From Capt'n Pauley's blog:

“Life is what happens while you are busy planning your future.”

“Life is what happens while you are busy planning your future.”

Pay attention to that little saying, folks, for it applies to all of us. While we’re busy thinking about and planning our futures, real life sneaks up and whacks us on the back of the head.

I recently learned a whole lot more about this subject than I ever wanted to.

First of all, the Grim Reaper isn’t how he is often portrayed; a spectral figure, shrouded and carrying a scythe. He is more like an 800 lb. gorilla carrying a length of 2x4 and he is a real joker. Most of the time, he stands around, leaning on the 2x4 and observing the passing scene. Occasionally, he walks up behind someone and whacks them on the back of the head with that 2x4.

Another favorite activity of that 800 lb. gorilla is setting up domino trains. We’ve all seen those examples, the ones where someone takes over a gym floor and then arranges thousands of dominos. A touch to a single one starts off the show.

Well, that 800 lb. gorilla does the same thing. Some domino trains are short and preordained. Others are longer, with the outcome dependent on a couple of teetering dominos that could fall one way or another.

Many of these dominos are put in place by his helpers and he has many. Most were on my side and are clear in my mind; Nancy, Kim, Candace, Suzanne, Dr. Mike, Dr. Carlos, Dr. Bill and dozens of others. Others are less clear, floating in and out on a Percocet induced haze. Fewer still are neutral spirits and, luckily, fewer still actively against me. But make no mistake, they are his helpers and do, mostly, his bidding.

My whack came late one Friday afternoon. A heaviness in my chest was then followed by shortness of breath. I hadn’t heard the whack but I felt the after effects. I finally looked at my spouse of 40+ years and said. “It’s time to call 911!” With that call, the gorilla tipped over the first domino and off they went. I was there, but I was only along for the ride.           

There I was, on a ride I hadn’t planned on and a trip I didn’t want any part off. It was amazing to see the dominoes march on, unaffected by anything I wanted them to do. Occasionally, a domino teetered one way instead of another: “One of three things will fix your problem, medication, stents or open heart surgery.” We can all guess how that domino teetered.           

So here I am, weeks later, sitting at home recovering from that wild and unplanned ride. And you are asking yourself, “What does all this have to do with boating?” Nothing but my personal admonition to enjoy the moment, especially where boating is concerned. Take advantage of that weather window. Go for that last cruise of the season. Never put off a boating trip until tomorrow if you could do it today. Stop by the boatyard more often and say “Hi” to the guys. Never miss a chance to enjoy the Bay and the boating life we’re blessed with here. That whistling sound may be that 2x4 headed your way. That’s my advice and I intend on following it…

Capt'n Pauley

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A lot of us like to tinker with our boats. Out on the interwebs you can find all kinds of sites where owners have executed modifications that make their boats more useful, correct shortcomings,  or simply personalize their mass-produced plastic tubs a bit.  And then there's the people who build their own boats, a group whose penchant for personalization knows no limits. 

I have a great fear of doing anything permanent to my boat. I know it's irrational, but the thought of drilling holes in the virginal fiberglass just gives me the willies. One time I had to attach a cable tie to hold some wires to the interior of the cabin; I put it off for at least a year, then when I actually resolved to do the deed, I found myself barely able to drill two tiny, 1/8" deep holes for the stainless steel screws. I stared at the job site, breaking into a hot sweat (this is Arizona-- Nobody does the cold-sweat thing out here), and finally managed to force myself to drill the holes, all the while in near panic that I was going to punch through to the topsides. Everything about that experience made me quiver, and I felt extremely guilty as I watched the fiberglass tailings drifting down from the holes while I drilled. It turned out fine, but I still bear the emotional scars.

I have this ragged hole in my companionway hatch, a souvenir of my second voyage on the Potter. Since 2006 I have made ongoing resolutions to fix the hole. I placed a temporary piece of duct tape over it  back in '06 to keep the elements out while I girded my loins for the repair.  I'm still girding. And we won't talk about my pathetic loins, thank you very much.  I even bought a Dremel tool, including the Bonus Testosterone Toolpack, to facilitate my fiberglass repair project.  Larry Pardey, I'm not.  My boat glares at me reproachfully every time I go up to the lake and replace the weathered piece of duct tape. The Dremel tool sits in my garage grousing about it's girly-man owner.

