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David Jr.

This is about where it all began. I was sailing before this--a trip in the Florida Keys on a Catalina 22--but this was my boat. Fatty Knees, a Lyle Hess design, was a hefty little boat for only 7 ft. She was given to me on my 10th birthday and sailed whenever possible. Unfortunately, she was destroyed in a house fire--otherwise, it wouldn't be too long before we would have a picture of my son perched at the helm.
Although we were still living in the SF Bay area when we got Fatty Knees, we didn't use her as a tender or sail her in sheltered areas of the bay because neither of the two boats we sailed were ours--and one had a tender of its own. Instead, we transported her atop our Volkswagen van to nearby lakes--usually Lake Berryessa in the Napa Valley.

Much of my youth was spent sailing on Pygmalion, a Westsail 32 that belongs to a friend of ours. My family and I would often spend part of the weekend sailing around San Francisco Bay, mooring off Angel Island or docking at Pier 39 for the night. I loved being aboard Piggy, as we called her. I have fond memories of standing out on her bowsprit as it would plunge toward a wave, that falling feeling in the pit of my stomach tingling my belly. Or lying on my belly on the foredeck, my head hanging over the side as I watched her bow slice through the water. I even celebrated at least one birthday - if not two - aboard Piggy. Sometimes I'd spend hours being dragged about in the dinghy (pictured below - I'm the one waving)

Prior to Piggy, I vaguely recall sailing in the Florida Keys on our Catalina 22 when I was about three. The memories are very hazy, and some of them owing more to pictures I saw growing up than the actual experience, but I do remember skimming over a shallow reef, feeding freshly caught fish to impatient pelicans, motoring through mangrove-bordered channels, and wading ashore on a remote island only to be eaten alive by mosquitoes.
Sadly, Felicity had to go when we moved from Tennessee to California, the inflated costs of Silicon Valley forcing us to live more humbly. We were fortunate to find several people in the Bay Area who were more than willing to let us use their boats, so parting with Felicity was less of a hardship.

In 1985 I said goodbye to my dad and Piggy as they headed from SF to Hawaii. I wanted desperately to make the trip, but my mom was seven months pregnant with my brother and I was only 11 - too young, my dad said, to make the trip. Looking back, even though I was upset about not being able to go, I don't know how I would have fared on such a trip at that age. I'm sure I probably would have been a nuisance to the other guys aboard - after all, who wants a snot-nosed punk, unable to pull his own weight, taking up space? It was tough to say goodbye to my dad and stay behind with my mom. I remember well sitting atop our Volkswagen van, parked near the south end of the Golden Gate bridge, searching the fog for Pygmalion and my dad as they made their way under the bridge and into the open ocean.

Perched on Piggy's bowsprit prior to departure. The sign read: Hawaii or Bust.
Feeling guilty about his absence, my dad decided to store up a few spankings for the sins I might commit during his trip.

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