Deadly Passage

by Lawrence Gold

  The weather satellites had revealed tropical disturbances in the seas off the coast of Belize. They were moving through the area every three to five days. One had developed into a tropical depression. Peter had run the data through several computer prediction models and he’d gotten three different results.

  He held the printouts for Sandy Howard, his Ph.D. student from Florida State University. ‘‘Take a look at this.’’

  She pulled up a chair beside him, and ran through the images, data, and computer modeling results. Sandy scratched her head. ‘‘How can we get anything useful when the models give such different results?’’

  Peter entered his teacher mode. ‘‘Let’s get back to basics: tell me what you see, and what you think it means.’’

  ‘‘The tropical disturbances and the progression to a tropical depression tell us that conditions are ripe for tropical storm formation, or worse.’’

  ‘‘What conditions?’’

  ‘‘The water is warmer than usual. When you combine that with high humidity and low wind shear, that means trouble.’’ She turned to Peter. ‘‘I know this area has bred storms in the past.’’

  ‘‘You’ve heard of Hurricane Hattie in 1961?’’

  ‘‘What student of meteorology hasn’t? That was a Category Five storm, earning three names before it was done.’’

  ‘‘We best keep an eye on Belize, Sandy. I’m putting this area in your young, yet capable, hands.’’

  When each day passed in Puerto Aventuras without completion of the repair, Jesse became increasingly anxious and bitter. ‘‘I can’t live this way, Andy. Rachel and I are moving into a condo until the repair’s completed. Join us, if you like.’’

  Tropical waves had passed through the area several times, with high winds and seas. Each served as a reminder of the sea’s potential, and the threat of the imminent hurricane season.

  By the end of the third week, the engine parts were scattered throughout the boat, awaiting the new parts and the rebuild.

  After dinner in the condo, Jesse stared at Andy.

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘This whole situation frightens me. The delay, the bad weather, and the approach of the hurricane season… maybe we should put the boat in storage, or get a professional crew to bring her to Florida.’’

  Andy reddened. ‘‘That’s not the way I want us to end our cruising life.’’ He paused. ‘‘It’s a direct shot from Puerto Aventuras, only 520 miles. It’s a three day passage, even if it’s dead calm.’’

  ‘‘Do you think I like being this way, Andy? We’ve been through a lot over the years, but this scares me. Don’t ask me why.’’

  ‘‘Do you remember that Chubasco we went through our first year in the Sea of Cortez?’’ Andy asked. His eyes moved up and to the right as he remembered. ‘‘We never want to go through that again.’’

  Chubascos, sudden, violent thunderstorms with wind speeds above fifty knots, created fear even for experienced cruisers. ‘‘It was three years ago, but I remember it well.’’

  Prophecy had departed at 11 p.m. for the 85 mile passage across the Sea of Cortez from Santa Rosalia to San Carlos.

  Jesse stared into the darkness. ‘‘I’ll never get used to these night passages, especially tonight, with all the thunderstorm activity on the mainland.’’

  ‘‘They’ve been having thunderstorms every night. Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll wake you up when I’m tired.’’

  Andy trimmed Prophecy’s sails. The main was fully up, as were the jib and staysail. In 12 knot southeasterly winds, they were moving at 7 knots with the wind on the beam. The radar, set for 8 miles, showed no targets.

  At 1 a.m., Andy felt the fatigue of a long day, and nodded off as he sat in the cockpit. He awakened, not having been asleep for long, to see an approaching squall’s dark shadow looming over the southeastern horizon. Andy increased the radar range to 20 miles, and visualized the entirety of the storm. It was oblong and measured four by eight miles.

  We can’t get in front of it, he thought. Maybe we can squeeze behind.

  Andy adjusted all three sails to move closer to the wind. Even at 12 knots, the sheets creaked under the heavy load, and the boat heeled slightly. He checked the radar shadow ahead: they were still heading for the storm. He tried heading up more, but even as he got closer to the wind, he knew they’d never get behind the storm, which now was only three miles away.

  ‘‘We’re screwed,’’ He growled.

