The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure

by Jake von Alpen

  The TRIANGLE and the MOUNTAIN

  By

  Jake von Alpen

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SAILING TERMINOLOGY

  BACKGROUND READING

  CHAPTER ONE

  Day one. He was up in the rigging when the crew arrived - two hours late. He had exhausted the last bit of his cell time and he knew it was futile to load up somewhere and call again. People in these parts could be very relaxed at times and you just had to adapt to it. Admittedly he found it enjoyable at times. But not at the moment. He wanted to leave this island and he wanted to leave now.

  What aggravated his mood was that he went to extra trouble and expense to ensure an early departure. He left the lagoon yesterday at noon and took a berth in Marigot harbour around sunset, thereby avoiding the queue that formed up every morning at the exits of Simpson’s Bay. He advised the immigration and customs people that he wanted to get cleared out first thing in the morning. An official came down to the yacht to enquire and was surprised that he was alone.

  “It’s a big ocean between here and Bermuda,” he said. “It’s not a good idea to do it solo in a boat like this.”

  “I’m not worried,” he answered. “My crew will be here in just a few minutes.”

  “It’s not quite the end of the hurricane season yet, you know that, don’t you?”

  “I know but I check the Mid-Atlantic all the time. Last night I sat up late looking for any sign of trouble and I re-checked this morning with three different weather stations. If there is any sign of a major gale we will change course. If there is anything really vile on its way by tomorrow, we’ll simply head for the British Virgin Islands. It will be a good excuse to visit Nanny Cay.”

  “Just make sure you know where you are when you get to the BVI, especially when you are running before a storm. There are some nasty reefs out there.”

  “I’ll be careful,” he said. “But you know, this yacht was built for the conditions we have off Cape Town, which is the Cape of Storms. You know that, right? She can take a bit of the rough stuff.”

  That discussion took place shortly before sunrise. An early November coolness had caused him to wear a sweater then but he had since discarded it. He could now feel the sun grilling all his exposed parts where he hung in his climber’s harness on the main mast.

  Every preparation was taken care of for the trip, to the best of his knowledge. He engaged a mechanic who specialised in marine motors to service the big Volvo diesel. In addition he replaced the fresh water in the tanks and built up his stock of provisions. Yesterday morning he set up the sails for the first time in months. Handling the big mainsail taxed every muscle in his rather unfit body and he made progress slowly, especially since he had forgotten what goes where. Obviously the mind was not in good shape either. But it was beginning to come back and in the end he managed. All of this he had achieved without the assistance of a crew – until now.

  An hour ago he wondered for the first time what it would be like to do the trip alone. Fine, he would not sleep a lot and he would lose some potential business but if it was too much he could still deviate to one of the other islands nearby and look for crew. He nevertheless thought that he could do it. He managed for a whole night on his own, didn’t he? Surely he could do six or seven more.

  The reason he was hoisting himself up and down the mizzen and now the main mast had partly to do with sheer frustration and partly with the customs guy’s warnings. It made him ask himself if there was anything that he might have missed. He decided to climb up in the rigging since that was the only thing he could think of that he had not done. He was sure that there was nothing seriously amiss. With complete diligence, however, he looked for loose shackle pins, chafe on the halyards and loose strands of wire on the stays. As he progressed, he sprayed blocks and channels from a can of Q20.

  He had just about finished the job when he saw her coming – his entire new crew complement. The reason he stayed hanging on the mast was that something was not right. The first thing he noticed was the luggage. The girl was pulling a truly massive piece that dwarfed her. He remembered that she was small but she seemed even tinier now. An Asian-looking man with a moon face that glistened with perspiration pulled two equally large pieces on their wheels behind him as he dogged her footsteps down the pier. He guessed that the Asian was a taxi driver.

  She did not notice her new skipper but carefully checked yacht after yacht and referred to a piece of paper in her free hand as she progressed. It looked suspiciously like the napkin on which he wrote the name of his yacht for her, together with the time, which was now long gone. Finally, she stopped and after conferring with the napkin again, came on board.

  “Hello!” she called.

  It was the driver who responded. “Ma’am,” he said, and pointed upwards. Only then did she see him.

  “Welcome on board,” he said. “You will find three empty cabins below on the left. Choose anyone. And please no heels.”

  To his complete amazement his new crew and the driver went back up the pier and hauled another two pieces onto his boat. One was as big as the rest and only the last one was smaller. The French- speaking immigrations and customs guy appeared as if from nowhere and walked her down the quay. He wondered why the customs guy did not check inside those suitcases. Most probably she knew just how to lay on the charms.

