“We have a problem,” he told Madeleine.
“Which one?” she asked.
“Better not pack away the hand pump. The engine is not going to run again on this trip and my backup plans to charge the batteries are not working.”
He made a last round on deck, secured the lines that were loose and checked that all else was secure. Then he took a trysail from its locker and put it up, in order to assist the mizzen, which was still up.
His checks being completed, he made a careful approach to the SSB set and called the router, who responded immediately.
“I was not too surprised when you guys did not keep your ‘sched’,” said Hank. “You must have your hands full.”
“You can say that again,” said Grant. “We had a knock-down. The rudder failed.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Nope. The rudder stock has broken. It’s not something we can fix.”
“So are you abandoning ship?”
“No, not at all. We have an auxiliary rudder. I just need some fair weather to attach it.”
“All right, but damage like still constitutes a major emergency that has led to evacuations in the past. I will give your position to the coast guard just in case. Can you give it to me now? Also, could you describe conditions?”
Grant gave their position and then the bit of news that he knew would make Hank sit up. “Our air pressure is eight hundred and ninety five millibars,” he said.
“Good gracious. It’s only the second sub-nine hundred for the season. You must be inside the eye. What is it like?”
“We have sunshine but a bank of cloud approaching. The wind is not really noticeable but wave action is severe. We have the parachute anchor out and we are getting battered by waves of thirty to forty-five feet.”
“What was it like when you came through the wall?”
“The Garmin recorded a top speed of two hundred and sixty four kilometres per hour.”
“That figures. The category four status is official, by the way. How is your boat holding up otherwise?”
“We have further problems. From the knock-down we now have seawater in the diesel tanks, so I can’t use the engine. This baby needs a lot of power to operate everything, which means we have to give up on all our luxuries.”
“I wish you luck. During the next two to three hours the sidewall on the other side of the eye should reach you. Expect the usual hurricane-strength winds from the west and confused seas.”
“We are ready for it. The right shoulder is behind us, so surely we will be able to handle it better.”
Before the day was over Grant realised that he had spoken too soon.
Two hours after his last communication with the outside world the rays of the setting sun were replaced by darkness and chaos. Captain and crew stood together in the doghouse and watched the rim come closer. It was light grey at the top and black at the bottom where it reached right down to the level of the sea.
“It’s not something you will see again, not at sea.” said Grant.
“It’s not really something you want to see,” said Madeleine.
Then they were in it. The chorus in the rigging started up immediately as if there was never any pause, climbing up and down the register as it had done before. Rain continued to pummel them. The wind, Grant noticed, was not from the west as predicted but from the south-west. The wind immediately pushed on the try-sail and swung the boat beam-on in the face of an on-rushing wave. They heeled over through sixty degrees. Again there was the sound of things falling. It was a harbinger of what was to come. Sea and wind were out of sync. It was a dangerous confusion.
“I think I should take that try-sail off again,” said Grant.
“If we have more sail up in the back, won’t it help to push the bow into the waves?” asked Madeleine.
“But where do the waves come from?” asked Grant. “They seem to come from all directions. This is where we need our rudder so we could respond to these seas.”
“In which direction would we go?”
“Running off like we had done before.”
“And plan B?”
“We get tossed about at the end of the parachute and just hope that we don’t get a big one running at cross angles with the one that went before.”
He donned his oilskins and boots and did not forget the diving mask. Darkness had set in completely but he could still see. Apart from the faint light shining through the skylights, phosphorescence was boiling brightly around the boat and clinging to the rigging as well. Contrary to his expectation the wind did not physically feel less violent. It pushed the oilskins close his skin and tried to wrench him off the deck as before. Carefully he brought the trysail down. Then he made his way back into the cockpit in order to let the mizzen sail down as well. The yacht rolled badly in the confused seas and both ends disappeared into the water at varying times. The cockpit shipped a lot of it and he stood up to his knees in water while he worked. With careful timing, however, he managed to enter the doghouse without bringing the sea with him. With all sails down they were now truly at mercy of the waves. And how were they made to know it.
It was a rough day and they were both feeling its effects. The knowledge that they were passively drifting meant that there was no adrenaline rush. Grant kept the music playing for the sake of the all-important morale but even that failed to lift their spirits. It was getting miserable inside the yacht. Garth had turned the lights down, there was water everywhere and the place was a soul-destroying mess.
“What do we do now?” asked Madeleine.
“We pump water,” said Grant. “We are getting some more in again. Now I realise that cutting these through-hull port lights so low was not a brilliant idea. The things just don’t stop leaking.”
“And the roof is leaking once more as well,” said Madeleine.
“Yes, that too. I had a choice between this mahogany coach roof and a solid one with only non-slip paint on top. The rain is actually removing the grouting between the slats. It’s never happened before. This boat is being tested for sure. We will pump the bilges empty and then I think we can retire to our bunks with a bit of rum to cheer us up – until we need to pump again.”
