Should I Fix It?
Here’s a recent thread from the WoodenBoat Forum, in which a member (“ProperShip”) begins a discussion based on the theme of priorities in wooden-boat restoration. The original post, which you can read at https://forum.woodenboat.com, includes a link to an article detailing his own restoration of a sliding-seat wherry.
—Editor
ProperShip
In the January/February issue (No. 309), Matthew Murphy calls out the theme of reviving neglected boats. In the same issue, Greg Rössel poses the question: “Do you really want to fix it?” I suspect that for most of us who ask ourselves this question, the answer is almost always yes. The challenge is finding the best way forward for a particular vessel and circumstances. Smaller boats in disrepair offer an opportunity to discover, learn, and invent.
johngsandusky
In addition to the question of whether or not to fix it is the question of how much work to put into it. A couple of years back I bought a bunch of boat parts including a rough kit-built Folbot Super—a wood framed, vinyl-skinned kayak. It appeared to have been reskinned, and it leaked. These boats are common and have little value, and I had no qualms about patching it with Gorilla Tape. That worked; I paddled and sailed it for a season before breaking it up because it was too heavy for me. I considered reskinning it again using modern skin-on-frame materials, but the cost and effort would have outweighed the value of the finished product. Sometimes quick-and-dirty is the best option.
Hugh MacD
I found a Mirror dinghy whose only usable bits turned out to be the thwart, the foils, and the spars. I could have built a new hull, taking patterns from the pieces that were compromised, but it would never have been usable as a one-design (by rules) and if I were going to that much effort there would be many other boats I’d build first. She was given a proper Viking funeral on a winter solstice, with many witnesses and appropriate libations to ease her passing.
Stromborg
There is a project boat sitting under some tarps outside my window right now. For years, it has posed the question, “Do you really want to fix it?” All things considered, the answer is clearly no, or it would have been done by now. It is a 1959 runabout that was given to me by a nice but disorganized old gentleman after he disassembled (without documenting or cataloging anything) and sanded most of it; he lost steam and then downsized. It just doesn’t have the emotional pull for me to warrant the kind of investment it needs. Realistically, it would be far smarter to buy a set of plans and start fresh. Judging by the quality of the joinery on this boat, the builders did not anticipate it still being here 67 years later. A Chesapeake Light Craft Rhode Runner kit (see WB No. 309) would cost about what I’d spend on a restoration, without the added spiders, mouse poop, and rot. 