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Chapter 2

Saturday, October 19

I

Friday night had passed much too quickly. Saturday, their first day of separation could no longer be ignored. It appeared to be yet another fine day in the recent string of several of them. The ceiling and visibility were unlimited, to put it in airman’s terms. The temperature was in the middle forties heading for a promised fifty-nine by afternoon. This was an ideal day for Phil to begin his island adventure.

With a good breakfast under their belts, Phil, Jana, and Fritz left for the airport where they would bid adieu for the next two weeks. It was a difficult parting for Jana and Phil. They were both thinking of some the many things that could go wrong in the environment he was heading to. As they embraced by the Baron, neither wanted to let go.

After a quick farewell and thanks to Fritz, Phil climbed into his seat and prepared to leave. Since the preflight had gone well and the tanks were full, he wondered why he felt apprehensive. He spotted Jana looking better than any other women he had ever met and was delighted to realize that they belonged to each other. He was somewhat shattered to think he was leaving her behind, even for a little while. This was going to be harder than he had anticipated, but maybe a little distance would be a good thing for their almost-perfect relationship, as long as it would be only for a short time. While trying to clear his mind of these last-minute insecurities, he gave her one final tender look, blew her a kiss, fired up the engines, and called the tower for instructions before he could change his mind.

The breeze had switched around during the night by almost 180 degrees, so he was directed to runway 23. After getting airborne, he requested and was granted a straight-out departure, which pointed him for home without having to fly the usual traffic pattern. The ride was uneventful. He was back on the ground at 10:45. By then, he was thinking mostly of the drive ahead of him to the eastern shore of Lake Huron and looking forward to it.

Phil was surprised to see the entire PD Express fleet lined up on the ramp while their big hangar was getting a thorough scrubbing down. The old reliable Twin Beech was parked next to the always fun Aero Commander. Next in line was the Queen Air, which brought back memories of his honeymoon, brief as it had been, and then Phil’s favorite for small work, the Bonanza. It had seen him through some trying times in years past, though it wasn’t used much anymore for charters except for those trips to Canada with Jim Bellingham because the landing conditions there were so limited. He uses it now mostly as an inexpensive way to flit around to inspect potential purchases for resale. The last grouping consisted of the newly acquired Piper Twin Comanche and the pair of old J-3 Cubs used for training new students. It was impressive to see them all in a row dressed in their distinctive blue, blue, blue, and white PD color schemes. This was the first time in a long while that they were all home at the same time—a rare event.

His partner was on hand to greet him.

“What do you think of our little lineup?” he asked. “It’s a sight we don’t often see, but then they don’t do us much good when they’re all on the ground. You know, I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time to make some changes. The G-18 (Twin Beech) has been with us since we started this enterprise. She’s given us years of good service and made a lot of money for us, but it may be time to retire the old girl while we can still get a good buck for her. I’ve been looking around for a few weeks. I found a turbo prop Beech King Air in Des Moines with low hours and at a price that could fit into our plans. It would mean we would have to put in a new tank for jet fuel, but we may have to do that in any event with all the corporate jets now in use. That’s another direction we may have to consider before long just to keep up with the competition. Billy and his boys could turn the interior of King into something very special if they get their hands on it.”

“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind, Don. You know you don’t need my approval on things like that. I’m sure you remember when I bought the Queen Air out in Vegas without your input. Sometimes speed is of the essence with no time to procrastinate. That turned out well, didn’t it? If we couldn’t trust each other by now, we’d have a big problem, agreed? It sounds like a good deal to me, but right now I’m on vacation, so do whatever you think is best. I won’t be flying at all for a couple of weeks. At this moment, that feels better than you can imagine. By the way, before I forget, you should be hearing from Tom Humphrey while I’m gone. It’s very likely he’ll be joining our team as soon as his current contract expires, which is next week. Right now, I want to get started on my break from the real day-to-day world.”

They said their goodbyes. Don wished Phil the best on his journey into the wilderness.

His BMW was waiting for him with a full tank. His luggage, one large bag with everything he anticipated he would need, was already in the trunk. His plan was to drive to Port Huron today, then on up the Bruce Peninsula to Tobormory tomorrow. There he would board a prearranged air taxi to take him the final few miles to Fitzwilliam Island. Without further ado, his exodus had begun, not knowing exactly what he would encounter when he arrives at his ultimate destination. So far the weather was cooperating, but who could tell? Changes can come abruptly in the northern reaches.

