Bristol27.com » Hull #265

Hull #265 - Dulcimer

[Website Note: Steve reached out looking for any information on the current status of Bristol 27 Hull #265, last named “Dulcimer”. Bristol27.com had no known record of the boat. If you’re the current owner of Hull #265, would you kindly reach out to share details on your boat? E-mail the webmaster at andrew@bristol27.com]

Quick Facts

Model: Dinette
Year Built: 1969
Hull #: 265
Vessel Name: Dulcimer (Last Known)
Owner Name: Steve Norwood (Last Known)
Hailing Port: Melbourne, FL, USA (Last Known)

Sailboat History

12/12/25 – Steve Norwood checked Dulcimer’s logbook and found he didn’t record the buyer’s name. He was a young married man who worked for a Chicago land developer, as I recall, and was sent there to buy land. I had pretty much quit making entries in my log but did record sailing it to the Pines Marina near Melbourne, Florida where the new owner wanted it. I sold her for $8000 which was more than I had paid for it. (When I had it listed, a potential buyer and his wife came aboard and said it was the cleanest boat they had been on.)

My last entry with no date said: “A couple of demonstration sails were made up the river and I helped move her to her new home, removed final personal effects and gave her a last cleaning. I am sure she will never see the glorious moments of real sailing again—strenuous as they must have been for her. She was a good boat and served well. -SN”

12/9/25 – Steve Norwood was the first owner of Bristol 27, hull 265. He met Mr. Clint Pearson and toured the factory the next day when she was nearing completion. Steve had her shipped to Puerto Rico and 3 years later, sailed her to Florida, selling her in the Melbourne area. Her name was “Dulcimer.”

Owner Comments

12/16/25 – When we left Roosevelt Roads, there were four on board. After we spent the first night at Vieques (my brother found a great CQR anchor diving that evening, and I desperately needed a “storm anchor.” I couldn’t believe it as I snorkeled there almost every weekend! So with this lucky find, we were off to a good start the next morning. Rounding PR, to the south, I noticed that Dulcimer was over-loaded. Maybe she felt like she was squatting and rolling in a weird way which I had never noticed before. As usual, we had a pretty good wind that day. Wind was never a problem. So I told the crew we needed to lighten the load. Do we throw over the beer or the water? We had at least two five-gallon Jerry jugs on the deck of reserve water. (Water weighs about 7 pounds per gallon.) So it was not a surprise, they voted to jettison the water! That did seem to help and I felt better, but there was something that was still nagging at me. The tiller and rudder just didn’t seem right. We spent several days making our way to the west coast of PR. The island is about 100 miles long. We anchored in an oil refinery dock that I had scoped out previously, then a night at Ponce and had drinks with friends who lived there, then around to a port city on the west coast, Boquerón. There Harry, Don and my brother stormed the town and had a great time. I stayed on board, having other things, like the trip, on my mind.

So we set out the next morning with our next destination to be Mona Island, a day’s sail west. There was very little information about Mona back then, but we got a fix with I saw a balanced rock on its east coast as we approached from the south. Studying a navigational cart one day in class (yes, in class I confess) while my sixth-grade students worked on some assignment, I asked Joyce, whose desk was beside mine, she was bilingual and not to mention smart as a whip, what did “Caigo o no caigo” mean, as this was on the chart. She said shrugging her shoulders and raising her hands, “I fall or I no fall.” Ah ha! I bet that’s a balanced rock, I said to myself. And there it was! I was thrilled as this was an important fix for my dead-reckoning navigation.

Anyhow, I digress again, but I’m still leaving a lot out. While we were anchored at an absolutely beautiful bay on the south-western side of Mona (we stayed for two nights), I secured the tiller port and starboard so it could not move and then I dove overboard. I didn’t tell anyone what I was up to. Sure enough, I could move the rudder, perhaps an inch or so, but to me any amount would not be right, nor good. This was worrisome to me, if not alarming, as I had read enough sailing lore to know that lost rudders were all too common in the old sailing days, and it was a sure path to disaster with no rudder control. I never did disclose to my crew about the rudder, but I surmised that the morning after we left Vieques and before we lightened the load, I had over-stressed it, pulling on the tiller with all that weight acting against it.

