by Margot Bish
“We’ve stopped”, he shouted over the noise of flapping canvas. Maureen’s look said it all as she pointed to the rope. Ross sheepishly snatched the end and pulled until the sail tugged back and they were off. Ross was getting the hang of it again now. The yellow buoy was whizzing towards them as he went through the tacking routine in his mind, and then, here they were. “Swap hands”, he muttered, doing so. “Push tiller”, again he followed out his own instructions, and the boat obediently swung into the wind, the sail swung towards their heads as the wind puffed at the other side of the boat and sail, and they ducked. Maureen was already scrambling across to the other side of the boat. ”Change sides”. Somehow the end of the rope had looped itself around Ross’s foot and the tiller was trying to climb into his buoyancy aid. Wriggling across, he felt Maureen untangling the rope and concentrated on getting the tiller free as the sail snapped into its graceful curve and the boat leapt forward. Without need of Maureen’s reminder, he eased the rope, (Sheet, he remembered to call it), and then they powered back towards the shore like Olympic sailors. Maureen had had the chance to learn from Ross’s mistakes and sailed Olympic Gold all the way to the yellow buoy and back, only forgetting how to stop as they rode a ripple to the beach at full speed ahead. Luckily, Patrick and Susan had already landed and Patrick saved them from sailing right up the beach, pulling the bow round to face into the wind. Jack and Dean were close behind, and Jerry came in behind them. The wind seemed to be dying away. The sails which had been competing for percussionist of the year, and dancing madly to their own beat were now almost still, with only the odd slap from side to side as if worn out by their previous struggle.
“Well done everybody”, Jerry said. “We’ll have a bit of a breather now. Let’s watch the canoes while we have a drink and a nosh, and then we’ll go on an exploration to that island out there while the wind’s still light.”
He was digging into a giant sized kit bag and producing bread rolls filled with cheese, fizzy drinks, crisps, biscuits and chocolate muffins. The sailors found a comfortable place to sit, backs against the changing room wall, and watched the canoeists, paddles dancing in a mixture of glistening water and sparkling sunlight. They were too far away to pick out faces, but Jack nodded at one and said, “I bet that’s Arthur in the red one. You could set a pendulum to that rhythm”.
“Yeah, and that wriggly one, second from the back’ll be David”, Ross agreed. “Still, he’ll be good at the slalom when they get to it,” he joked.
It didn’t take long to demolish the supplies. As the last drips of drink were thirstily lapped up, Jerry explained the plan of campaign.
“I’ll lead the way in the motor boat, and I want you to act follow my leader behind me, Dean right behind me, then Jack following Dean, then Susan, then Maureen, then Ross, and Patrick on the back to act as sweeper, and maybe give a little advice if anyone falls behind, and you can see what they are not doing right.. The tides going out, but only for another hour, so there’s not much push behind it, and as you worked out, the wind’s north easterly so we’ll be sailing with the wind almost behind us on the way out and you can practise your tacking on the way back. Remember, especially on the way out. Ease your sails until they flap and then pull them in until they just stop. On the way out the sails will be VERY eased”.
He drew a picture in the sand, showing what he meant. “If the boat tips away from you, you haven’t eased enough. Got it?”
He was met by eager nods all round. A real desert island to visit on their first sailing lesson. They couldn’t wait to get started. Even Patrick was looking forward to his role as back up instructor. Jerry and Patrick quickly rigged the so far unused boats which had been sitting forlornly on the beach and they were off. With the wind having a rest after its earlier angry huffing, they had time to get used to being on their own. The boat seemed a whole lot bigger and it was strange not having the other person offering advice, whether useful or not. Ross, despite concentrating as hard as he could was finding the gap opening between him and Maureen, and Patrick kept appearing almost alongside and then sailing off in a tight circle to get back behind him. He gave the sail an encouraging tug, and felt it tug back, which felt good although, if anything, Maureen left him even further behind. Ross tugged again, a little frustrated now and could have cursed Patrick who appeared alongside yet again.
A REAL DESERT ISLAND
“You’ll go faster if you let the sail out more”, he said. “Hurry up. We’re getting left behind”.
