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greekowl87 · 6 years

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Fic: False Flags Redux 5/13

(1) (2) (3) (4) | AO3

A/N: Hey everyone, thanks for sticking around. Chapter five is here. A massive thanks to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm and @scully-loves-ruthie . Tagging @today-in-fic

P.S. I’m being bad this week by posting two chapters this week because I got the time still and things haven’t gotten too crazy yet. I’ve also added the AO3 link if you want it all in one place. Chapter six is on Friday.

5/13

Gosport Shipyard Portsmouth, Virginia March 7, 1862

Mulder and Scully had communicated with each via letter a few times now since their last in-person meeting. He started supplying her with simple things, such as orders and troop numbers, but there still had been nothing of great value except the letters itself. Their correspondence had grown more personal in nature, something he had not expected. He thought he was supposed to keep it impersonal. While he kept the sensitive information coded, like he had been taught, they begin to speak of familiar things...addressing each other in the letters simply as M. and S. She spoke of her hopes after the war, seeing her family again, maybe filing for divorce if she could find a valid reason, and what she loved and read. He spoke of his childhood, his fondness for books and mysteries, and his hopes for the war's end. In each other, without meaning to or realizing it, they had found a confident within each other and a growing trust. The trust seemed like it had been built over years, decades even, instead of a few short days. The sensation he had met her too before the dinner party was growing in the back of his mind as well.

Since he had reported for duty that past Monday, the CSS Virginia still remained in dry dock and he was still in his barracks. He opened his most recent letter she had written him and read it carefully to his self. He was the only one in the barracks at the moment. The rest of the officers had gone to a local tavern to enjoy themselves that evening. He jumped when he heard someone knocking lightly on the door. Nervously, he tucked the folded letter under the pillow, got up and opened it a crack and when he saw Scully wearing a cloak with the hood drawn. He instinctively grabbed her hand and pulled her into the barracks, god forbid anyone sees her.

“Scully,” he hissed, grabbing her arm, “what the hell are you doing here? Coming in the middle of the night? I thought we both agreed that we would never meet in person like this.”

“I needed to come, Mulder,” she retorted, ignoring his anger and stepping past him. “It couldn't wait.”

“Why?” he asked desperately. He shut teh door. “We both agreed not to meet if this arrangement was to work.”

She took the opportunity to glance around the barracks. “Is this where you stay?”

“When I'm not on the ship? Yes. But that still doesn't answer my question. Stop changing the subject”

“Which one is your cot?”

He pointed towards his bed absently and shook his head. “Scully! Quit distracting me.”

She took a moment to pull back the blankets, inspect his shell jacket, his officer saber, his kepi, and his personal effects, noting the lack of pictures. She kept running her fingers over his things with such familiarity. Mulder ran his own fingers through his hair, clearly flustered. “I'm sorry,” she said softly. “I had a dream the other night. I needed to reassure myself of your well being.”

“What dream?”

“I dreamed you had died. I saw you die and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“Since when do you care about my well being?” His voice softened. “I'm no one, remember. Just a soldier. I'm just convenient to your cause.”

“You aren't just a soldier,” she spat. “And it’s our cause, Mulder. Are we safe here?”

“For a bit, yes. Scully, why are you here? Do you know the danger that you are putting yourself in? I would die if something happened to you because of me.”

“I'm sorry,” she said softly again. She relaxed and looked at him finally. “But that dream was horrible. And it seemed so real, like a memory.”

“Nothing's happened to me,” he soothed. “I'm right here. Nothing's happened.”

“No.” She took a deep breath. “It was from a different time. I don't know. Maybe it is my imagination lead astray. But I just needed to reassure myself of your well being. I needed to see you”

He gave a feeble smile. “I'm touched, Scully. I really am. But you need to go. I won't risk you putting yourself in danger anymore.”

“You sound so silly,” she chuckled softly. “I just feel like something is about to happen soon. A feeling. I just want you to be careful. The information that you have provided has been invaluable, but I still worry. I want us to continue working in the future.”

“As an asset or a friend?”

“Friend,” she answered quickly. “We're friends. I think.” She chuckled to herself. “Forgive me. I acted without thinking. Just promise me, Mulder, promise me you will be careful.”

He nodded slightly. “I promise.”

“You know,” she paused after a moment, “I wear my brooch every day since you've given it to me.”

