David B

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Photo by: Christine Smith

We began our restoration of the David B by removing the foredeck. On our first day, we arrived on Lopez [Island, Washington] early, armed with crowbars, a couple of hammers, a Skilsaw, a Sawzall, and a lot of enthusiasm.

Jeffrey stood at the port bow of the boat. “Well, here it goes,” he said, and kneeled down to the deck. I stood over him and watched as he swung the prying end of his hammer. It made a dead thud into the soft wood. He pulled the hammer back again and swung.

“Ready for a crowbar?” I stood with the smaller one in my hand.

“How about the Skilsaw instead,” he said.

Jeffrey made the opening cut and then pried out the first foot of decking. He handed me the hammer and small crowbar, then explained a couple tricks for removing the deck planks. I went to work while Jeffrey moved aside to begin opening up the starboard side of the deck.

Our crowbars dug easily into the planking and tore up the soft wood, ripping and splintering old rotten decking and tar-coated plywood. The Sawzall was hungry that day. Its vibration in my hands was like the purr of a satisfied cat after a kill. The teeth of its bi-metal blade cut through the deck like butter, only occasionally slowed by an ancient fastener.


View a photo gallery of the David B's restoration.

By midday the sun was hot. I was dirty, and the T-shirt and shorts I wore were filthy. My skin was sweaty and coated red with a fine film of tar dust, sawdust, and rust dust. Under the noonday sun, I smelled like fungus, rusty nails, wood, and asphalt. That smell is forever imprinted in my mind.

As I lay on the foredeck thinking about that first day, I breathed deep, in search of that smell. It’s gone now, replaced with new fir, fresh plywood, and deck oil. Sometimes I catch a whiff of that timeless smell, usually tucked in hard-to-get-to places like the anchor chain locker or the bilge. The smell of the David B’s age lingers in its timbers, reminding me that with a wood boat, no restoration is ever complete.

Eight years ago, with my Sawzall and pry-bar, I was foolishly confident. But as we worked, doubt began to creep into my soul. This project might be too big fluttered across my mind as I pulled away rotten deck and watched Jeffrey’s body language. Nah, Jeffrey knows what we’re doing. It’s going to be all right. We’ll get this done, I reassured myself even as I noted that with each cut of the saw, we found more and more rot.