What's really weird about this is I have no problem wrenching the crap out of anything but my boat. I have designed and/or built, with my own hands, 6 houses. Water beater blows up? No problemo. Electronics fried on stove? Piece of cake. Wife doesn't like door into the den?  Move the door to a different wall, child's play.  When I was young and stupid, replacing a clutch,  or broken valve pushrod on a small-block chevy didn't faze me in the least.  My wife's friends all express admiration at her success in landing a "handy" husband.  My wife takes a different view, naturally.  To her I'm kind of an idiot savant who may be able to replace a toilet, but can barely drink a glass of water without drowning myself. But I'm actually pretty good at this kind of stuff-- Just not on my little fiberglass baby.

Anyhow. Thinking of my wussiness as a boat butcher, I am reminded of one fellow who is about as far away from me on the Boat Modification Audacity Scale as one can possibly be. This guy took a West Wight Potter, identical to my poor boat, and did things to it that make me, a wannabe naval architect, drool in admiration.  His name is Charlie, and you can visit his website here. 

Potters are huge inside, and can store a lot of crap. But getting to that crap can be problematic, especially in a seaway when everything migrates, unseen, to the furthest nether regions of a locker. Charlie, not afraid to wield his manly Dremel with authority, solved that problem in clever and appealing ways. Here's a picture of the galley he built:

He ripped away a large chunk of fiberglass and built a multifunction galley unit that completely reworks the functionality of the stock "galley" area.  If you go to his site you can see many more pictures that show how wonderfully useful this mod is.

Potters have a silly little molded sink on the port side, that for me at least, serves more as a catch basin for random gear like GPS, cell phone, beer, etc.  Here's what Charlie did with his:

Just for comparison, here's what the stock version looks like:

The amazing thing about this is the origami-like sink/table combination Charlie designed.  On his website you can view an interactive page that shows you how all the various pieces slide in and out and rearrange themselves for the desired purpose. Here's one configuration:

One thing that annoys the crap out of me, and quite possibly most of you, is the mast compression post on my Potter. I have to twist myself into a pretzel to stuff myself into the V-berth, and reverse the process to escape. Charlie solved that problem with an ingenious aluminum arch that really opens up the interior:

And the arch before installation:

There are more modifications, including a really interesting lifting rudder:

A cockpit table:

There are many more modifications, and Charlie has done an excellent job of documenting his work.  I am ashamed to be such a feeb when I look at what he has accomplished with his Potter.  I highly suggest you visit his website, if for nothing else then to admire his craftsmanship.  And perhaps gain some inspiration.  I know I'm inspired-- I think I'm ready to go put a fresh layer of duct tape on the hole in my companionway hatch!  Maybe I'll document that process for you blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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Frances

The inspiration, somewhere in Scotland.

from Chuck's notebook

from Chuck's notebook

from Chuck's notebook

from Chuck's notebook

from Chuck's notebook

Sweet, clean lines

An obviously elated Chuck Paine with the completed hull

Ahh, the first Frances, Chuck's own boat

Sail plan and profile with tender.

Dick Cross' Francis, Karma

Acclaimed yacht designer Chuck Paine's first independent design and build was the lovely Frances, a 26' double ender inspired by Scottish workboats. She was originally designed as a modified flush deck cruiser and built by Chuck in Maine, strip planked. Later she was produced by the incomparable firm Morris Yachts of Bass Harbor Maine in both the flush decked version and a cabin version which was, I believe, more popular, understandably, but aesthetically, in my opinion, not the equal of the flush decked version. Chuck was traveling in Europe when he spotted some Scot's workboats he realized would make a very nice yacht with some alterations. He'd carried with him a sketchbook which happily survived the trip, so we are privy to his initial thoughts on this seminal design. Upon his return to the States in 1973, Chuck rented workspace in Camden, Maine and began building. She's fuller in the bilges and probably deeper than her progenitors, influenced by lessons learned from working for Dick Carter designing IOR racing yachts. He completed the build in 1975 at Tom Morris' yard, beginning a long and fruitful relationship. Chuck designed many boats for Morris and established his own design firm, C. W. Paine over 30 years ago. Chuck has retired recently but plans for many of his desgns, including Frances and her little sister Carol are available from Mark Fitzgerald at Fitzgerald Marine Architecture. I've sent for the Frances study plans, my first set. Not because I intend to build, as of now, but simply because she's so compelling. Anyone contemplating a big voyage in a small boat should take a look at these two designs, reading especially Chuck's thought's re: Carol.

