In the early 1980s, Stewart Brand and Ryan Phelan found themselves united by a restless, creative spirit and a shared infatuation with the unconventional. They weren’t looking for a cookie-cutter life; they were looking for a project that would test their mettle and reflect their eccentric values. This drive led them to a rusted-out, decaying tugboat named the Mirene. Built in 1912 in Coos Bay, Oregon, the vessel had lived a hard life dragging cargo through rugged Pacific waters before ending its days as a rotting relic on the Sausalito waterfront. Most would have seen a pile of kindling, but Brand and Phelan saw a future. With a impulsivity that would define their partnership, they purchased the vessel for $8,000, embracing the daunting reality that its bulwarks were so soft with rot that one could pull them apart with bare hands.
To execute their vision, they sought out Pete Retondo, a local waterfront builder who possessed the raw talent and ingenuity to match their ambitions. Armed with little more than a vision and a rowboat—which they used to navigate to Retondo’s own unconventional home—they began an arduous restoration process. What followed was a complete transformation of the Mirene from a shipwreck-in-waiting into a marvel of maritime craftsmanship. Using warm, varnished wood and clever architectural tweaks, Retondo and his crew turned the tugboat into an exquisite, cozy, and highly functional home. It was no longer just a boat; it was an architectural statement that proved how thoughtful renovation could breathe new life into even the most neglected structures.
In October 1983, the couple solidified their bond by getting married, and the Mirene became the center of their new, vibrant world. The interior was packed with character, featuring a dining table rumored to have once held Otis Redding as he penned the lyrics to “(Sittin’ on) the Dock of the Bay.” The living quarters, nestled toward the bow, were a sanctuary of intellectual comfort, complete with towering bookshelves, well-worn leather armchairs, and the steady, comforting glow of a wood stove. The life they built was defined by a sense of community that felt both idyllic and untamed. Every New Year’s Day, they would take the Mirene out on the San Francisco Bay, welcoming a close-knit circle of neighbors and friends to join them in celebrating the fluidity of their lifestyle.
That era of their lives was characterized by a specific kind of freedom—the kind that often comes with a bit of social experimentation and “youthful abandon.” Phelan recalls a waterfront scene that was teeming with like-minded couples, defined by constant social gatherings, impulsive swims directly off the decks, and a carefree attitude toward social norms. The tugboat was the anchor for a nomadic, bohemian experience that thrived on the water. It was a time of spontaneity and sensory delight, where the rhythms of the tide dictated the pace of their days rather than the rigid expectations of suburban life. They were young, they were in love, and they were living exactly the way they wanted to, with the expansive horizon of the bay as their backyard.
However, the reality of living on a historic tugboat eventually revealed its underlying complexities. While the Mirene was a romantic masterpiece, it was also a “continued exercise in maintenance and patience.” Every day was a fight against the elements, and structural compromises—like the bedroom being located in the pilot house, accessible only by a ladder that required a trek through the open air—eventually began to wear on them. The lifestyle that felt like a grand adventure in their younger years started to lose its luster as the practicalities of boat ownership compounded. As Phelan aptly observed, after enough time on the water, almost every houseboat dweller begins to harbor a quiet, nagging craving for the stability of land, for a place that didn’t require constant wrestling with the tide.
Their transition was ultimately sparked by a chance encounter while sailing the Petaluma River in 2005. As they drifted past the marshlands, they spotted a derelict farmhouse and a massive, crumbling hay barn that seemed to be waiting for someone to notice its potential. In that moment, the tugboat dream reached its natural conclusion. Staring at the abandoned riverside property, Brand and Phelan recognized that their appetite for big projects hadn’t waned, only shifted terrain. They didn’t see ruin; they saw their next chapter. By trading the shifting deck of the Mirene for the solid ground of the riverbank, they proved that their shared zeal wasn’t about the boat itself, but the act of rescuing, reimagining, and dwelling within the history of the world around them.
