He walked forward under the bright spreader lights, and prepared to hoist the anchor. After releasing the nylon chain snubber, he began hauling up the heavy chain with the power windlass. Andy used arm signals to have Jesse move the boat forward as the anchor finally clattered over the bow roller into its spot on deck. He locked the anchor in place, returned to the helm, and shut off the bright deck lights.
‘‘When we leave the harbor, I’ll turn into the wind so we can raise the mainsail.’’
Andy motored out, and then turned into the easterly 8 knot wind. Jesse took the helm while Andy went to the mast. Together, they raised the heavy, fully-battened mainsail with Jesse operating the portside power secondary winch. Andy pulled on the boom vang, a piston system to hold the boom down, and fell off to a little below a beam reach with the wind coming slightly aft of the boat’s side. They rolled out the jib, the forward-most sail, and then the smaller staysail, behind it. When Andy finally shut down the engine, Prophecy moved silently through the nearly calm waters at 6 knots.
‘‘Make the entry in the log book, Jesse, and then go to bed.’’
‘‘You’ll be all right?’’
‘‘Of course. Look at that sky: with this wind and only a slight swell, this is going to be a night to remember.’’
‘‘I thought every night with me was a night to remember.’’ Jesse gave him a kiss, and went below.
Andy adjusted the radar range to ten miles, and set it to come on every five minutes, sweep for ten revolutions, and then shut itself off. Even the dimmed radar in darkness could destroy your night vision.
Andy set the GPS for Isla Providencia, and interfaced it with the Robertson Autopilot. The pilot would automatically adjust their course, whatever the wind or current, to keep Prophecy headed toward her destination.
The land behind fell off the radar screen. Ahead was the open ocean’s portentous emptiness. The sea that night, overcast and moonless, had the inky darkness of a lightless cavern. While experienced sailors rarely admit it, to most humans, darkness connotes the unknown and its foreboding dangers. Andy felt this, at least transiently, every time they went to sea at night.
About 15 miles offshore, the jib sheet creaked as 14 knot winds put extra stress on the forward sail, or jib. The boat speed indicator rose to 7, and then to 8.5 knots. The hull sliced through the water with a soft hiss, and when the water parted, it glowed with phosphorescent life. Dolphins joined with Prophecy, racing alongside, and then crossing the bow with joy. Their movement through the water left glowing green trails.
This is what sailing is all about, he thought.
Andy dozed as the boat slid through calm waters. Sailing at night under the now-clear skies and mild winds encouraged life’s mundane problems to fall behind in Prophecy’s wake. He stood, scanned 360 degrees, and watched the radar complete its cycle. For the moment, all was well with the world. He thought about grabbing his iPod, but decided against it. He refused to let it intrude on his serenity. At home, he’d had few moments of reflection, as life’s onshore entanglements gave him little respite.
Why do so many people substitute constant external stimulation for internal dialogue and reflection? What is it about their thoughts that frightens them?
The Aqualarm’s clanging bell jolted Andy. His pulse raced, and his hands shook. An alarm indicated failure of a critical boat system ranging from fire or engine problems, to water in the bilge.
It has to be a false alarm, Andy thought. Things are going too well on this beautiful night.
When he opened the starboard-side storage compartment, the system monitor’s bilge indicator was glowing red.
Jesse stuck her head up from below. ‘‘What is it, Andy?’’
‘‘I don’t know. It’s the bilge alarm. Let me check.’’
When Andy pulled up the main saloon’s floorboards to expose the engine and the bilge, he gasped. Water had filled the four-foot deep bilge, and was lapping at the engine’s bottom.
‘‘Shit! Get Rachel and the bilge pump handle. You two pump, while I try to figure this out.’’
Andy was grateful that he’d installed a large volume manual bilge pump for emergencies; it removed one gallon from the bilge for each stroke.
After Jesse and Rachel scampered into the cockpit to pump, Andy checked his automatic electrical bilge pump indicator. Its red light showed that the pump was running and ejecting water overboard.
What in hell had happened?
He grabbed a powerful dive light and scanned the bilge for signs of a leak, but saw only the swirl of water from somewhere deep in the bilge. After ten minutes, the level had declined by only an inch.