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MkIII

MkIII

MkIII

an earlier SII
courtesy SOIA

work in progress on a wooden Silhouette
courtesy SOIA

The Fleet
courtesy SOIA

Barnsdale creek
courtesy SOIA

A reader recently inquired as to whether I could put him in touch with either the buyer or seller of a Tucker designed Silhouette which I had written about back in July of '09. The boat was selling on ebay and looked to be a good deal. I have no further info on that boat, but offered a post to see if we could scare anything up. Here's what they're looking for:

"I am looking for a vintage Hurley Marine Twin Bilge Keel 17.5 Silhouette sailboat. I would prefer a fiberglass model Mk3 or the Mk V, but will consider an older wooden Mkll in good condition. Original trailer a plus. The boat pictured (top three photos, ed.) was sold in 2007 on the Eastern Shore - if anyone knows the location of this boat and how to contact the new owner, or another available Silhouette - please contact me.
All leads / contacts will be greatly appreciated.
Thanks!"

Being a fan of Tucker designs in general and this one especially in wood, I've helped myself to a few pics from the Silhouette Owners International Association website, which has a richly presented history of these boats.

Anyone who has such a craft in North America to sell or knows of one, please write me and I'll pass it along to the reader. Let's find this person their boat!

My email is available on 70.8%

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Blaeu, Atlas of Scotland 1654, ORKADVM ET SHETLANDIE Orkney and Shetland

courtesy Wikipedia

North Isles Yole "Lizzie" racing in the Sanday regatta at Kettletoft during the 1950's. She is a smaller example of the Yole , she is rigged with a Dipping lug.

Lizzie II, a North Isles Yole. Built by Richard Wilson and his father Andrew. Launched May 2008.

Gremsa, A South Isles Orkney Yole built by Len Wilson

A simplified drawing of the hull lines of the 18' South Isles Yole Emma. Drawn by Dennis C Davidson.
Lily was built to these lines.

Lily begins

Planking begins

Nearly finished planking

Deck beams in place

a consultation between Association members

Lily's striking hull with hard bilges

Lily launched!



all photos courtesy Orkney Yole Association

Off John O' Groats, at the northeast tip of Scotland, lies a group of islands known collectively as Orkney. Inhabited for at least 8500 years, these islands abound in Mesolithic and Neolithic sites. Invaded by the Norse and annexed by Norway in 875, Orkney was deeded to Scotland in 1472 as part of a debt payment. Rich in Nordic culture, and perhaps the most 'Viking' county of the UK, Orkney continues it's vibrant life.

The Orkney Yole Association has been responsible for a revival of interest in their local Yoles, setting up regatta's, preserving boats and knowledge and leading the way to new boats being built.
These boats are related to the Sgoth Niseach, or Ness Skiff, or Ness Yawl, by way of likely being the model followed by builders on Lewis and Harris. As Len Wilson of the Association states, "Be aware that we are not the same people as the Gaels in the west. This is Viking country. There is no Celtic heritage here, though there is a relationship in the boats. I am not an expert on the western boats but I know we exported Orkney yoles to them back in the 18th century and I see similarities in some of the photos".
The association's website is full of information and history and current activity.The boats were central to the islanders way of life until recently." Until the mid 1960s the yole was the Islanders' motor car and pick-up truck, transporting coal, peats, animals, animal feed, fish, cheese and eggs to the market, the weekly groceries and, of course, passengers". The Orkney Yole is built lapstrake, upright in the Scandinavian way. Originally sprit rigged , as with most Scandinavian workboats, there have been dipping lug versions and more recently the gunter main has predominated. There is a brief but enlightening discussion of yole types on the association website here.
The building of Lily, pictured above, was financed in part by the UK's Heritage Lottery Fund.
the association has also produced a lovely calendar, which I've written about previously. Thanks to Len Wilson for his help and generosity.

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This is a link to a website called The Microship Project, in which a crazed geek named Steven Roberts expounds on the construction of a very interesting, albeit very nerdy, trimaran:

The author is some kind of crazed engineer, or perhaps mad scientist, who takes what should be a straightforward idea, like a recumbent bike or small multihull, and transmogrifies it Frankenstein-like into a human-machine hybrid bristling with electronics and clever mechanical gadgetry.  If you are a geek like me, you will find the details fascinating, and perhaps even inspiring-- Mr. Roberts' treatise on cardboard-fiberglass composite construction led me to devise a simple treadmill desk, at which I am currently writing this very blog post (currently passing 4.3 miles).

