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.
