Jim Moores

Jim Moores

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Dear Friends September 2009























Dear friends, September 2009

The last time I was in Maine was a long time ago. My son, Andre was graduating from high school. He is now 28. Flying north for my trip, a little storm named Danny was just making landfall and caused cold, overcast rains to greet me when I landed in Hartford, Conn. I briefly stayed with my oldest son, Alexandre, Heather and my three grandsons, in Bristol. The boys are always growing. Marcus, who was still a baby the last time I saw him, is now speaking in full sentences and that happened awfully quickly.
The rain kept pouring and after two days, it was time for me to go, rain or not. It kept up while I drove through western Massachusetts, doing 30 mph, going up and down all the way to Portland, Maine. I really didn’t care. Driving helps clear the mind. By the end of the day, I was around Damariscotta. Chip Holmes, an old friend, lives near there. I tried to give him a call but there was no answer. I headed on. Twenty minutes went by when Chip called back. “Well, turn around,” he said. I did. The sun was in its last stages for the day and I was ready to get off the road, even if it meant going back. Chip’s house was full of friends for “Saturday Supper” as he called it. The food was fresh out of his garden and everyone brought their specialty. Chip and I had some catching up to do. At the dining table were Chris and Jen Powell. The boat that Chip is just finishing up is Kim, a steel sailboat built in France that was frozen into ice for the winter exhibition in Antarctica. Chip has been retrofitted for circumnavigation.
It has been a total refit and he did it at his shop. Two years in the making. I don’t know if it was the rain mist or all the green but as the sun started to set, the sky turned a light pea green. I have never seen that before and I wasn’t alone. Then it slipped away.
So as we sat around, trying to top each other’s sea stories and harrowing tales, you could see Jen get increasingly concerned. Chip told her 95 percent of the days sailing, when it’s perfect and flat calm, are rarely discussed. It would be boring. We talk about 5 percent of sailing, the interesting bits. These are the stories that usually start with, “The wind really started blowing. And then…” She seemed relieved. I wished them luck. They will have their own 5 percent stories to tell, I’m sure, like a badge of honor to be told and retold. I spent a few days with Chip and then headed north to the edge of the earth as some of us call it, my old hometown of Lubec, Maine, the eastern most point of the U.S.A. The sky was clear and deep blue. The Carolinas haven’t cornered the market on blue skies.
As I drove down the winding roads, the old knowledge filled my brain. Turn left there for the shortcut. I drove the back roads. Then the names of old friends came back to me: Bunky Tinker, Johnny Morrison, Eddie Rier, Cal Bennett, Eric Lockenbough and so on. I haven’t seen them in a long while. I had even thought I might have forgotten some of their names but I haven’t.
My cell phone lost its signal when I turned the corner at Whiting to head to Lubec. Yup, end of the earth. Lubec is a peninsula with five smaller peninsulas. They call it the “Hand of Lubec” for that reason. I turned down to go to Baily’s Mistake. It’s a beautiful little harbor. Poor Captain Baily thought he was at the Lubec Narrows in a heavy fog way back when. He sailed his square rigger in and realized he made a wrong turn, he was 7 miles off. No way to turn around, she sailed ashore. Hence the name, Baily’s Mistake. Some of the old houses there are made of Capt. Bailey’s ship. These proud sailors started a settlement rather than go back to their Boston home office in shame.
I traveled down the back roads headed to my old friend Steve Rier’s house. We’ve been the best of friends since we were young men, in our early 20s. Yes, a long time ago. Steve and Chip are both the ingenious types. They can fix just about anything that’s broken with very little, using “Mainegenuity.” Time has been hard on my old friend Steve and I was there for that reason. Steve, his wife Cathy and I had a lot of catching up to do. I got to see a lot of friends. In a short time, I was back up to speed. It did not feel like so much time had slipped by, a decade. Steve had saved everything I ever sent him over the years. I was amazed and touched.
Steve and I sailed a few thousand miles together on an old 47-foot Hood racing yawl. She had a center board and Steve is from the school of keels. My oldest, Alexandre, used to call him “Stevie Keel Boat,” as a child because we used to get into these heated discussions about the merits of both. I repeated the story to Steve and Cathy and it brought smiles to both of them.
I left Lubec and headed south to Winter Harbor to have lunch with friends Allen and Vicki Goldstein. Vicki was to race and Allen was on the committee boat. During lunch, Allen shared the story of the Winter Harbor Yacht Club. Back in the early 1900s, there were small race boats, 31 feet, built for the club. They are called knockabouts, also known as The Rainbow Fleet or the Winter Harbor 21. They are beautiful little boats.
Over the years, they slowly disappeared from the club and only two remained, not enough for that class of boats to race. Allen went on a quest to see if he could find the other boats and bring them home. One by one, he found them. There wasn’t much left to many of them. They were restored and due to his diligence, the entire fleet was restored and reunited. They only sail and race at Winter Harbor.
Designed for a crew of four, they are beautiful. They are all different colors, I guess that’s so you can cheer your team from a long ways away. The restorations were masterfully done. This is a success story I would love to hear over and over again.
After lunch, my journey took me further south and I couldn’t be in Maine without heading to Wooden Boat magazine in Brooklin. Matt Murphy of Wooden Boat and Aaron Porter of Professional Boatbuilder sat around talking. I was to be Aaron’s guest later. Aaron and his lady love, Kate Holden, are part owners in a beautiful restaurant, The Table, in Blue Hill. It’s a beautiful setting, along a babbling brook.
The food and wine were excellent. I had fresh halibut. I can’t remember the wine that Aaron picked but it was perfect with the fish. Hanging out with wooden boat people can be incredibly tiresome. But Kate was spared death by boredom because work mercifully called her away. Aaron and my conversations went around and around, from the world economy, shipyards that I visited in my travels to the future of our craft. I look forward to our next visit and conversation. Aaron is such a sharp young man and nice, to boot.
In the morning, I headed further south to the center of the universe, The American Hotel at Sag Harbor. I arrived just in time for Ted Conklin’s son, Teddy’s birthday cruise on the Trumpy America. Teddy is now 15 and had full run of his father’s yacht. We headed to Barcelona Point and the kids and the dog went swimming. We gently cruised the protected waters around Sag Harbor, circumnavigating Shelter Island, heading to another cover where the kids swam again and sang “Happy Birthday,” to Teddy. With Capt. Frank Mikuletzky at the helm, we were all enjoying one of the last great days of summer. Teddy would be soon off to school. That day special was special to all of us on the boat, not just to the birthday boy.
I spent time in the pilothouse with Capt. Frank. America, Contract 420, built in 1965 for James L. Knight of Knight Ridder newspapers fame, has had a great charter season. Twenty-two charters so far from half days to three-day trips. They have been very busy. Ted owns The American Hotel built in 1846 that sits right in the center of it all. The next day, I ventured to the hotel to see Ted. It was early morning, just in the front door, there was a radio show broadcasting live from The American Hotel for National Public Radio. I just sat quietly at the bar, listening and watching. I was introduced to Jeff Peterson, a good friend of Ted’s. As we talked, different people would enter and leave the conversation. Carl Bernstein of Watergate fame sat in for a while as we talked about Jeff’s Model A pickup truck. Bad gas or was it water in the tank? Since I’ve had a few old engines, I put in my two cents. “Install a water separator.” Jeff thought that was brilliant. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I am actually a mechanical klutz.
There was a man listening in on our conversation. He looked kind of familiar, like I might have seen him down in Palm Beach. But thankfully, I didn’t embarrass myself by asking. He was one of the journalists from “60 Minutes” Jeff told me after he left the restaurant. I heard live classical music coming from the next room, as Ted’s Julliard-trained friend Brenda played the piano.
I realized Ted wasn’t kidding. I was, in fact, in the center of the universe.




