  Andy went below and woke Jesse. ‘‘I fear that we’re heading for a big squall, a Chubasco, I think. Make sure Rachel’s okay, and get up here quickly. Bring our inflatable safety vests.’’

  Jesse had her vest on, and Andy put his on, too. ‘‘You take the helm, start the engine, and bring her up into the wind.’’

  When the boat was pointed high enough, Andy furled in the jib and double-reefed the mainsail. This would reduce their sail area for when they faced the storm.

  In moments, the winds picked up to 40 knots, and it poured down rain. Prophecy, a heavy boat, responded well with an increase in speed, but little heeling. The rain continued in heavy sheets, with the wind surging to 52 knots.

  ‘‘Bring her up a bit,’’ Andy shouted over the howling wind. ‘‘I’ll bring in the staysail.’’

  The wind and the deluge held steady, except the rain came at a slant, nearly horizontal.

  Andy stared at Jesse, rain-soaked, and clinging to the helm. Water dripped off the tip of her nose. ‘‘Should I put in another reef, or drop the main?’’

  ‘‘You know what they say: if you think about it, do it.’’

  Andy hooked his harness to the jack lines, and crept to the mast. The boat rocked, swayed, and heeled over violently with sudden gusts, until he let the mainsail collapse over the boom. He thanked God for the Dutchman system, which was designed to keep the sail on the boom instead of spreading over the deck. Andy placed three ties over the sail and boom, and returned to the cockpit.

  ‘‘Next time,’’ Andy said, ‘‘You go out.’’

  ‘‘You never let me.’’

  ‘‘Bring her back on course,’’ Andy said as Prophecy entered the dense radar shadow. ‘‘Let’s hope we can get out of this soon.’’

  Jesse grasped the wheel, and fought against violent wind gusts up to 70 knots. Everything before them was grey as the sea turned to foam and the rain came horizontally.

  Andy grabbed their swim goggles so they could see.

  Suddenly, lightning struck the sea not more than 50 yards away with a deafening crack. Strikes continued until the air stank of ozone.

  ‘‘Poor Reggie,’’ Jesse said.

  Andy looked at Jesse and then at their boat speed indicator. ‘‘Poor us. We’re moving at 9.5 knots. That’s about as fast as Prophecy can move through the water… and that’s without sails.’’

  They switched positions at the helm and attempted to keep the boat on an even keel while heading closer to the wind to reduce the boat’s speed. The maneuver proved a bad idea, as each time they tried, the winds knocked Prophecy over, dipping her rails in the water.

  Since they couldn’t escape the maelstrom, and couldn’t sail closer to the wind, they decided to run downwind with the storm. Fortunately, the storm was heading toward San Carlos, their destination and they had plenty of sea room.

  During the next three hours, they held on.

  Andy and Jesse looked at each other, saying silent goodbyes each time lightning came close, and violent winds sent the heavy boat over on its side. At 3 a.m., a Mexican Coast Guard boat emerged in the distance, dragging four or five small fishing boats that they had rescued.

  By 4 a.m., Prophecy broke free from the storm cell into grey, choppy waters. The winds eased to 8 to 12 knots.

  Andy took a deep breath and turned to Jesse. ‘‘Should we?’’

  ‘‘You’re impossible.’’ She smiled as Andy went to the boom, released the sail ties, and raised the mainsail.

  Jesse shook her head. �
��‘And that memory is supposed to make me feel better?’’

  ‘‘I’m not sure. The fates have thrown just about everything in our path, and we’ve handled it. Hubris is pejorative. Confidence is tribute. I don’t think we’ve ever gone off the deep end, have we?’’

  ‘‘No, I agree, but let me share a little secret with you, sweetheart…’’

  ‘‘Should I sit down?’’

  Jesse smiled and held Andy’s hand. ‘‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but every time we set sail, I’m anxious.’’

  ‘‘Everyone’s that way.’’

  ‘‘All these years, and you haven’t learned a thing about women… just listen.’’ Jesse paused. ‘‘At first, when we were novices, it was the unknown—not being sure what we’d have to deal with, and if we could handle it all.’’

