After laboring in the lobster trade for a few years and enjoying the proceedings, even some of the preparation work, I thought it time to look into procuring a boat.
I fully intended to work with Berkley for a number of years to come, but now that it looked probable that I would soon earn a commercial license, I saw a gang of 50-60 traps in my future.
I asked around and checked out all the fishing newspapers and boat brokers. Most of what I found was too old, too big, or way too pricey.
At a local boat works, I came across a hull that had definite possibilities.
It was a 22-foot Sisu and the shop had no immediate plans for it. (In retrospect, I should have procured something somewhat larger, around 26 feet or so.)
But I didn’t have all my thoughts in order and I did what I did.
When I talked about building a small lobster boat with all the paraphernalia the big boys had, their eyes lit up. They knew they had a live one at hand.
The owner suggested we meet at my house to cement the deal – ostensibly, I thought, to check me out. I had no problem with that, as we were both strangers to one another.
He also had a new 95-horsepower Isuzu diesel engine still in factory wrappings that he claimed should do 15 knots, and that was with the current. Fortunately speed was not of the essence.
I left the selection of the transmission shaft and wheel (propeller) to the shop, as this was all new to me.
The house came out looking very official. A 10-inch hauler and davit with block, a wash-down pump with valve to furnish a fresh supply of water to the lobster barrel, and a hot tank with heavy-duty lines circulating hot water from the engine around a coil of copper tubing in a barrel and back to the engine, used for arresting marine growth on the lines and cleaning the buoys, were added to the craft.
You have to see it to believe all the “stuff” that grows on anything submerged in the estuary over time.
The shop made up a good-looking aluminum mount on the top of the house for attaching the radar and the GPS and radio antennae, as well as the red, green, and white position lights. A light was added under and forward of the bulkhead and another to illuminate the work area on deck.
The boat was gaining stature and I was getting anxious (in retrospect, I was a pain) about getting in the water. The summer was waning. They kept telling me just a few more weeks to launch time, but a myriad of little things still had to be accomplished.
Finally the day arrived. It was the first week of October.
I purchased an inexpensive bottle of champagne so my wife could christen the Anita Marie. We were not aware that the bottles are usually scored so they break cleanly. She whacked the forward cleat three times to no avail, except to bend it.
We then just popped the cork and poured the wine down the gunwale.
The boat carrier put us in without further ado.
The engine started right up (no leaks) and everything on board was operating.
However, the boat was not as bright and shining as one would expect of a new and expensive piece of equipment. The shop, inexplicably, had no easy access to running water.
We headed for the mooring in Walpole. The engine began to run intermittently. The shop owner’s son was with us and quickly determined, by examining the fuel filters, that the fuel tank contained raw fiberglass.
As the tank was fully encased in the side of the boat and nobody was sure it could be thoroughly cleaned, a new tank would have to be constructed over the winter to be mounted on the deck and tucked as far as possible under the rail.
It was surmised that a worker at the shop, having been dismissed a few days before launch, may have been responsible for the sabotage.
Everything started off well the next spring, 2003.
In a following column, I will spell out the love-hate relationship that developed between me and the boat.
I quote (maybe not exact) the old adage concerning boats: “an entity that makes a hole in the water that you keep pouring money into.”
(Robert H. Oberlander lives at Hunter’s Landing in Walpole.)
