How a coffee-shop conversation launched an unexpected six-year adventure at sea

Motor Yacht Iroquois, the brand-new Feadship that launched my nearly six-year career at sea, 1998.

The year was 1998, if memory serves me right.

I was 23 years old and living in South Florida—Fort Lauderdale, to be exact—and I was hustling.

In the wee hours before most people were awake, I delivered copies of the Sun Sentinel three or four days a week for my good friend Mike Meyer. During normal working hours, I was at Tile International in Dania Beach, trying my best not to mess up tile orders being delivered throughout Florida. Occasionally, on a Sunday evening, I picked up a shift as a security guard—or maybe “check-in guy” is more accurate—at a condo in North Lauderdale.

I worked hard, stayed busy, and had a good life.

Actually, I had a very good thing going in Fort Lauderdale.

I had a church family and a ton of friends. I was surrounded by people who had become my extended family. These weren’t casual acquaintances. They welcomed me into their homes and invited me to their tables. We prayed together, laughed together, and did life together.

I was deeply involved at Calvary Chapel Fort Lauderdale and enjoyed the fellowship and whole vibe of the church so much that I enrolled in Bible college for a few classes.

One of those classes was taught by Jim Coy, who was taking us through the book of Acts. Jim had a way of reading a passage of Scripture and then telling a story from his own life. Somehow, his story and the Scripture would line up and become this amazing narrative.

As I sat there listening, learning, working, and trying to figure out life, something began stirring in me.

I wanted another adventure—or maybe a new challenge.

I had already chased one adventure through modeling in Baltimore, New York City, and Florida. It had been exciting, but it hadn’t unfolded the way I imagined it would.

The drive and energy were still there. I just wasn’t sure where to direct them next.

I wasn’t unhappy, and I definitely wasn’t running away from a bad life. That is important to my story. Sometimes we imagine people make big changes because everything behind them is terrible.

That wasn’t the case for me.

I was surrounded by people I loved, and my church community had become home. Yet I knew there was something inside me that wanted—maybe even needed—to move.

I think it is safe to say I had wanderlust.

I wanted a new adventure—something personal and meaningful that would give me stories of my own.

It Started With a Pen

In Bible class and outside of it, I carried a leather-bound journal and started writing down some of the desires of my heart.

I wanted to see the world without going into debt.

Some days I wanted to dress sharp and professional; other days I wanted to dress way down and be casual.

I was single, so I’m pretty sure I wrote something about eventually meeting the right woman, too.

More than anything, I wanted to experience life in a way that would make the Bible come alive for me personally, like the stories Jim shared in class.

I wanted stories of my own that somehow lined up with Scripture.

I just had no idea how any of it would happen.

So I kept doing what I knew to do. I went to work, went to class, and went home to rest.

During that season, I was renting a room at the home of my dear friend John Yacny’s grandmother. She was known to me simply as Grams.

Grams was the dearest lady—so very classy, with an infectious laugh that could liven up a room. We all chipped in with dinner duties, cleaned up around the house, and tried to do our part.

She spoiled me a little, too.

She would go to a small place where I think she worked or volunteered—it may have been called House of Treasures—and return with something she thought I needed or something that would make my room feel more special.

I didn’t know it at the time, but living in Grams’ house was preparing me for what was ahead. I was sharing a home, performing my household duties, cleaning up after myself, and learning to live alongside other people.

Those lessons would become very useful on board a yacht, where the quarters were tight and there was no escaping the people you lived and worked with.

Dinner at Grams Table with John,Taco & Mike

The Conversation That Changed My Direction

One evening, some friends and I went to a music night at a coffee shop. It was church-related—a chance for young singles to mingle, listen to music, and enjoy a treat.

That evening, through a group of friends, I met a lady named Karen Pardue.

Karen started talking about her job and an upcoming trip to Amsterdam. She was the chief stewardess on a yacht being newly commissioned for a wealthy investor named John Henry, who would later become widely known as the principal owner of the Boston Red Sox.

I leaned in.

Way in.

Suddenly, I was very interested.

Even though my newspaper route took me around the 17th Street Causeway, I had never really noticed the yachts. Boats and ships simply weren’t on my radar.

But when Karen described the yacht as a floating five-star hotel, my immediate thought was, Where do I sign up?

She explained some of the ins and outs of the industry. Normally, she told me, people started on smaller, less prestigious vessels and worked their way up as they gained experience.

Karen, however, was heading to the Rolls-Royce of yachts at the time: a brand-new Feadship being built by the Dutch. It was a top-tier vessel, and being part of the launch of a brand-new yacht made the opportunity even more special.

None of that made much sense to me yet, but I sure wanted to learn.

Karen offered to put me in touch with a gentleman named Erin Nelson. He had been hired as the yacht’s first mate and could explain what the crew working on the outside of the vessel actually did.

About a week later, I got word that Erin would meet me at a bar in Fort Lauderdale.

Excited wasn’t the word for how I felt.

Karen told me to bring a résumé, just in case Erin could put in a good word for me with some of his friends in the industry.

There was only one small problem.

I didn’t really know what a résumé was, much less how to put one together.

Still, I made plans to meet him.

Learning the Ropes—or Lines

Erin and I hit it off right away.

I told him about growing up in Pennsylvania. He had grown up near Bucks County, which I knew a little about because my sister’s college roommate was from there.

We also discovered that we were wearing the same watch—a Rolex Submariner. Many years and long hours during my pawn-shop days had earned me mine, so the watches gave us something else to talk about.

I don’t remember everything we discussed. I only remember that the conversation felt easy.

By the end of it, I was even more interested in pursuing this strange new world of yachts. I left hoping Erin might introduce me to someone with a smaller boat who would be willing to give a completely inexperienced young man a chance.

A day or two later, Erin contacted me.

He said something along the lines of, “I really shouldn’t be doing this, but I would like to offer you a position and try to teach you the ropes.”

Or the lines, as I would soon learn.

There are no ropes on a boat. Ha!

I remember hanging up the phone and sitting there for a moment, stunned that the opportunity I had been hoping for had somehow landed directly in my lap. Then the nerves kicked in: Would I actually go?

This wasn’t an introduction to someone with a smaller or less prestigious vessel. Erin was offering me an opportunity aboard the brand-new Feadship—the Rolls-Royce yacht Karen had described.

I knew absolutely nothing about boating.

I was as green as green could be.

But I said yes.

The Cost of Yes

The yes came quickly.

The reality of what that yes meant took a little longer to sink in.

Within a couple of weeks, I would be boarding a plane for the Netherlands.

I would have to resign from my jobs, leave my church family, say goodbye to my friends, and walk away from people who had become my extended family.

I wasn’t escaping a bad life. I was stepping away from a life I genuinely loved for an opportunity I didn’t completely understand.

That made the decision exciting, but it didn’t make it easy.

I had asked God for an adventure, and now He had answered.

Funny how that works.

We pray for God to open a door, but when He does, we still have to decide whether we are willing to walk through it.

I informed my family and friends that I was leaving for the Netherlands to help commission a brand-new, first-class motor yacht. I had no experience, very little idea of what I was getting myself into, and no way of knowing that this decision would lead to nearly six years at sea.

I only knew a door had opened.

God opened the door.

Now I had to pack my bag.

… to be continued 

Soon I would board a plane for the Netherlands, where the adventure would begin with new friends, a brand-new Feadship—and a case of North Sea seasickness I would never forget.

Philip Scarborough with friends at his 1998 going-away party before leaving Fort Lauderdale to join Motor Yacht Iroquois in the Netherlands