You Can’t Save Them All.
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.