You Can’t Save Them All.
Jode Hillman writes about the restoration attempt of a classic New Jersey Duck Hunting sneakbox.
Freshly arrived at the shop. Van Sant Style New Jersey Sneakbox
She lured me in only the way a duck boat can. A low sweeping shear, feather-edged to the waterline. Starburst rear decking and beautifully curved cockpit combing. I was instantly enthralled. I am referring to a 100 year-old Barnegat Bay sneakbox that was owned by a friend. He offered her to me. From what I could tell she would make a beautiful addition to my small collection of duck hunting watercraft. However it would be several months before I was able to make the drive and pick her up. She was originally owned by my 75-year-old friend's grandfather. (That fact, as well as her construction details, speaks to her age.)
Classic New Jersey lines and form
My anticipation was high upon reaching my friends home. Driving around back to where the sneakbox was stored we opened up the old truck body that held the boat. When we pulled her out of the Dusty storage container, you could see and smell the age. But it was more than that. A scent of mildew also hung in the air. That is never good when it pertains to things constructed of wood. Still, she felt solid and looked well for her age. Her White Cedar construction, I hoped, would have save her from the ravages of elements and time.
Upon opening the hatch cover, once again, I was hit with the pungent scent of age. I peaked under her decking. Besides flaking paint and rusty nails, I could see a few areas of decay. Undaunted I surmised it was localized damage and hopefully contained. I had seen this many times before and generally, once they dry out and are given a good cleaning, you end up needing to replace a few boards, nothing more.
A few problem areas visible from the outside, but the real surprises lie within.
I was excited to bring her home. The Tuckerton Decoy Show was only a week away and I brought her with me to display. I originally thought she was a Van Sant built sneakbox. Van Sants are considered the Cadillac of sneakboxes. Beautiful lines, rugged construction, classic design. Dozens of people commented on her shape and eye appeal. A few expert eyes helped me determine that she was not in fact a Vansant, but clearly in that style. A few key construction techniques were missing. The full harping board, Decoy boards that not quite right, her bow eye not thick enough bronze. Still I was happy with the craft and planned to restore her sometime this winter. I purchased some beautiful half inch cedar planking at the show I figured would be of use.
With a Nor' Easter looming this past weekend I decided it was time to bring her into the shop out of the weather. The restoration was set to begin! Her 12' x 52" dimensions fit into the shop perfectly. She could stay there for weeks or months with no bother to me and I would work on her at my leisure. The first step in restoring any old craft is getting to the bones. In this case, the deck and hull frames. This meant removing the half-inch cedar deck planks and taking her down so I could do a better inspection of the interior. The deck planking was beautifully tongue and grooved. They were fit into a starburst pattern where it came together on the rear deck. Whoever built, the boat was not an amateur by any means. The original fastening of the deck boards was square cut nail driven through the frames and clenched over.
Tongue and Groove deck detail
As I removed the planks I also began to see evidence of 1.5" bronze Boat nails and 1.5" modern Philip headed galvanized deck screws throughout. This revealed to me she had gone through at least two refits in her lifetime. The galvanized deck screws were troublesome. They had been puttied over with Bondo filler. Locating them, digging out the filler and removing each was a time-consuming chore. Many spun when I tried to remove them. A bad sign of deterioration underneath.
Typical rusted and spun deck screw needing removal
The silicon bronze boat nails were also covered with filler. It took great care to remove the planking in re-usable condition.Since the planks were tongue and groove, it was necessary for me to start at the port side, removing each planking in order as they all fit together from left to right. As I progressed with the planking removal, bad news began to appear. Many of the cockpit frames were split. They were also rotted plus had significant insect damage. Whether it be from termites or black ants, I am wasn't sure. However, their tunnels crisscrossed the framing all along the boats feather edge chine.
