"All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes to make it possible."
-T.E. Lawrence ("Lawrence of Arabia")
I've always been a dreamer of the day, of that there is no doubt. Though the most dangerous manifestation thus far may be the continual beating upon my finances, I have come to accept it. If, years ago, someone had told that I would someday travel from Vancouver to California to consider the purchase of a 63-foot wooden military boat with six decades of wear on her, then truck her hundreds of miles home, I would not have argued.
Looking out onto Howe Sound in the Vancouver area as a child, I would regularly see a boat known as the "BC Scaler." She would be carrying her crew to measure logs that were bundled into floating booms before they were towed to the mills. Although I obviously did not know it at the time, this 63-foot vessel was originally built by the U.S. Navy and likely was one operated by the U.S. Army Air Force to rescue downed airmen during World War II. The official designation was AVR, for Aircraft Vessel Rescue, but they were largely known as "crashboats." This particular boat, while still military gray, had an additional bit of cabin structure built on and had been converted to a dry stack exhaust. Nevertheless, her sleek lines and purposeful stance remained blatantly present.
RANDY CUNNINGHAMThe author used to watch these AVRs (Aircraft Vessel Rescue), sometimes called "crashboats," as a boy. Now, he owns one.
When I was old enough to walk down to the marina, I would stand by its massive gray bulk and marvel. It just looked fast, even sitting at the dock.
Fast forward to 2004. As I was starting to look for a live-aboard vessel, I was reading my local Boat Journal and stopped at a page that had the very same old "BC Scaler" listed for sale. Although it triggered all kinds of memories, I did not act on it immediately. But when the next month's issue again ran the same ad, I decided to at least go and look.
A call to the broker indicated that the boat had a deposit in place, subject to the sale of the purchaser's house. The deal was good for about another 4 weeks. When I went to see it, I found it was much the same as I remembered, with the exception of a hideous railing added around the circumference of the vessel. That, plus another 35 or so years of wear, made it a fairly unappealing prospect. Still, being a romantic idiot, I started talking myself into the possibilities. Having already restored a smaller wooden sailboat, I had an inkling of the commitment this represented. But I decided to wait and make an offer on the day the competing bid expired.
Meanwhile, I did more research into what these boats were all about, their history, construction and their place in the major conflicts. Originally consigned by the U.S. Navy, these boats were proposed as high-speed, highly-seaworthy rescue craft. They were also used as patrol boats, special operations vessels and for other purposes. Their supplied ordnance was fairly light, with twin Browning.50 calibers in port and starboard gun tubs on the bridge, and two 320-pound depth charges aft. Some skippers managed to install an extra .50 cal foredeck gun as well. One of their more famous missions was the feigned D-Day attack on Italy as part of the "Beachjumper" fleet under Lt. Commander Douglas Fairbanks Jr.
RANDY CUNNINGHAMCrashboats were designed to be seaworthy, high-speed rescue boats.
T.E. Lawrence, whose quote appears above, played a major role in the devising and designing the forerunners to these boats in Britain. Well known as something of a visionary, he knew of the impending war well before his untimely demise in 1935, and that many pilots would be lost in the English Channel. The cold waters and strong currents meant time was of the essence in their retrieval. Older, displacement-type vessels were simply too slow. In the early 1930s he and British designer Hubert Scott Paine developed these high-speed, planing hulls that would later be developed into MTBs, the so-called "motor torpedo boats" used by Allied forces during the war (PT boats in the US). A&E's biography on Lawrence has footage of him on these vessels during their trials.
This boat I had seen as a lad was a 1944 Stephens Brothers constructed unit, built in their yard in Stockton, California. Like many, it had a pair of Detroit 671's installed after its active service days. The original engines were a pair of Hall-Scott Defender V-12's requiring 100-octane fuel. While providing a top speed of up to 40 knots, they guzzled roughly 110 gph in the process. This is one of the reasons the boats were often stationed near airbases, which had ample fuel. The same held true for the larger PT boats. In fact the PTs, with their three Packard-Merlins, pilfered fuel at the rate of 475 gph when on the boil. Another item they had in common with their larger PT sisters was that only bronze and beryllium tools were used on board, to avoid the chance of a static spark. Rather frighteningly, the onboard cabin heaters burned this same fuel.
