Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.
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LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 7.15 93 thebackdoorlouisville.com Louisville for voting us a Best of Louisville Finalist for Local Bar THANK YOU , 1250 Bardstown Rd. 502-451-0659 thebakedoorlouisville.com heitzman-bakery.com eering through the door at the Skipping Fish Boat School for the frst time was like looking at every summer camp I never got to attend. Inside, I could see a won- derland of what I'll call kayakery: at least 20 kayaks, in various stages of creation, looked like the skeletons of great sea creatures. I had been having a bad time of it lately; it seemed like every project I began eventually became dusty and shelf-ridden. As I stared into the building on East Washington Street in Butchertown, bridge construction banging in my ears, I said out loud, in the voice of my childhood, "I wonder if you could build a boat?" Ten the voice of my adulthood quickly added, "I wonder if you could fnish it." I had not often thought of building a boat. But there were those times when, usually af- ter reading Hemingway, the idea of making a sea vessel with my own hands came to mind. In my fantasy, I was hearty and bearded and thick. Now in my ffth decade, I pretty much ft the part. As I knocked, I considered crossing out my name on my business card and writing "Ishmael." Nobody came to the door, but I could tell that someone was in there, so I called the number on the signage. I explained to the woman who answered that I was outside and that I was interested in changing my life — um, strike that — build- ing a boat — um, sorry, writing a story. After much dog barking, the door opened and I found myself in front of the dusti- est boatbuilding goddess I had ever met: Kimberley Knepshield Hillerich. A lot of name for a woman so petite. Hillerich, who is "ageless" and whose background is stone sculpting (she studied at the Art Institute of Chicago and carved the 19-ton Kentucky limestone baseball glove at the Slugger Museum), founded the boat school in 2008. Hillerich, who stands about fve feet tall, had the tanned look of someone who has spent some time on the water. Her hands looked strong, well-veined, and her shoulders had muscles so ferce that I could not help but envy them. Her red-blond hair and round, wire-rim glasses reminded me of every tom- boy I had a crush on in elementary school. In her studio — a sort of combination of Camp Runamuck and Ikea — skylights lit each kayak like a Rembrandt. Hillerich and I did a subtle dance about the room, making small talk, my eyes taking it all in. "I don't think I could build a boat," I told her. "Of course you can build a boat," she countered. "Anybody can build a boat." Day One I will need to carve 60 hours out of my schedule to build my skin-on-frame kayak, similar to the kind used for centuries by Greenland's Inuit people. (You can build your own kayak for about $1,300, which covers instruction and materials. About 70 students have so far.) Hillerich and her partner, Mitch Larsen, a carpenter who constructed his frst sailboat when he was just 16, help me pick out a long piece of white pine for the boat's gunwale, or top edge of the sides. Larsen is sinewy, soft-spoken and gentle, and a master builder of everything from guitars to staircases. He is the person who teaches a person like me how not to cut of my fngers with a bandsaw. We're looking for a piece of wood with few knots, giving it fexibility without weakness. Te wood, cut down the middle, will form my boat's two sides. Te goal is for the basic outline to resemble the form of a fsh. Te wood bends in my hand, and I realize I'm making something that will give me bragging rights all the days of my life and, according to the Inuits, even after. I'm already thinking about playing "Have you ever…?" because I have a feeling that "I built a boat" might just trump everybody else in the room. Day Four Hillerich tells me over and over that kayaks are alive, that they can bend and breathe and withstand the sea. If Larsen is the one who shows you the "hows" of building, Hiller- ich is the one who teaches the "wise." For the Inuits, Hillerich says, these boats were a necessity, and their belief that your qajaq becomes an extension of you is a responsibil- ity I am not so sure I am ready for. I have a difcult time committing to a garment that has to be dry-cleaned, let alone a boat that is going to come with me into the afterlife. At this point, rope and an ancient winch- ing tool called a windlass hold my in-prog- ress boat together. What keeps each boat afoat is a state of balance and symmetry, P