“So that is what rum is for. I always wondered why the old square rigged sailors drank so much. Each one consumed several litres of beer every day and then rum on top of it.”
“Now you know.”
“Now I know indeed.”
Grant was vaguely wondering whether he would be sleeping alone and he knew that Madeleine was probably aware of his thoughts. But it was not the right time. Apart from the fact that he did not want to make things difficult for himself on Bermuda by creating expectations, the conditions were just not right. The boat was shaking and jumping unexpectedly all the time and besides, there was something more important to focus on. The sea was trying to kill them.
They were scarcely into the bilge pump routine, with Grant working the lever and Madeleine manning the hoses when they heard a noise that sounded exactly like a freight train approaching in the dead of night, a time when all sounds are amplified by the quiet. This was not the middle of the night, however and it was not exactly quiet outside. Grant immediately realised that. The fact that they could hear it so loudly over the sound effects from below and above meant that something extraordinarily bad was coming their way. “Better hold on to something,” he said. He stuffed the pump in a corner and grabbed the leg of the chart table.
They could feel the flexible rode that connected the parachute to the chain on the boat stretch until it was taut and then hundreds of tons of pure energy fell on them in thunderous cacophony. The yacht shook as if she was falling apart. For a moment they had the sensation of being completely under water. They knew, because the ever-present wind noise disappeared and all the familiar little water spouts operated at full force. Then the whole vessel shuddered as it bore upwards, refusing to be buried. The final sensation was that of a cork popping up on the surface. The wat
er spouts stopped.
Captain and crew nodded to each other, both wide-eyed. They have survived a big one.
There was no time to reflect, since their attention was immediately directed to their feet which were awash with water. The sea was trying to get in and they had to get it out! Grant grabbed the pump and worked furiously while Madeleine played her part, relaying hoses both in and out.
Once more they worked until the water level was under the floor boards. Grant’s arms were hurting. He stretched them.
“Got to exercise more,” he said and then lifted his head to listen. Unbelievably, in the distance they heard the unmistakable rush once more, coming closer and closer. Madeleine crossed herself and threaded both arms through the steps leading to the companionway. Grant held on to the bilge pump as if it was a teddy bear while his free arm reached for the navigation table once more. Frantically he tried to recall tales that he had heard. Has anybody been able to survive a double onslaught of this nature? Then the massive wave hit them. The boat creaked, somewhere things snapped while the sea tried to bury them again with unbelievably brutal force.
Incredibly, once again they rose, the boat shaking herself like a dog. Once more they felt like a little piece of driftwood being tossed about on a raging river. Again, there was no time to think. All their good work was undone. This time the water was even more.
“I’m afraid that these might not just be isolated rogue waves,” said Grant ominously as he laboured away furiously with the pump handle. “It’s the contrary wind that’s causing this. It slows down the waves and so all that energy just piles up vertically until it rolls forward, breaking from its base, just like a wave does when it approaches a beach.”
“So they were rollers, proper breaking waves in the middle of the ocean?”
“That’s right.”
“Then this is not better than what we had before with the right shoulder,” said Madeleine. “I so hoped that the worse was behind us.”
“Things are once again not going to forecast,” said Grant. He got up to have a look at the barometer. “It’s rising,” he said, “but conditions are clearly not better. How does that happen? This is a strange ocean you got here.”
“Hopefully the rollers are over. We had the roller and its twin.”
“Let’s hope so, but as I said, there could be more until we have had a change in the wind. It’s of no use to wonder what will happen. Let’s get the sea out of here before it gets too much for us.”
Grant’s prediction proved to be correct. They were given just enough time to get the water to floor board level before the next big wave punished them with a blow from above so hard that it felt as if they were going straight to the bottom of the sea. Grant had a clear feeling that the boat was breaking up. Once again, however, the yacht had popped up on the surface.
He disappeared into his cabin and returned with a watertight zip lock folder.
“What’s that?” asked Madeleine.
“Ship’s papers,” said Grant.
“You are not inspiring confidence.”
“I don’t want to scare you,” Grant said, “but we have to be prepared to move very fast should the need arise. A wave like that can fill up the inside of a boat in seconds if it finds a way to break in.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Has it happened?”
“Oh yes. I know about a guy who was drowned in his boat by a freak wave because it came in by a single hatch that was open. If a hatch or a skylight gives in, we will have to very quickly decide whether it is worth bailing with the buckets or whether we grab the emergency beacon and go for the life raft.”
“I don’t want to be in a life raft in these seas.”