AVRs were constructed in much the same fashion as the PT boats, with closely-spaced frames – about 7 inches on center – and a double-planked hull with the inner layer laid diagonally (see photo). The diagonal planks are the reason many people thought these boats were made of plywood. They were built by various yards once the war was underway, but the primary yard was the Miami Shipbuilding Corp. in Florida. The company was also responsible for the original drawings by naval architect Dair Long. Other secondary yards were Fellow and Stewart, Stephens Bros, Harbor Boatbuilding in Newport Beach and even Herroshoff, though the latter did very few.
RANDY CUNNINGHAMAVRs were built in a number of locations, but the primary yard was in Miami.
As it turned out, the other fellow's house sold and the deal went through, making my decision on that one easier. I made a number of inquiries and web searches for other AVRs but, though there were a few "˜cruisified' versions for sale, nothing close to original emerged.
I eventually ended up with a well-built, 41-foot trawler, designed by Ed Monk and built of fiberglass in Port Townsend. Great boat – just what I needed. But to me it was about as exciting as a good haircut. So I kept looking for an AVR, and sometime just after Christmas of 2005 I came across something in California's Sacramento Delta. It was on Craigslist, of all places.
RANDY CUNNINGHAMThe author's boat (above) began its journey home with a one-hour trip up the San Joaquin River, then docked with another AVR (below) prior to being loaded on a truck in preparation for the next leg of the trip.
This boat was in much closer to original layout, with little altered internally. The mid-ships cabin had been gutted and the galley had been moved to the aft cabin, which was the infirmary during her service time. The lower helm station had been removed to make a bigger chart area for teaching navigation, a requirement during her post-war years with the Sea Scouts.
But the thing was, it was a better boat than the first one I'd viewed. So if I was thinking seriously about the old "Scaler," why not this? I had turned a number of rusty hulks into show cars previously. Just take that amount of work, cube it and it's a done deal. People have taken on a lot bigger boat projects than this and managed somehow, I figured. Just let The Force be with you and all that. I still think about the guy that got the idea to chisel out Mt. Rushmore.
A tentative deal was put together, pending the sale of my trawler, as I certainly didn't have enough spare coinage to keep both. I also have a restored 1938 sailboat that we actively race, and having two wooden boats means you will always be broke. The upside is you'll never have the dough for the therapy you should be taking. Ignorance equals bliss, no?
Having two small businesses to run, time looked to be an elusive commodity for me, as did the copious funding required. But, blindly forward I journeyed. While I have had more than five dozen cars (interesting ones and otherwise) in my life, I deduced years before that they were an addiction, something curable. Having been boating since I was three weeks – so they tell me – it was an ingrained passion, never to leave. I absolutely had to act on it. Being a purveyor of hand-built racing bicycles (see link below) I haven't even tried to figure out how many bikes must go out the door, but it will all be worth it, to be sure.
Well the glass boat sold quickly – lots of smart people called the dumb guy selling – and the next step was to find a way to get this huge pile of planks from the Sacramento Delta to the Pacific Northwest in one piece, a trip of about 900 miles. While the boat was somewhat operational, making the trip by sea would not have been intelligent seamanship, so it would have to ply the high seas of Interstate 5.
RANDY CUNNINGHAMThe boat is loaded onto a truck, in preparation for a cruise up the Interstate.
The next step – and not an easy one – was to find a capable hauler. I had heard of a company that had an 80-foot Elco PT boat on a trailer displayed on their web site. These seemed to be the guys, but when I called they said they only haul boats up to 48 feet. I was informed that the PT boat was on the home page because it looked good. Excellent idea! It sure fooled me.