When you think about it, the entire weight of the vessel focuses down to the rudder and how it is secured to the rudder shaft, which then connects to the tiller or steering mechanism. The naval architects would have a lot to say about this, I’m sure, and have a lot of technical terms to explain, describe, and measure it. So here is an important point: Think about this stress on a spade rudder, or a skeg rudder, or an outboard rudder, versus a keel-hung runner like the Bristol 27. I recently watched some YouTube videos of guys rebuilding their rudders. The round stainless steel shaft is inside but there are these tabs that the fiberglass is molded around and they can bend or break with the stress, water intrusion, corrosion, etcetera. If they break the shaft will just turn inside with no effect on the rudder. Disaster.

12/15/25 – The girl mentioned [on 12/12/25] was a former high school classmate of mine who joined us for my first trip to St. Maartin. She came back another summer and just the two of us sailed through the Antilles down to Granada. All went well. I left her in Granada for a few hours when I hopped on a small plane to Trinidad as I had mail forwarded there. My sweet dad had a long letter waiting there for me as well as other stuff. My principal decided not to mail my paycheck as I had requested, for safety reasons. He was right to do so and it presented no problems. There has been a murder of a famous author and yachtsman’s wife there not many years previous, so I strongly advised her to stay below. That was the last time I let the customs officials know I had a firearm on board. It was a hassle but I got it back before we left.

I sailed solo quite a bit. I guess it was hard on my parents but I spent several Christmases sailing, most of time solo. I would anchor in Christmas Cove, near St. John, then go into St. John on Christmas day when Santa would come in on a boat. The island kids were anxiously waiting on the dock and he would toss them candy. I sailed to St. Martin solo one time. Visibility was terrible on my first day, as there was a sandstorm from the Saraha which happens now and then. I was worried I would by pass the islands and might be headed for Africa. I tried my ADF to no avail, even my plastic sextant (a waste of time). It was an over nighter too, and the sky cleared. I could see the stars–a welcome sight and company to my lonely existence in the cockpit.. I got so sleepy, I decided to heave-to, so I put out a drogue (sea anchor) which was a large canvas funnel-shaped gizmo (with a mandatory swivel) and let her drift with my running lights still on. Grabbed a few hours of sleep, then forged on. I survived on pudding cups, haha, and still am! (I was sick last night and that’s all I’ve been eating—AGAIN! haha.)

Then either before that or after, I almost sailed into Saba Island. There were no lights on the island save one, a street light probably up high, but I thought it was a star and I was headed on a tack right for it. But after an hour or two I noticed the “star” had not moved like all the rest. What? So I got out my binoculars and YIKES, there was the silhouette of the island, huge and volcano-shaped. The old sailing guides described the island (also discovered by Columbus on a Saturday), said your bowsprit will hit the island before you ran aground. That was exactly right. The water was extremely deep very close to shore and almost no place to anchor, but I did, at a big risk. There is a dock now on the other side of the island. Hundreds of man-made steps lead steeply up to the town, known as “The Bottom.” My friend, Gayna, and I went up the steps, leaving Dulcimer rocking precariously at anchor, to the town on our trip there. What a view. It scared me, as I thought, “We just sailed across all that water?” By the way, we lost touch and I read in her obituary not long ago she that she had bought a 30 footer in Portland, Oregon and got into sailing actively. She later married and moved to Atlanta where she died. She had never sailed before coming on board the Dulcimer. I’m sure it was a life changer for her, too, and the greatest adventure of her life. By the way, we got back to the navy base the day before school started! My principal was frantic, as there were rumors going around the marina that I had been “shipped wrecked.” haha.

