DAY 29 (part II)

From Peter Ver Ploeg:

I spent the morning taking one last crack at getting the motor going (just so I could say I had tried my best) and low and behold...SUCCESS! There was a tiny paint chip on the rubber gasket of the fuel filter that had been preventing a perfect seal. Suddenly, I love my little boat once more. We might still be stuck in the ice, but the motor is purring sweetly.



It was another beautiful, sunny day today and the bright afternoon sun was working its magic. By 3:00 p.m. the ice, though still solid enough to walk on, seemed slightly softer. A glimmer of hope elbowed its way in among the doubts and depression. Decision time. Make a break for it and risk getting stuck in the middle of the river or sit tight and risk another frigid night, thickening ice, and possibly being frozen in till Spring. We bid hasty farewell, jumped aboard and, amidst cheers and waving, slammed the throttle in reverse, blue smoke belching, ship shuddering.

After that didn't work, my uncle Tom came over and pushed from the pier while Pete and I took up stations on the stern rail. Using an oar and a big tree branch, we softened up the ice as best we could by punching holes in it all around the rudder like Swiss cheese. Slowly, very slowly, we backed out of the slip.

The motor is much stronger and the ship more streamlined going forward, but the old girl still couldn't quite do it on her own so Pete went forward to the bow to help out. Hanging down from the pulpit by his hands, he began smashing the ice in front of the boat with his feet. That did the trick.



Leaving the throttle on full, I lashed down the tiller and came forward to join him. This way we could take turns, one walking along taking a breather while the other hung and stomped. Even with two, this was physically exhausting. We had at least another hundred yards to go before we were out and into the slightly thinner ice. It was too slow and too tiring and, so, our technique evolved. Pete and I found that by pushing and pulling from the bow, we could rock the boat end to end. With the motor still pushing in the stern, the boat moved forward on the upswing and smashed through the ice on the downswing. As a kind of added bonus, when we pushed up, our feet spider-cracked the ice around us, making it easier for the boat to break it.


Then, our technique evolved once more to its final form. Both out on the ice in front of the boat, we began hopping along in a kind of rain dance procession, each holding on to the boat to guard against break through, chanting to keep time. The person in front cracked the ice. The person behind stomped small holes directly in front of the boat. Our combined weight made the weakened ice sag. Water gushed out of the holes adding further weight to sag and weaken the ice and cushion the hull. A perfect system. Of course, every so often we'd hit a thin spot or, the person in front would get a little overzealous in their cracking and then one or both of us would drop through to hang from the pulpit, feet dragging in the slushy, gushing, black hole beneath. We were both very quickly soaked to the waist but, it was a warm day and we were working hard.


Finally, with the sun down almost touching the tree tops, we broke through the last of the ice, heaved ourselves aboard, raced back to untie the tiller, and charged off down the Severn River to Annapolis.