

 Water Lily meets her 

 elements of water and 

 wind for the first time. 

 She proves she is not 

 just a pretty face. She 

 sails gloriously. 



Back at the dock, 

 a line forms for a turn 

 at the tiller. I try to be magnanimous. But I 

 surreptitiously check credentials: "Is he a 

 good sailor?" I ask in low tones as the next 

 person casts off. 



Finally, I decide Water Lily is meant 

 to be on the water, not on display. How- 

 ever lovely, she is a boat, not a piece of 

 fragile art. 



I take good care of Water Lily but let 

 her be a boat. She does the not-so-glorious 

 things boats do. She goes aground. She goes 

 adrift. She capsizes. 



Though I might curse when her 

 daggerboard finds an oyster shell or her 

 varnished guardrails scrape a dock, I don't 

 despair over these perils. I can fix or make 

 new whatever gets damaged, broken or lost. 

 I can build another boat. 



I'm a boatbuilder now. □ 



The lapstrake boatbuilding course is 

 one of several classes offered by the Hairey 

 W. Smith Watercraft Center. Tuition is $340. 



Boatbuilding cwpentty is a required 

 prerequisite; the lofting course to transfer 

 scale drawings intofidl-size patterns is 

 recommended. Both are two-day courses on 

 weekends. Tuition for the carpentiy course 

 is $90; lofting tuition is $60. Friends of the 

 Museum receive tuition discounts. 



For a full schedule, contact the N.C. 

 Maritime Museum, 315 Front St., Beaufort, 

 NC 28516 or phone 252/728-731 7. 



COASTWATCH 23 