Ross stuck his tongue out, to hide his embarrassment, but did as was suggested, remembering Jerry’s words about letting the sail out until it flapped. It was a lot of ease. It took ages, even eons, before the sail even thought about flapping, but all the time Ross eased the sheet, the boat hopped over the tiny ripples a little faster, and as Dean still wasn’t managing a straight line, and the others all had to follow him, while Ross could sail straight towards Maureen, they gradually closed the gap. Now they were out of the bay, Ross felt the surge of the waves lifting the boats like seven bobbing corks. These were only tiny waves but Susan couldn’t help squeaking as the odd larger wave slopped against the side, roller coastered the boats and travelled on its way. Jack had worked out now, that if he copied Dean exactly even when he was doing it wrong, the distance would stay the same, and was concentrating on a private game of “Simon Says”. He’d hardly noticed how far they had gone. He was enjoying the rhythm of the waves. Up, whoosh, down, pause, up, whoosh, down pause….just for a moment he took his eyes off Dean and glanced around. They had actually passed the nearest corner of the island. He could see a cormorant in his black suit of feathers standing sentry duty on the rocks which marked the shoreline with a gentle surf. Looking forwards again, he found that Dean had changed course, following Jerry into the cove at the south east end of the island where a golden sandy beach welcomed them and offered a soft landing. Susan gazed around in awe. The bay seemed miles wide from her tiny pea sized boat. On one side the sea stretched away for ever, all the way to America. Behind her, and on two sides the mountains stretched up, massive, shadowing, almost black and threatening as the sun hid for a moment behind a ridge of cloud. For a second, she imagined she was alone in the bay in a storm and shuddered at the thought, and then Dean was calling from the island headland and she concentrated on following Jack, and Maureen who had overtaken her in the excitement of getting ashore. The sandy cove was wrapping itself around them, and then she had arrived, remembering to turn into the wind and let the sail go as she scrunched onto the sand, next to Jack. Looking round, she copied him, pulling the boat clear of the water, and undoing the sail so that she could wrap it neatly around the mast. Patrick and Ross were now doing the same.
“Five minutes to explore, and then we’re heading back“, Jerry called. “I couldn’t see it from our bay, but I reckon there’s a front coming our way with some rather strong winds attached. See that big puffy cloud up there? I want to get back before it arrives”.
Much of Jerry’s first sentence could have been in Chinese to the explorers, but they could see the cloud heading in their direction and with only five minutes to explore, they didn’t waste time finding out what he meant. They scattered, some to meet Dean on the headland, others to investigate the rock pools adjoining the beach.
“Come and see the jellyfish,” Dean yelled.
Jack and Ross scrambled across the rocks and came to a halt by Dean’s rock pool.
“Wow!” Ross gasped, “Look at the size of it”.
“Maybe it’s a man of war”, Jack said. “Those stingers could kill you”.
Dean poked it gently with a piece of driftwood, but as nothing happened, they moved on. They had just scrambled to the very highest point of the island’s only hill when there was an anguished yell from somewhere below. They just had time to notice the angry black clouds clambering over the mountains and feel a flurry of wind and a whistle was blowing, calling them back.
CHAPTER 7
“Crikey, t
hat was a short five minutes”, Jack said. “We only just got to the top in time”.
They slid, slipped, stumbled and skidded back to the beach, to find Maureen cradling her arm while Jerry bandaged it, and then eased it into a sling. Her face was a bit tear stained, but her challenging stare dared anyone to notice.
“Brave girl”, Jerry said admiringly. “Well, you can’t sail back one handed. Even I couldn’t do that in these boats, so we’ll tow your boat back and you can come in the motor boat with me.”
Patrick was already taking the mast out of Maureen’s boat, with the sail neatly wrapped, and having stowed that in the motor boat was carefully tying the boom, rudder and dagger board so they couldn’t escape.
“OK. Everyone else, let’s get rigged and set you off. Patrick, can you keep Maureen’s boat clear of the bay entrance rocks as I tow out and then catch the others up? Then they can follow you home.”
“Aye aye sir”, Patrick said with a grin, enjoying the responsibility and acceptance of his ability.
