rebirthing my tiki 21

the story of how I came to own my old wharram tiki21 "coastal trekker" design is convoluted and perhaps ordained by the sailing gods.

my love of wharram Polynesian derived catamarans dates back 37 years ago. weeks, perhaps just daya after launching my first serious ocean going sail boat I saw my first wharram. I had kicked the mooring for a sunny Saturday morning sail on lake Macquarie and looked up to see a stout little craft with impossibly sharp bows, striding southwards down the centre of the lake. Like my boat, she wore tan sails, but I had no ideas about her. Efforts to get close were thwarted by her speed. I suspected she had been motor sailing, but now i know better, she was simply fleet footed. 

Over subsequent weeks I would drive the lake's edge to catch a glimpse of her, at rest. Eventually she was spotted at her mooring, super squat in hull form and rig. Her sheer and pointed bows, for she was a catamaran, looked active and playful. So different from any other sailcraft, she seemed to  mock the whiteman's Sailing Establishment. she wasn't poised to tackle the Old Guard head on, she just didn't care and would make her own way in the world. 

Somehow I figured she was a wharram design, hinemoa of 21 feet, the baby of the classic designs. And although I had spent thousands and years of work fitting out my Top Hat 25, a classically conservative heavy keeled monohull, I would have happily cashed her in for that little cat. 

Over subsequent years I sailed along the east coast north to airlie beach. my romantic eyes would scan mooring fields and marinas for a glimpse of the sharp bowed ones. Rarely would one be found, but I drank on their lines and dreamed. While at anchor, especially when pitching and rolling, I would imagine how life would be different on a hinemoa, close ashore, beached or in some small creek behind the beach. Lounging about on deck, coffee cup unmoving while I read or wrote or drank in the scenery. Perhaps I would have a tanned partner to share the beauty with. for, as any reader of the wharram catalogue or seapeople journals knows, wharram women are tanned, nature loving nudists. my appreciation of monos was hollow, a pastime propped up by wealthy racers and boat industry wage slaves. I wanted out.

Over subsequent years I read and reread everything Wharram, I scanned anchorages and for sale columns, but the paucity of real life contact kept me hungry for more. I bought plans and dreamed, I drove a hundred miles to attend a multihull seminar featuring James wharram. In his quiet way he appeared salty, knowing, a visionary. clearly, being a wharram owner marked you as a rebel with a cause, whether that be anti establishment, ocean care, seasteading or getting off grid. there are probably more crackpots in wharrams than any other design.

I built a Melanesia sailing canoe and began a Pahi26 build, but the enormity of the undertaking, and cost, while hemmed in as a husband to a non sailing woman, stumped me.I was partly resigned to accept that my life would forever be one confined to that of a wharram fringe dweller. 

Within an hour or so drive, there was a grey baby tiki, a little further on a white and blue hinemoa . on days when I was feeling despondent or particularly dreamy, I would drive out and sit for too long just watching these little boats bobbing at anchor.

this unhealthy passivity was severed when I saw the gray tiki21 for sale. holding back a range of excitements, fears and desires, I arranged to meet the owner and check her out. Unfortunately, it did not go well. Up close, my dream boat had been severely neglected while her owner literally smoked himself to death. I immediately disliked this fellow for that, and his hardsell. While failing to acknowledge what level of risk he has posed to the structure of the beautifully carved craft, he argued the price up and made grandiose claims of her capabilities. Under sail, she was unbelievably slick and capable a sailer. at some point during the sail, our conflict came to a head and he seemed to realise that massive price reduction was the only way he would secure a sale. but, my dreams had been battered, he said he would consider my offer and confirm by the end of the week, whether he would accept it. as soon as I arrived home, I blocked his number. I gave up on the little gray tiki, she continued to deteriorate on her mooring and the owner was sadly overwhelmed by cancer.

unbeknown to me, she came up for sale again and a fellow who had moved back to care for his ailing father and wanted a cheap sailboat, snapped her up for the exact price I had bargained for. 

fast forward a year or two and following another death, the little grey tiki surfaces on thearket again. this time I am healed of my upset, and quelling my beleif that I would forever be a wharram fringe dweller, I strode forward boldly and bought her unseen close up. the seller, though appearing green, assured me he had been sailing her regularly. 

boarding "knu" I was again underwhelmed by her condition. no effort had been spared to preserve her timbers since my last visit on board. within days I received the shocking news that mooring costs had multiplied more than tenfold in recent years. There was no chance I could also afford new mooring and the expense of refitting knu. I hired  a car float, dismantled her on the beach and took her home. 

I was shattered emotionally and financially and again my failed wharram owner credentials haunted my dreams. she sat, dismembered, stuck in the paddock by my house. as I passed leaving or returning home, I would glance at her helplessly, my heart sank lower still as the year passed. 

but some financial improvement allowed me the move beyond the basic maintenance level, to real life restoration. I discovered that scraping away flaking paint and sealing or filling with epoxy, secured her integrity. a layer of good quality primer followed by layers of marine quality polyurethane, quickly elevated her to an unprecedented finish. these improvements have occurred only in recent days. she is inhaling the love that I lavish upon her. the aura of death, disease and neglect has crumbled as each sealed joint and shining new face is generated. the old mindset, created in no small part by life circumstances, is being replaced by that curious and loving attitude that coursed through me as I watched that first hinemoa striding out down the lake all those years ago. a dream a long time held is steadfastly being realised, one paintbrush stroke at a time.