Act One, In Which The Dog Follows Me Home

After a few weeks of attempting to align our schedules, we finally made it to my friend's house to pick up the boat.  Not to mention see it for the first time.  Excited, yes, and a bit unsure as to what I was getting into.  I had done much research online into what a Thistle was, how they sailed, parts availability, rigging options....anything I could think of.  The opinions of the various online peanut galleries fell into two camps - either "Those are great boats, you'll love it!" or "That boat will kill you and all you loved ones the instant you turn your back!"

For some reason I didn't run the phrase "Thistle Restoration" through my Google-Fu.  Maybe that was a good thing.  If I had only known then....

But I didn't and although it was in a little worse shape than I had imagined through my rose tinted imaginings, we were immediately struck by a guarded fondness for the boat.  Under the effects of time and sun you could still see good lines and a solid hull.  Even the name works and we don't plan on changing it. I seem to have a weak spot for neglected vehicles that still wear traces of their former glory, and I'd be lying if I said this was the first pinestraw covered yard ornament I've brought home.  After pumping up tires and collecting all the loose parts we towed it carefully home.  I didn't think to take any pictures of it as we found it, but I did when we got it home.

Gee, Mom, it followed me home.  Can I keep it pleeeeease?