“Good. Jack, you can lead the way until Patrick passes you. Dean, copy Jack EXACTLY. Susan next, and Ross bring up the rear. There’s only half an hour of outgoing tide to go, now, but remember to go a long way passed the rocks before you turn at the corner of the island just in case the wind changes or you drift sideways. Head for the valley over there, and you’ll need your sails tighter. Don’t try tacking until I’ve caught you up, and then tack where I tell you”.
Even Dean had lost his bounce, seeing the worry which Jerry was trying not to show, mostly about Maureen’s arm. Maureen was paler than vanilla milkshake, and the waves looked bumpier than before. Dean remembered when he had broken his wrist, playing football and how it had hurt just to stand up. Bumping over those waves was really going to hurt. Secretly, he was glad it wasn’t him. He’d nearly fainted last time and that was just in a car. Soberly, he followed the others back to their boats, and they hauled them back into the sea.
“Be careful”, Jerry called after them, as they launched. “One injury a day is my absolute limit”.
With Jack leading, as planned, they cleared the headland with ease, and sailed a bit further before turning to head for the valley. Jack was full of pride, leading the small group of boats, and despite the odd buffeting wave, they felt more confident as they altered course towards the valley. The sails had to be really tight now to avoid flapping and this was making it harder to control their speed. Jack was still at the front, but as Dean struggled, the line became a clump as both Ross and Susan accidentally overtook Dean, one on each side. It didn’t seem to matter. With no adult present, they were having a real adventure.
“Come on Dean. Keep up”, Ross called, and laughed as a wave bumped against the bow and soaked him with spray. A bit cold, but the warm sun would dry him off in no time. He shared a wide grin with Jack. This was real sailing. Then, quite suddenly, the sun disappeared, as if never to return, behind a mass of black clouds boiling overhead, and the adventure turned scary. A squall swooped down the valley, as if alive, picked the adventurers out, and flew at them. Ahead, they saw the water turn dark and the waves rise up as if to meet the darkening sky, spitting white water. Salt and spray drove into their faces so that they blindly ducked to avoid the angry sting. The wind snatched at Jack and filled his sail so that he spurted away into the darkness of the angry beast, fighting for control. Dean was blown over, screaming his fear as he fell helplessly into the treacherous sea. Ross glanced towards Susan, the only one left in his sight, and just had time to see her ducking low, hands over her head, and boom and sail flailing madly above her, like a trapped alligator trying to break free, and then the wind grabbed him too. The boom swung towards him, hard and fast, hitting his head so that he wasn’t sure if the flash of brightness was lightning or concussion. The boom swung again, violently, as if trying to break free of the ferocious wind. The rope caught on Ross’s foot and the sail filled above his head, unbalancing Ross as the boat tried to tip him into the grasping waves. Diving across the boat to avoid the capsize, the rope tightened and tried to drag him backwards into the greedy sea. Kicking out savagely, he hung as if seasick over the high side, hands gripping tightly to the bucking bronco beneath, while the boat, completely out of control, chose its own course. Then the rain came down. It was even more blinding than the salt spray. Breathless and spluttering, Ross at last managed to get his foot free, but squinting through rain pounded eyes, he could see no one and nothing but the rising waves. Soaked now, through to the skin he remembered Jerry’s words. “The tide’s going out…” Supposing he was already being washed out to sea. Nothing between him and America. Fighting the smothering panic, he grabbed the tiller. Gritting his teeth, he tried to get a grip on the whirling thoughts. The wind had come down the valley. To sail towards land, he didn’t need to see it, he could sail straight into the wind and he would be going towards the valley. The sheet flicked close to his face and away again, as if taunting him. He grabbed at it, but missed. He could see the knot holding the end fast at the back of the boat. Could he reach it without capsizing? Taking a breath he snatched at it and leapt back towards the side as the boat began to tip. Successful. Hauling it in, hand over hand, it fought back, tangling around his feet, the tiller and anything else it could get hold of. Gasping between spurts of rain and seawater, squinting through stinging eyes, he finally had the rope tight, but the sail was still flapping and even in his semi blindness, he could feel the boat sliding backwards, and water spurted at him as it slid over the back of the boat. Now what was happening? His fist hit the deck angrily.