Now, I know I posted previously about the evils of complexity.  When & if I build a boat, it will have no systems more complex than can be repaired with duct tape and bailing wire. And possibly sugarless gum.  But there is something deep inside of me  that really gets off on triumphant engineering-- And this guy has done it in spades. The link I posted at the top discusses the engineering of the boat in great detail, and explains how & why everything was done.  Even if you never try to build anything as wild as this trimaran, I feel that the thought process laid out on the site is worth viewing.  The construction techniques are applicable to any boat construction project.  And the boat itself is actually pretty cool.

For a while now, I have wanted to build a boat-- It's like this continuous background noise in my little brain.  I am not quite ready to take the plunge and try and convince The Admiral to disburse funds, but the itch needs to be scratched.  One thing I'm seriously tempted to try is to build a small experimental boat using the aforementioned cardboard composite construction.  I love the idea of recycling a waste material, and the resulting structure can be made amazingly strong. Of course, I know that I'd be flying along at 12 knots out in the middle of the lake one day, hit a floating log or something, and be forced to try and make the shore before my paper boat dissolved around me. But The whole concept--  A carboard boat!  Is just too cool to resist.

I have all kinds of goofy ideas regarding my dream boat, including a mini sampan, a HarryProa, and something like Tony Bigras' Miss Cindy. I think I could build something fairly cheaply out of cardboard as a proof of concept. Then I could take it  to a local body of water and play with it, close to the shore, until I am satisfied that the concept is workable.  Then I could remake the boat out of real boatbuilding materials (Home Depot plywood). I'll let you know if anything actually comes out of this lunacy.  In the meantime, go check out the Microship project.  It's some very cool stuff.

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Damien is a Robert Tucker design with reverse sheer

courtesy Creed O'Hanlon

courtesy Gérard Janichon

Damien departs La Rochelle in May of 1969
courtesy Gérard Janichon

In the ice
courtesy Gérard Janichon

Passage du cap Horn d'Est en Ouest, le 4 mars 1971
courtesy Gérard Janichon

Damien returns to La Rochelle, September 1973, after 50,000 miles
courtesy Gérard Janichon

After the first Damien there were several iterations, larger boats most with steel hulls.
cf. Northanger
courtesy Gérard Janichon

One of several books on the journey
courtesy Gérard Janichon

In May, 1969, a small sloop named Damien slipped its mooring within the French harbour of La Rochelle, on the Atlantic coast of south-west France, and made its way seaward through the 12th century fortified stone walls that protect its entrance. Once across the narrow channel between the harbour and the low shores of Ile De Ré, it altered course northwest, out into the wide maw of the Bay of Biscay. She wouldn't be seen again off this coast for another four years.

The beginning of this voyage was the culmination of a long-held dream for two young Frenchmen. Five years earlier, when they were both still teenagers, Jérome Poncet and Gérard Janichon seized on the idea to build the 33-foot, cold-moulded, reverse-chine Robert Tucker design and follow in the wake of their hero, Bernard Moitessier.

They ended up sailing to places even the far-voyaging Moitessier had never ventured.

After rounding Ushant, the westernmost extremity of France, they made their way 'up' the English Channel to the North Sea and after a layover in Bergen, in Norway, continued north to Spitzbergen, in the Svalbard Archipelago, well inside the Arctic Circle. They then turned south-west to Reykjavik in Iceland. From there, they laid a course past Greenland's Cape Farewell to the east coast of the USA. After rounding Cape Hatteras and beating south to the Caribbean, they port-hopped to the north-eastern coast of Brazil, where they decided to sail 2,000 nautical miles up the Amazon before resuming their voyage south. Months later, after rounding Cape Horn from east to west, they double-backed and sailed homewards through the Southern Ocean, via the three great Capes (including a second rounding of the Horn). They eventually logged more than 55,000 nautical miles over a track that spanned the parallels of 80ºN and 68ºS and encircled the globe.

