Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
fall was imminent. The two greenhorns did as suggested but returned above deck within
minutes complaining lethargically that it was worse down below with the smell of diesel in
the bilges and the rough motion of the boat. They could not rest and were soon bringing up
their last dinner to the lee of the boat. I smiled a little and understood their discomfort; they
would feel better after this.
Late afternoon became evening; I shivered slightly at the last sight of the sun as it dipped
into the bank of clouds on the horizon. Darkness spread over the rough sea. The southeast-
er blew relentlessly, and the waves washed noisily under the little boat's bottom, rolling on
into the black night. As other ships at sea put on their navigation lights, pinpricks of light
could be seen here and there: green, red, and white. I leaned into the cabin, flipped the mast
lights on for a while, and turned them off soon after to conserve the batteries.
Paula and Herman had retreated to the warmth and quiet of the cabin, and both were in their
respective bunks. All talking had ceased, and they appeared to be asleep. All that could be
heard was the squeak of the swinging paraffin lantern strung from the cabin roof. Perhaps
they were suffering in silence, I thought.
The wind strengthened in the night, and, sitting in the velvet dark of the little cockpit, I
took another swig of my half-empty bottle of sweet sherry. It helped me keep warm and,
with my teeth I tore another sliver of beef-jerky I kept in my jacket pocket, chewing hun-
grily as I lay back across a cluster of lumpy sail bags. I looked up into the night sky and
was rewarded with the brilliant display of millions of stars hurled carelessly and endlessly
across the sooty, black void. I marveled at the thrill of sailing my home built boat out in
the middle of a rough ocean: all rigging systems functioning perfectly with a little drum-
ming of the jib sheet here, a friendly squeak of the wooden main sheet blocks there, and a
whisper from the staysail. All was in order as it should be. I took another hard pull from the
bottle and, corking it, fed it back into my red, Gore-Tex, jacket pocket. This jacket would
keep me dry and warm for twenty years; it was by far the most serviceable item of clothing
I ever owned.
Without warning, I was suddenly washed out of the cockpit and over the lee side of the
boat, under the wooden taff rails. A rogue wave had overtaken the vessel from an unex-
pected direction. I felt a sharp pain around my waist, and remembered tying my safety line
about me earlier that evening. I was being dragged along in the icy, black waters and yelled
out in shock and fear. Both Herman and Paula came rushing out of the cabin and saw what
was happening and, with great effort and yelling, helped me back into the boat. It was a
narrow shave, leaving me soaking wet, shaken, and very sober. I spent the remainder of the
night inside the relative safety of the cabin looking out into the cockpit and the night sky,
feeling stupid and vulnerable. It is a good thing to learn early that the sea is the only victor.