THE STORM HIT
“Go forwards,” he yelled. “You’re going out to sea!”, and then he remembered the no go zone. Jerry’s voice in his head said, “Keep out of the no go zone. You can’t sail a boat straight into the wind. Boats stop and go backwards in it.”
“I’m trying to do the impossible,” Ross told himself, “I’m in the no go zone”. Furious with himself, the wind and the lashing rain, he tugged the tiller backwards and forwards, and in self defence held the boom as it lunged at his head. As if finally understanding what Ross wanted, the boat obeyed, swung round and as the sail filled and curved, the boat began to move forwards. Not sure where he was headed, but glad to be moving, Ross held the tiller in the middle of the boat and played the sail for his life, burning his fingers with the rope as he eased it to stop a capsize, pulling it back as hard as he could to stop the angry flapping of the sail and keep the boat moving forwards. In and out until he thought his arm would come off at the shoulder, until the blisters rose and burst, leaving his hands red raw. How long could it go on? How long could he go on? Something blurred into view on his left hand side, and as he wondered what it was, there was a loud grating thump and he was thrown forwards against the mast, his legs dangling over the side. The boat rose and moved forward hesitantly, and fell with a crack. Ross knew now. He was in amongst the rocks next to the island and his boat was being smashed to bits beneath him. Through the surf, he could see nothing and dared not let go.
“Help”, he yelled, the terror sounding in his voice. As if in answer, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed and from the top of the wave, Ross glimpsed a sandy beach, not sunny and friendly, but cold and grey, shadowed. Without conscious thought, he grabbed the boat’s painter, and as the boat descended from the receding wave, he stretched his toes, feeling for the bottom and found it. The rushing wave crashed into the rocks and exploded into the air, leaving Ross waist deep and towing his wounded boat. He staggered ashore. Dazed, trembling, he fell to his knees and for a few moments thought only of himself, his aloneness and exhaustion and his thankfulness to be on solid land. Still on his knees he rested his forehead on the sand, as if in prayer. Then, half in hope, he thought of the others. The rain was easing now, and the wind seemed to be pausing, waiting for the storm to come round again. Thinking of the others brought Ross to his feet in a rush. Remembering Maureen’s pain, he climbed carefully amongst the growing rock pools. He alread
y felt bruised after hitting the rocks and he did not want a broken arm to add to his troubles.
“Jack! Dean! Anybody? Answer me”. He started to clamber uphill to get a better view and as he cleared the headland, someone answered.
CHAPTER 8
“Over here”.
Ross looked around but he couldn’t see anyone.
“Where?” he called scrambling in the general direction.
“Down here”, the voice came again.
To Ross’s amazement, it was Arthur who emerged out of the rain.
“I’ve got Dean down here…..I think I’ve stopped the bleeding, but I’ve run out of bandages”.
Ross gazed at Arthur’s shirtless appearance and didn’t need to ask where the bandages had come from.
“We should be keeping him warm and dry”, Arthur continued calmly, “but I’ve only got my canoe, which isn’t much shelter really”.
Ross dragged his eyes from Arthur, and down to the unmoving Dean.
“My sail”, he said and turned to fetch it.
“Bring any rope, too”, Arthur called.
To his amazement, as he slipped down the rocks to the bay, Susan was wading ashore, bedraggled and soaked to the skin, but no longer looking pale and frightened. The worst had happened and she now only had to cope with it. For Susan this was easier than the imaginings beforehand. Having got over his surprise, Ross was explaining about Dean while he tried to make his icy fingers undo the shackles which held the sail to the mast, and the sheet to the boat. Susan’s reaction amazed Ross even more than seeing her wading ashore. Turning to her boat, she said, “I’ll get my sail, too. It’s probably easier to take the whole mast, isn’t it? And if we take the booms, too we might be able to make a tent. I think it’s easier to undo the knot in the rope than the shackle, too”. Between them, they rolled the sails, and putting booms and masts over their shoulders, Ross led the way back to Dean.