I was spurred to write a little history for Drumbeat after being contacted by a previous owner. His story enthralled me, and drove me to write as many of the owners as possible. I wanted to find out the whole story: where she's been, who has cared for her, and just some good old salty tales of high sea adventures. Wooden boats fascinate me, and I think their history adds to their allure. They need to be loved to stay afloat, so they become characters in the tales told by their owners. I can’t wait to write my own stories with her, but for now I’ll be satisfied sharing Don’s.
Drumbeat was my home for almost five years. I lived aboard, first at Coronado Cays in San Diego, while I was stationed as a Supply Officer on a ship at the Navy Base across the bay. Single, it made for a great bachelor's pad. I took her to Mexico once, and sailed to Catalina once, but mostly hung out in the area. We took many moonlight cruises tying up to Tom Ham's Lighthouse, or anchoring off Shelter Island. She caught the eye wherever we went... graceful and classic. The figurehead had many admirers. The bronze fittings looked sturdy and seaworthy. And she moved well. The Perkins diesel never gave me a bit of trouble. The rigging was simple, she responded well, and with the worm gear steering I could take her out myself, as I could set the wheel and know she would stay on course when I went forward to pull up fenders, or set a sail. I could always get a crew, though...officers from the ship, girlfriends and their friends. But it was nice to sometimes just go out by myself.
I raced Dennis Connor once, on a broad reach coming around Point Loma. He was out with his team practicing for the next America's Cup, I suppose. I had the wind coming off the hills and he was somewhat in the shadow and for about 6 minutes, I kept seeing him drop back. Then he tacked, passed my stern and went downwind of me where he could catch the sweet spot, filled his sails and easily passed me. But he gave me a friendly salute and his team waved as they went by.
Drumbeat attracted seals and dolphins. I would go into blue water and could usually count on a pod to swim in my bow wake, crossing my boat, playing. Seals would also swim out to check her out. In talks with friends, we seem to have more interactions than they did.
When I relocated up to Long Beach, my household goods move was simple. I sailed to Catalina and spent a week on the mooring then headed in to the naval base where I was assigned a prime spot at the head of the pier, right down from the Marina Office... No liveaboards allowed, but the CO of the base allowed about 10 of us to stay for "extended periods". We were a security force (drunk sailors wandering on the docks late at night), a fire department (put out an electrical fire), and a rescue group (a through hull broke and a boat started to sink... we plugged her up and pumped it out.).
I made many trips to Catalina, and once during a Santa Ana wind storm, left my mooring and just went out to sea about 70-90 miles and waited three days until the wind subsided. Coming back in, many of the boats that stayed in Catalina had broken their moorings and gone up on the rocks or smashed into each other.
It was off Los Angeles Port that I had my only accident. It was the other guys fault, at least according to the rules of the road. He had a fiberglass single mast. Drumbeats bowsprit went over his rail and right into the mast, breaking the aluminum mast. The dolphin striker cut like a saw into his glass rail. The damage to Drumbeat was a bent spreader, some damage to the stem, and the lower beak of the bird broke off and fell into the sea.
I took her to Colonial Boatyard in Los Angeles Harbor, owned by a Napolese native named Augie Carmello. He fixed her back like new, and hand carved a new beak and fastened its own... I could never see the seam, it was so perfect. While I had her out, he also cleaned out some dry rot in the keel (about a 9 by 4 inch piece), and I painted the bottom and the hull, and put a new coat of varnish over the stern. Good as new!
I got orders to Pakistan, a two year assignment. It made no sense to keep her out of the water or on the water for that length of time... wooden boats need to sail. So I sold her, to a retired Navy guy who was a teacher in Arizona. I believe he is the older man in your video. He had a son in the Navy, named Chuck, a doctor I think. In the first part of the video you can see Navy ships in the background... that was home port in Long Beach. But I lost a friend. It makes me very happy to see that she has landed on her feet and will once again be enjoyed and cared for.
I mentioned I ran into Drumbeat again in 2005. It was my 50th birthday week-end and my wife had taken me to a B&B on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay, in Easton. Before going, I had googled the words "Wanderbird" "ketch" and "Drumbeat". Up she pops, for sale, at a boatyard in St. Michaels. I was shocked... how did she get here? I contacted the owner as I definitely wanted to see her again (my wife had never seen Drumbeat, but she was part of the mythos that came with my backstory.)
Surprisingly, it was Charles' son, who was now a Captain in the Navy. He told me that when he had been assigned to the East Coast, his father and he sailed Drumbeat around through the Panama Canal and beat up the coast to Norfolk. What an adventure that must have been! Of course, he couldn't take all that time off, so they had a series of crew on the trip. They sailed her in Norfolk, until reassignment to Bethesda, MD.
It was after his father fell ill, and died, that Drumbeat went into decline...Not being used, or maintained. When I saw her, I recognized the masts from afar as I entered the boatyard. We went aboard and explored. She was in sad shape, and down below looks much the same as you see her now. I thought seriously about buying her...which would have been an emotional decision. Did not have the time to work on her or the money to bring her back. You will find/have discovered that boats are both time and money... the more you have of one the less you need of the other.
I talked with the boatyard guys. They loved the boat. They were sure that she would get picked up by a wooden boat aficionado, described as having more money than sense, i.e. a romantic. But her teak hull and superstructure, spruce masts, were sound. The lines were graceful. And "They just don't make them like this anymore." So I left her behind. I heard she had been bought by a Yankee up north (their words). And then she dropped off the grid.
Don’s letter inspired me, or at least has fueled the flames while I wait for my time with Drumbeat. I hope to share other owners' stories in the future, and maybe if we’re lucky, they will get to see her back in her element. For now I’m just a dreamer with a shelf full of how-to books, the libraries' access to old salt tales, and White Raven to keep me company. I liked what Joe Coomer said reflecting on his 60 year old wooden sailboat: “I hoped heaven would wait. We wanted to rot before we sank.”
