New Memories in the Making

by Lee Wangstad, ACBS Member
 

You pass slowly by the old boathouse. Every time you get near this end of the lake you are pulled closer and closer to the edge of the water. This time you are at a crawl. You know that care must be taken to avoid the large rocks at the bottom, now seemingly closer to the surface than ever as you work your way in for another glimpse, hoping to see if anyone has visited or disturbed the site.
 

You’ve been a part of the lake for decades now. The old structure was falling down when you were first exploring the lake, discovering the shallow spots and making mental notes, knowing that these areas are to be avoided at any cost. Triangulation was your guide, a learned skill that became sharper as the shoreline and its landmarks became more familiar. You had found the places where the cool boats lived, and the quiet bays where you could always find solace, even on those stifling hot August days when the lake was overflowing with the joy of the summer crowd. Now the old building has become shrouded from view by a dense covering of brush. Most of the newer residents aren’t even aware of its existence.
 

When passing by on the water, you have often wondered what could possibly be inside. You’ve heard stories of a boat that once dominated the lake, one that was not only the fastest thing on the water, but had beautiful lines that gave it a look of motion, rapid motion that carried over even while standing still. There is an inner voice, one that tells you that this building is empty, a haunting voice that reminds you there could be nothing of any value inside these forlorn walls. Whoever was here last left no trace there was ever any intention of returning.
 

Approaching a window, a small break in the blind sends a ribbon of light into the boathouse that breaks the darkness shrouding the boat, tomb-like. It’s barely distinguishable in the haze that surrounds the setting. Pulled from the water, the boat had been cleaned and prepared for the next outing, the one that never came, postponed until a visitor brought in the daylight and broke the silence that had interred the boat for so long.
 

After years your imagination no longer rules over the sudden reality that is just now beginning to sink in. The fever has set and you know that you have to locate the owner. You begin the process, having deep regrets about deferring closer inspection until now. It’s been here all along, why did you let it go so long? It is almost like the time wasn’t right, but now it has come.
 

The trail is cold and your search intensifies at each missed connection. The owner of the property doesn’t actually own the boat. Friends of relatives are traced back and somehow you are finally talking to the rightful owner. The boat means a great deal to them through their memories of fun times, family times. But they have somehow lost any desire to bring it back once again. Working your way through what seems like endless negotiations, you gain possession of the boat. You can’t believe how many years have passed since you first spotted the derelict boathouse, at the time just another shack in need of a good demolition crew.
 

It’s yours…what do you do now? While time has certainly been kind to this lost straggler, it is by no means “like new.” It appears to be a prime candidate for restoration. As with any non-wood restoration, the difficulty will come in knowing where to start and when to stop. A complete restoration is just as easily done on a boneyard hulk, found waylaid and left for dead out in the field. Most times the decision comes easier with a hulk; you just tear into it. No sentimentality involved. You’re just happy to find it and give it a new life. Its past is long forgotten.
 

You ponder the possibility of keeping it original, just adding some of your favorite accessories that you have been collecting over the years. That Airguide Jeweled Contralog Movement speedometer would look so cool in place of the old Motorola 608 tube radio that will be barely audible over the roar of the stylish outboard clamped so proudly to the transom. The bright red horns mounted to the forward deck seem so out of place. Only four holes would have to be filled to remove this blight from an otherwise impeccable presentation. That nice pair of Buells collecting dust on your shelf would make both an authentic and classy substitution.
 

The thoughts and possibilities are endless. This is what is preventing you from taking this boat any further. You carefully strip it down to its bare essentials, cleaning underneath and inside all of the hidden cavities, removing years of accumulated dirt and grime and laying a shine on all of the surfaces so long neglected. The interior still has a shred of life that begs for a tender touch and more elbow grease than you think you have left in you. While you are doing all of this, you are in constant struggle, poring over the options. They seem so endless. And so final.
 

On a hot July afternoon you are talking to the owner of a nice, original, mid-fifties Buick at a car show. You can tell by the way the owner talks the car will be in his garage forever. It won’t be the one that got away. The Buick is a well-preserved original with a few accessories that it’s picked up along the way. In the course of your conversation the one thought that really takes hold is his insistence that it is only original once. The way he found it is the way he will preserve it. No matter what happened along the way, he will do his best to maintain its originality as it existed when it came into his ownership. Age has been its enemy and time will always be a threat, but it is no longer a battle that the Buick is losing.
 

Suddenly it becomes so clear. You are just relieved that your course of action hasn’t included any of the life-threatening modifications that can’t be rescinded. The little ones that you thought would improve the authenticity of the boat. Those alterations that change forever the possibility of going back. The one addition that you can and are willing to accept is the new burgee on the bow staff. The one that lets you know that this boat will always have a place to call home where it will always be welcome.