I continued searching and finally found only one capable hauler, which was Global Yacht Hauling in Missouri. Like all yacht haulers, they were always behind schedule, but in the end they did a fine job. Before it could be lifted, however, we had to find a yard in the area with a large enough marine lift. A plan was formed to make the one-hour trip down the San Joaquin River to another AVR owner's dock, where the vessel would stay until transfer to the yard, which was only about a quarter mile away. It was a pleasant afternoon as we headed down the river bringing out all kinds of curious boaters to check out the "˜invasion force.' I had the honor of docking the old girl in a rather smart breeze. Because of their shallow draft, these vessels can behave a bit like a styrofoam cup on a zephyred pond. Nevertheless, in spite of a stalling portside motor, we did manage a no-damage docking and made the boat secure.
RANDY CUNNINGHAMPadding was not used on the straps, which damaged the hull in several places.
While waiting for lift-out time, Scott Benedict, whose dock she was tied at, discovered that one of the fuel injection crossover tubes had a rust hole in it and had poured many gallons of diesel into the crankcase during the one-hour run, hence the aforementioned stalling. That was patched up and eventually the boat made its way to a yard on Bethel Island, but the haul out did not go well. The yard was both incompetent and less than conscientious with the vessel. Padding was not used on the straps, which damaged the hull in eight places on the chine and ripped off the starboard spray rail. They then proceeded to charge three times their original lift-out quote. The lesson here would be to oversee all such things ones self.
Nevertheless the hauler, Ed Perrin, with the generous help of a fellow military boat owner, Jim Ricketts, got the boat loaded in heat well above 100 degrees, and set off up the highway. I don't know if this was the largest boat to ever cruise Interstate 5, but it had to be near the top of the list. The heat blasting on it at highway speeds didn't do the seams much good. A few days later the boat arrived in Bellingham, Washington, where she was lifted off the trailer and put on the hard for a quick bottom freshening. The props and rudders also needed to be re-attached and the backing block for the port strut needed replacement.
The Pacific Northwest climate helped close up the seams, but a bit of extra caulking around the waterline was required before we set her back in the water about a week later. Once afloat, the bottom started to close up quickly, which was a relief. Within a couple of hours, we fired up the motors and I had my chance to negotiate the long channel away from the lift – in reverse.
RANDY CUNNINGHAMThe boat was hauled in heat well above 100 degrees, which didn't do the seams much good. But it did not cause a long-term problem.
I quickly learned that the small rudders – built for high speeds – are almost useless at anything less than five knots, as they are offset from the prop wash. One had to rely completely on the engines to perform the maneuvering. Combine this with the still-intact telegraph/bell system from the bridge to the engine room, allowing the engineer to shift gears on signal, and it made for a few tense moments. But ultimately, the boat handled incredibly well. The shallow draft allowed the vessel to turn on the spot with one motor running forward and the other in reverse. So we set out for Canadian waters and her new home on the Fraser River in Richmond, British Columbia. By way of luck, one of our crew members was a Korean War crashboat veteran named Don Lashua. He had seen the boat traveling up I-5 and followed the truck to the yard, where he introduced himself. This was the first 63-footer he had seen since he stepped ashore from his last patrol in 1953.
RANDY CUNNINGHAMThe AVR's engine room.
Once ensconced at her new home, we gave the boat a reasonable scrub inside and out, then began to take an assessment of what had to be done. It was no surprise that virtually every area needed attention. The actual amount of rot in the boat was limited. A few punky spots in the hull were found, but it was otherwise sound and remarkably fair. On the other hand, the pilot house and surrounding area aft were very rough. The original wind diffuser on the upper bridge was gone, the whole area being built somewhat lower than the original (see photo). The port and starboard gun tubs were long gone, though I could see the cut-outs in the panels in the upper bridge area remained. It is my intent to replace these and get some kind of Browning .50 caliber replicas. The Coast Guard may have other ideas though.
