first Ocean

I don’t remember the exact time I became a sailor but I’m pretty sure it was before I was born.
My sister and I piled into the back of our 54 Chevy and headed straight for the rear window, the best seat ever. We could lay up there on our backs and watch the clouds go by and imagine drifting from one to the other. In our own little bubble we would sing along with the radio: “Que sera sera, Whatever will be will be, The future’s not ours to see” … Well At 4 I knew what my future was going to be and I couldn’t wait to get there. We were headed to the beach at Galveston. I recalled the first time I had seen it a few months before. The road to Galveston , had a series of humps as it passed over other roads. The last one was a high drawbridge over the Intra-coastal Canal and from the top of it I had gotten my first sight of the ocean. I had no words for it. It was only a first, brief glimpse but enough to thoroughly pin my very beingness.
I stood at the edge in awe. It scared me for sure. It was limitless. A vast, gray thundering thing as far as you could see. I could feel the live power of it in the sand. I was unprepared for utter vastness of that horizon. Dangerous, forbidding but it was also beautiful, excitingly raw and it was ominous. I think until that point I hadn’t actually realized how big the world was. I was staring down the dark throat of my destiny and I knew it. That vision became a dream and some dreams are so powerful that pursuing them precludes all others. I didn’t know it then, of course, but would learn it later.
My family had always had boats and I learned to sand, varnish, chip paint and clean up with relish. All the stuff Dad didn’t want to do. I loved it. We traveled all over the northern Gulf of Mexico from Alabama to the Florida Keys. I learned to sail on a Cheoy Lee 30 and passed the coast guard exam before I was out of high school. I probably spent more time studying piloting and navigation than doing my homework. I lived for the weekends and the summer. At night I would dream of the boat I would have one day. Nothing else mattered. I dreamed of the big schooners like Gardner McKay in “Adventures in Paradise”. I dreamed of a big Baltic Trader that would carry me over the world, diving at unknown atolls, like Cousteau. But practicality settled me on smaller, simpler and affordable. But it had to have history and that meant wood.
Eventually though, the curtain fell. The inevitable happened. I graduated high school and off to college. I studied Oceanography. It should have been a fit but I was landlocked, miserable. I struggled for two years. I missed the sea. My poor Dad had no idea of what to do and neither did I. The road seemed long and dusty and my dream seemed to fade. I was adrift. I had no money, no job and worst of all no boat. When I closed my eyes I heard…..distant breakers.
I suppose like thousands of boys for thousands of years, I did what I had to do. I ran away to sea. I told the recruiter that I would be glad to go to Viet Nam if I could just go by boat. There was something oddly attractive about tossing ones fate carelessly into a 50 knot wind. I would survive by wit alone and there was the luck of the draw. And so go I did. I had sold my soul for a boat ride. “Whatever will be will be”. Crossing an ocean was what I needed. And I did, several times over several years. It was the best thing I could have done. Those tumultuous years at sea taught me many things. Chief among them: the value of friendship and the vital importance of achieving ones goal. As anyone who has been in the service will tell you, getting out is more than just changing jobs. I had promised my Grandfather I would finish college and so I simply exchanged the routine of the navy with the routine of college and work and set course for a boat of my own. And pretty soon I had it.
Many boats and many adventures later I am finally ready and able to build my dream of nearly 50 years earlier. I have literally studied boats all my life and thought I knew pretty much what I wanted. I had decided on a yawl rig. Not so deep I couldn’t get in close and explore coastlines and not so small I couldn’t cruise her. Not so heavy I couldn’t pull her up and take her back to the shop with my own truck but not so light she wouldn’t ride well in a seaway. She needed to have a long keel and have no centerboard to get stuck or take up room below. I don’t care about going fast. I’m not into racing. I like tiller steering, no wheels for me. And gaff rigging is just plain beautiful. She will be double planked with cedar over steamed, bent oak frames. This would give her a traditional look and feel but perhaps more stability and permanence. For what I want to do I think this is a necessity. I want to be able to haul her from coast to coast and pull her back to my shop for maintenance. That is not the best plan for a traditionally planked hull. I also don’t wish to be tied to marinas with their growing demands of regulations and fees.
And then one day, turning a page, I saw her. A photo of Albert Strange’s Cherub lll. I was shocked at her beauty, quite stunned actually. She was bigger than I planned and a bit heavier, but WOW! I wavered for months. I looked at others by Albert Strange. I considered Mist, Thorn and Sheila. Something about Theresa ll though just nailed it for me, very nice simple lines and just screamingly beautiful without being flashy. I especially liked the curve of the stem. Its canoe stern should make it a fairly dry boat and its wide long keel will make it track well with good stability. With 3300 lbs of lead this boat will be stout. So Theresa ll it is and I am off and running. The lofting is done and I am whittling away on the keel and sternpost. When she is finished and launched I would like nothing better than to sail her back to ply the Scottish and Irish waters for which she was intended. A bit of luck is needed and a lot of hard work, but wit and perseverance should prove us well. The future is ours to see.
Dave Ahrens