Andy stuck his head through the companionway. ‘‘Can you go any faster?’’
‘‘We’re dying, Andy. We’re pumping as fast as we can.’’
Andy jumped into the cockpit and handed Jesse the flashlight. ‘‘Let me do it. Go below and check the bilge.’’
Andy grabbed the long, stainless steel handle, and pumped hard. He could feel the water squeezing through the pump, and he redoubled his efforts.
After about 15 minutes, and near exhaustion, Jesse screamed, ‘‘I see it. The hose has come off from one of our thru-hulls, and water’s pouring in.’’
Andy continued to pump hard for the next five minutes. ‘‘Come on up and pump while I get at it.’’
Andy had memorized the schematic of Prophecy’s 13 thru-hulls. Each had a tapered wooden plug attached. As he leaned over the bilge, water poured from the air-conditioning thru-hull; its hose clamps had rusted through. He tried to close the valve, but it refused to budge, so he grabbed the wooden plug, shoved it into the thru-hull, and took a deep breath.
He stood and climbed into the cockpit. ‘‘Got it. It was the AC hose. Shoot me the next time I buy anything but the best hose clamps.’’
‘‘We’re okay, Daddy? I thought we were going to sink.’’
‘‘We’re fine. Give me a minute, and I’ll put new clamps on that hose. Thanks, guys. You were great.’’
Jesse smiled. ‘‘Daddy’s so stressed that he thinks we’re guys.’’ She paused, leaned over, and whispered in Andy’s ear. ‘‘You were right: this was a night to remember.’’
An hour later, with Jesse and Rachel asleep, Andy sipped coffee, checked his heading on the laptop computer, examined his cockpit instruments, and looked into the blackness. The waning moon crescent cast a white sheen over the sails, but lit little else.
At 4 a.m., Reggie stuck her nose out of the hatchway, yawned, stretched, wagged her tail, and moved to sit beside Andy. Her coat was still warm from cuddling in bed with Rachel.
‘‘It’s great to see you, girl. It’s good to have company.’’
Andy grabbed the Sangean radio, and listened to the BBC. Every hour, he went below to check the computer and make a log entry. This time, he glanced into the aft owner’s stateroom to check on Jesse.
She raised her head and smiled. ‘‘Is everything okay?’’
‘‘Couldn’t be much better.’’
A few minutes before 5 a.m. a blip appeared on the radar at the 10-mile ring. In a moment, it passed off the screen, heading east.
Andy picked up the VHF handset, and hailed the blip with the name of their boat, their position, and their heading. In the middle of the night, helmsmen enjoyed conversation with other boats in their area. He tried again, but got no answer. Too often, especially on large vessels in the open ocean, the helm went unattended, or the person at helm spoke no English.
At 6 a.m., he saw the glow to the east, and watched as the sky gradually brightened until the sun’s rim appeared over the horizon, casting its rays skyward. Sunsets were beautiful, but with man’s primal fear of the dark, sunrises came with relief, joy, and the anticipation of the day ahead.
Jesse stuck her head out. ‘‘How are you doing, Skipper?’’
‘‘Great. How did you sleep?’’
‘‘Fantastic. Need me to come up?’’
‘‘No, bu
t I could use more coffee and breakfast whenever you get to it.’’
Thirty minutes later, Andy sipped on his steamy coffee, and took a big bite out of an Egg MacProphecy on an English muffin.
Andy smiled. ‘‘Somehow, food tastes better at sea.’’
Chapter Six
Since it took time to adjust to life underway, Andy and Jesse dreaded the one-to-two day passages more than they did the longer ones.
Jesse came up to relieve Andy as the eastern horizon glowed with dawn. ‘‘How are we doing there, Skipper?’’
‘‘Great. We covered a little over 60 miles with wind and current coming from behind.’’
‘‘What’s our ETA to Providencia?’’
‘‘If we average 7.5 knots, it should get us in by midday tomorrow. If we pick up too much speed, we’ll need to slow down, or stand off until sunrise. I know how much you like that.’’
‘‘Why don’t you get some sleep?’’
‘‘I don’t think I can: too much coffee and excitement in getting started. Is Rachel up, yet?’’