It became apparent some frame replacement would be necessary. As I continued towards the bow, removing planks, more trouble appeared. Several deck beams were Sister together and glued with 3M 5200 plus more Bondo. Whole removing this conglomeration pieces began to disintegrate in my hands.
Signifigant insect damage began to appear through. (Deck beam and Harping shown)
By the time the entire decking was removed, she was laid bear for the world to see. No longer the beautiful sleek craft I had initially laid eyes on. But now a withered skeleton of broken bones, and memories gone by.
Split and dry rotted framing
The sad realization soon began to sink in. Although it would be possible, it would be a monumental task to bring her back from the grave. She had been operated on at least twice before, and the real root of the problem had never been addressed. Unfortunately, despite that beautiful face, her bones had grown weak.
Bare hull, deck and transom removed. The rusted fastenings lined up like headstones.
I made the decision to save as much of the cedar planking as I could. I would incorporate it in my artwork, hopefully creating something freshly beautiful out what yet remains.
Mini Black ducks Hanging on a piece of the old boat decking.
They can't all be saved. In our modern American mindset, we often fail to recognize the finite nature of items. Ourselves included. As hunters we are often closer to this realization than most. The killing of a deer, a duck falling from the sky, the tuna beating its life blood out on the deck. Though we see it often, we should not become immune to its meaning or power.
As outdoorsman we dole out death as part of our search for life. Yet deep down we still are uncomfortable with the acknowledgment of our own mortality. We know it looms somewhere in the distant future, hopefully, but rarely want to look at its stony eyes. I am reminded of the line from a song
"We all want to go to heaven, but none of us want to go right now."
As I sat cutting up the weathered green planking a friend texted me. His grandfather was in the hospital. A massive heart attack. They were doing his best to save him, but there were no guarantees. A husband, a father a Vietnam, veteran, a successful farmer, businessman and outdoorsman. I hope and pray he pulls through, but the reality of the situation is he may not.
The decoy rig on an exceptional morning. These moments enrich the fabric of our lives.
We need not retreat from supporting those we love in such situations. Some do, perhaps uncomfortable or unsure what to say. Perhaps they never learned how to acknowledge loss, grief, or failure. The secret is, there is no secret. Just listen. You don't need to fix it, you don't need to maintain appearances. Just being present with those suffering is all that's required.
It's strange how working on an old boat can send the mind hurtling down these paths. I for one I'm glad that it did.
It makes you grateful for the small everyday rewards we often take for granted.
The first sip if strong coffee in the morning, shooting a clean double on Teal, finding the perfect decoy for your collection, the laughter of a (grand) child. Life, sometimes so brutal, can also be amazingly sweet. Seize that while you can. Embrace the small "wins" each day.
When that time finally comes, let's hope that we too will create something freshly beautiful out what yet remains.
Maybe, they can all be saved.
Mans Best Friend
A short essay on the four legged companions that make life in the Duck marsh so much more enjoyable.
As I sit here this evening by a warm fire, it was not my intention to write about dogs. However, my yellow Labrador, Bree, is sitting next to me snoring softly. After a long day in the cold duck marsh, my mind started to drift over the thousands of hours of my life spent with duck dogs. As I was reliving memories, both grand and tragic, I received a text from a friend informing me his black Labrador of 14 years crossed the bridge. Maverick was 14. A long life by dog years. But it's never long enough. I've hunted over him many times. He was a brute of a dog physically. But he was a big goofball in personality.
Maverick in His prime with Pairs of Mallards and Black ducks
My friend never counted his retrieves. But I am sure they were in the thousands. Young kids first birds. Disabled veterans, longtime friends, Old timers, who hadn't been in a Marsh in years. Maverick retrieved birds for them all, and did it with style.
Maverick with a young hunter and Pheasants
Those who are not duck hunters can never understand the bond that we have with our retrievers. Regular pet owners love their dogs and appreciate them. They are part of their daily lives. But duck hunters have a relationship that goes even deeper. Being able to read a dog's body language. The flash of their eyes when they see distant birds. The true grit they have being able to withstand sub freezing temperatures, winter winds, and conditions that would send even the hardiest of souls looking for cover.
