It may have been the familiar tall frame on deck. Perhaps it was the distinctive name captured by sunlight on the bow. I can't remember what caught our eye as we drifted in to East Ferry marina Cork harbour almost three years ago, but the skipper of the Golden Apple was the first to make us welcome.
He strolled up to the pontoon to greet us. We were a bit taken aback. Surely, we were the last people he wanted to meet? A journalist, photographer and crew, accidentally stumbling on his family outing just a month after he had been forced to resign?
Hugh Coveney had sailed to the Great Island marina that morning with his wife, Pauline. We didn't have to explain our presence, because he knew what we were about. He took a line from the stern of the 33-foot Gulliver, and chatted to us about our circumnavigation for this newspaper. This was not a politician talking; this was a man with a passionate interest in the sea.
Afterwards we were struck by how philosophical he was. If still shaken by his demotion several weeks previously over the Bord Gais affair, he displayed no trace of bitterness. He had been particularly touched by messages of support from around the coastline. "You know, I realised then that so much was expected of me," he said simply. "I mightn't have been able to deliver on all the promises."
He did not make empty promises. He was aware of the limitations, and the lack of priority attached by successive governments to his portfolio - although another sailor, Charles Haughey, must take credit for establishing a separate marine department in the first place. When it was combined with defence, its rating was best reflected in a predecessor's disparaging quip. This was the "ministry for fish 'n ships".
It was not a job to fight over, and that was why "the best marine minister ever" (in his party leader's words) could be sacrificed. When the Bord Gais controversy broke, it did not take long for the then Taoiseach to decide. Mr Coveney's remark was accidental, and he himself did not think it was a resigning matter. Even within a short five months, he achieved much. Barely in office, he had to travel to Brussels for the annual EU fish quota talks. Some fishing industry observers wondered if he would have the political skills for the latenight skullduggery, when the EU Commission employs sleep deprivation tactics to force through agreements.
They need not have worried. The offshore sailor, survivor of the 1979 Fastnet and former Royal Cork Yacht Club flag officer acquitted himself admirably. What is more, he secured agreement from the EU to fund the operational, as distinct from capital, costs of fisheries protection. Here was a man who was used to being on night watch.
In partnership with his junior minister, Eamon Gilmore, he took a series of initiatives, one of the most significant being a review of marine policy. He toured ports and slipways, listened, and impressed his civil servants with his intimate knowledge of, and feel for, the brief. He handled the Bere Island ferry tragedy inquiry, and the Dunmore East canoeing accident, with sensitivity, while also resisting pressure to take the "adventure" out of outdoor adventure pursuits.
For the Naval Service, which found his body off Robert's Cove last weekend, his death comes as a particular loss. He was the only defence minister in recent decades with a genuine empathy for the sea, one senior officer remarked last week. He was regarded as an honest broker, and not a bluffer. Just three years ago he promised to secure EU funding for up to three extra patrol ships. At least one of the vessels had been due to be delivered before Spanish and Portuguese accession to the EU 1986.
The minister was well aware of the difficulties involved in policing Europe's second largest maritime zone with the smallest navy. That decision was put on hold by his government after his resignation, and it was left to Fianna Fail to sign the contract for one additional patrol ship last December.
When he took on his new responsibilities, including the North, Mr Coveney still kept in touch. His last contribution was 10 days ago, when he spoke in the Dail on proposed amendments to the Finance Bill relating to a tax incentive scheme for renewal of the white fish fleet. Some of the most serious fishing accidents in the past five or six years were largely due to the deteriorating state of that fleet, he said.
In my last conversation with him, he was enthusiastic about his family's circumnavigation in Golden Apple, and invited me to take a berth on a leg of the trip. I told him I would be delighted to, but explained that it would have to be in a few months' time, if I got permission. I had just been appointed to a new post, and had a small wain in tow.
"Go now," he urged. He and his wife had talked about it, he said, and he had cleared it with his kids. There was a sound practical reason. "You have to, because you must take him with you, and it is best to do it before he starts to crawl."
As I put down the phone, I remember envying his children for having such spunky parents who trusted them so. Watching last week's guard of honour at his funeral, one wonders if the political system deserved his like. Perhaps the best tribute that his colleagues in Leinster House could pay to him now would be to look beyond the bladderwrack on the shore, and match his commitment to those who share his love for the sea.