  ‘‘But we—’’

  Jesse raised her palm to stop Andy’s response. ‘‘Now, after five years at sea, I know what we might face, and I feel good about our ability to deal with it. My reaction to reaching a destination hasn’t changed a bit. If it’s been an easy passage, I don’t think much about it. After a difficult passage, I want to thank someone, or something.’’

  Andy smiled. ‘‘Thank evolutionary psychology; it’s an almost universal reaction.’’

  ‘‘If I thank God, or nature, or Chaos Theory, then that puts our lives in the hands of something other than ourselves. I hate that.’’

  ‘‘Pray to God, or to whatever, but don’t count on its cooperation. I’m a simple guy, and I choose not to focus on disaster. Every noise from the engine doesn’t mean impending failure, every blip on the radar isn’t a pirate, and every whale swimming next to us isn’t going to ram and sink us.’’

  Jesse smiled. ‘‘Am I that bad?’’

  ‘‘That good, you mean. We balance each other.’’

  ‘‘Do us all a favor, Andy. Let’s get out of here and to Florida, ASAP.’’

  Chapter Ten

  When you consider the earliest sailors, their meager equipment, little or no navigation skills, and a world unknown, it’s not surprising that sailing history is replete with superstition. Even today, with modern equipment, communications, and sophisticated weather analysis, elements of superstition remain. No sailor steps on deck with his left foot; nobody aboard uses the word ‘drown’; nobody whistles for fear of whistling up a storm.

  Although Andy was an intelligent scientist, his experience at sea had taught him to never discount luck.

  Their movement through time and distance, their delays, and the ominous weather patterns had finally reached Andy, even as he reassured his wife and daughter. While the facts on the ground, or at sea, said he need not be concerned, he couldn’t shake the burgeoning dread.

  Have I caught it from Jesse? He thought.

  That evening, they celebrated the next morning’s departure with a buffet dinner at the Oasis Hotel. Rachel returned to the buffet three times for food and twice for desserts.

  Andy stared at Jesse. ‘‘I don’t know how your daughter puts so much food into such a small body.’’

  ‘‘My daughter? I could never pack that much away, even when I was young.’’

  Jesse grasped Andy’s hand. ‘‘I know you’ve been upset with our little sailing problem, sweetie. As usual, you dealt with it.’’

  ‘‘Not so little this time. I thought we should have replaced the engine before we left.’’

  ‘‘Five years, and thousands of engine hours. I think we did pretty well. When do you think we can make the passage to Florida?’’

  ‘‘NOAA’s reporting a series of tropical waves moving through this area about three days apart. To be safe, we need a weather window of at least five days. We can probably set sail after May 25th.’’

  ‘‘Are you sure we’ll have enough time?’’

  ‘‘I’m sure. Tropical waves are not hurricanes. The weather services show nothing big out there. Three days passage. A fast sailboat, a new engine, and a great crew… what could go wrong?’’

  ‘‘I know you’re kidding, Andy, but let’s not tempt the fates, even in jest.’’

  On May 18th, a tropical depression came up from Belize, and passed through their area. It moved east of Cozumel with winds of 50 knots, making it, by definition, a tropical storm. Andy put on additional dock lines and fenders to deal with the strong surge entering and rocking the marina.

  He stood with Jesse at the marina’s entrance and lifted his binoculars. ‘‘I’m sure glad we’re not outside in this weather. In the open ocean, this could be a real bitch.’’

  Jesse took his hand. ‘‘It’s early for a tropical storm, isn’t it?’’

  ‘‘The waters in Belize have been warmer than usual. That’s the first step in the formation of a tropical depression. Don’t worry, honey, we’re not going anywhere in unsettled weather.’’

  Chapter Eleven

  Andy stood at the helm, getting Prophecy ready for departure. He checked the cockpit, walked up the starboard side, checked the furlers and the anchor, and then walked back on the port side. He stepped onto the cabin house and removed the sail cover and ties.

  ‘‘Let’s get this show on the road.’’

  Jesse looked into Andy’s sad eyes. This trip was likely their last long passage on Prophecy.

  ‘‘In spite of all my unkind statements over the years,’’ Andy said, ‘‘She’s been a great boat. I’ll miss her.’’

