Curtis Hillman polished his skills restoring classic wooden boats for 13 years under the supervision of renowned Port Carling boat builder Stan Hunter. Now with his own shop and a growing list of clientele, Curtis is out on his own and ready to sail

Driving down the long path to Curtis Hillman’s 10-acre property on Milford Bay, I’m first greeted by Moose, Hillman’s eight-year-old black lab. Three bright yellow tennis balls shine from his mouth as he circles my car, bursting with anticipation. I open the door and there he is. The tennis balls instantly drop.

“Every good boat builder needs a good shop dog,” says Curtis behind a recently varnished 1948 Billy Johnson.

His shop has the feeling of an antique barn, but is relatively new — he and a few friends built it in a matter of days last winter just steps from the Hillman home.

He waves me in and shows me the Johnson’s gleaming finish — it needs several more coats, he says. With a work-worn finger, he traces the yellow seams on the deck and points to the new ribs he’s just installed with hundreds of copper nails.

“What really gets me,” he says with his cornflower blue eyes sparkling, “is that I do this exactly the same way it was done 50 years ago.”

I ask about the first wooden boat he ever restored, and the usually contemplative, relaxed Hillman fires a rapid response.

“A 1916, 34-and-a-half foot Ditchburn called Gudahi,” he grins recalling the craft he refurbished with Stan Hunter, then just beginning himself.

Curtis was 24 years old and looking for work in Muskoka. A friend of his dad’s knew that Hunter was looking for help building his shop. The two were introduced and Curtis stayed there for the next 13 years.

It was, serendipitously, Hillman’s now father-in-law that first suggested Hunter get into the business of boat building decades earlier.

“He walked into the unemployment office, he must’ve been about 20 years old,” says Hillman. “He told the agent that he was looking for work and was good with his hands. That agent turned out to be my wife’s dad.”

Moose interrupts. Curtis whips each tennis ball in different directions into the forest that surrounds his home. “Give him ten minutes,” he says. Moose watches intently then tears off.

I ask what it is about wood that makes it special to him. He pauses.

“Hop up,” he says, folding down his truck bed. He explains the complexities of grain, the art of staining and the unmatched feeling he gets when it’s all done.

“You can do absolutely anything you want with it. It’s bare and it’s just waiting for you to carve it, bend it, turn it into something.”

And, unlike his old gig — he was an electrician for years — there are no governing bodies to deal with.

“This boat? That boat? I’m the guy who goes out and tests it, makes sure it’s up to snuff. I’m my own boss in every way.”

A restoration can take anywhere from three weeks to three months, depending on the owner’s request and the size of the vessel.

“It’s like dentistry,” he says. “I go into the mouth of a boat and remove the cavity — which in this case is rot from decades of being on the water.”

The long varnishing process requires serious patience, he tells me. Each boat takes about seven or eight coats and in the final two, he’s careful not to dirty the finish with any clothing lint. He goes out in the middle of the night, nearly naked, and cranks up the humidity of the shop to prevent any dust from settling.

He takes me over to another of his recent projects, a 1906 Ditchburn sailing canoe. It’s an unusual project in that he usually deals with much larger, slower boats. But he couldn’t pass it up. “Look at it, it’s more than 100 years old and now it looks like new,” he says.

Eight-year-old Kiersten, Curtis’s oldest daughter, pops in.

“Daddy, when are you going to hang this? You said.”

She carries a wooden cutout of a boat with “dad works on all types of boats” in handwritten marker. She proudly shows me her other signs around the shop.

I shake her hand and say my farewell to Moose, who has long returned with his tennis balls. Curtis takes a look around. “I’m a lucky guy, I guess,” he says humbly.

“I get to be outside, doing what I love most, surrounded by my family. I’m living a hobbyist’s dream.”