Island Prism: Building Island Prism

My father did have prior boat building experience. And ipso facto, so did my mother. When I graduated from grade 12, June 1970, the first sail boat was launched. It was designed by John Brandlmayr of Vancouver, BC, Canada and it was built in the backyard in Port Moody BC. The primary work was from my father, Les Shortreed and the primary support was from my mother, Audrey Shortreed. My father built the 24 foot sloop from 4 huge sheets of plywood over wood frames, a construction technique also used on the popular Thunderbird. It's a pretty ship, still around 34 years after launch. The plywood was covered in one layer of fibreglass cloth and polyester resin, for protection from the elements, and cellofinished on the hull. This lay-up proved very long- lived on the hull but the deck and cockpit didn't fair so well, the polyester resin cracked and let rot set in under the glass. But I dealt with that when my mom and dad gave me Topaz. The lead ballast was melted in a cast iron bathtub and then poured into the sand plug. It would have been a wonderful, trouble-free process, except the cast iron bathtub plumbing solder connections melted and the bathtub of molten lead poured out onto the backyard patio and beyond. Everyone ran away. After it cooled my brother and I had to chop up the thin lead with axes and put it back in the bathtub. Complete with embedded sticks, grass and rocks. But it was a surprise to my brother and I: rocks float on molten lead. The next lead adventure was a trouble-free process, and there was the lead ballast for the bottom of the keel.

My poor mother suffered for 3 years whilst the boat was built in the backyard. What are we doing this weekend, honey? Working on the boat. What are we doing for this years vacation, honey? Working on the boat. What are we doing with my nurses' paycheque, honey? Spend it on the boat. Not really pleasant, especially as my mother wasn't really excited about what would happen after the launching. Sailing over windy seas with four children on a 24 foot boat? And that was before time proved most of the kids and herself to be sea-sick prone.

Anyways, my father and the family sailed far and wide in the Strait of Georgia, first from Mosquito Creek in North Vancouver then from Campbell River where my dad worked for BC Tel as a radio technician. I sailed some with the family, some with my father alone, but not so much because after graduation I went off to be a helicopter mechanic all over the world. A scant three years after the launch of Topaz, dad was back to John Brandlmayr's and purchased the plans for scaled down design #343. That is a 42 foot sloop that would be scaled down to a 36 foot LOA, 27'-6" on the datum waterline with a 10'- 7 3/4" beam, a 5'-2 1/2" draft weighing 16,100 pounds.

And, surprise, the house bought in Campbell River had a perfect back garage and perfect back driveway for a workshop and boat shop. My mother didn't think it was a surprise though, she was there when dad looked at the back yard and said "We'll take it". So that was the start and I watched the construction, but only at scattered times when I came home from working on helicopters around the world. I've got some photos though.

The construction was to be a sandwich of Airex foam core, fibreglass and polyester resin. Dad started with the plans as received in the mail, 5 barrels of polyester resin and at least a ton of fiberglass roving and mat. The plans were lofted, not a process I understood, then the frames were built and installed on two great, long, perfectly level wooden beams. Onto the frames 1 by 2 wooden battens were fastened and soon the male plug of the mould was finished. Onto this male plug of the mould the large sheets of Airex foam core was hand sewn, Mom on one side and Dad on the other. Once the Airex core was in place the fibreglass was rolled off the reels and hand laid up, Mom at one end, Dad at the other. After the entire outer skin of the hull was done the hull was flipped over by a crane, the male mould then torn out and burned and work commenced on the inside. The plywood deck was built on, the pilothouse, the cockpit. What a fine piece of work it became. The hull to deck joint is always considered a weak link, but Dad very proudly designed and built many tiny cabinets along that joint and every divider was carefully glassed to hull and deck and many individual gussets then strengthened this joint. A Danish 2 cylinder, 20 hp diesel engine was selected as power plant, because it was the largest engine that could be hand started in case of battery failure. Eight years after the start, Island Prism was ready for the launch.

Eight years. My poor mother, eight years of What are we doing this weekend, honey? Working on the boat. What are we doing for this years vacation, honey? Working on the boat. What are we doing with my nurses' paycheque, honey? Spend it on the boat. Once she showed up at my place in White Rock, half crying half swearing about that boat, and the money and the time, in fact that is when I first heard the "What are we doing this weekend, honey?" She wanted to live, to have money for the house, take vacations etc. etc. She was tired of hand laying up the hull, running the household, raising the kids (but by now she only had the difficult girls left at home), getting this and that for the boat, making the money at the hospital for the boat. And now the fear of the Strait of Georgia could be expanded to fear of the North Pacific because this boat would be big enough to go beyond the inside waters. All this work, all this sacrifice, just to get scared in the North Pacific. But she was there, doing the grunt work, varnishing the interior woodwork to a brilliant finish, upholstery work, macramé around the stove guards, painting.

The family all gathered around for the launch, and Island Prism went into the water at the public launch on the Spit at Campbell River. That's us on the boat, the pictures are being taken by my brother who stayed ashore to bring the car around to the dock. Once the stressful moment was over, and the boat was floating alive with the waves, my dad smiled wide and proud from behind the wheel. What a great moment, but there's no photo of it, and I'm not sure why. I can't share the smile with you, but the old man was very proud.

And that concludes the building of Island Prism. One of the last boats drawn by John Brandlmayr, he drew a traditional sloop strong and capable. My father built it strong and capable as well, overbuilt enough to sit a further 5 inches into the ocean. But the fact of the completion of the well drawn, well built little ship was only due to my mother's tenacity and patience. It took a team to complete this work of art.