Janichon and Poncet were among the most prominent of a distinctly Sixties' generation of young French sailors who were all inspired not by phlegmatic English deep-water sailors, such as Francis Chichester, Alec Rose, Blondie Hasler, Bill Tilman, Robin Knox-Johnston and others, but by the somewhat hermitic, hippy-ish Bernard Moitessier and his 'agricultural', Jean Knocker-designed, 39-foot steel ketch, Joshua. Born and raised in colonial Vietnam, Moitessier was a tough, highly skilled sailor – arguably, the most accomplished of his age – but he was also a man very much of that odd, spacey time: a dope-smoking, philosophical, manic-depressive visionary for whom ocean voyaging was as much an opportunity for Zen-like self-exploration as it was an adventure.

Damien's long, extraordinary voyage attracted little attention outside of Europe and Janichon's classic book, Du Spitsberg Au Cap Horn (From Spitzberg To Cape Horn) was published only in France (one of many wonderful maritime titles assembled by the local house, Arthaud). The influence of Moitessier's reflective interior monologues are occasionally apparent not only in Janichon's writing but also the narration for the 16mm film Poncet and he shot during their voyage (just as Moitessier did on his non-stop voyage around the world during the Sunday Times' Golden Globe Race in 1969). An excerpt from Janichon's film, during which Poncet and he recklessly pilot Damien right up to the sheer blue cliffs of a towering, castellated iceberg in the high latitiudes of the Southern Ocean, can be found here: http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x9t2bt_retour-sur-le-voyage-de-damien_travel

In these days of corporate sponsorships, professional crews, and exotic multi-million dollar vessels built to claim the most arcane of ocean passage records, its worth reminding ourselves that the men and women who undertake such unsung, unsponsored, under-funded but perilous voyages in small, spartan yachts for no other reason than the voyage itself – think Roger Taylor in Ming Ming or the Berque twins, Emmanuel and Maximilien, in their tiny, home-built Micromegas – still have more capacity to capture our increasingly meagre imaginations than the flashiest, fastest, highest profile, round-the-world ra

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Illustration by Irwin Schuster, courtesy Annie Holmes

Precious racing circa 1995

Precious at the Coronado YC 2005

courtesy Annie Holmes

Precious at a boat show

interior

Aft shot showing boomkin

Precious nuzzling Little Bird, a Rabl Titmouse, Annies newest passion.

all photos courtesy Annie Holmes

Here are some particulars:

She is 1" x 3/4" strip-planked mahogany over oak frames, and is water-tight.
(She was coated with epoxy inside and out before launching.)
She is 18.5' on deck and 24' overall.
Her beam is 8'1".
She displaces 4,000 lbs. and draws 3.5'.
She has a Sunbrella 3-piece full boat cover.

Annie says, "She's a departure from the original design in that her builder made her a Marconi cutter rig instead of a gaff sloop with running back stays. That explains the boomkin and bowsprit, which are not on the original drawings. She is much easier to sail single-handed for that reason. I've owned her for 25 years and keep her in tip top shape. I bought her in early 1985 from the builder, who is a consummate craftsman. He still builds gorgeous custom violins and guitars, and he built this boat over a two year span and put her in the water in 1980. Her decks and laserettes are teak. Her full keel has a 700# (or thereabouts) lead insert. She is roomy and lovely inside: varnished louvered cabinets, a working sink, lots of storage, and two six-foot bunks. Light grey upholstery with forest green piping. She has a full compliment of sails, including a spinnaker, 180 lapper, staysail, main and jib. My jib is an old Hobie jib which fits fine. I should get serious about replacing it, as the plastic window is cracked. One of these days I will if someone doesn't buy her first. At her last haul-out I stripped and varnished and over-painted the mast and spreaders, so that won't have to be done for some time. She's as lovely as she looks in the photos.

She is a dream to sail, and I've won lots of racing trophies with her, racing against other wooden boats. She's taken prizes at local wooden boat shows as well. I have used her gently over the years and she always gets double-takes wherever we go.

I'm now in my seventies, and I have another Rabl boat, a mahogany strip planked Titmouse, which is on a trailer and will be cheaper and easier for me to maintain."

(Annie is the author of 'Skiff Song', a memoir about her search into the history of another boat, her 1939 vintage Australian 16-foot racing skiff, that took her on an amazing adventure down under. She has since donated the boat to Australia as a gift from the U.S., as it was the last of it's vintage.)


Please email me if you have interest and I will forward your interest to Annie so that she can contact you.

You'll find my email @ 70.8%

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People keep telling me I should quit my day job and write a book.  Or maybe they mean write a book, become a gazillionaire,  and then quit the day job. I have trouble keeping that all straight.  