II

Saturday dawned too soon for Hans and Miep as well. They had spent a good portion of the night talking about the trip facing him, and consequently, neither got much sleep. Miep was more than a little apprehensive about it even though she had no concrete reason to feel that way. The Jammison is a stout ship that has always answered the call whenever any sign of trouble arose. The crew was mostly tried and true veterans of many difficult events the lakes had thrown their way over the years. The weather reports were still good, but the fall season could be more unpredictable than predictable. It was during the fall that the Bradley had gone down in Lake Michigan and the Edmund Fitzgerald in Lake Superior. Both of them were nearly as large as Hans’s command.

All things considered, Miep should not have felt uneasy, but she had a nagging concern for her man and his vessel. After all they’d been through together to get to this point in their lives, she could not bear to think that anything would go wrong on Hans’s final voyage. She tried her best to let it go, but she could not. Something deep inside said she had no cause to worry, but she could not get a handle on her nerves. The best she could do now was to remind herself that it would all be over in a few days. She sincerely hoped that then she would feel foolish for having had any doubts.

Since they were running a bit late Hans suggested that it would be best if they left right away for the dock. He would be able to get breakfast on board while making sure all was in readiness for his last sojourn over the waves. With the sun shining brightly on a day that promised nothing but good things, they arrived at the Cleveland and Pittsburgh dock at the foot of Forty-Fifth Street. Hans hated it when anyone was late, worst of all, he himself. He took it as a bad omen.

Miep and Hans said their so-longs with more than their usual ardor. No logical thought process could erase their concerns. After one final tender embrace, he tore himself away, walked rapidly to his ship, and climbed aboard, making every effort to clear his mind of everything except his duty to the Jammison, his crew, and the owners who entrusted him with command, Trans-Lake Shipping Corporation.

As he strode briskly up the deck to the pilothouse, he watched the three deckhands working feverishly with their hatch wrenches, resecuring the clamps on the eighteen hold covers prior to setting sail. While he recognized two of them, Eric Hinsch and Vince Gambowski, the third was a new face. Eric told him that the other regular, Tom Lewis, had a family emergency and was forced to stay at home. The new man was Pete Francis, who came highly recommended by his previous employer. This was not too unusual, but, for some reason, Hans took it for just another bad sign.

Upon arriving at his post in the forward tower, he was met by his second mate, Paul Flynn, who had some disturbing news to convey. The steering gear problem was not yet resolved. Their sailing time would have to be delayed a few hours until the work was completed to the satisfaction of the engineering crew. While Hans was on the bridge, Paul also informed that he had not one but two new crewmen on board. One of the assistant engineers, Howard Stolz, had taken ill and had been replaced by a man named Norm Bitterman. They were told he was a good man, but Hans was more than a little miffed because he normally had some say when these things occurred. This time management made the change without giving him any prior notice. While he realized that it was a decision that had to be made quickly, he incorrectly concluded that his bosses were unhappy with his decision to retire before the end of the season. He saw no reason for them to be upset. His first mate, Fred Palmer, would be the logical choice to replace him at the helm for the last few junkets of the year. He was more than capable. No one knew the quirks of the Jammison better than Fred. In fact, Hans assumed Fred would be his permanent follower, not just for this season but for years to come.

Trying to dismiss his added concerns, Hans decided to go aft and below to see how the repair was progressing. While traversing the starboard tunnel, his temper continued to rise, something that was a rarity for a man not inclined to anger under any circumstances. He knew he could not let this mood control him, and more importantly, he could not let anyone see him this way. By the time he reached the engine room, he had gotten better control of his emotions. He was still perturbed, but he had more urgent matters to consider.

What he found there looked like utter chaos. George Oliver, the chief engineer and one of his seconds, Joel Gunther, were consulting with a third man, who turned out to be a shore-bound mechanic. They seemed to be at a loss as to how to repair the existing problem. Hans’s first impression proved to be a little overblown. The solution was fairly simple but, then again, not so simple. They were waiting for a new hydraulic pump to arrive from their shop right there in Cleveland. What that meant was that it could be several hours before they could safely leave port. Hans checked his watch. It was almost 9:00 a.m. He could only hope they would be leaving by noon, but that remained an uncertainty.

With nothing more he could do for now, he joined some of the after crew in their more than adequate mess to have his belated breakfast. He normally ate in the forward mess; so Jim Lawrence, one of the wipers, and Will Shelton, an oiler, were surprised to see him there. He knew both of them well, as he did most of the men, so while they treated him with appropriate respect, there was a degree of comradery to be enjoyed. It took the edge off Hans’s misery, which was exactly what he needed.

He had some of the best coffee on the lakes, along with some sticky buns baked by the able hands of Ernie Tallman, one of the second cooks. Hans thought that maybe things were not as bad as he surmised.