“A bit quick to be rushing it, don't you think? And you, a married woman,” he teased.

Her lips quirked into a weak smile, recognizing his wit and the warmth of his concern. “I wanted...I wanted to give you something in return. That's another reason why I came.”

“Scully,” he admonished softly. “Please, you don't have to.”

“No, no. I just...” From her pocket, she withdrew a beautiful rosary and pressed it into his hand. He tried to give it back. “No. No. Keep it.” She pressed it into his hands. “Please, Mulder.”

He squeezed the warm beads and glanced down the intricate blue and silver rosary. “I can't take this.”

“You can and you will.” She clasped both of their hands together, the rosary nestled between it. “That morning you went to mass with me, it felt like everything changed. I know you don't prize religion but your openness of mind and heart was most welcoming. Most would cast it from their mind and my silly inclinations.”

“Having faith is not a silly inclination,” he said softly. “I was honored to go. I enjoyed your company very much but the sermon was a little dry.”

Scully giggled. For some reason, it felt right. He could not describe it, the feeling the ache that was welling in his chest. It was so deep. “For you, just this once,” he whispered. He instinctively tried to make light of this situation. “You know, this is the sort of token a girl should give to her dandy.”

“Well,” she replied after a moment, “maybe I have. Promise me you'll be safe, Mulder.”

“I will,” he promised.

They both could hear the drunken laughter of the other officers heading towards the barracks. “I better go,” she whispered, bowing her head.

He did not know why this stranger, this woman, elected this response from him. He felt like he had known her all his life. He bowed his head as well, resting their forehead against one another. “It will be okay, Scully. I promise.”

She gave a weak smile and nodded. “Be safe, Mulder, for me.”

“I promise.”

She broke away suddenly, drawing up her hood. She gave a sad smile and disappeared out the back door. He glanced down the rosary in his hands. Carefully he untangled the delicate symbol and placed it around his neck, hiding it under his shirt so no one would see it. She would always be close. He could not even begin to try and explain it. His friend. His partner.

. . . .

Elizabeth River Norfolk, Virginia March 8, 1862

Scully awoke to the sounds of cheering. She rushed outside, still wearing her dress from the night before, and saw the crowds. The home that she lived in had a lovely view of the Elizabeth River. She loved to sit in the window and watch the ships pass under the glow of the sunsets. But this morning, she saw her husband's ship and civilians lining the shore cheering them on. She also saw some of the officers and civilian workmen still aboard but she could hear the faint beating of a drum and hear her own husband's small voice yelling.

“Sailors, in a few minutes you will have the long looked opportunity of showing your devotion to our cause. Remember that you are about to strike for your country and your homes. The Confederacy expects every man to do his duty. Beat to quarters! The whole world is watching you today!”

Her eyes widened. She would have guessed this would be CSS Virginia's sea trials, but she knew how narcissistic her husband was. She had heard his speech. He intended to go straight into war.

. . . .

Coroner's Office Virginia Beach, Virginia December 15, 1998

Scully rolled her neck and snapped off her gloves, hearing her neck pop and crack. She gazed at the body she had just sliced and diced, silently bemoaning the report she still had to write and how badly her muscles were protesting. Scully had not slept the night before. Those dreams that had plagued her for the past couple nights had to continue, finding no respite. She tossed and turned, tried to read, watched tv. She ended up staying up talking to Mulder when she finally drifted off to sleep sometime around three am only to be promptly woken at six am.

She heard multiple footsteps squeaking along the well-polished floors of the coroner's office as she turned to gaze at the door. ASAC Benson came in, Mulder and Diana and some unnamed agent trailing behind him. Inwardly, she groaned, not ready to deal with Diana this early in the morning. “Agent Scully,” ASAC Benson greeted, “did you find anything?”

“Well,” she began, turning towards them. “I still have yet to write my report. But the victim was strangled, then stabbed postmortem. Sixteen stab wounds in all. I still have yet to hear back from the labs on any forensic evidence but I doubt if that is any help.”

“What were the other bodies like?” Benson asked.

“Tortured, shot in the chest, and finally in the head,” she recalled.

“And now he strangles?” Diana mused.

God, the sound of her voice, Scully groaned inwardly, like nails on the chalkboard. “Well, the guards were strangled,” she shrugged. “Maybe he's developed a taste for it. I don't know. This killing was done with precision and I did lift one of his fingerprints from her body, so we know it's him.”

