...and there's a protected inland waterway less than a hundred miles from this place. Unbelievable.
Following my descent from the mountains, however, I had a considerably more focused goal: to find one of Astraea's sisters. Although I've been building this boat for the better part of two years at this point, I've nonetheless never actually seen a finished one with my own eyes. I knew that Port Townsend, Washington, was the de-facto west-coast capital of wooden boatbuilding, however, and I'd seen at least one Falmouth cutter listed for sale there online, so it seemed a logical place to begin my search.
Thursday, August 27, was forecast to be pouring rain, which didn't seem like a pleasant way to walk along the docks at all, so I initially planned to go visit the Quinault rainforest instead. When I awoke that morning at my friend's house in Olympia, however, the promised deluge had failed to materialize. After a brief moment of hesitation, I decided to revert to my original plan. Setting my GPS for Port Townsend, I headed north up the peninsula on US 101. As I passed the turnoff for the rainforest, I briefly hesitated, considering taking the exit after all, but there was something intangible that prevented me from doing so. "You should go to Port Townsend," I found myself saying aloud, alone in my rented Toyota Yaris. And so I did.
Arriving in town, a few blocks past a hastily-erected sign proclaiming "Recreational Marijuana Now Open!", I noticed a forest of masts off to my right. I had no particular knowledge of any of the town's marinas, but this was the first one I'd seen, and seemed like as good a place to start as any, so I parked the car and set about walking the docks. I found a Hess boat almost immediately. Or rather, it looked like it should be a Hess boat, but I'd never seen one quite like it before. It was made of fiberglass, and extremely short. I later learned that it's known as the Falmouth 22; the smallest of Lyle's offshore cruiser designs, and one of only 39 ever built.
The rest of the boats on this first dock being of no particular interest, I returned to the pier and continued onward to the next. To my astonishment, I found a second Hess boat sitting in the next-to-last slip at the end of this dock as well, less than ten minutes after I'd left my car. This one was wooden, carvel planked, and came complete with a white-haired gentleman of about seventy in tan overalls hunched over next to her cabin top, his eyes focused downward as he pulled and replaced the plugs in her laid teak decks with a chisel and mallet.
-"Is this a Lyle Hess design?", I asked.
"Yep," the man replied, his eyes still fixed on his work, "twenty-four footer, like Seraffyn."
-"Nice! I'm building the 30-foot version in my backyard in Virginia," I volunteered.
This seemed to get his attention, as he then paused and looked up, as if evaluating me anew in the context of what I'd just said.
"Yep," the man replied, his eyes still fixed on his work, "twenty-four footer, like Seraffyn."
-"Nice! I'm building the 30-foot version in my backyard in Virginia," I volunteered.
This seemed to get his attention, as he then paused and looked up, as if evaluating me anew in the context of what I'd just said.
"Well good for you." he said, before adding: "You've come to the right place. Climb aboard."
That is how I met Bertram Levy.
Bertram on his 24-foot cutter, 'Able'
Bertram built Able in the early '80s, around the same time that Lin and Larry Pardey were building the first of her bigger sisters, the Falmouth 30 Taleisin. He'd known Lyle Hess, and relied on his advice throughout the construction process. He'd also been present at Taleisin's launch in 1983, and shared with me his considerable knowledge about the construction and sailing of both hull types. Having grown up on my dad's 25-foot Friendship sloop Amnesty, I was stunned by how big Able felt, despite being one foot shorter on deck, due to its considerable beam.
"You're welcome to go below if you like," Bertram told me, as he continued his work on the decking, "take whatever pictures you like."
Belowdecks, Able's layout reminded me a lot of Amnesty's, which was no surprise, as Dad told me he'd based her configuration on what he'd seen of Serrafyn. Once again, however, the amount of space was astonishing. I could nearly (but not quite) stand up beneath the deckbeams, and the brightwork was beautiful. The cabin was also pervaded by a tangy lemon-ginger scent.
"It smells great down here!" I shouted up to Bertram on deck.
-"That's the hull planking," he replied from above, "Port Orford Cedar; fabulous stuff. Lightweight, smells good, and incredibly strong." I told Bertram of my thoughts on using tropical hardwoods for planking. He didn't see the need. "I've gone hard on the rocks out here at seven knots," he said, "barely took a scratch." The combination of strength and resilience was a major selling point to me, I mentioned, as my backbone was even heavier than Taleisin's, and I didn't want my hull to be even heavier than hers as well, lest my boat be down on its marks upon launch.
Belowdecks on 'Able'
For most of the following hour I poked and prodded about on Able, occasionally tossing questions at Bertram as he continued his labors on the deck. Eventually, however, he finished, and asked me if I'd had lunch. I told him that I had not, and so he invited me to have a sandwich at his place, while he showed me the next boat he was working on. The next thing I knew, we were bouncing up the hills of Port Townsend towards his workshop in an old Toyota pickup truck whose speedometer still had the number "55" colored in orange. After a few minutes we disembarked, and he led me inside. Bandsaws and planers filled the space, alongside stacks of wood in innumerable dimensions, clamps, and hand tools. A mostly complete Nutshell Pram -sistership to my own dinghy Korora- hung from the ceiling, and in the distance, through an opening, rested one of the most exquisite hull forms I'd ever seen.
Bertram's workshop in Port Townsend
This new boat was being planked with tight-seam construction using Honduras Mahogany, which is currently almost impossible to obtain due to its inclusion on the IUCN red list of threatened species. Bertram, however, had bought a large amount of the stuff in the 1980s, knowing that he'd surely "get around to building something with it someday." And indeed, here was something else entirely.
The word 'craftsmanship' really takes on an entirely new meaning with this project.
-"Not up here in Port Townsend," he replied, "though there is a 32 footer that I've seen around here and there. The nearest Hess 30 that I know of is down in Olympia."
Olympia? As in where I'd been staying for the past two days? This seemed almost too good to be true.
"Do you know where in Olympia?" I asked.
-"Nope. Just somewhere down there. Boat's named Kirin."
"Spelled like the beer?"
-"Yep."
We finished our sandwiches, then climbed back into the truck to retrace the bouncy ride back to the boatyard, while Bertram filled me in on some of the local politics in the town. When we got back to the yacht basin, we parted ways as Bertram returned to continue his work on Able. He left me with one parting thought:
"Building a boat isn't easy; my hat goes off to anyone who can stick with it until it's finished, no matter how they do it!" he said. I thanked him, and headed back to my car. It was four o'clock, and I had a two hour drive back to Olympia. If I hurried, I could probably get there with a few hours of daylight left to begin the hunt for the elusive Kirin.