  Jesse thought of making a joke, but decided against it. Everyone became attached to his or her things, and Prophecy was certainly a big thing. Moreover, the boat had been their home for over five years. ‘‘We’ll adjust, sweetie. I don’t think either of us is ready for the rocking chair.’’

  When they cast off and pulled out into the marina, the clear water revealed the sandy bottom, plants, and a variety of tropical fish.

  ‘‘We have to come back here, one way or another,’’ Andy said.

  ‘‘You never said where we’re going.’’

  ‘‘Do you care?’’

  ‘‘No, not really. I’d prefer somewhere not too crowded or noisy. Definitely not Miami or Ft. Lauderdale.’’

  ‘‘Great minds think alike. How about the Ft. Myers area? I’ve heard of a lovely and quiet marina in Cape Coral. We can settle there while we figure out what to do next.’’

  ‘‘Is it safe from hurricanes?’’

  ‘‘Nothing in Florida is safe from hurricanes, but it’s inland, and far enough from the Intracoastal Waterway that it should be safe from the storm surge.’’

  They raised the sails; Jesse was at the helm. ‘‘Set out heading to 30 degrees. That will bring us between Isla Mujeres and the mainland.’’

  The seas were choppy with small whitecaps of four feet. Winds blew from the southeast at 15 knots, although they knew they’d get a temporary respite when they sailed into the lee of Isla Mujeres.

  Prophecy, a heavy boat, loved wind over her beam (the side) and sailed beautifully.

  Andy peered through his binoculars and checked the radar. ‘‘We’d better watch out for all the ferry traffic moving between the island and the mainland.’’

  When they cleared Isla Mujeres, Andy changed their heading to 40 degrees, straight for the Dry Tortugas.

  ‘‘That’ll make for a great stop, if the weather’s okay.’’

  As they moved into the first night, the winds decreased to 10 knots, and their boat speed fell to 5 knots. ‘‘We might have to motor if it continues this way, but it’s going to be a sweet night passage.’’

  The winds and seas gradually increased during the night, and by the next morning, the seas were running 8 to 12 feet, with winds of 20 knots, gusting to 27. The skies were an angry grey.

  Andy scanned the sea and the skies. ‘‘It looks like trouble.’’ He went below to study the weather fax and the satellite imagery. ‘‘There’s another storm coming. If we stay out here, we’re going to get hammered.’’

  Jesse looked at him. ‘‘What choice do we have?’
’

  ‘‘If we can work our way through the reef around the western tip of Cuba, I think we can easily find shelter.’’

  ‘‘What about the Cubans?’’

  ‘‘By Cuban law, we should check in before we anchor anywhere, but as a vessel at sea, we have the right to seek shelter from bad weather.’’

  ‘‘They’ll abide by that?’’

  ‘‘Who knows? I’ve heard nightmares on the cruiser’s net about how obnoxious the Cuban Guardia can be to United States registered boats. I don’t think it’s going to be a problem since the Guardia’s absent at our destination.’’

  ‘‘And where’s that?’’

  Andy pulled up the computer nautical charts for Cuba. They’d sailed in many parts of Mexico and Central America, where they had dealt with the interface between old and new worlds. Each nautical chart had a survey date that ranged from current to antiquated. While in Mexico, they’d used charts based on information from the early 1900s. When you combined obsolete charts with accurate GPS information, the results ranged from amusing to life-threatening. Often, the GPS would show them sailing over land, or across a peninsula. Before any experienced cruisers used the chart-GPS interface, they’d studied the survey dates, or risked an unpleasant meeting with a reef or uncharted land mass.

  ‘‘Look at all those charts,’’ Jesse said as they opened the catalogue for Cuba.

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ Andy said, ‘‘And look how recent they are. Somebody in the United States government has a special interest in Cuba. Can you imagine what charts the military has on this island?’’

  They found a reef opening north of Cuba’s western tip, and sailed into Ensenada San Juan, where the guidebook described a safe canal anchorage. Andy set a GPS waypoint off the canal’s mouth, and as they sailed toward their destination, they saw nothing but green vegetation. Finally, when they were within 300 yards of the entrance, a flickering light reflected off the canal’s mile-long waterway, oriented in a NE/SW direction, as the nautical chart showed.