Day 58-62

The biggest event in my life during my dad's visit came on our first day underway, his second day with us. We'd been sliding sluggishly along, pushed from behind by a light and temperamental tail wind. I'd been up on the foredeck, taking some sun and reading my book. Dad was on the tiller. Pete was lounging lazily nearby in the cockpit.

I decided it was time for a snack. Book in hand, I stepped lightly aft, and was crouching to climb down into the cockpit when wind shifted suddenly to the opposite side of the boat. A strong gust of wind caught the back side of the mainsail and hurled it across to the other side of the boat in an uncontrolled jibe. The aluminum boom caught me square in the side of the head.

The details of the following few moments remain a bit fuzzy for me, but the next thing I remember after a bright flash of light, is finding myself doubled over the starboard quarter rail watching my book sink beneath the water. I then became aware of Pete's arm around my waist, keeping me from going overboard and pulling me back into the boat. "That was nice of him," I remember thinking.

Pete got me seated where, hunched over and hands on head, I concentrated on my breathing while the pain and nausea washed over me. Its the most I've ever bled when I wasn't donating it to the Red Cross. The warm rivulets ran over my hand and down my arm. They dripped through my fingers into my lap, onto the cockpit bench, and down beside my rubber boots to congeal in startlingly red designs on the dark oiled wood of the floorboards.

Pete took the tiller and Dad got out a roll of tape and some band-aids to begin patching me up. Its a little tradition he and I have. When I got the matching scars on the insides of my forearms he used electrical tape to put me back together. When I got the thin white scar on my forehead it was duct tape. Now, with my ear split open, it was to be athletic tape. Following tradition, I asked if he thought maybe I should get stitches, a ridiculous notion quickly dismissed. With this formality out of the way, I asked if I would have a cleft in my ear for the rest of my life. Probably not a big one he assured me.

With care and diligence my dad soon had me all cleaned up. My right ear was covered in a big wad of tape and band-aids and Bacitraycin coated toilet paper. He gave me some Advil and I went inside to wait for my headache to subside.


Now, more than a week later, I'm happy to report that my ear is healing nicely, with jagged raised scar and a cute little cleft. Pete says its not very noticeable. Dad says its a great conversation starter.


After this shaky start, my dad was with us for four more days of beautiful sailing and gorgeous Florida weather. It was great having him aboard. He added a nice injection of variety in our conversations and social dynamic and was a welcome extra set of hands to share in the work. By the time he left us in Melbourne, FL, the warm weather was here to stay. The shorts were out and the long underwear were safely packed away. No more hot water bottles going to bed with us at night. No more snow on the deck or ice on the water. We'd finally arrived!

My dad wrote a nice summary of his time with us and I'm including it below.

FIRST WEEK OF MARCH: Report filed by John Ver Ploeg

I got a call from Pete on Sunday, February 28 reporting that things weren’t going well. After a long, hard day sailing at sea on Saturday, they’d turned in towards Brunswick, GA - in the dark. Going up the harbor they’d run aground. When they awoke their dinghy was gone. The engine was sucking air into the fuel line and needed frequent, regular bleeding in order to keep it from dying. The drive shaft was increasingly leaking seawater into the bilge. Before they realized the change, their fresh water tank had been topped and contaminated. The atmosphere on the boat matched the hull: blue.

Pete Ver Ploeg (hereafter referred to as Pedro) figured they were still 75 miles north of Jacksonville. I rejiggered my flight to Jacksonville to arrive a day later – Tuesday. The boys met me when I got off the ferry after crossing the St. Johns River. The tide was flowing, there was a strong NW wind and their boat was pinned to the dock. Try as we might, we couldn’t push the boat away. We weren’t leaving.

We enjoyed lunch nearby and walked about Mayport, FL midst the roar of constant helicopters on training circles from the nearby naval station, and sporadic rain squalls. We were waiting for the tide to turn. It didn’t look like the wind was going to slacken. We talked to the nearby marina guys re: our fuel line issues and bilge leak. As we waited, the local constabulary arrived and checked out our papers. Pedro had the bill of sale and the registration from the previous owner - Malcolm from Scotland who’d sailed over the year before. But this wasn’t good enough and the Coast Guard was called in. A young crew in their blue uniforms showed up and their leader was on board for a thorough inspection. I figured it was like my taxi ride that afternoon from the airport; the longer it took, the more it was going to cost. As it turned out, we were given a few suggestions, no fines, and a certificate stating we’d already been thoroughly gone over. The Jacksonville cop observed that a proper registration would be helpful reentering the United States after sailing abroad. Good advice for the boys’ future plans.


That evening we moved the boat from the municipal dock to the marina dock. That night the wind picked up and gave us a good rocking, enough to break the stern dock line. We three were all out on deck in a flash, in thirty-degree weather, 40mph winds, and sleep wear. We got things buttoned down, returned to bed for a fitful few hours sleep, and left early the next morning before the marina opened up. It was up the St. Johns River a mile and then left down the Intracoastal waterway.

