The most significant characteristic of a traditionally built wooden boat is that it is pretty. The intermingling of its function and its form mean that it has to be beautiful. And yet, it’s got this job to do. An important job.
The deal is: you look after the boat, and then the boat can look after you.
You can touch the wood, and it feels good in the hand. It’s actual, it’s true. You can see it bent into curves, and imagine sailing away on it. Curves are everywhere on a wooden boat. The curve might be said to be God’s signature on earth.
A wooden boat touches men’s dream life; they can sail away on it. Men go slightly mad when they are around boats. Whatever they know heaven to be, they know just as certainly that they can get there on a beautiful wooden boat.
See how much we are losing in this homogenised, market-ethic, throwaway culture. We like the ideas of self-reliance and resourcefulness, but we don’t do much to foster these qualities, nor do we reward them. They are not treated as the assets they once were.
A wooden boat has the anatomy of a living body. There is a backbone… ribs… muscles and tendons (the rigging) and skin (the planking).
Wooden boats combine extraordinary craftsmanship with centuries of wisdom about how to keep pieces of wood together at sea. Physics is involved in a way that is artful. These boats are almost invariably beautiful to behold.
A wooden boat is a metaphor for all the things that matter in our cheap, disposable world. If only we can look after it, then the boat can look after us.
Taken mostly from Wooden Boats by Michael Ruhlman, with some quotes from Ross Gannon, David McCullough, Jon Wilson and Peter Spectre.