“Neither do I, but we have to be prepared. Why don’t you get some emergency supplies ready while I keep on pumping? We need a few bottles of water and some food, like cans of stuff and don’t forget a kitchen knife. The only other thing we’ll need is the box with the fishing tackle. I’ll grab that on the way out.”
“I don’t understand. I thought your boat was so strong,” called Madeleine as she packed items in plastic bags.
“I can promise you that eighty percent of all boats afloat would have gone to the bottom by now if they were subjected to the same treatment. There is only so much that any yacht can handle, however strong. Even this one. Who knows what comes next?”
As if in answer to his question they heard it rumble once more above the howls that kept it up in the rigging. Crossing herself was now part of Madeleine’s routine. She tied up her bags and each one retreated to his corner to wait what the next few minutes would bring. Thankfully nothing caved in, although they were subjected to the usual brutality. They silently nodded relief. Life all of a sudden appeared in an altogether different light. Every second of it was precious and had to be positively acknowledged.
“There is something I need to ask you,” said Madeleine, as they once more manned the bilge pump and the hoses.
“I’m not very religious,” said Grant. “I see you are …”
“Catholic. I would not talk about it if we were not in this situation. Even though we might be dead in the next few minutes, it is still hard for me to say this, but there is something that happened to me today while I was steering. I saw people.”
“You saw people?”
“Yes. I saw my parents like I see you and I talked to them and they talked to me.”
“Oh yes. What about?”
“Just personal things. How much they care for me and so on.”
“Ok, I suppose that is not too weird.”
“Wait for this, and I’ll hurry up before the next wave comes. I also saw my uncle. My dead uncle who disappeared around here in the Triangle. We are far inside the Triangle, are we not?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Well, my uncle also talked to me and told me how he missed seeing me and his family. He spoke about you also. He said he knew about you. This entire hurricane had only one purpose and that was to drive you into the Triangle. He said it was such a pity that I was with you because something very bad was going to happen with you here. My question is this. Do you know anything about this or was it all just a hallucination? Answer quickly because I can hear it coming.”
Grant answered as they took their positions. “There is something,” he said. “Something stupid. And it is not from me. It is from what I was told on St Martin.”
When they the survived the violence once more, Madeleine prodded him. “If I’m going to die with you, I want to know. I need to know. Do you understand that? What happened on St Martin?”
“All right. Do you know a chap called John Douglas?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“What about Terence and his mate Jimmy, waiters at the Bistrot Caraibes?”
“No, I’ve never met them.”
“Sure?”
“Sure. Why?”
“Because your story about your uncle and their stories kind of coincide. What about this woman on the Dutch side who pretends to be a voodoo priestess?”
“I imagine there are quite a few women like that, but I wouldn’t know them.”
“Are you really who you say you are?”
“I am. What is your problem?”
“I just find it so hard to believe,” said Grant. “I thought this was all a conspiracy to make me sell my boat. If it wasn’t that we are going to be hit by another monster wave right now, I would not have believed you, I promise you.”
The wave thundered over them, pushed the yacht sideways, then down but once more the unbelievable happened and they survived.
“I don’t know how much more she can take,” said Grant while setting up the pump once more.
“I’m not part of any conspiracy,” said Madeleine while following the ever changing water level with the receiving hose. “Clearly something else is going on. What did these people do?”
“These people are members of my old crew. They went to
this voodoo woman who told them that there is a curse on me. Anybody who comes with me into the Triangle will drown. She said I must sell my boat and go home.”
“And you ignored it?
“Of course I ignored it. What stupid nonsense is this? Why should I sell my boat?” he rasped, short of breath from the exertion.
“Obviously I wish that you had told me this when we met the first time.”
“Would you have come with me?”
“No.”
“Well, I don’t believe in these things. Why would I have bothered you with it?”
“Maybe there is something about the combination of you and your boat. What did this woman look like?”
“Just normal, actually.”
“I think she could have been a Vodun priestess.”
“What is that?”
“A person who communicates with a spirit or spirits.”
“Do you know about these things?”
“A little bit. Everybody on the islands knows a little bit about it. Did she say anything about this curse?”
“I asked her and she said it was the Curse of the Mountain.”
“The Curse of the Mountain? What is the name of the mountain where you have your farm?”
“It’s the Kamberg.”
“Which is also the name of this yacht?”
“Yes.”
“I think you had better tell me everything you know about this place.”
“What is there to tell? It is a mountain.”
“It must have a history. What have you heard?”
“Nothing. Except what my friend’s mother told me.”
“What was that?”
“Her father was born on that farm. She told us stories that he told them as kids. Just little stories of magic and things, children’s stories.”
“Such as?”
“Well, there is the story of this old man who came every year to look after the flock of sheep on the mountain.”
“What was his name?”
“No, that I can’t remember.”
“What about him?”
“My friend…”
“Whose name is?”
The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure Page 24