It was a day of mostly motoring, often with the jib set, occasionally with the mainsail set. We timed the motor and found that 10 minutes was the maximum we could let it go before it needed the air bled out of the fuel line. But we were in Florida, the bird life was abundant, and we were on the move.


Pedro had been apologizing to me for a rocky start. I noted that it was all new to me – a fine adventure. I asked him where he was with the blog and I said there were quite a few of us vicariously enjoying their adventures. He said he felt that all he’d been reporting were their screw-ups. I said, “That’s boating. It’s a learning experience. Mistakes are what humans do. As long as you keep plugging along, we enjoy reading about the challenges you’ve overcome.”


About then Pete Hinman came out of the cabin with a plate full of breakfast. Delicious! Cheese, potatoes, eggs, sausage. Pete’s a good cook. And both Petes recognize life’s priorities –starting with good food. I was happy to defer cooking to the pros and step in for clean-up.

The cabin is cozy. The biggest sleeping area is in the bow and the Petes each have a berth up there along each side. There they can keep all their personal gear. The guest berth is along the stern, opposite the navigation table.* In the middle is the dining table, benches, and along the side is the sink, swinging stove-top, and food preparation area. The sink has a foot pedal that pumps water from the 40-gallon tank beneath the floor out the faucet. The sink drains to sea. Cozy and efficient.

*Note: Pedro observed that a third passenger is no inconvenience and very much welcomed. Their friend Chris was a great addition to the crew and good company. The second mate helps with steerage, mans the tiller, helps set sail, and assists anchorage. And most importantly, adds variety to personal dynamics.

Pete’s uncle, Pete loaned them a complete set of charts for the Intracoastal Waterway. That was a big help. And what an amenity for the public this waterway is! Dredged, well-marked and charted, and detailed documentation. Anyone who wants to can take a boat ride…from Maine to the Keys.


I had a few concerns before I boarded the boat. Why doesn’t the toilet work? When do we get showers?

Answers: For toilet, #1 is over the side, downwind. #2 isn’t necessary as often as I’d thought. Before my arrival I’d had a fairly detailed discussion with Pedro about the toilet. So I brought the needed materials and patched the crack in the seat that had been preventing the suction necessary to draw in fresh water and expel waste. Legally we weren’t supposed to be dumping human waste into inland waterways. But we kept the tissue paper minimal and those dolphins tracking the boat had to have been producing more waste than us. Re: showers, I seemed to do just fine in the same set of clothes – outer layer off for bed, back on during day. Inner layer stays. I asked Pedro the longest they’d gone without showers. –just less than two weeks.

During my few days I was happy to enjoy the undeveloped areas. We saw plenty of dolphins, osprey, bald eagles, herons, egrets, ducks, loons, geese, vultures, and even the pink flamingo Pete Hinman had been dreaming about since Connecticut. He’s arrived!


The weather cleared up and the temps gradually rose. Though I stayed bundled up, the Petes were down to T-shirts. We cruised by the backyards of Floridians of all walks of life, from fish camps to mega-homes. The winds stayed out of the north and we had sails out as we cruised south. We used the motor as needed, always bleeding it fully before we shut it down. We did occasionally drop the ball regarding the 8-minute bleed interval. When we forgot to check our watches, the next signal would be the motor starting to die down. One of us would notice and immediately jump into action. Usually we’d get there in time and gradually the motor would come back. A few times it would die. Then we’d have to open the filter, fill it up with fuel, hand pump out the air, close everything off, and restart the engine. That took a few minutes and sometimes channel conditions required a quicker turn-around. Fortunately the Petes are good sailors and we generally had at least a jib out to maintain headway and steerage.


But challenges and surprises are inherent to boating. One challenge: The chart showed good depth off the channel in one area and we ventured over to anchor for the night. The next morning we motored downstream back to the channel and promptly ran aground. Our efforts throwing the anchor off the stern were unsuccessful. It wouldn’t bite when we tried to pull ourselves backward. But before the fourth attempt Pete noticed we were floating. The tide was coming in. So we motored directly back to the channel and then turned south; no trying to cut the corner.

Another challenge: We’d been having a fine downwind sail as wind and current were blowing us down the water way. But when we wanted to take a sharp turn into St. Augustine we were quickly a lot closer to a rocky jetty than we wanted. Had the motor not started promptly and been adequate to drive us upstream and upwind, we’d have had to bail out and head out to sea through the inlet. But we made it. St. Augustine was beautiful, we walked about town and had a fine lunch. The marina was used to transients and charged us $4/hour dock time. When I went to settle our bill, as usual the dock master addressed me as captain. I replied that I was somewhere between second mate and ballast. But I always noted that the other two had sailed from Cape Cod and left in January.