“Agent Mulder,” the ASAC looked at her partner.

“Hm? I need time,” he murmured, looking at the body.

“Well, if anyone can do it, I'm sure you can, Fox.” Diana gave him a warm smile.

He glanced at her quickly before focusing back on the body. “Scully, did you find anything else? Anything helpful?” he asked her.

“No,” she said.

“Well,” Benson sighed, “it looks like we need to go to the public.”

“Draw him out?” Diana said. “Won't that make him run?”

“No,” Mulder sighed after a moment. “It will make him find more of a challenge in it. He's a narcissistic bastard. I would do it, but be vague. Just mention this murder.”

“Fowley, with me,” Benson said. “You can help on this.”

The other three left except Mulder who gave Scully a weak smile. She returned it and nodded towards the door. “Ever since you said something to Benson, I can't help find great pleasure that Diana has been regulated to his personal assistant. I suppose I should thank you?”

“She isn't that bad, Scully,” he said softly. “And I really do think she could help us with our problem.”

“Mulder, you know I don't trust her!”

“I know, that is why I haven't said anything to her,” he said, “and kind forced her off out of our hair. The last thing you need to freak out about that.”

Scully gave a small smile, her cheeks blushing. Small things like that were not rare for Mulder, even though he always had her interests at heart, he still made her blush. “Well, thank you nonetheless.”

He nodded towards the body. “I need to get back to the field office to work on my profile. Wanna tag along?”

“I have to finish up here,” she replied.

He nodded. “Wanna break for a late lunch later then? We can talk about your dreams last night.”

She nodded slightly. “That'd be nice.”

“You seem more grounded today,” he said as an afterthought.

“Hm. Maybe it is just the lack of caffeine or maybe it's the recent company.”

He smiled and gave her arm a quick squeeze before he left. She sighed again, glancing at the body and then frowning at the thought of writing that report.

. . . .

CSS Virginia Elizabeth River en route to Sewell's Point March 8, 1862

Mulder felt claustrophobic. The iron siding enclosing the ship made the world seem smaller. A young sailor glanced at him and chuckled softly. “Nervous, Lieutenant?”

“Just a wee bit,” he confessed.

“Why don't you go above deck and get yourself some air?”

He nodded despite himself and climbed above deck. The cold air was biting as he watched the coastline pass them by. A young naval officer smacked him on the back and smiled in greeting. “How you holding, army boy?”

“Hanging in there,” he nodded. “Marines are doing well.”

“Glad to hear it.” The young officer leaned against the railing. “Can you believe the captain? Today was supposed to be just sea trials but the eager bastard is hell-bent on confronting the Union blockade today.”

“Why, Evans?” Mulder blurted, despite himself. “I heard the onlookers when we left Portsmouth. 'Go on with your old metallic coffin!'”

“I'm sure we'll be fine. The Virginia will prove herself seaworthy. We'll go down in history that is for sure. Technology is changing, that's for sure.”

Mulder touched his chest briefly, feeling the rosary beneath his jacket. “We are just an experiment,” he muttered.

“Nothing can sink Old Ironsides!”

He chuckled. “Is that the captain or our ship?”

“The ship of course, but we might as well call the captain that, stubborn as he is,” Evans grinned.

They could hear the drum picking up as the Union blockade came into view. They saw the ships, the Union sailors white laundry hanging from the sails. “We better get below deck,” Evans muttered. “Where will you be during all this?”

“The top gun deck,” Mulder answered. “Marines can't do much while sailing but I do know my way around a cannon.”

“Good man,” Evans nodded. “Let's go get those Yankee bastards.”

They disappeared below deck, Mulder's chest growing heavier the doubt and anxiety. He did not want to fight his true country. He did not want to be here.

. . . .

Captain Buchanan stood in the pilot house with his helmsman. “There, Jones!” He pointed out the small port window excitedly towards the USS Cumberland, a Union frigate. “That's our first target. Here we make history, men!”

The executive officer nodded. “Aye, sir. Helmsman, full speed! Ensign Edwards, belay the order to open fire!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” the young ensign echoed and disappeared.

Captain Buchanan clapped his hands enthusiastically as he heard his ship's cannons began their first explosions. Here he was, making history! Everyone would remember him and his ship! He could see it now! President Davis would congratulate him personally. He would be made an admiral. Admiral of the Fleet. That had a nice ring to it, Admiral Buchanan.

