Where Willie Rules the Waves

I first saw the Willie, as it was soon to be dubbed, on a hot summer’s day in 1978. It was a boat, or what was left of one, tethered to the dock of a house I had just rented.

The wood was rotting. Its paint was peeling. Its bottom was thick with barnacles.

Had anyone told me then that the HMS Willie (named after the great Willie Nelson, of course) would be one of my favorite retreats all these years later, I would have recommended psychiatric help.

Yet that is what has happened. This 10-foot dinghy has somehow endured all these years, sitting there at a dock like an old friend patiently waiting for the next spin around the harbor.

The Willie has provided a wonderful means of access into the ever-changing landscape of the water, always there, available when the mood hit--no preparation needed other than making sure the tank was full. Once in the harbor, even the worst problems on land seem to fade as the Willie putters through the water at its 5-mph clip.

The verbal history has it that Willie was a Popular Mechanics kit boat built 30 or 40 years ago. The unsentimental might call it ugly, disheveled at best. But for me, it is one of the great vessels in the harbor.

It took a lot of beer to get the Willie seaworthy that first time--a long weekend of scraping and sanding and painting before that final magic touch, the tightening-down of a gleaming two-horsepower engine to replace the dilapidated oars.

The Willie soon became a fixture in the harbor. I would go out for long Saturday morning spins. The Willie became the vehicle of choice when the destination was one of the waterfront restaurants lining Pacific Coast Highway.

Eventually, I left Southern California, spending more than a decade reporting the news in the Middle East and, later, the Southwest.

Times, of course, change circumstances. I’m back in Southern California. I’ve got a couple of kids. Taking a ride on the Willie now means setting a course for the Fun Zone, with its soft drinks, ice cream and arcades, rather than fancy restaurants.

And I feel somewhat smug as I cruise the harbor, knowing what others do not--that there is more fun stowed away in this little boat than in all the million-dollar yachts I breeze past.