Birth and Death at the Boats Afloat Show


One morning during the September 2006 Boats Afloat Show, I parked my
car in an unrestricted parking space along Westlake Avenue and walked
to the show at Chandler's Cove. The pleasant stroll on one of the
last days of "official" summer brought me past the rotted-off
pilings in those chilled brown Lake Union backwaters along the banks at
South Lake Union Park. I walked near the surplused Naval Reserve
station, across the $10 parking lot, and into the gravel expanse of
Northwest Seaport's facility adjoining the Center for Wooden Boats. I
overheard a series of pounding noises above a chorus excited young
voices on the far side of a long shed, and to satisfy my curiosity I
stopped to investigate.

Perhaps a dozen early or pre-teen youngsters where gathered around an
enormous cedar log. Under the watchful eye of a Native American elder,
they were hacking, scraping and gouging out the beginnings of a
depression in the log with primitive hand tools. Rough chisels and
adzes that could have been used hundreds of years ago, in this or a
nearby location, for exactly the same purpose- building a canoe. Only
one or two of the kids appeared to possibly be Native American and the
others were a typical Seattle area mix of whites, Asians, Latinos, and
African Americans. The venerable tradition of learning to extract the
graceful and useful form of a canoe from the vital trunk of an ancient
cedar depended less upon cultural heritage or ethnicity than an
eagerness to learn, a respect for the gifts of nature, and the
universal desire to be creatively productive. In those few moments I
was privileged to watch the initial stages of what would be a long
birthing process for a timeless vessel, almost perfect in design and an
almost perfect execution of useful ritual and tradition.

With heart uplifted and a beaming smile I pressed on toward the Boat
Show. Only a few steps beyond the canoe building project, I encountered
an old friend in wretched condition. My heart sank. The 1897 Schooner,
"Wawona", has never looked as dismal as in these September days
where crisp copper shadows fall long (and darkness, early). Her masts
were amputated not so long ago "She doesn't have the strength to
carry them," they said, "and they could topple and injure or kill a
passerby." So sadly but wisely she was dismasted.

Now it's almost as if the loss of her proud spars has stripped her of
a will to hang on to any shred of life at all. She has been closed to
the public. Her starboard planks are reduced to mouldering punk, and
her stern is crumbling. The rot has outraced the determined volunteers
and limited resources that have been devoted to saving her. Time claims
all things, and it is clawing at the planks and frames of "Wawona."
To save her now, if it could be done at all, might easily cost more
than building her again from scratch. Shaking my head and suppressing
an urge to shed a tear, I suddenly realized that the ramshackle
collection of diseased timbers and rusted fasteners wasn't the
"Wawona" anymore.

"Wawona" was one of the largest 3-masted lumber schooners ever
built. She struck a fine figure as she came down the ways up in
Fairhaven. She faithfully toiled for three or four generations of men,
working as a lumber schooner and a cod-fisher. She even served her
country by hauling lumber and supplies during time of war.


"Wawona" was built almost the same year my seafaring grandfather
was born, and also "retired" about the same time.

I first met the grand old "Wawona" when I was a teenager in the
mid-1960's, on a summer afternoon I so vividly remember still. She
had been recently acquired by a group called "Save Our Ships", and
was on at one of the piers along Alaska Way open for public tours.
Grandpa and I took the bus downtown from his home in Ballard. The old
seaman had learned to sail as a young lad, in the Royal Naval Hospital
School at the British Naval Academy in Greenwich, (and aboard the HMS
Ganges). "Here's how they sailed her," he explained as he moved
with a surprising confidence and agility through her passageways,
compartments, and around her deck. "And these are her parts and
pieces, and how she was built, and how she was worked." In an
afternoon, my grandfather shared a portion of his life's work
experience with me- courtesy of the "Wawona".

"Wawona" is a proud sailing ship that performed admirably for many
decades, not this
withered hulk literally dissolving into Lake Union. The spirit of the
ship has fled, and it's only her cadaver that's now condemned by
general public disinterest and a complete lack of meaningful funding to
preserve, (let alone restore) her. No, she's isn't "Wawona"
anymore, in my opinion. "Wawona" has sailed on.

If I don't fall overboard, can avoid getting whacked by a car, and
don't provoke any grammarian purists into a fit of murderous rage
there's a slight chance I might "live" to a ripe old age. On that
day when my mind has (permanently) fled, the light has vanished from my
eyes, and when a sad and empty sack of skin, bones, and rusty blood is
being sustained by some mechanical miracle of modern medicine, I'm
going to need my wife or my kids to make a decision for me. I hope that
they will find the fortitude to look at my ventilating corpse with
externally pumped pulse and realize, "That's not really my
husband/father. He's gone." Surely and truly I will be. Sometimes
the house stands empty, and nobody is home.

Maybe it's time to take a hard look at "Wawona." So many of us
have loved her, but everything meaningful about her was far more than
the network of planks and frames now buckling, heaving, and punking
away as she sits aground in the mud of South Lake Union. Perhaps it's
time to resolve the conflict between a macabre fascination with holding
the bones together against all odds and allowing the grand old lady a
death of quiet dignity.

The miracle and promise of a project born, and the bittersweet remorse
of an extended, agonizing death. It is absolutely amazing what one can
encounter in and around a boat show.

Charlie Morgan wrote:
On 14 Sep 2006 23:36:00 -0700, "Chuck Gould"
wrote:

Birth and Death at the Boats Afloat Show

With heart uplifted and a beaming smile I pressed on toward the Boat
Show. Only a few steps beyond the canoe building project, I encountered
an old friend in wretched condition. My heart sank. The 1897 Schooner,
"Wawona", has never looked as dismal as in these September days
where crisp copper shadows fall long (and darkness, early). Her masts
were amputated not so long ago "She doesn't have the strength to
carry them," they said, "and they could topple and injure or kill a
passerby." So sadly but wisely she was dismasted.

Now it's almost as if the loss of her proud spars has stripped her of
a will to hang on to any shred of life at all. She has been closed to
the public. Her starboard planks are reduced to mouldering punk, and
her stern is crumbling. The rot has outraced the determined volunteers
and limited resources that have been devoted to saving her. Time claims
all things, and it is clawing at the planks and frames of "Wawona."
To save her now, if it could be done at all, might easily cost more
than building her again from scratch. Shaking my head and suppressing
an urge to shed a tear, I suddenly realized that the ramshackle
collection of diseased timbers and rusted fasteners wasn't the
"Wawona" anymore.


Last December there was a summit conference on what to do with the
Wawona. Here is the final 56 page report:

http://www.nwseaport.org/Wawona_Final_Report.pdf

CWM

Thanks for posting that. The survey included with that report sadly
confirms what is only all too obvious to the casual observer. It looks
like the decision reached was to make some attempts to retard
additional decay while trying to develop a final plan for
the long range future of the vessel, (and of paramount importance-
identify somebody willing to put up the many, many millions nearly any
of the identified options will require).

After reading the report, I remain in favor of some option granting her
a death with dignity. I was intrigued by the "shipwreck" option the
report says was used for some old ships back in the 1930's in New
England. Those boats were towed to a remote island and scuttled, and
were highly photographed attractions during the years it took them to
be entirely reclaimed by the sea. Probably too many environmental
concerns, etc, to do such a thing today.

One of the options discussed was sinking her to provide an attraction
for scuba divers.
If scuttled in salt water (she's all but scuttled now), she would hold
together longer than under any other scenario except a total
restoration.