Back to solo sailing. I had scrounged up some military parachute hardware and designed a harness I thought would not drown me if I fell overboard while sailing. The riggers were more than happy to sew it up for me as I wanted. So I slept with it on and kept it on while sailing. I also slept with a sheath knife to my side, especailly the days when Gayna was aboard. I kept a loaded and ready .22 pistol on board but hidden is a great spot where it was never found, but where I could easily reach it if needed. (Inside the closet, in the corner where no one would ever look, hanging on a hook in the holster. As you look in, it would be on the bulkhead facing you, to the right or left, I forget. But there was an “alcovey” area that provided a good spot that few people would be inclined to look or feel.) It was my dad’s Colt Woodsman, a semi-automatic. I often sailed to St. Thomas, Cuelebra, Vieques (almost every weekend), Treasure Island, Tortola many, many times, and sometimes they were solo trips. Solo one time, a news years eve afternoon, I left St. Thomas, and popped a bottle of champaign, heading for Cuelebra, and saw two water spouts. I decided to sail between them and got as close to one as I dare, but staying out of it’s path. I wanted to see and hear it up close and personal. I regret to this day leaving, as I had been invited to a party where my date was to be an Asian lady who owned a dress shop in St. Thomas. That too, could have been a life-changer! She was friends with a husband and wife couple I was friends with who chartered and lived aboard their 72′ cutter. The wife was Japanese, I think. Capt. Carl and Sumi Powell. He specialized in night-time SCUBA dives and underwater photogaphy. Sometimes she would motor over to my boat and say, “Steve, you have laundry? Me go do!” Carl was an old guy and brought her and the boat over from Hong Kong.

It was very sad for me that the Pearsons gave up on boat building, and evidently had no heirs to leave the business to. The day I was there, they told me that Jack Benny and Wayne Newton were out sailing on one of their yachts they had rented. They had it going on and Alberg was the man!

12/12/25 – I [Steve] just sent you some photos I thought you would like. These guys were my crew when I left Puerto Rico, at Roosevelt Roads Navy Base marina. One is my brother who is 83 and still alive. The other two were great friends. Harry died sailing. He was at the helm with his wife on the Neuse River. The other guy, Don Peters, sailed with me a lot. He was a fellow teacher at RR Middle School.

Steve and crew preparing to leave Puerto Rico, at Roosevelt Roads Navy Base marina.

He is pictured on the top deck Dulcimer the day after she was launched in San Juan. I had a track meet that day (Saturday). The day before (Friday, October 10, 1969) a huge four-legged crane hoisted Dulcimer out of the shipping cradle. I asked to stay on board as I was afraid the belly bands would slip off (like I would do any good, haha) but the dock workers laughed and agreed. The crane operator who was way up high in the crane cab, hoisted the boat and me as high as he could make it go, I’m sure now that he was just having fun with me and trying to scare the daylights out of me. I was so high up there I thought I should be able to see Florida! But I did see a ship coming in that was to berth at the spot we were in. So the boat was lowered safely in the water and I asked if they could hold up the mast while Don and I secured the shrouds with the turnbuckles, etc. They did but urged us to hurry. It was 11:00. Then we motored to Club Nautico and we spent the first night aboard Dulcimer. I hated to leave in the morning but Don agreed to say and monitor the safety of the vessel.

Don Peters taking care of the just launched Bristol 27 “Dulcimer”

The sails and equipment I had ordered were all on board. We sailed out of the San Juan harbor the next day (I got back to the boat at 11:30 but stayed up to check the sails and get the boat ready for the trip the next day, which providentially was Columbus Day, October 12, 1969 and a Sunday. We motored out of the harbor and once in the Atlantic, I was a scary thing when we first raised the main, then the jib. The water was deep and blue. Don was not a sailor and knew nothing about sailing. I was 24 and he must have been in his 40s or 50s, a bachelor, never married from Bogalusa, Louisiana and was as good of a crew member as one could ask for. A great cook, too.