“Sir!” the executive officer cried in alarm. “Sir! We need to break course!”

“No, full speed ahead! Ram that ship!”

The helmsman looked nervously at the other officer and he nodded grimly. “Full speed ahead then,” he said softly.

“Aye, aye, sir,” he mumbled as his shaking hands gripped the helm tighter.

The CSS Virginia rammed into the Cumberland's starboard side with guns blazing. In the excitement, the ironclad was almost unable to free itself, barely escaping its own fate of sinking with the doomed ship. The captain was ecstatic at his ships first victory! “Seaworthy indeed!” he bellowed. “Helmsman, take us to the James River. We'll confront those Yanks head on!”

. . . .

The cannon fire was deafening for Mulder. He could not think. He could not breathe. But still his body kept functioning. The ringing would not go away. He was covered in soot, his hands ached from helping load cannons. His voice was hoarse from shouting orders over the cannon fire. Briefly, he touched his chest, once again feeling the rosary. He was going to make it out of this. He had to.

. . . .

The CSS Virginia steamed along, finally reach Sewell's Point and the Union blockade. Unlike the Cumberland, the rest of the Union ships, they were ready. They opened fired and the Virginia returned the lolly. The siege of the USS Congress for two whole hours, neither side giving in. But finally, the Congress surrendered herself. Then the Union batteries at Fort Monroe began to fire on ironclad.

. . . .

“Damn Yanks!” Captain Buchanan bellowed. He grabbed a rifle from a nearby marine and stormed up to the deck. “Fire on my ship will you? I'll show you!”

Among the cannon fire, Buchanan's rifle could be heard firing. A couple of marines joined him uselessly on deck, firing their own rifles. He ordered the marines to set the Congress aflame. Then a stray shell landed against the Virginia and shrapnel landed into his thigh. The marines quickly took their captain below deck.

“Damn it to hell!” he bellowed. “Jones, take the command! And someone fetch me that marine lieutenant! On the double!”

A young marine nodded quickly and went to find Mulder on the top gun deck, supervising his marines and the sailors. “Sir,” he said breathlessly, “the captain...the captain requests your presence.”

“Can't the damn fool see I'm busy?”

“Sir, he was wounded.”

“How bad?”

“I don't know. His thigh?”

Mulder rolled his eyes, leaving the gun deck and heading to the surgeon's quarters. He found Captain Buchanan snarling like an angry dog at the surgeon, who was more than annoyed. “Captain,” the doctor said, “I can't very well treat you if you don't sit still.”

“You won't be taking my leg, damn you!”

“I'm not taking your leg, for god's sake, man! Stop fussing like a child! It is just a flesh wound!”

“Sir,” Mulder interrupted, “you needed to see me?”

“Yes, yes,” he grunted. “You. You are to make sure nothing happens to my wife, understand?”

“Sir?” What the hell was the captain going on about?

“You keep an eye on her, you hear?”

“Jesus, you aren't dying!” The surgeon yelled.

“Promise me, lieutenant.”

“Why me?”

“Because you're her pet. I don't know! Jesus, get that saw away from me, you devil!”

The surgeon threw his hands up in surrender and when to get a bottle of whiskey. “Drink,” he ordered, fisting the bottle towards him.

“Lieutenant, promise me!” Captain Buchanan yelled.

“Aye, aye, sir,” he said hesitantly.

. . . .

FBI Field Office Norfolk, Virginia December 15, 1998

His phone was ringing. Mulder blinked himself out of a daze and shifted the files in front of him uselessly trying to find his phone. His ears were ringing like a loud explosion had just gone off next to him. He shook his head, trying to clear it. But the ringing. His phone.

“Mulder.”

“Mulder, it's me.”

“Scully,” he said softly. “Everything okay?”

“Everything's fine.”

“Everything?”

“Everything, me included. I can't make that late lunch. Something else here came up with the victim.”

“That's okay. Do you want me to swing by and pick you up when you're done?”

“No. Just go back to the hotel. I don't know how long this will take.”

“Okay. Scully, call me if you need anything.”

“I'm fine, Mulder. I promise.”

He rubbed his chest, an itching sensation near his heart. “Okay, well just let me know. I'll see you later tonight.”

“Count on it.”

She hung up and he buried his face in his hands. His profile was at a standstill and his mind elsewhere.

