REVISITING THE PARK | Fooled by the movies

World War II required a lot of sacrificing, and we youths at the time were forced to develop our creative sides.

Our hero (in a seldom-released movie) played a scene in which he carved a great seaworthy canoe from a big log — it begged us to do the same. With hammers and chisels from home and various Madison Park Hardware items, we began the search for the perfect log.

There was nothing to be found at Madison Beach, and Little Beach on 43rd Avenue seldom had any loose logs, as they were gathered into existing booms and towed from a sawmill near Kennydale through the Montlake Cut and into Lake Union.

There was one beach, however, only a few knew about, west of Edgewater. It was small and sandy and disguised by cattails, seaweed and water lilies.

In this general vicinity, many boats lay neglected because of the fuel shortage. Some were anchored offshore, and others were turned upside down to dry in hopes of being put to use again.

West of there and past what we called Monkey Island (now long-gone) was a jungle of sorts.

At last, there it was: The perfect log floating off the shore! We pulled it to dry land and marked off the area to be carved and even designed a bow that could slip through the waves.

Hammering and chiseling with gusto, chips flying, we were right on target with our mission.

Blistered and bandaged after two and three attempts, we realized that not only was our log much smaller than the log in the movie, we hadn’t even made a dent. It then dawned on us that manipulating facts was the way heroes were fashioned for the movies.

Finally, we gave up the hammer and chisel. There was one small rowboat turned over with a for-sale sign, so we bought it.

It was back to Madison Park Hardware for caulking material and paint. We re-caulked all the seams, and after a couple coats of white paint, our mini yacht was ready for launch.

We installed a 5hp Johnson engine my grandfather gave us, removed the middle seat for sleeping bags and food and took off on our first voyage to the swamp east of the Montlake Cut.

There was wildlife aplenty: beaver, possum, raccoon, wharf rats and supposedly deer, which we never saw. Birds were everywhere, nesting in the swamp. Big, lazy carp moved so slow you could touch them.

We motored through the quiet tranquility just like the African Queen, stopping only to unwind the seaweed from the propeller. We had to use oars to get through some of the thicker areas.

Finally, we found a sandy beach where we could camp, build a small fire, eat junk food, then pull sleeping bags over our heads.

Fearlessness?

On another day of adventure, we motored to open water to Monkey Island. In the distance, at Union Bay by the University of Washington, was the local dump (now an urban horticulture/bird-watching area).

We had packed an extra gas can so Lake Union was our next stop. Houseboats lined the lake; half were sunk, others were occupied and a few boats with people living in them were tied to pilings.

There were large three-masted schooners that cried out to be explored, but the “keep off” signs deterred us.

For fun, we slipped under big, abandoned docks for further exploration and discovered that the darkened nature was perfect for the hundreds of bats that flew at us from everywhere.

There were no computer games in those days, but climbing way up onto those magnificent vessels was exciting enough for us! With flashlights, we’d go below-deck and hear something jump in the water below — no need for further investigation.

Another time, we took some rickety stairs down to a dark room on an old wooden ship when something growled. We ran up the stairs so fast, we stepped on each other’s fingers. We laid on the deck laughing but did not sleep aboard our boat that night.

At one point, we tried to out-horsepower a Foss tug. Two of us leaned over the bow, but the wake from the tug caught us — it splashed over the stern and killed our mighty 5 hp. We sounded the bailing alarm and bailed with cups; our sleeping bags soaked up the rest. We had seat cushions, but they got wet and sunk.

We could have gotten in a great deal more trouble had we not sold that boat.

From boats to rafts

Many years later, three shipmates and I relived the times on our mini-yacht. One of the guys recalled the time he leaned into the window of a half-submerged houseboat when, out of nowhere, a raccoon guarding her young spit and growled at him. He leapt backward over the bow and into the water — clothes and all! We’d never seen anyone stay airborne for so long.

Years later, with the Gus Arno — a manmade raft, a perfect example of fortitude and ingenuity — we were able to recapture all the fun and freedom of our youth!

RICHARD CARL LEHMAN is a longtime Madison Park resident. To comment on this column, write to MPTimes@nwlink.com