Anyhow, I realized later, that the trip we took that day, arriving at the RR marina at 12:05 A.M. that night was one of the most dangerous trips I was ever to make. Today, I would never have attempted it at night. We sailed around the eastern cape of PR, between coral reefs and islets, then the cape, and then south to the Navy Base, and Ensanada Honda. The marina itself was tricky to sail into without going aground, but fortunately I was familiar with the channel as I had been sailing there on the marina’s rented Sunfishes. “Charlie Buoy” was the key that you had to head to before coming into the marina in order to get around a shallow shoal reaching out from the shore. It was a very deceptive approach and EVERYBODY ran aground there. I never did. Hahah.

I wanted to write Bristol Yachts about my exploits but never did, but one thing I did want to let them know about was that the stainless steel 20 gal water tank in the bow was not secured, or fiberglassed in. My first trip to St. Martin, Don and I and a girlfriend (from Portland) were on board and we were met with some formidable waves on the bow (due to the “fetch” from the N. Atlantic/Africa). The water tank would go airborne and then come pounding down on the hull, time and time again: when the hull went up, the tank came down. WHAM! I began to think that if this kept up the hull would surely be split open and we would sink like a rock and never survive, it was getting dark and we were wayyyyy out there in very rough water. It’s an overnighter to get to St. Martin due to the current, wind, waves and of course, distance. So, I turned over the helm to Don and got my Voit swim fins and went below; when the tank went airborne, I slid them under. This resolved the issue. Later back in PR I replaced the swim fins with chunks of thick spongy foam where they stayed from then on.

I don’t know when they switched to [fiberglass] tanks, but I had already experienced the foul taste of fiberglass water tanks. Never a problem with mine. I always added a drop or two of bleach to help purify the water. We had to get it wherever we could: churches, lighthouse keepers, dockside, etcetera.

Back to the photos. That’s me and my crew sailing away from the dock on our way to Florida. There was a bit of a going away celebration, as I had resigned my position (Don was coming back). Harry left us in Samana, Dominican Republic as he had to get back to work. He was later arrested in Miami for hitchhiking on the Interstate, which added to his adventurous saga of the trip. His wife said the trip was his most proud experience and was the first thing he told any new friends he met on the golf course in Goldsboro, NC. Harry owned a 22 footer and kept it at the Washington, NC yacht club where I met him. We also crewed together previously on a Bermuda trip on a 30′ Pearson (The Nocturne). My brother also says the same thing about his summer on the trip to Florida.

Steve and crew sailing away from the dock on our way to Florida. This was part of a going away celebration.

Bristol 27 “Dulcimer” moored.

12/10/25 – I [Steve] would love to know what became of her. I sailed her as far as Granada and crossed the Anagada Passage to St Martin several times. Never any problems. She had the dinette table layout. Great boat. Five knots regardless. No inboard and I almost never used or needed the outboard which was stowed anyway. Oh, I lived aboard her the whole time. I was a middle school teacher at Roosevelt Roads Navy Base in PR.

I am now 80–it surprises even me—but I can now say my years sailing the Dulcimer were the most glorious, adventurous, and even though I didn’t think about it at the time, the most fun-filled and rewarding years of my life. Many skippers seeing me at the dock or wherever would tell me how good it was that I was doing that (sailing) while I was young. Comments were also made by skippers on much bigger sailing yachts that my 27 footer (with a tiller) was real sailing.

I also want to pass on, that as I look at various sailboats on YouTube or wherever and window shop on what would be my next choice— like a Hallberg-Rassy 62’ haha)—I would still insist on a full keel with attached rudder. Speed is relative and would definitely not be an issue when you’re fighting for your life in a storm, among many other reasons and benefits. Unless racing, if one is in a hurry, hop on a plane I say. :-). I also want stern overhang and a raked, nautical bow.

So [we] have a classic, one of the best Bristols ever built. (When I was at the factory, I went aboard one of three they were building, a 42 foot, I think, a new design, oh my gosh…).