‘‘You’re kidding. You won’t see her until noon. If you’re not sleepy, do one of the cruiser’s nets and check the weather.’’
‘‘Aye, Skipper.’’
Andy caught the end of the check-in for the cruiser’s net.
‘‘Hey, Doc,’’ said the net manager. ‘‘Glad to have you back. What’s your position and destination?’’
Andy gave his longitude, latitude, and weather. ‘‘We’re on our way to Isla Providencia. We should be there around noon tomorrow.’’
‘‘For those of you new to the net, Andy’s a physician, and he’s been kind enough to give advice to cruisers who can’t get house calls. If you need help, hail him to another frequency, or stay here after the net.’’
The net manager made announcements, gave the NOAA weather summary, and asked for announcements, wants, and needs. After 30 minutes, he shut the net down.
‘‘Prophecy, this is Rascal.’’
‘‘Go ahead, Rascal,’’ Andy said.
‘‘We’re Ritchie and Ellen, from Astoria, Oregon.’’
‘‘I bet you’re glad to be away from that home port.’’
‘‘No kidding. Listen, Doc, Ellen don’t tell anyone, got a fishhook in her hand between the thumb and the index finger. It was a bitch backing it out and it’s swollen as hell, now. Any advice?’’
Andy got a more detailed description of its appearance, as well as of how Ellen felt. ‘‘It sounds like she had a lot of bleeding inside. That shouldn’t be a problem. Next time, if the barb’s close to the skin, push it through the skin and cut it from the hook.’’
Andy described the warning signs of infection, and how to apply heat, and then went through the antibiotics that Rascal had on board. ‘‘Call me tomorrow and let me know how she is doing.’’
‘‘Thanks, Doc. I owe you.’’
‘‘Buy us a round, and we’ll call it even.’’
The weather fax from New Orleans and NOAA forecast stable weather with isolated thunderstorms.
Andy fell asleep on the main saloon’s sofa. Reggie’s hot wet tongue awakened him at around 11 a.m. He sat and wiped dog saliva from his face; Rachel sat across the table, eating cereal with milk.
The day passed quickly. The swell from the east reached three to four feet and the wind remained constant. Prophecy maintained an average speed of 8 knots. With clear skies and visibility to the horizon, watch meant simply raising your head every ten minutes or so to scan 360 degrees. Since temperatures hovered in the mid 70s, everyone wore shorts and tees.
Andy took the evening watch until 11 p.m., when Jesse took over. ‘‘Wake me any time after 3 a.m. Call if you need help.’’
It had taken Jesse a while to become comfortable alone in the cockpit at night, but she had finally succeeded and could relax. She stuck her iPod buds into her ears, but kept the volume low enough so she could hear the ambient noise. The half-moon rose early, but it set around 2 a.m., leaving a black sea and a star-filled sky. Several satellites streaked overhead. Jesse liked a large range on the radar, and set it for 15 miles. At 2:15 a.m., a dense shadow entered the screen in the right upper quadrant. She placed an electronic bearing line (EBL) on the target, and then adjusted the variable range marker, a circle expanding from the display’s center point, on the target. This way, she could track the target relative to Prophecy’s position.
After about 20 minutes, the target remained on the EBL, but had closed to 12 miles.
She hailed the target with their name, position, and heading, but got no response. The density and speed of the target said it was big and moving moderately fast—a tanker or freighter, most likely. Cruise ships usually answered a hail.
When the target continued to move down the bearing line and narrowed their separation to eight miles, Jesse knew that the vessels were still on a collision course.
‘‘This is the sailing vessel Prophecy, heading 310 degrees at 8 knots.’’ She gave her exact position. ‘‘Ship at eight miles, please respond.’’
Nothing.
She went below and shook Andy. ‘‘You’d better get up.’’
‘‘Wha…’’
‘‘Come up. Something’s approaching.’’
Andy slipped on his shorts and a sweatshirt. When he entered the cockpit, he checked the radar, and tried hailing the approaching vessel.
Again, nothing.
‘‘I hate those sons of bitches,’’ Andy grumbled. ‘‘Let’s come up into the wind a bit to let them pass in front of us.’’
They looked ahead to see nothing but a glow somewhere in the distance off the starboard bow.
