Virtue Signalling

joie de vivre

2 April 2026

The worshipful rites of the wooden boat cult involve, as one would expect, a certain amount of time on one’s knees. It’s usually when dockside, bum up, head down, scraping down that toe-rail for the umpteenth time, that the helpful ‘expert,’ drifts into view. Keep your eyes on the work, make no indication of their presence, turn on a loud tool, face the other way, swear loudly at the deck, do anything within your power to avoid the inevitable. The feet on the dock wait patiently for the opportunity to impart a pearl of wisdom absolutely unique to their individual neurological processes; “They’re a lot of work, aren’t they” ?

Back in 1986 as a young man who’d just sold a fibreglass yacht he’d spent three weeks grinding the osmosis out of, the thought processes surrounding my next boat purchase were mixed. An avid reader of the available sailing magazines with ears wide open for any information I could glean from the people I crewed for at the CYCA, my search had narrowed by the time I slipped a Endeavour 26 for pre-purchase survey. A nice boat, ticked all the boxes, I ran my hand along the hull. It felt like rigor mortis; sounds fanciful, but a kind of shudder ran through me. Maybe PTSD from my recent osmosis experience which had been an itchy nightmare. I remained uncertain but I had an empty mooring to fill.

A Sunday stroll took us past what was then a timber shed adjacent to the old Beare Park pier in Elizabeth Bay. Suzi stopped to look in the cracked glass display of the local yacht broker. A faded photograph with a brief description had caught her eye, “ I like this one ! ” “ Gee you’ve got good-taste Suzi, but that’s an old timber boat, they’re a lot of work.” Over breakfast the next morning she was adamant, “Can’t hurt to have a look at her.”

The brokers assistant slid the hatch back, Suzi stepped below. Up on deck my eyes surveyed what appeared to be acres of Surf White and Mission Brown in thick coats over every surface. A bright-eyed head popped up out of the fore hatch; “ She’s beautiful down here! “ Honestly, I didn’t need much convincing, every angle looked just right, underfoot she just felt mysteriously re-assuring. The test sail confirmed that re-assurance, the Survey however damned with faint praise. The surveyor, Captain Bozier ; (a storied member of The League of Ancient Mariners of NSW Inc ), looked me in the eye; “ She’s well built, but over 60 years old, you’ll be forever working on her” ! We bought her the day before my 34th birthday.

Those words —“ you’ll forever be working on her, “ actually made me feel good. You know as well as I do, that there is, ‘VuuuuurrrK’ ! Said with a curdling of spit in the back of the throat, — and there is, ‘Work .’ I like, ‘Work’ . I was raised to value the virtue of Work. Sure might be some cussin’ and kickin’ along the way, but meaningful results just underline that hoary old “ messin’ ‘round wid boats “ adage. The strange thing is so many of those dock strolling ‘ experts ‘ —the ones with floating convenience goods — spend just as much time fiddling about with theirs, as I spend on my mine.

Each to there own, not everyone is going to join our cult. The cult requires a default mindset; ‘optimistic pessimism’ : Entropy will take this back —I will hold it anyway. Fortunately it’s a mindset that tends to winnow out the depressives and cynics automatically . Gatherings of the cult are marked by a robust cheerfulness; despite the odds. I must admit at age 34 with limited experience of wooden boats, amateur DIY skills, and a shallow wallet, my particular optimism was probably certifiable. Many a good ship has foundered on the shores of unrealistic optimism.

So I bought a wooden boat: What next ? Well ! ! A subscription to Wooden Boat Magazine had to come next. In 1987 it was the only source of regularly updated information to be had. One article stuck in my mind, it compared our plank on frame vessels to cathedrals — repositories of knowledge, embodiments of culture, objects inevitable in their rightness with load paths legible to the eye, modularity of construction, each element replaceable, and most importantly the aesthetic choice to be made in their upkeep. Cathedrals are obliged not to fall on one’s head, boats are encouraged not to sink under you, but apart from that; exactly what is your individual aesthetic ?

Personally when I cast my eye over my 100 year old boat her signs of age endear her to me. My aesthetic is that of the cathedrals gloomy with the smoke of innumerable candles, the scars of the sackings by the Ottomans, the steps worn hollow by a thousand years of kneeling penitents. Further to that my humble vessel belongs to a vernacular tradition based on the Queenscliff fishing boats from the turn of last century. A tradition of hard usage, hard knocks, and short pockets.

I’m closing in on 40 years of ownership. Over that time her fortunes have waxed and waned with my own. I have learnt there is a virtue in necessity. My skills and toolkit reflect the many times my circumstances have skirted the shoals of impecuniosity. My mantra has been simple; ‘ Keep her going, come what may: Keep her going’ ! So I have, and here we are; she’s substantially renewed and ready to face another century. The virtue of persistence has been rewarded. She’s on the up’n’up — I’m within earshot of the waves breaking on the Bar.

Just as cathedrals survive through the generations, so too can our equally splendid examples of traditional human ingenuity. Maintenance, repair, rebuilding, these are our rituals, rituals continuing a mindfulness tradition, reinforcing a slower pace of life, a deeper understanding of our interface with the elements. Elements which test us and every well-known bone in her body as we thrash to windward. Elements that embrace us as we contemplate her authenticity while sitting in a quiet anchorage. Virtue is its own reward.