Another challenge: We passed a boat heading north who radioed us that the channel had changed. They’d run aground at green marker #82. Normally we keep the green markers on our port side (left). They told us to keep that one on our right. When we got there I was at the tiller. We’d discussed that we would still keep green #82 on our left but would hug it close. As we approached, Pedro noted that he saw a sand spit coming out from the right. So I said, “let’s cut to the left and put #82 on the starboard side. Pedro objected to my last minute change of plan and I swerved back. We passed #82 closer than the Captain wanted. Though I never had any doubts, my superior was perturbed.

Another challenge: We were lazily cruising downwind, winding along the south-facing waterway. We weren’t in a hurry, both sails were set, and the motor was off. The jib occasionally flopped port to starboard and back. Occasionally I’d reach up and keep the mainsail on the port side. I was at the tiller and the Petes were grateful to have free time; both were relaxing with books. Pedro was at the bow with cushion, book, sunglasses, and the new toupee/hat his mother had purchased for him. He started back to the stern. Just then a fluke gust came up and charged the boom to starboard. I yelled, “Watch out!” and tried to grab the boom as it flew by. It smacked Pedro in the side of the head. Overboard went his hat, sunglasses, book, and pillow. When I looked up he was in the cockpit with his hand over the side of his head and blood running everywhere. Pete took the tiller while I got the first aid kit. It was calm, smooth, sunny, and I had all the time in the world…..and I took it.

Pedro’s ear was all banged up and bleeding. As I told him later, “ears are like fenders, they’re what protect our heads.”

It took awhile to figure out how to bandage up the convolutions and multiple cuts in Pedro’s ear. Eventually it was done. Throughout, at least for me, was the question of how had this happened and how could it have been prevented? I’d been at the tiller and therefore in charge. There was silence on the boat.* After awhile Pedro broke it by putting his arm around me and thanking me for taping him up. So we talked it through. The gust was a fluke. I did yell a warning but he didn’t hear me. Though I tried to catch the boom I failed to throw the tiller from the wind which would have slowed the swing of the boom.

Note: Earlier Pedro observed that though there are plenty of nighttime noises on the boat, he seems to sleep soundly; only waking, and always waking when something is amiss. My reflexes aren’t tuned to throw the tiller when the boom jibes

*Note: Pete Hinman is a sociable guy and quick to start up conversations shore-side. But he’s judicious. He gave we two Ver Ploegs plenty of space onboard. He didn’t have to say anything through Pete’s ear trauma, …and didn’t.

Another challenge: We went into Titusville and looked like a bunch of rank amateurs as we tried to tie up at the dock with the marina master. The details are too embarrassing to relate but I knew that Pedro was more than annoyed with our performance. It was a quiet walk through town to the restaurant. So I suggested we talk it through over lunch. When we returned to the marina I went in to pay for dockage and was met with surprise. No charge. The master asked us where we were from and I said that the other two had left Cape Cod in January. He nodded, paused, and then exclaimed/questioned JANUARY?!! I related this to the Petes later and felt I’d salvaged a little respect for us.

It was an adventure for me! Pete Hinman handled bridge communication. We encountered many bridges that needed to be raised for our passage and it was a bit of an ego boost to see traffic stopped as we slowly sailed through. It takes a longer time for the bridge to come back down and barriers to open than you’d expect. Cars were still backed up long after we’d passed thru.

As a sailor once told me, “ the best part of sailing is being in port talking about it.” Well, one very nice part of sailing for me is being at anchor at the end of the day, out in the marsh, away from people and lights, and enjoying a wind-down. One night, we were all secure, Pete was cooking, I’d made fruit drinks with the cheap Vodka I’d brought, porpoises were breaching nearby, there was a raccoon feeding on the bank and Pedro said, “what is THAT!??!” We all looked up and saw a big orange blob in the sky. It kept going up and we realized it was the rocket launch from Cape Canaveral that had been scheduled that afternoon and that we thought we’d missed. What a treat!!

The final two days of my participation were pretty much all sailing. Pedro’s in tune with the boat. He keeps the sails trim, motor humming, and all systems GO. Sometimes he wishes he has more sail options. I don’t know where he gets his sailing knowledge. But I’m impressed. As I told him, “I don’t think I’ll ever buy a boat but I hope YOU always have one.” He’s a responsible sailor and I feel confident shipping aboard.


Pete’s becoming a sailor and is a great cook. Most importantly, he’s easy going. These can be stressful conditions: tight quarters, multiple challenges, interpersonal clashes. Silence is prudence. Pete’s gregarious onshore, taciturn onboard. Pretty wise at this point in life


I ended my participation in Melbourne. I had planned my trip around that point because that’s where my childhood friend, Spence lives. We’ve known each other since we were nine-year-olds in Iowa. Needless to say, he and his wife Sandi were gracious and generous hosts for we three. They referred to us as the three Petes; “Pete, Pete, and wannabe Pete.”