  So she meant what she had said to him two nights ago. They met in the Casino Royale and over a few drinks discussed their problems. He confessed that he had a hard time finding a crew and she confessed that she had bought so much in the duty free shops of St Martin that she could not possibly transport everything by plane – to Bermuda. Yes, she actually lived on Bermuda. After the fourth or fifth round they realised that they were made for each other. He wanted to sail to Bermuda and she was the perfect crew. She was a galley expert since she worked as a chef on a local yacht for six months. The rest he could easily teach her. Now he was not so sure. A woman who tried to get onto his boat in high heels! Unbelievable. It was a story for the boys for sure. Nobody could beat the combination of a girl getting onto his expensive ocean cruiser in high heels and then the five massive suitcases to boot. He wondered what else he would be able to regale at the conclusion of this trip.

  He realised that he had never really asked the right questions. For instance, he could not remember her name. Not that it mattered before. He could not remember the names of many of the women that he had met over the last five months. He had met a few in the night clubs and a lot more in the casinos. They literally flocked to him the moment they noticed him winning. He was sure he would not have been able to get away from them if he tried. Not that he tried. It also happened that he always won and he sometimes won big. He was in demand.

  He spent a full two hours cleaning up the signs of his party life – bottles, cans, ash trays and even diverse clothing items. He had done so dutifully and uncomplainingly, knowing that he was the one responsible. As far as he knew he was the only one who brought girls to the yacht. His old crew either deferred to him in this regard or the
y did not have the kind of money required to attract the beauties that roamed the upmarket establishments of the island with predatory intent. All they could afford were the beers and meat for the barbeques that was a weekly thing on the lagoon where they sheltered with a lot of other yachts for the duration of the hurricane season. A surprising number of yachts were South African, whose crews chatted about rugby and mostly about cricket, since some of the lads were lifting their bats with the locals.

  And there, in the Simpson’s Bay lagoon, his entire crew complement deserted him. He hoped that the new girl would not ask for the reasons why.

  As they had done with the first three pieces, the unlikely pair blew hard and fast as they struggled to get each item across the narrow gangplank. His new crew gave him a look of reproach but he stayed on his high perch until they had it all below. The suitcases intrigued him. It did not matter that the customs guy did not bother to open them up.

  “I don’t know what you have in those suitcases,” he said, once he had rappelled down to the deck, “but I cannot have anything that will get us into trouble with customs in Bermuda.”

  “It’s no problem,” she said. “It’s just clothes.”

  “Just clothes?”

  “And shoes.”

  “And?”

  “And cosmetics.”

  He left it there and called the taxi driver, who must have been driving one of those minibus taxis they have on the island. There is no way they could have gotten all that stuff into a normal sedan.

  “Could you give us a hand and cast off those ropes please,” he asked. The taxi driver fumbled with the mooring lines like a true landlubber but he nevertheless gave it his full cooperation. He figured that she had probably given him a good tip.

  The Volvo could be relied on as well and started instantly. They exited the berth and headed out of Marigot harbour. Goodbye St Martin. Next stop Bermuda

  ***

  He motored until they were well clear of the harbour area. There he pushed back the throttle, aimed the bow just off the wind and called down the companionway.

  “Helo- o! Crew member!” he crooned as sweetly as he could.

  “I’m unpacking,” his crew answered from the inside.

  “There’s work to be done. All hands on deck!”

  She came through the companionway with a frown on her face. “Why does it stink so much inside here?”

  “I don’t smell much wrong,” he said, “but six guys have used this boat for several months. I thought I’ve cleaned up most of it up though.”

  “It’s horrible.”

  “You’ll get used to it. Right now we need to start sailing this boat.”

  “Is that why you stopped the engine?”

  “I throttled back, yes, and I am going to switch it off just now.”

  “Can’t you just use the engine all the way?” (Was she serious? If she was then this was another one for the tale.)

  “No, we don’t have enough fuel. Also, it is actually a sailing boat, so we will be sailing.”

  “I suppose so,” she said, looking up at the rigging as if she saw it for the first time. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Well, always safety first. Take this harness and put it on you. Do you see this clip? You always clip yourself to the boat whenever you are on deck. That is what these safety lines on the sides are for. It does not matter if the weather looks fine or if the sea looks calm to you. They rule is ‘one hand for the boat and one hand for you’ at all times.”

  “Is it really necessary? I’ve not seen people do this before.”

  “It is necessary. This is the Atlantic. I’ve sailed across it and I know. There is always a surprise. Besides, we are two-handed on this trip. It’s a general rule that two-handed crews do it like this. It will be very embarrassing if I get to Bermuda by myself and I have to explain why I, as a man alone, have five large suitcases of female clothing on board.”

  She was partially right, of course. If he was sailing with one of his previous crew he probably would not have bothered, except in case of really foul weather. He was now so unimpressed by the woman’s sea readiness, however, that he was not going to take any chances.

  “Second thing. Always watch out for the boom, this one and that one. I’ve seen people get knocked out because they were not aware that the boom was swinging. Now, let’s get started. First, let’s set the mainsail, which is the big job. I want you to grab that halyard over there and haul down on it. Yes, that rope over there, and ah, yes, you actually have to jump up a little bit and pull it down with your whole weight.”