The next day, I was invited to a trip to the city. We were to stay at the New York Yacht Club. For all of you who are members, you already know. For those who are not, let me tell you, it was grand. I have always admired great architecture, whether on boats or buildings. The three front windows looked like the sterns of Spanish galleons. I was impressed before we even entered the front door. I’ve been fortunate to be involved with some great American yachts, but this was the first time I stepped inside the cathedral to American yachting at 37 West 44th Street.
In the great model room, many of the models were pre-war yachts. Every great yacht ever built could be found somewhere in the yacht club. It was like opening a great bottle of wine. Every one of my senses was aroused. I stopped by every case to admire the models. These were made by artists, not model makers. Gravity pulled me to the library, where I picked up on my research that I started at Joe Bartram’s private library. Each book I opened would bring tears to my eyes. Allergies. I’m not that sentimental. I started back in the 1890s. The odor of aged paper would make me want sneeze but that didn’t stop me.
I got to be less serious hanging out with Teddy, now 15. He is a lot of fun. Stephanie says I sometimes act like I’m 15 so Teddy and I were bound to get along. We went to the top of the “Rock,” Rockefeller Center for the spectacular view, to the museum of natural history where a good friend of Ted’s took us behind the scenes, to the artifact room. I took some photos and sent them home to my son through my phone. I got an message back from James, “Dad, I was standing exactly where you are. I was already there, remember?” He had beat me to the punch. James had come up to New York a month earlier with my niece Kirsten and her son Michael. He had already done the tour but I got to see the restoration room.
I’ve been to NYC before but I was usually in a hurry. Never did all this. We completed our city experience with hot dogs and Times Square. I had really done NYC this time.
It was a nice drive back to Sag Harbor. The next morning, Capt. Frank and I headed to Montauk to say hello to Capt. Bryan Akers. He was preparing Justice, a 1930, 70 foot Consolidated for her trip to NYC. Bryan was busy, but he took time out to have lunch and swap a few stories. It was time to go and I still had a long way to get back to the Hartford to fly home and see the grandsons one more time. I missed seeing a lot of people because I ran out of time.
Maybe that is a blessing in disguise. It only means I need to get back to New England more often. A lot more often.

Until next time,

Jim Moores


P.S. We are still looking for a taker for Grand Lady, the 1919 Trumpy. I have had a few calls, but nothing serious. I have included more photos but time is running out. Dan, the son of the owner who passed away, would like to see her get a good home. They plan to sell the boathouse she’s in. If you are interested, the boat is free but the boathouse is $100,000. It’s a pretty good deal. If you’re interested or know someone, give me a call.
I had lunch the other day with Kevin Walters, owner of the Trumpy Lunetta, Contract 196, built in 1928 for Col. S.L.H. Slocum. Kevin has recently gone through a divorce and has spent more than a million on the Lunetta project. He still loves the yacht but his life is moving in a different direction. He will entertain offers of 18 cents on the dollar. There is one person who has made a serious offer but it’s to turn Lunetta into a beach house. Her parts are in a warehouse and there are two rebuilt 1271 GM diesels. If you have questions, call Kevin at 561-659-8431. If you want to buy her, call Joe Bartram at 954-522-5428. She one of six Trumpy Grande Dames left. It would truly be a shame for her to be turned into house.
As I said in my last newsletter, I don’t want to write boat obits. I’m also not a boat broker. I just hate to see any more of these boats get destroyed and lost forever. They are irreplaceable.