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A CONNECTICUT CRAFTSMAN BREATHES NEW LIFE INTO OLD WOODEN CANOES
William Jaspersohn
April 21, 1986
Schuyler Thomson loves wooden canoes. He has built, paddled and poled them, guided wilderness trips in them, won a national downriver championship in one and, since 1979, has made a full-time profession of repairing and restoring them. His shop, a red post-and-beam bungalow, sits under some ancient maples in the yard of his boyhood home on Weekeepeemee Road in Woodbury, Conn. Thomson, 38, works six to seven days a week restoring life to moribund canoes. He works quickly, deftly, although that was not always the case. In his green days, jobs that now take him minutes, such as steaming and fitting a new cedar rib, took him hours. Or days. Or weeks. Hurled tools were an embarrassing feature of that period. So were hurled oaths, smashed fingers, broken windows. Thomson persevered. He did not do so for the money—there is very little money in canoe restoration—but in homage to his two major maxims: 1) If you own something worth having, it's worth taking care of and 2) If you're going to do something, do it all the way.
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April 21, 1986

A Connecticut Craftsman Breathes New Life Into Old Wooden Canoes

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A pivotal moment for Thomson as a restorer occurred in 1980 when an 18�-foot E.M. White canoe that had been flung against a tree by 60 mph winds was brought to his shop in two pieces. Many who saw the craft said it was unfixable. Thomson fixed it, confirming in his own mind his talent for doing difficult work.

"But that's the beauty of wood-canvas canoes," he says. "Because they're built of component parts, they can be rebuilt on a large scale. How do you replace one part of an aluminum or a fiber-glass canoe? You can't. You need esoteric tools to fix them—welding torches, chemistry sets. But with a piece of shirttail, a tube of glue and a roll of Ductape, you can take a wood-canvas canoe anywhere.

"From a repair standpoint, the big difference between wood-canvas canoes and synthetic ones is that there's hope for any wood-canvas canoe, no matter how damaged. So maybe a wooden canoe is a longer-lived and better investment than any synthetic one. Certainly its performance—the smoothness of its ride and its ability to flex through the water when necessary—is superior."

By late afternoon Thomson had recanvased, sanded or painted three other canoes and was cutting ribs for a fourth on one of the shop's two band saws. Many restorers buy their ribs precut, but Thomson prefers to fashion his own from eight-foot planks of traditional northern white cedar. Properly soaked and steamed, the wood is as pliant as taffy. "You can literally tie it in knots," says Thomson, pointing to a pretzel-shaped hunk of wood lying on the bench as proof.

When the ribs are cut and planed, he normally walks them a quarter of a mile up the road for a three-day soak in the Weekeepeemee River. While he is gone on that task, Marc de Rochefort arrives, ready to put in a full evening's restoration work. A former department supervisor for Union Carbide in nearby Danbury, de Rochefort, 29, apprenticed with Thomson for a year. Last fall he quit his job at Carbide to work full-time on canoes. He is admittedly anxious about the career switch but says, "I was tired of the corporate world. Then a friend told me about Schuyler, and I went over to see him and eventually asked if I could apprentice under him. My wife is a school teacher. We're both pretty nervous about this switch. But I'm willing to work extra jobs to make it work out.

"Schuyler's got a great reputation. His work has integrity, and he's been very patient in showing me how he does it. I can't tell you how glad I am to be here."

Thomson returns. "You ready to go to work?" he asks, grinning.

"Ready," says de Rochefort.

"Good." Thomson sighs. "I'm ready to go home." And after discussing the evening's work with de Rochefort, he does.

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