. . . .

CSS Virginia James River, Virginia March 9, 1862

In a hammock, Mulder fingered the rosary he wore, the day replaying itself in his mind. The battle was still fresh and it kept replaying itself over and over. He could hear the cannon fire. He gazed at his right hand as it shook slightly. He had experienced battles before. But something about naval warfare, being stuck on a ship, being unable to run anywhere. He felt trapped.

But now it was quiet and he had time to reflect.

Scully. Why did his thoughts keep drifting to her? The familiar ache in his chest came back as he continued to fiddle with the rosary around his neck. Did she have prophetic dreams? Was she a seer? Mulder rubbed his face, trying to erase the thoughts and drowsiness he felt. He had been having weird dreams lately, ever since he met her. Dreams of a different time, different places. She was always there. Like two halves. But he was brought out of his daydreaming by shouting.

“What is going on?” he called.

“Damn yanks! The got their own iron ship!” one of his marines yelled.

He quickly went to the top deck, rifle in hand with a handful of marines. Below he could hear the cannons firing, the shells uselessly bouncing off the rotating turret. He had never seen anything like it. He thought the ironclad was an amazing technological feat, this tiny little ironclad (which paled in contrast to CSS Virginia) and its rotating turret. “Look for a target,” he yelled to his men.

It was a useless feat. They could find no targets.

. . . .

For two hours the ships fired uselessly at each until the Confederate vessel ceased fire all together as they ran low on gunpowder. Lieutenant Jones, the executive officer and now captain, had to think of something. He ordered the ship into line. He was going to ram the Monitor. But the tiny little union ironclad was able to maneuver away before there could be any impact. Time elapsed. Jones needed to leave, replenish the stores and repair the vessel. No one had won that battle.

. . . .

Gosport Shipyard Portsmouth, Virginia March 9, 1862

Mulder was glad to be back on land. Experiencing another naval battle was not something he desired to do again. As soon as they were back on land, the captain had been whisked away for medical attention. The shipyard works set about repairing the vessel's damage. The marines and sailor returned to their barracks for some much-needed rest. It was near midnight when a field medic came for him.

“What's this all about,” Mulder murmured.

“The captain wants to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“I'm just following orders, sir.”

Mulder grumbled as he pulled on his jacket and followed the young medic to the infirmary. He saw his captain in the lamplight, sitting in bed pensively. His wrinkled face was frumpish. Mulder ran his fingers through his hair in a last minuted attempt to look decent. “Sir,” he called softly. “You desired to speak to me?”

The captain trained his gaze at the lieutenant. “What was your name again, soldier?”

“Mulder, sir,” he said.

“Mulder,” Captain Buchanan repeated softly. “I said some things on the ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I made a request to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I understand the peculiar nature of the request,” he said, lingering over the word 'peculiar' as it rolled off his tongue.

“I remember.”

“You are an honorable man, aren't you, lieutenant?”

“Sir?”

“Do you have a wife at home?”

“I'm a widower,” Mulder replied uneasily, wondering where the conversation was going. “My wife died in childbirth about seven years back.”

“You're a father then.”

“Would have been. My daughter died as well in childbirth.”

Captain Buchanan shook his head. “I have nine myself, from my first wife. She passed unexpectedly. Dana...I wish she would bear a child but it seems there is something wrong with her. We've seen doctors and all assure me she is perfectly normal.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Anyways, they are going to send me to Richmond for a time as I heal from this. Then elsewhere” He waved uselessly at his wounded thigh. “Doctor says a change of environment will do me good.”

Mulder felt his heart stop. What about the whole mission?

“But,” Captain Buchanan droned on, “Dana is to remain here. However, I need someone to hold her accountable.”

“She is more than capable herself, sir.”

“Nonsense. Her head is in the clouds. She just needs a bit of moral guidance. Which,” he said, gazing at Mulder, “where I desire your help.”

“Help, sir?”

“Dana needs a firm hand. A male guardian to look after her interests. You are the one who is going to do that while I am away. I’m transferring you to the war office in Norfolk. I believe your background before that was in stragey and planning battles?”

“Yes, sir, but e?”

“I need to go elsewhere to recover from my wound. Then there are some damn grand plans for me.” Captain Buchanan waved his hands and glanced at Mulder in thought. “You were a husband once. You know what is expected of a wife. Their place is in the home. Her head is in the clouds and her nose buried in books. You're a marine too. Maybe you can straighten her out with that discipline.”