  Despite his growing doubts it was amazing how much an extra pair of hands could achieve even if he had to direct them. He noticed that his crew had exchanged the miniskirt for a T-shirt and shorts and that she was now wearing sensible canvas shoes. So the message got through.

  “Watch out for the boom!” he repeated as the main sail swung around to port, barely missing her head.

  There was a steady breeze from the south-east. The trade winds. He set the boat for a course north-north-east, sailing on a broad reach, which allowed for maximum propulsion. It reminded him of their ride out of the South Atlantic, which was smooth all the way. Conditions could not be better for the perfect start to the journey, he thought, as they started cutting through sluggish east-west swells. He wanted to go below to have another look at the charts when he saw that there was trouble. His co-traveller was retching over the side.

  “I thought you’ve been on a yacht before,” he chided. He knew that he had caught her out already on her so-called yachting experience. This was driving in the nail.

  “Not like this. It didn’t move like this.”

  “How did it move then?”

  “It was all smooth.”

  “How big was this yacht?”

  “Much bigger than this one.”

  “And it had no sails,” he guessed.

  “No, I never saw any sails.”

  “OK, so it was a mega yacht, staying mostly in the lee of the islands and a lot of time at anchor, from what I’ve seen. How many people were you in the galley?”

  “Six.”

  “Six, huh? It was a small cruise liner by the sound of it. It takes a hurricane to make a boat like that move with the sea. This is different.”

  “Tell me about it,” she said. “When you said you owned a yacht, I did not realise that it was, well, tiny.”

  “Let me just say something for your information. For its kind, this is actually quite a big yacht. Didn’t you see how it compared with the others in the harbour?”

  “Not really. I only looked for the names. My God, it feels awful. Can’t you stop it from moving?”

  “This is the open ocean. It moves out here. Always, the way it is supposed to. Have you brought your seasick pills or patches?”

  “I forgot to bring some. I’ve never needed it before.”

  “That is something you won’t do again,” he said. “Let me see if we still have any below.”

  He rummaged in the yacht’s medicine cabinet and found some Dramamine tablets, remembering that the last time it was in demand was shortly after their departure from Cape Town. Then he opened the cabin door where he thought she had quartered in. In fact, he found her things in three cabins. The first one she seemed to have designated as storage for the large suitcases, the second appeared to be a walk-in wardrobe with clothes draped all over and the third appeared to be her sleeping cabin because that was where her personal things were. In effect the two of them occupied every single living space inside the yacht. On the smallest suitcase he found a name. Madeleine. He nodded. Yes, that could be it. On the other hand, perhaps it was a borrowed suitcase? Anyway - it was worth a try.

  When he came on deck the girl was still hanging over the side.

  “You must look up, Madeleine,” he said. “Keep your eyes on the horizon.”

  She did not protest to the name, but showed no sign that she had heard him either. He went back into the galley,
poured water into a porcelain mug and put it and the pills next to the prostate figure. Then he continued to enjoy the sensation of his pride and joy slicing through roller after roller with the occasional spray coming on deck as she hit small whitecaps. With all sails billowing, including the spinnaker, which was puffing up spectacularly, they were touching nine knots. It was in his view just the right speed for the perfect sailing conditions and actually very good considering the boat was due for anti-fouling. He had forgotten what it was like. It was a true pleasure being out on the open ocean again.

  After a while Madeleine found enough strength to swallow the pills. She leaned back and turned a colourless face toward him. He wondered where she was going to ask him to drop her off.

  “I don’t feel any better,” she said.

  “It takes a while,” he said. “Give it a chance. You will know it is working when you start feeling drowsy.”

  “I still feel like throwing up.”

  “Then go there to the middle of the boat. That is where it moves the least. No, to the left. It’s better to be on the lee side so you have less to clean up afterwards. As I said, try to sit up and look far away, to a point on the horizon. Yes, clip yourself onto the jack-line there. No, don’t be scared - the boat won’t tip over. Ah, something else.” He ducked down through the companionway and returned a minute later. “We’ve used these wristbands before. They have a magnetic charge and they’ve really helped us.” He strapped the wristband on to the arm that she presented and felt he had done what he could. Personally he believed the wristband was nothing but a placebo but some of his previous crew had a firm belief in it.

  When midday arrived he realised that he was hungry. “Would you like something to eat?” he asked.

  He got a shake of the head as an answer. He stepped down into the galley and made himself two ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches. On this trip they were going to have fresh food all the way. He filled a mug from the boat’s coffeemaker and grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge.

  “I brought you a Coke,” he said to Madeleine, once he emerged. “It is said to help as well.” He scrambled over the slanting deck to get it to her and then tucked into his sandwich. The afternoon dragged on and he relaxed. Sailing is sometimes all about relaxing. You needed to do it well when the opportunity presented itself. There were still no ships anywhere close, apart from a set of sails to port that passed them in the opposite direction. No need here to take evasive action. He felt tired. All the effort of the day before, being up in the early hours and the climbing he had done earlier had exhausted him. With the autopilot taking care of the steering duties, he nodded off.