A Classic Whaler Rendezvous?
Regarding John Hanson’s piece “Dreams From My Youth,” in the July issue, MBH&H #120, and its accompanying essay, “Ticket to Ride” by Bill Mayher: How can one resist Boston Whalers once exposed? I got hooked on them when still in my early teens, aided and abetted by a girlfriend’s dad who, though a collector of wooden boats, nevertheless helped push me toward Whalers. Fortunately, my family got hooked as well. First the 13-footer, then the 17, and Whalers have remained a lifelong love.
My current 17-foot Montauk model, though 25 years old, looks almost like new, and still gets rave reviews and envious comments and compliments from friends, people in general, and fellow boaters in particular. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed owning it for the last eight of its years. While an open boat is a foolish thing to own in this too-wet climate, a Whaler seems to add an extra dimension to the experience of boating that’s hard to define. While the newer versions, to me, lack the appeal of the older, more original types—though I’ll assume the quality remains—my convictions still rate the classic models as the best. So I bet that I’m not the only person applauding your idea of adding a classic Whaler rendezvous to your annual show. I hope you can pull it off.
A Response That Makes Us Feel Good
Fantastic issue! (MBH&H #121) All sorts of pics I like, people I know, and fish that are cute.
Advice to Live By
Back in the 1980s I moored my boat in the back channel in Kittery, Maine, where I grew up. Bud McIntosh had his cutter moored there as well. (See “From Whence We Came,” MBH&H #121.) It was not near my mooring but was in front of my parents’ house. Every time we went out—whether it was for an afternoon, a week, or months—when we returned we would offload at my father’s dock. When Bud was on his boat (which was often), he would run to the foredeck and inquire where we had been. After we told him, he would always raise his arm with a wave and yell, “Ted, do it while you’re young.” Bud was not just a builder and designer; he was a true advocate of the people who used boats as well.
We will. —The Editors
Ruth Ann Redux
Wow! An issue (MBH&H #121) to answer my heart’s desire—almost. For several years I have mourned a gap in your coverage; in this issue it was filled: Ruth Ann is back! (“The Lovable Lumpfish.”) Keep her pieces coming, please.
Respect Our Animal Friends
I was pleased to read in MBH&H #121 that I have a fellow road-kill mourner in Rob McCall, author of the Awanadjo Almanack. In it I also learned of my previously unknown-to-me membership in the Wandering Order of St. Francis the Undertaker.
I, too, am bothered by the amount of animal death on Maine roads. I feel even worse for the creatures who meet their demise in spring. I imagine they likely struggled to survive through the long winter months and finally headed for a patch of green grass, or crossed the road to meet their mate. While walking along back roads I have paused to remove a chipmunk or squirrel pancake off the compacted surface and give the poor thing a softer resting place.
I understand that some critters, such as deer, dart unexpectedly in front of cars, but I have never seen a porcupine dart. A porcupine probably can beat a sloth or turtle in a race, but I find it hard to believe motorists cannot take the time to slow down or dodge these short-legged amblers.
Thanks to Rob and others who care.