They do it to please us, but they also do it because somewhere back in their ancestral DNA there is a code written that tells them that is what they were made for. Those who have seen the best retrievers work understand this in a way that no one else can.
Maverick was right at home in the snow and ice.
That is why when one of these bright souls leaves the Earth it is fitting that we take time to remember them. And reflect on all the joy they have given us.
I've owned three working retrievers over my 30 year hunting career. The first lived to be 15 and hunted until she was 13. Belle was a wonderful dog, maybe the best I will ever own.Though my current Labrador is going to give her a run for her money!
My first Labrador, Belle. In those days all I had was a canoe, and some homemade Canada Goose tire decoys!
I look at the segments of my life that these dogs occupied. The young man without any children. Training a dog with all of his heart, the hopes she would one day be able to pick up a downed duck. Much to his surprise 10 years later, she's diving underwater for crippled, black ducks on her own without any direction or handling from me.
That's the great thing about seasoned retrievers. They learn the game on their own and can exceed the working handler. I know hard-core field trialers would look down on this statement.
But I found that great retrievers have their own personality and style. Much like great baseball players or running backs, each have their technique and form, so does a retriever follow suit.
Belle at 10 years old with a Greenwing. Photo Len Maiorano
My second dog Brooke did not have superior drive on her own. But she retrieved hundreds of birds merely to make me happy. So much so she retrieved two limits of Teal on the day she died. That was sheer heart. Nothing else. She will always have my utmost admiration for that final act of courage. (Some may have read the account of this written by Anthony Hauck In Delta Magazine Greatest retrieves issue)
Brooke with a Hen Teal
My current retriever Bree just turned three. These are the glory years. Fresh legs, worlds of enthusiasm and drive that would make even a young 20 something green with envy. As it was put to me by her breeder,
"This one needs a job. "
Truer words were never spoken. If she goes for a few days without hunting or training you can see the frustration build. Thankfully I haven't lost a bird in nearly 2 years since she has been by my side. Granted, I tend to be very conservative with my shooting and only take shots that I am fairly competent can be retrieved. But her nose for cripple in the flooded Marsh is something that impresses even me. Much to my surprise she even loves the wide open roiling waters of the wintertime Delaware bay. Snow geese on these wild shores have become a favorite of hers. Dogs will always surprise you!
Bree with a Late Winter snow Goose.
These great dogs are one of the reason I started making Decoy urns. I can't say I was the first to come up with the idea, but I was one of the pioneers.
After my Belle passed away, I was given a square Red painted MDF box the crematory provided. It held the ashes adequately, but inside there was so much more. A lifetime of memories for my family and I.
Since my decoys were hollowed already, I thought about placing some of her ashes inside that bird so I could hunt with her again. I realized there were several other factors that needed to be taken into consideration. And with time and experimentation I perfected the making of Decoy urns.
I've heard it said that I make nothing other than "dog coffins"
At first I was bother by that statement , ( even though it's far from the truth ) However now it doesn't bother me one bit!
I'd rather honor the memory of a hard-working retriever and someone's best friend then make a bird that sits on the shelf to be gawked at and never used.
Truth be told, urns are some of the most meaningful and important work that I do.
Wigeon decoy urn for Hunter
It is more than just something to turn a dollar. It is a calling.
I've connected with people from all over the country, heard their stories, felt their tears, listened to them pour their heart out about things that only duck hunters can understand.
If I had to go, the rest of my carving career making urns, that would be fine by me.
I told my wife on many occasions regarding Bree, "This one better live forever, because without her I won't be any good."
I know that's not possible, however I hope that day is far into the future.
Who knows, even then, with any luck, perhaps there will be another wet nosed puppy that lights my heart afire once again.
Who can resist that face!