At 10:15, he was back at his post in the wheelhouse feeling much better. Delays were bad, but safety was more critical than a few lost hours.

III

As Phil drove up Route 22 to Interstate 94, his mind was beginning to race. The traffic was reasonably heavy for a Saturday morning. That kept him occupied while he negotiated the Eden’s, the Kennedy, the Dan Ryan, and finally the Calumet Skyway into Indiana. By the time he rounded the southern tip of Lake Michigan and started across the state of Michigan, he was left again with only his thoughts during the lonely ride to Detroit and beyond before stopping for the night in Port Huron.

What—or, rather, who—was on his mind was Jana. He could think of nothing but her. His reflections were not about the present but about how they had first met nine years and several months ago. He could certainly recall the first time he laid eyes on her. It had been at a party he almost did not attend. Having returned that afternoon from a particularly tedious trip through impossible weather conditions, he was bushed. All he really wanted was to find his bed and pass out. By the time he got home, he got to thinking about how his social life had turned into a total zero due to all the flying time he was logging. At the last minute, he changed his mind, even though he had little taste for cocktail parties. No one ever really communicated at those affairs, but he had a small premonition that this one might differ in some good way.

When he arrived, he said his hellos to the few faces he recognized and started to look over the overcrowded room. Just when he decided to stay only long enough to be polite, thinking that the whole idea had been a mistake, he noticed the loveliest lady he had ever seen. She was wearing a scarlet minidress that showed all of what it should, but none of what it should not. He could not cease looking at her long raven hair at the top and her curvaceous legs at the bottom. Four-inch heels completed the picture. She was across the room looking a bit lonely herself. Phil simply had to meet her. As he approached this goddess and introduced himself, her eyes lit up. She said her name was Jana Marsh. Love at first sight is a much-overused expression, but you would never have convinced them at that moment that it could not happen.

They talked and talked and talked during the soirée’ and much more at a nearby all night coffee shop. Both were amazed at how easily conversation flowed between them about anything and nothing. Phil found out that, as good as she looked, her brain was even more beautiful. They discussed their respective pasts, presents, and even their individual plans for the future. They debated some political issues and were delighted to find total agreement. They even conferred about the state of the universe. No subject was off the table, quite a feat since they had just met. He found out that she would be twenty-five in two months, and she learned that Phil would celebrate his fortieth birthday the following February. Their age discrepancy mattered not at all to either of them. Intellectually, they were on an even keel.

They regretted having to say goodnight, but all good things have to end or at least be put on hold for a while. For Phil, a little while would be far too long. He drove her to her condo in Marina City, made a dinner date for two days hence, walked her to her door, and thanked her for a wonderful night. He kissed her gently and promised better things would come to them.

The rest was like a whirlwind, all the while probing each other’s deepest thoughts and concerns. Within two months, there were no more bridges to cross. They were married on an ill-fated charter trip to Las Vegas and have not had one moment of regret since; in fact, their love has grown every minute of every day that they have been together. That is why Phil’s thoughts are galloping. He can barely stand the separation even for a few days, but this journey was an important test for them both. He may cut it a bit short. That would be a decision for later.

By the time Phil returned to the present, he had passed Kalamazoo and Battle Creek and was getting close to Ann Arbor. It was 3:45, so unless he got tied up going through Detroit, he would be in Port Huron by 7:00. As usual, the BMW was purring like the fine-tuned machine that it was. He had no concerns at all except his long-standing distrust in weather reporting.

IV

Knowing full well that he would not be cleared to sail for a couple more hours, Hans opted to try to catch up on some of the sleep he had lost the previous night. Leaving word with Chuck Kendrick, the third mate, who was watching over the nerve center of the ship, to call him if anything changed, he went below to his cabin. He set his alarm for noon, and within minutes, he was sound asleep hoping for the best possible outcome.

When he awoke at 12:00, he went up to the pilothouse, where he was once more the recipient of discouraging news. The hydraulic pump they had ordered was now on board; however, it was not the correct model to serve their purpose, so they were back to the waiting game.

He rang up George in the engine room to try to get a new departure time. The chief engineer said all would be in readiness shortly after the proper part got to them. To install it would take about thirty minutes. When that was done they would have to flush the lines and refill and pressure check the system. Then they could go. He estimated that 6:00 p.m. would be a reasonable guess.

Hans was starting to feel snake bitten. If this was how his last trip was beginning, how would it end? He trusted his black gang beyond any doubts and realized these things can happen, but why now? The word omen crossed his mind once more. He could not blot it out. They had put into port two days ago with the steering gear problem and felt that the difficulty had been corrected after replacing some badly leaking lines. The system had checked out just fine on Friday afternoon. Saturday morning found everything changed. This was suspicious. Now they had to wait for a new pump, even though the old one had been functioning up to specs just twenty-four hours ago. All they could do was to wait and wait and wait.

