The Construction of
Hull 001 for my Girls
By Erik Palin
Pandemics and the resultant quarantines applied are good for more than protecting your health… they give you a chance to reboot and do things you have not previously “had time” to do before. This is one such short(ish) story…
I fondly recall the summer of 1985 on the Outer Cape of Massachusetts like it was yesterday, hot and humid, an afternoon thunderstorm and a summer of hard work on my Father’s fishing boat, scraping barnacles, painting, working on engines, and my favorite - digging soft shelled steamer clams, all of it lay in wait, and all was well in the world for a young lad.
The Cape is well known for its rather more frugal “locals” as we were, and the well-heeled “out-a-towners” from the cities of Boston, Hartford and New York amongst others. Every summer the traffic jams would start, and the prices would skyrocket as thousands of vacationers supported the local economy, and enjoyed the charms of salty air, the delights of the National Seashore and other waterfront activities while gorging on fried clams, lobster, “chowder” and other seafood delicacies.
As a young man, I had never really met or dealt with the “out-a-towners” in person, but unbeknownst to me, that was about to change. My Mother, knowing I had an interest in sailing which would not be met at home (as my Father was a dedicated Knight in the Order of the Internal Combustion Engine), had secretly enrolled me in a rather pricy little yacht club summer school packed with rich kids from NY/NJ and other places. I was to be the only “local,” but all of us being 14-16 yrs in age it didn’t really matter a bit. There was also a red-head named Justine in the club that summer with a lovely smile, but this is not that type of article…