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just averting my gaze when I saw something that made my blood curdle: a sole hatch was
moving about on its own! In one move, I sprang and landed below and saw that the bilges
were full of water and that the water level was rising, causing the sole hatch to float about.
“What the hell is leaking?” I screamed out to myself. “This is all we bloody well need now;
the goddamn boat is sinking!”
Just then, there was a terrific crash as a huge wave slammed into her, and I struggled to
regain my balance. I was exhausted and feeling quite seasick - the oily smell of the diesel-
laced bilge water, the deafening clatter of the engine, and the violent motion, not to mention
the claustrophobia of being down below - were really getting to me, and I was alarmed at
our worsening predicament. As the pump was accessible only in the cockpit, I yelled up to
someone to pump the bilges. I busied myself trying to see where we were taking on water.
After checking all the through-hull fittings and finding them intact, I tasted the water and
was relieved to find it was freshwater. The water tanks were the evident culprits, and while
that was bad, it meant that there was a manageable limit to the quantity of water. It was
then, as the only bilge pump died in mid-stroke, that I learned firsthand about Murphy's
Law: “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” The bilge pump made a horrible gasp-
ing sound and would not pump out any more water. A piece of garbage had been sucked in
and jammed open one of the valves.
We had other worries to keep us busy. Getting away from the lee shore was the priority;
nothing else mattered, and I took the helm and directed Gavin and Mark with sail setting
and trim, whilst dodging deluges of salt water.
The sound of the VHF radio came blaring out of the chaos of the cabin, “Déjà vu, Déjà vu,
this is the Pearl van Riet calling. Déjà vu, do you copy, over?”
I handed Gavin the helm, lurched below, and lifted the mic, returning the call, “Pearl van
Riet, this is Déjà vu, copy, over.”
“Déjà vu, we are approximately in your area. Can you light a flare to pinpoint your posi-
tion, please?”
“Roger, Pearl van Riet, stand by one moment, please.” I yelled up to Mark to light a flare,
and within a minute he had lighted a red, hand-held distress flare which he held up high. He
started yelling loudly as the fiery hot tail of the flare burnt his hand, but the brave lad held
on to the end, when he finally doubled up in pain, yelling unheard of naval obscenities.
The radio crackled, “Déjà vu, we've seen your flare and will be over in a short while. Please
keep a lookout for us.”
They were as good as their word, and soon a large gleaming, orange- colored vessel ap-
peared out of the gloomy maelstrom. It appeared to be traveling quite quickly, and the sud-
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