Grandpa’s Boat
Posted on July 1, 2016 by bob in OffTheBeatenPath
She started life as a dual-console runabout. He bought her new in ‘87, trading in a small Boston Whaler fishing skiff for a larger Whaler fish-and-ski. Reagan was in the White House, and retirement was fresh on my grandfather’s mind. He planned to enjoy the new boat and the golden years ahead with his wife, children and growing third-generation.
Though in certain areas his frugality knew no equal, sporting gear was not among them. If he bought a rifle, it was a Weatherby; shotguns were Brownings; rods and reels, they were all Shimanos. Hence, his purchase of only Boston Whalers – the “unsinkable legend” – followed this same pattern. One advertisement from Whaler’s early days depicted the company’s owner sitting cross-legged in the stern while a diver sawed the boat in two from below. The fully buoyant and separated halves were then motored or paddled off, respectively. It is said the lines of the classic Whaler hulls have a “smirk” when viewed from the bow, a confident sneer at being able to handle just about anything. Perhaps it was the satisfaction of owning the best; perhaps it was the peace of mind his family was safe on the water that pushed my grandfather toward Whalers. Maybe it was a little of both.
For years she served us well as a fishing platform and water carriage. When he’d invite me along to fish for the afternoon, I always hoped it would be in “the big boat” – the 17-foot Whaler – instead of the two-man pond-hopper he kept under the carport. My preference for the Whaler likely rested in the fact that he always turned the helm over to me once we made deep water. Feet propped on the front seat, he’d issue orders for throttle and trim settings, bearings and hazards to me, his little pilot, whose smile reached from starboard to port.
On the Whaler, I was always on the open sea, navigating the wind and waves, course set for some far away Bahamian locale. I knew the same landlocked waters slipping steadily under the hull would eventually make their way through the dam, or through the lock, then meander downhill for a few hundred miles toward Mobile Bay. After that, it was due south for the Gulf of Mexico, then the Caribbean. As a boy I dreamed of riding those waters, and he’d proudly assure she’d make the trip; she was a Whaler, after all, he’d say with a sly smile.
After his death she became mine, and our adventures rose to new heights. At my own helm now, we began chasing new fish in new places, in both the fresh and the salt. Despite the fact the old man had mostly kept her inland, she was built for the New England coast, and hence was just as comfortable on the inshore and nearshore waters of the Emerald Coast.
She is solidly built and seaworthy, qualities my grandfather knew and admired, and traits which give me not only pride but also comfort given my own growing family now rides aboard. She rides a following sea with grace and takes on a head sea surprisingly well given her size. Up against the lean post, with one hand on the wheel and the other on the throttle, even when large waves make for slow going, I know she will deliver us home.
In 2012, disaster struck when her aging fuel tank sprang a leak. It needed replacing, but removal would necessitate extricating the entire interior. I pondered each of my expensive choices – even starting over – but remembered the old man’s wishes she never be sold. The only proper thing was a makeover into the ideal fishing vessel I had always felt laid at her core.
Out came the consoles, the seats and the interior. In their place went a new center console, a custom leaning post with rodholders, a new tank and fuel system, new rigging, new gauges and a full wiring overhaul. With a large fish hooked, an angler can run up and down the full length of either gunwale during the fight. Her stern deck is open and uncluttered, aiding the trolling of multiple lines. It took months of late nights, but when she hit the water for the first time as a reborn vessel, there was a bit more grin to the “smirk”.
I christened her Skilitsa II, “little dog” in my grandfather’s native Greek. The first Skilitsa, an 80-footer, belonged to my great-grandfather, a Greek merchant mariner in the early 20th century. Carrying on that name seemed a fitting homage.
While she started life as a dual-console runabout, Skilitsa II has become much more. After three decades, she’s a conversation piece, an heirloom and a piece of family history. With young ones of my own eager for the water, I both smile in anticipation of the next 30 years aboard and smirk at the fond memories made, long ago, between a little boy and his grandfather.
Niko Corley is a USCG-licensed charter boat captain and spends his free time on the water or in the woods. To contact him email niko.corley@gmail.com
