History Afloat

A wooden mast could be seen through the trees.  Her white hull skimmed the surface as she came silently up Bodkin creek.  I ran out the door towards the water.

I could not believe my eyes.  But there she was in all her gracefulness.  A skipjack. Maneuvering in our creek.  Children in jackets and life preservers were all over her deck.  Men were busy with ropes, anchors, and of course steering her at the helm. Her triangular mainsail flapped in the breeze.

History floated by as she nestled up to a pier across the way.  Her wooden V- shaped hull spoke of rough weather on the bay when seas and wind made hard work for the oystermen.  Her mast stood tall and straight hewn from one single solid log. No motor could be used except for the dredge windlass to pull up oysters.  Her square stern made her stable while dredging.  The skipjack had no keel but a centerboard that allowed her to go after oysters in shallow waters.  She could turn easily even in light winds to make continuous passes over the oyster beds.  Her design was simple so that even house carpenters could build her.

A motorized pushboat edged her into her Pasadena mooring.  This boat was carried on her stern and was allowed by law after 1965.  They push the skipjacks to and from the oyster beds in the shallow water.  Power is permitted two days per week.

Skipjacks were either named after jumping fish that relates to the boats going back and forth over the oyster beds or from an English term that means “inexpensive yet useful servant.”  During the 1890’s as many as 2000 skipjacks sailed the Chesapeake Bay.  However, with the decline in oysters in the 1900’s many of the skipjacks disappeared.  I was gazing at one of thirty that remain.  This one was obviously used for education. Few today are part of the Chesapeake Bay Skipjack Fleet which is the only such sail powered fishing fleet in North America.

The children scrambled off the old deck into waiting vehicles leaving the history and stories behind of the oystermen who eked a living from the Chesapeake Bay waters. I could hear the old salts calling to them, wishing to tell of their adventures.


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