Angus marvelled at the varnished steam-formed planks running longitudinally along the craft. On the insides of the boats, oak formers created the cross-section, upon which the exterior strips were fastened with brass screws. Big Jim, the grandfather of Angus’s girlfriend, Amanda, had pointed out examples of these antique boats on occasion around his fishing and hunting lodge near Parry Sound. But the 20-year-old had never seen so many examples in close proximity, even at the antique boat shows on the Muskoka Lakes. It wasn’t until later that the phenomenon would strike him as odd.
The runabouts—for that is what they were called, Angus remembered—varied in length from about 12 to 16 feet. Clamped to their backs were outboard motors bearing names such as Johnson, Evinrude, and Viking. From the film of dust covering the varnished cedar and punched metal engine cowlings, it appeared as if none of the craft had seen the water in several seasons. Or decades? Yet, all were in seaworthy condition.
Just before the rumble of the water taxi’s outboard reached Angus’s ears, he noted the pleasant aroma in the boathouse. Varnished wood gave off a smell of the past. He’d noticed that while prowling around a railway museum, examining passenger cars from the steam era. The modern-day materials of which boats—and railway cars—were made offered nothing to please one’s sense of smell.
(addendum July 25/16 - I have written half the manuscript for this novel, which will be completed and released sometime down the road)
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