The boat will maintain most of its original layout, with only the aft cabin, which was originally the dispensary, made into a period stateroom and part of the skipper's quarters converted to a combination salon and sleeping area. On deck, it will appear as original. In the fullness of time, a couple of high-powered diesels – preferably converted to bio-diesel – will make their way back to the engine room, so that she will move in the mid 30-knot range for the first time in more than 60 years. At planing speeds, in her tactical turn diameter of 75 yards, she'll be an awesome sight.
RANDY CUNNINGHAMThe helm station on deck, under construction (above) and substantially completed (below).
The amount of work involved is overwhelming if one spends too much time thinking about it. Throughout the late summer and fall, work progressed on the pilothouse area and a fair bit has been accomplished (see photos). If it was simply building new stuff and installing it, it would be relatively simple. It's the ripping out of old wood, wiring and various metal bits that seem to consume so much time. The amount of paint in hard-to-get areas that must be removed is phenomenal. In fact, it's the whole boat, inside and out.
Oddly enough, the single biggest job on the whole boat is turning out to be removing this old paint. I have begun to beat the bushes for volunteer labor, even of the unskilled type. Naturally all who pitch in will have the opportunity to enjoy some sea time. I'm sure when they see this vessel underway, they will feel at least some of what I do. The basic presence of the old girl is massive. There are areas where I will have some proper shipwright friends deal with. I'm the first to recognize that if something is beyond my scope, let the good guys do it.
One area in which I think I excel beyond most traditional shipwrights is in the finishing area. I figured out a long time ago that if one had to scrape and paint one's car every year or so, that the maker of that car would be out of business. Drawing from my wide experience refinishing wheeled goods, I've taken to using high-end acrylic urethanes (car paint) on everything from furniture to boats. It's basically just a flexible spray plastic with 100 percent UV protection. I did my entire 6 metre with it, including the brightwork, which was just clear coat. Seven uncovered seasons after going back in the water, she still looks great. Virtually no maintenance (well, I did wax it once). This paint expands and contracts with the wood because of its flexible properties, and does not jettison itself from its substrate like varnish. As well, any touch-up is much easier and you can lay down three coats in half an hour.
RANDY CUNNINGHAMMuch of the interior has been refurbished. In both photos, you can see how the hull planking was laid diagonally, leading many to believe (wrongly) that AVRs were made of plywood.
As the work continued, so did my research. I managed to get in contact with Jean Buhler, who was the Chief Technical Officer at Miami Shipbuilding during the war (he is now 90 years old). It was a fantastic feeling when I emailed him the serial number of the boat and he responded with all the build details, from the day the first keel plank was laid to the day of her sea trials. Unbelievably, the boat was completed in less than a month, despite its complex structure. They had a massive work force going 24 hours a day. One can only imagine how long it would take today.
Not long after, I was contacted by a gentleman living in on the island of Crete in Greece named David Linley. He is currently in the process of writing a book on such vessels and was very interested the project. As it turns out, his access to Navy information allowed him to give me the U.S. Army Air Force designation for this vessel, which was P-619. This was her official number once she came out of her Navy consignment. Unless I can find her wartime nickname, she'll remain P-619 and will carry the designation on the bow and stern. I don't believe in changing a boat's name.
The contacts kept coming. One AVR skipper sent me photos of his vessel in the Philippines taken in 1945, as well as copies of the original drawings from Harbor Shipbuilding in Newport Beach, California, which he obtained upon his return to civilian life in 1945. These drawings will obviously prove invaluable as the project goes forward.
As winter fell into place, a harsh, abnormally stormy season halted work on the boat. I am only now getting back to work on the love of my life. Trust me when I say you absolutely have to be maniacally in love to go forward with such a project, at least on my income. Why I am so smitten? There are a few reasons. I am a very nostalgic person. I appreciate wartime sacrifice and this is a noble project. I love real things, not replicas, and this is a damn sexy boat, with an incredible "cosmic" vibration. For me, the tranquility of being aboard and doing anything – or nothing – is magic. I sometimes think of my life as a great pond filled with lily pads, some big, some small, but each representing one of my dreams. No point in just looking at them – do the frog thing and jump in.