Anyway, sometimes that idea sounds pretty appealing, but then I gaze  into the soulful and hungry eyes of my children, and think of how they're already eating us out of house and home. If I quit my day job I had better have a lucrative contract lined up, or they're going to hit me over the head with my laptop one day and barbecue me out in the backyard to fend off starvation.

Just kidding.  The kids are vegetarians.  More likely the neighborhood will be quickly stripped of all gardens, fruit trees, and decorative shrubbery before the chilluns eat Dad. But I'm not quite ready to quit the day job just yet.  For one thing, I have no idea what I'd write. An important rule of creative writing is that the author ought to actually know a thing or two about his subject-- About all I know for sure about my favorite subject (not THAT favorite subject. Jeesh) is that it's a miracle I haven't managed to crash my boat into an IRS building or something.  The full extent of my nautical klutziness has yet to be revealed, but I'm sure I have at least a couple more years of silly blog posts to write before disgorging a Magnum Opus.  A book might be expecting too much, unless I can discover some captivating twist involving nose hairs and varnish, or something along those lines that Wooden Boat readers might enjoy.

We have a local author, a lady who wrote some book about vampires (named Eddie or something) who fly about doing supernatural vampire things and making out with nubile young women wearing corsets. The book (now a Major Motion Picture or two or five) is causing major hormone malfunctions all over this corner of the galaxy.  Obviously, the teenage-girl-and-bloodsucking-vampire angle is hot; I keep thinking that I need to write a book like that so I can buy 16 Lexuses for my cat. But I know very little about hunky vampires.  (And even less about nubile women in corsets, now that I think about it). What I need to do is work in some kind of sailing angle.  

I suggested to my teenage daughter that we should go up to the boat, where she would lounge around on the focs'le acting like Vampire Bait while I jotted  down ideas about how to work the angle into some spine-tingling nautical Nosferatu story worthy of being picked up by Hollywood:

The sailboat was on a broad reach across the still waters of Creepy Key, the full moon shimmering off the quicksilver like surface. Belladonna was chilled, but had nothing to cover her bountiful cleavage but a Type III PFD, which would not do at all when her forbidden vampire  love, Hector, managed to gnaw his way out of the chain locker. Belladonna sighed with irritation; Captain Dad was so unreasonable! "Father," she said petulantly, "can we let Hector out now?  I promise I won't let him play with my tiller tamer anymore"

"Dammit, nubile daughter, mind your heading!  The main is luffing! Sheet it in post haste. And no we will not let that demon spawn out of his prison until we land on Forbidden Isle and buy you some clothes! And did you finish your Language Arts homework like your mother told you to? Forsooth!"

I thought that was a pretty good beginning, but the glare I received from the daughter suggested otherwise.  And having her younger brother ask what "nubile" meant kind of put the kibosh on that train of thought.  

OK,  regroup. There's that lady in the UK who was penniless when she wrote that book about a teenage wizard (and her children might have been eyeing her for supper, for all I know).  Now she has more money than God.  If I could work out some piggyback thing, I'd be golden-- After all, my boat is a West Wight Potter, and Harry Potter is serious juju capable of generating barges full of money for old whats-her-face out in England.   Harry West Wight Potter-- It's perfect.  This time it was the twin boys who received the invitation to go on location for inspiration.  They were not sure about the offer:

#1 Son: Can we bring the Wii?
Future Gazillionaire Author Dad: Uh, I guess so. No, wait a second, there's no power--
#2 Son: Will there be vampires at the boat?
FGAD: No. This is just a way to get inspired for the book.
#2 Son.  What book?
FGAD: A book I'm going to write and make all of us filthy rich.
#1 Son: I want to be a vampire.  That would be cool!
#2 Son: You can't be a vampire. You're a vegetarian.
#1 Son: You can too  be a vegetarian vampire!
#2 Son: Can Not!
#1 Son: Dad, can vampires be vegetarian?
FGAD: Uh... Go ask your mother.

So maybe the concept needs some more work. But at least I have a catchy title: Harry West Wight Potter And the Hunky Vampires Of Teenage Lust. In the Caribbean. Now with Werewolves! 

I think I'm on to something.  What do you think?

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Slider catamaran designer, Ray Aldridge, is nearing completion of an intriguing new, even lighter, design.—Eds

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