He bit his lip to keep from replying.

“Regardless, I am changing your orders. You'll be stationed here and check in on my wife periodically while I recover.”

“Sir? Can you actually do that?”

“I can do what I damn well please. After the other day, I'm a hero. Do you understand your new orders?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded. “Dismissed.”

Mulder briefly shot to attention and left, unable to believe his luck. What were the odds. He was already composing his next message. 'S.- You will never believe the odds...'

#false flags redux #xfiles #xf fic #msr #msr fic #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #early post suprise!

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mrandyzavala · 7 years

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Taking The Next Step Toward Boatbuilding

The house in East Boothbay.

Life has been busy, busy, busy lately. Hence the lack of posts here.

My book draft is now in the hands of the team at Popular Woodworking Books, with some 1400 captioned photos.

My shop time has been occupied teaching individual classes. That's produced good material for some upcoming technique blog posts.

I've started reading through my stack of boatbuilding books. That'll take a while, but Greg Rossel's excellent Building Small Boats has been a great first step, detailing the sequence of operations.

A Place To Build Boats

The next step in the journey is the other big thing occupying my time, a place to build boats. That place is in East Boothbay, Maine, where my mother-in-law has now bought a house. She'll live there in the warm months, then with us in the cold months. Meanwhile, we'll spend weekends and vacations there. Eventually, we'll retire there permanently.

The two main criteria for the house were that it be near water, and that it have a space for my woodworking, specifically large enough for small boatbuilding. We had previously owned a house near the Damariscotta River in Boothbay, Maine, so we were familiar with East Boothbay. That was our general search region. It's spectacularly beautiful, as you can see from this image search.

The house she bought meets the criteria wonderfully. Built in the mid-to-late 1800's, it sits directly across the street from the historic shipyard waterfront of East Boothbay, on the bend of the Damariscotta a couple miles upriver from open ocean. They've been building ships and boats there since the 1700's. Two small yards are still active, Hodgdon Yachts, America's oldest boat builder, building high-end sailing and motor yachts, and Washburn & Doughty, building commercial tugs and fireboats.

Hodgdon Yachts is on the site of the former Goudy and Stevens yard, where Louis Sauzedde (http://ift.tt/W1aIsO) worked on the replica of the yacht America as a teenager in the late '60's.

In between those yards is a public boat ramp and a separate kayak ramp. There's another public boat onto Linekin Bay less than a mile away. Ocean Point Marina, where we used to keep our old boat, is 50 yards upriver, on the other side of the mouth to the tidal millpond. So near water, check. About 100 yards from house to ramp. The river is visible past the Washburn & Doughty buildings. Their launchings are always an event.

The workspace is behind the house, a small barn with loft and one-car garage. It's perfect. There's a big sliding door in the wall that opens to an ideal spot for a small boat construction frame, leaving plenty of space on the side for workbenches and general woodworking. The loft upstairs is perfect for, well, lofting! And sailmaking.

Rear view of the house showing the barn.

There are many other small boatbuilders in the area, as well as riggers and sailmakers. The shop of Nathaniel Wilson, master sailmaker, whose work graces the USS Constitution, among many other historic ships, is a couple houses upriver from the marina. That's only a quarter mile walk from the house.

I picked up this great poster for Nathaniel Wilson at the Maine Boatbuilders Show in Portland in March.

The whole area is just steeped in it, with 300 years of history. I even met a lady who's a former instructor at the WoodenBoat School and staff editor at WoodenBoat Magazine. For an aspiring boatbuilder, you couldn't ask for anything more.

I continue to learn about other schools in the area. In Bristol, on the other side of the river, there's the Carpenter's Boat Shop. Then just down the road from that there's the Maine Coast Craft School. The latter school is particularly interesting because founders Kenneth and Angela Kortemeier have taken over the torch from Drew and Louise Langsner's Country Workshops in North Carolina now that they have retired. Kenneth was an intern at Country Workshops in the 90's (Peter Follansbee is another Country Workshops alum).

Boothbay Region Historical Society

When we first found the house, I was curious about the history of the barn. I was aware of the long history of boat and shipbuilding in the area, so I wondered if it might have been used as a workshop by someone building small workboats for the bigger ships.