Hans considered his options and decided he had none. If they could leave by 6:00, they would not get to Toledo before midnight. By the time the coal was loaded, barring any additional snafus, it would be well into Sunday morning. He could imagine the folks at Trans-Lake wincing. There was not a thing Hans could do about it. They should have been allowed to carry more spare parts to prevent things like this from happening. He had been asking for that for some time but had encountered a stonewall. The Jammison has been in service since 1941, including time spent as a tanker during World War II. She still bears some scars from that duty. Old ships can sometimes be temperamental.

V

As he had expected, Phil found the traffic light passing around Detroit. On Saturday afternoon, most of the big rigs were parked somewhere, so he did not have them to contend with. North of the city, he was fascinated to see the many ships crossing Lake St. Clair and up the St. Clair River. There were tankers, package carriers, container ships, and even a couple of tugs. While he knew virtually nothing about that industry, he could not help thinking how those men faced an even more daunting task than people in his own chosen field of endeavor. Flying could be a test of nerves, but Phil thought those sailors must have their share of stress as well. It gave him something to occupy his thoughts until he got to the end of the day’s ride.

Coming into Port Huron, he checked the clock on the dash. It was 6:45, just about as he had predicted. The sun was going down, but there was still enough natural light remaining for him to see that he was in a special place. Along with some newer structures he discovered many examples of the past—from Queen Anne, Victorian, Empire and even Norman masterpieces to commercial buildings that demonstrated the architecture of the Renaissance, Romanesque, and Gothic periods. Needless to say, he was impressed. He was sorry he would be leaving in the morning, but he had places to go and did not want to miss his connection at Tobormory. There would be other times. He knew that Jana would enjoy this city as well. She was a nut for all things historical. The next time they would fly in.

With that remote plan in mind, he remembered that he had promised Jana he would phone her this evening. He put aside his rubbernecking for the moment, drove directly to his hotel, checked in, and went immediately to his room. As he dialed Fritz’s number, he could see his bride’s beautiful face before him. It was almost too much to bear. He was relieved when the phone was picked up on the second ring.

“Phil, it’s you! You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you today.”

“Me, too, princess. By the way, how come you answer other people’s phones, and how did you know it was me?”

“Oh, Phil,” she said, sounding like a teenager caught staying out after curfew. “Dad said it had to be you. I’m so glad you called. I knew you would.”

“Of course, I did.” Phil chuckled. “How could I not? You ought to know you’re the only really important person in my life. So what have you been doing all day? How’s Fritz holding up with his new move-in guest? He’s not used to having anyone around you know.”

“Don’t be so sure. He’s only a few years older than you. He may have something going that we don’t know about. Anyway, we’re doing just fine, enjoying every minute of it. We didn’t go anywhere today. We’ve got so much catching up to do. He really is a good man. What happened years ago wasn’t entirely his fault. I can’t resent him for trying to do his best for me under difficult circumstances. Right now he’s whipping up our dinner. He won’t let me in the kitchen to see what it is, but I can smell spaghetti sauce, so I think I can figure it out. You know how much I love pasta of any kind. What about you?”

“You know me—I’ve been saving the world from utter destruction for generations yet to be born and a few other tasks. Seriously, I’ve been driving most of the day. I almost forgot that’s how most people get around. I guess I’m spoiled. I just got to Port Huron. All I could think about all day was you, Jana. My first priority was to call you so I could hear your lovely voice to cheer me up. I haven’t even eaten yet.”

“I hope it’s working for you. You made my day.”

They chatted for just under an hour about everything under the sun. That was one of the strongest points of their union, their ability to communicate. It had been that way from the start and had never waned. When they were together, they talked incessantly. Phil knew he would be calling again on Sunday when he got to the George Inn in Tobormory. When he hung up, he was already anxious for that call.

All at once, his stomach began to growl. He had driven straight through from Chicago to Port Huron with only a stop for fuel and a candy bar. His last solid meal had been steak and eggs early in the morning in Terre Haute. He had every right to be hungry. Actually, he was more than hungry; he was famished. On his way down to the dining room, he stopped at the desk to pick up a brochure about some of the buildings he had seen on his way in. Before leaving in the morning, he planned to do a little tour.