Andy studied the radar, but after ten minutes, they still remained on a collision course. He stood on the bridgedeck and looked into the darkness ahead. ‘‘What the hell are those guys doing?’’ He studied the radar image. ‘‘When they hit the four-mile mark, we can probably see them on the horizon.’’
Jesse grasped his hand. ‘‘What should we do?’’
‘‘Let’s come up some more,’’ he said as they pulled the mainsail, the jib, and the staysail closer to Prophecy’s midline.
Suddenly, off the starboard bow, the sky exploded with light from an enormous ship. Andy turned on the engine, the strobe on the top of the mast, and the spreader lights. Prophecy’s sails shined intensely white in the darkness.
The huge ship continued to close; Andy felt his heart racing. He was about to wake up Rachel and have everyone don life vests, when the long white prop wash appeared from the aft of the ship, showing its heading. He fell off, letting out the sails, and watched as the colossal, intensely lit factory ship passed by the starboard beam two miles away. Fresh fish came aboard at one end of the huge ship and went out canned at the other.
Andy shook his head. ‘‘That was too damned close. I’ll bet you anything that they still don’t know we were nearby.’’
‘‘Remember what you said: don’t argue with a fool, or a tanker.’’
Andy smiled. ‘‘I’ll take over. You get some sleep.’’
Jesse grasped his hand. ‘‘Maybe you want company.’’
‘‘Any time… any time. That bridge deck looks comfortable. Maybe we can rest there for a few minutes?’’
Jesse winked. ‘‘Rest?’’
‘‘You know… a quiet sail, moonlight, a warm night, and a beautiful woman.’’
‘‘Right. Let’s wait until we get further away from the glare of our fishing friends.’’
He pulled her close.
‘‘You’ll be quiet, won’t you?’’ she asked.
‘‘The dolphins won’t care.’’
‘‘You’ll wake Rachel.’’
‘‘Sure. If you can be quiet, so can I.’’
They watched the sunrise, and by 11 a.m., Prophecy came to the sea buoy marking the entrance channel to Isla Providencia. They lowered the sails, motored into the shallow anchorage, and dropped the hook.
Andy turned to Jesse. �
�‘I feel something special when we arrive after a passage at sea. It’s joy, accomplishment, and relief that we eluded Poseidon’s domain, once more.’’
Jesse smiled. ‘‘Everything’s special with you, sweetheart.’’
Chapter Seven
Soon after they set the anchor and covered the mainsail at Isla Providencia, a large inflatable approached, flying the Colombian flag.
‘‘Buenos dias,’’ said the port captain as he boarded with two armed soldiers. ‘‘Welcome to Isla Providencia.’’
‘‘My name is Andy Reiss, and this is my wife, Jesse, and my daughter, Rachel.’’
‘‘Mucho gusto,’’ he said.
They chatted for several minutes, and then Andy handed the port captain five copies of their crew list. He kept many copies aboard, since you never knew how many they would need at each port of entry. He also paid $40 for customs and immigration.
‘‘If you need anything, Señor, it would please me greatly to be of assistance.’’
After the port captain and his men motored away, Andy turned to Jesse. ‘‘Rest or sightseeing? It’s up to you.’’
Jesse stared. ‘‘Are you okay, Andy? Are you sure you don’t need a nap?’’
‘‘No, I’m fine. Just don’t forget to bring my walker.’’
Andy moved to the foredeck, raised the dinghy, and dropped it into the water. They walked it aft, where he lowered and attached the outboard.
The anchorage had a slight chop, but the dinghy engine was powerful enough to get them up on plane to race through the water. In ten minutes, they tied up to the slatted wooden bridge between the main island and tiny Santa Catalina Island. Three cruiser dinghies were tied up: two from San Diego, and one from New York.
As they walked to the main island, three couples approached. They were wearing shorts, bright t-shirts, and Tevas, the telltale cruiser’s uniform. They carried canvas bags filled with provisions. After introductions, they asked the family to join them on a snorkeling expedition that afternoon.
They explored the town, picking up a few souvenirs. One cruiser recommended crossing over to Santa Catalina Island for lunch. When they walked back to the bridge, Rachel studied a sign that read: El Puente de los Inamoratos.
Deadly Passage Page 3