I contacted the Boothbay Region Historical Society, and over the course of a few emails, historian Barbara Rumsey very graciously gave me some information. The real-estate listing said the house was from the 1880's, but based on tax records, she felt it could have been built in the late 1860's. She also felt the barn was probably a small livestock barn, since it was common at the time for families to have a few animals.

I visited the Society, where Barbara showed me how to go through their copies of the old tax collector's books. That was fascinating. The book for each year was a hand-written account of every resident and their taxable property, roughly alphabetical by last name. People were taxed on their land, buildings, and various types of livestock. There was even a heading for musical instruments over $15 (a significant sum in the 1880's). Anyone who had an ox was very popular; they were like the guy with a truck you could hire to help haul stuff.

What she had found was that the house's street address appeared in the book for 1882, listed under the name Alvin Goudy and occupied by his mother. That gave me a starting point. Working back through earlier records, I found Alvin Goudy's name first listed for that location in 1867. Working forward to see if taxes increased due to property improvements (for instance, adding the barn), there didn't appear to a major change. So it's possible the house and barn have been there since 1867.

What I wasn't able to determine was what Alvin did for a living. Presumably he was of the same Goudy's as Goudy & Stevens shipyard. Lacking any other evidence, it seems likely the barn was indeed used for livestock.

After we closed on the house, I stopped by the Society again to say hi, and found Barbara talking to another gentleman. She said he was one of my neighbors in East Boothbay, Nate Wilson. I said, "The sailmaker!" Indeed it was. I told him sailmaking was another thing I needed to learn, and I would love to visit his shop. He invited me to stop by any time. The mind boggles. What more could an aspiring boatbuilder ask?

Hobie Tandem Island

Since building even a small boat is 100 to 200 hours of work, it'll be a year or two at hobbyist pace before I have something ready to put in the water. In the meantime, I'm happy to enjoy some rotomolded plastic fun. So under the heading of YOLO, I bought a Hobie Tandem Island, which is an amazing trimaran sit-on-top tandem sailing sea kayak. It has pedal-powered Mirage drives. The pedals power fins that move sideways, inspired by penguin fins; they're even reversible so you can backup as well as go forwards. You can paddle, pedal, or sail!

This thing is a marvel of mechanical engineering. The modular assemblies go together quickly and easily for use, and detach just as easily for breakdown. As a tandem, it's large, 18' long; as a trimaran, it's heavy, 240 lbs. fully rigged. But those outriggers (called "amas") make it incredibly stable, able to handle any kind of conditions, even out to open ocean. That's perfect for the Maine coastal river estuaries. It has molded-in fishing rod holders, and Hobie says it's even suitable for bluewater trolling. I've never been a fisherman, but this I can get behind!

How To Transport A Hobie Tandem Island, New In Box

We spent a small fortune on Thule pickup truck bed and roof racks to transport the boat from Sebago Sailing And Watercraft in Raymond, ME. But with a boat that long, I wanted a good secure support to avoid damaging it or the truck. And now we have a very versatile hauling setup. The boat was in two packages. The main hull was wrapped in a long bubblewrap bag. The amas and all other parts were in a cardboard box about 14' long. Both fit side by side on the racks. Captain Mike, a tall fellow, helped us load it up. His wife Maura had been my contact for buying it.

The boat loaded on my wife's F150 pickup truck. Mounted to the bed is a Thule XSporter Pro rack. On the roof is a pair of Thule AeroBlade bars. I secured the packages to the racks with 25' lengths of half-inch climbing webbing fore and aft. To unload the boat on our own, I used a retired climbing rope and a pair of carabiners to rig a 2-to-1 haul system from the upper door of the barn. My wife, Cat, belayed the rope to sway the front end of the box down off the rack while I stood on my toes and lifted off the other end. That allowed her to lower away easily. Then we repeated that with the main hull. Cat belays the box. Belaying the main hull. I unpackaged everything and laid it out, then followed the instructions on assembly. It didn't take long. The boat is made to break down for transport with minimum fuss. I had also bought a heavy-duty two-wheel dolly that included a cradle for the amas. The boat fully assembled with sail unfurled. You've heard of sailing on the mooring? This is sailing on the driveway. This boat also takes a spinnaker. That'll be next year after we've spent some time buzzing up and down the river and out the mouth. from Close Grain http://ift.tt/2p9dkpJ

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