Phil sat alone in the restaurant considering the Sunday leg of his journey while sipping on his usual Chivas on the rocks. It would be much shorter than today’s junket, only about two hundred miles. That would allow him enough time to really enjoy the much more scenic part of his ride. The air taxi pilot, Dave Ham, was scheduled to pick him up at Cameron Lake on Monday morning to take him the rest of the way. He had never been in this part of the country before. He planned to make the most of it.

After a simple but delicious meal—rare prime rib, baked potato with all the trimmings and some seasoned string beans—he was content and sated. Life was good.

He took a stroll around the neighborhood to work off the food then went back to his room and left a seven-o’clock wake-up call, and before he knew it, he was fast asleep with a smile on his face.

VI

During the lost hours, the crew of the Jammison had been kept busy doing the many tasks required before any sailing. In the engine room, the old Sulzer diesel was clean as a whistle and raring to go. The weather deck was soogeyed (scrubbed) spotless by the deckhands. They also did a final check to make sure all of the hatch covers were secure. The iron deckhand (a movable crane used to remove and reinstall the extremely heavy hatch covers) was locked in place at the forward end of its guide rails. In the galley, Sam, Ernie, and Franco Price, the other second cook, were preparing dinner for all. It would be served soon after they were out on Lake Erie. As not enough people know, the food on the Lakers is far better than average in order to maintain the comfort and morale of some very hardworking folks. In the wheelhouse, Hans, his mates, and wheelmen were going over preparations for their departure, which still promised to be at 6:00. It was decided that Hans would take the big ship out of the harbor with Fred Palmer by his side. Max Holzer would be at the wheel. Chuck Kendrick, the third mate, who also doubled as radioman, would be at his post in the communication room. The second mate, Paul Flynn, would be giving his attention to the duties of the deck crew while they were handling the lines and winches to free the big ship of its restraints.

At 5:45, Hans gave the order to fire up the power plant and get it warmed up for their six-o’clock goodbye to Cleveland. He was feeling no small sense of pride in his engineering staff and their helpers for making the most of a bad situation. Nothing was quite the way he would have wished it to be, but he felt that perhaps their troubles were behind them. For the first time that day, his mood was turning rosy. Not much else could go wrong, could it?

At six on the dot, he ordered two deckhands, Pete Francis and Vince Gambowski, ashore to free the forward and aft lines. Using the landing boom with the bosun chair attached, each in turn was lowered to the dock, where he ran to his assigned bollard. With a bit of assistance from the winches, they were given enough slack to free the heavy cables. This done, they streaked for the bosun chair to be hoisted back on board. The winches reeled in the lines, and they were free to go.

Leaving port, Hans heard the winch generators shut down. They would not be needed again until they reached their first stop. After clearing the breakwater and heading west along the coast, he turned the ship over to Fred with instructions to call him one hour before they reached Toledo. He then returned to his quarters to do some paperwork and maybe to catch another short nap. Hans was thinking about Miep and how much she meant to him. It was going to be a much harder separation over the next few days than it normally was. As much as his frame of mind had improved, he still had more concern than he felt comfortable with about the success of this final voyage. It was not starting out well. He wondered what other barricades would line-up in front of him before it was all over. The weather was always uncertain even though the forecasts were decent for late October. It was the most changeable time of the year. He would have to be on guard for any atmospheric anomalies.

In order to maintain his sanity, Hans tried to think about other small things from his past. He recalled all sorts of simple pleasures from his earlier days in the Netherlands. His mouth watered longingly for the marvelous bakery treats and especially his all-time favorite, room brotjes (a cream-filled pastry). That brought to mind the Dutch chocolate, which many consider the best in the world, and the chocolate letters everyone exchanged every year in early December on the feast of St. Nicholas. Along with the letters came an enormous selection of marzipan in every imaginable size and shape. He thought about the weekly flower market held on the square in his native Baarn. What could be purchased in Cleveland could never hold a candle to the beauty and variety there, and at a price that almost anyone could afford. The next thing that came to mind was a memory of riding his bike down the path to Hilversum one early spring day. That was how nearly everyone got around, but on that particular day, after an unusually cool winter for Holland, the buds on the trees were popping out leaves with such a vengeance he would have had to holler to be heard by anyone nearby. He even missed his Klompen (wooden shoes). With the proper socks, they were very comfortable; plus they saved his leather shoes from the ever-present rain.

His concentration was broken for the moment, so he put aside his reports and went to his bunk. With the gently rolling waves and the rhythm of the big diesel pushing them along at a steady fifteen knots, he was asleep before he could count even one sheep. It would be a long night, what with loading the coal in Toledo and all, so he would need his rest while he could get it. Tomorrow was a question yet to be answered. Anxiety was not a normal trait in Hans’s makeup, but at the moment, he could not entirely rid himself of it.