We had awoken to a beautiful warm morning; the sun was shining brightly and there was a steady offshore breeze. With the forecast looking great and already underway, we were beyond excited. It had been some time since our last voyage with work being what it was, and we were ready for this time away, on the water.
The meteorologists were predicting excellent sailing weather for the next fourteen days, and my husband had proven to be a worthy captain, yet we also were watching what meteorologists thought could be possibly the makings of a small localized storm another day to the east of our intended course. Even though it wasn’t even close to where we were planning to be, and we should be home long before it even became a potential problem for us.
We had prepared, we’d studied our course, planned our dumping spots just in case of some unforeseen emergency, and were well aware of both the Labrador Currents and the Gulf Stream along with Diamond Shoals. We had even had our vessel recently re-certified, just to be on the safe side.
As we began preparing for this cruise, we made a list of everything that we had thought that we would need or could inadvertently use, and either purchased it or gathered it all up, before loading everything and more into our vessel last week, just to be sure there were no hic-ups.
Leaving yesterday having gotten an early start, we had hoped to get some beautiful sunrise pictures, along with some of our magnificent sunsets, before getting too far out just to keep some perspective in our images; as my husband often used our images for the punch they produced in his short stories, which he enjoyed writing and sharing with those on social media sites like The Writers Café and Dirt Road Storytellers, which was fine with me, as I loved sitting at the rail with my legs hanging over the side just shooting and editing.
The days were going smoothly and as I continued to hang near the rail with my camera ready to capture that one special image, I couldn’t help but listen to the sound of the water as our keel cut through it like a hot knife slicing through butter, not a sizzling sound but a swishing one. And now and again I would get caught leaning way out beyond the rail with my feet anchored to the cleat on the deck under an azure blue sky, just to snap a couple of fun pictures.
At other times I’d sit there next to the rail just looking out across the calm seas daydreaming, before catching the view of a gull pass by now and again, watching them as they rode the warm air currents, before just holding their place in the sky for a while, as if in a painting or on an invisible tether, rather than in reality. Their gleeful soft ha, ha, ha mixed with a longer Keow, Keow, thrown in from time to time. I think they were just trying to confuse me while reminding me they were real.
While continuing to enjoy the beauty of the moment and the weather, I recalled talking with someone a few days before our leaving and how they had mentioned when I spoke of the peacefulness of being at sea they had said the silence would be too much for them. Not understanding that there were plenty of sounds to listen for, some just for safety’s sake, like the sound of the rigging, was it a jingle or a solid sound? An audio testament to the tautness of our sails, or a slapping sound as a halyard slapping the mast. While others were just the squeaks and groans of an old boat or the sucking sound of the bilge or water pump, which I often found amusing, as I tried to time my breathing with them before tiring or losing concentration.
As we sailed along, I slipped down to the galley and grabbed a bottle of Zinfandel and some crackers and cheese for an afternoon moment as we liked to call them, a time when we just sat quietly with each other, feeling the vibes of each other, as my husband called it, letting our hearts and minds take care of the conversation as we became lost in the simple presence of each other. We began doing this years ago while dating and had found it beneficial to continue in our marriage. Sometimes we’d even hold our hands open merely inches off the other’s skin or use our fingers softly to touch the other’s flesh while outlining it. It was very eye-opening and to say that if it were a game; it was one I often lose would be a lie.
As we finished our drink and snack we just sat there next to each other at the helm, silent as we contemplated on each other and the close of another day, while watching the sunset off to our east, its colors filling the horizon as far as we could see with the most magnificent of color.
Then without warning a rogue wave from out of nowhere struck us, disrupting our thoughts and tossing the remaining wine and snacks over the rail as we scurried about trying to understand what had just happened, before being slammed again, over and over as the sky once beautiful now turned ugly swiftly.
What was it, were the meteorologists wrong, had our instrumentation been wrong? My husband didn’t have the answers and there wasn’t time to figure it out now; we were in the middle of a powerful storm, and we had to act fast and try to gain some control of our vessel which was reeling with each hit and toss of the sea. It was as if the storm had just mysteriously emerged on us from heights unknown or had come up from depths yet unknown, but it was here and it was real, and we were in trouble.
We dropped our rigging immediately upon seeing there was no way or place we could go for safety. And as my husband tied off the helm, I began battening down all our hatches and securing things below deck, where our plans were for me to meet him as soon as he had finished with the rigging and helm, and we’d make our location and May Day call known.
That was just before hearing what, even to this day, I don’t believe I heard. I was waiting for him to finish his way down the stairs leading into the cabin area when the wind let out a blood-curdling sound, one that sounded as if something extremely huge were just being awakened from a very long nap, while not wanting to be. That was just before our mast snapped, and my husband appeared to be thrown down the steps into the cabin. I felt my blood run cold with fear as the image of an angry Poseidon, overshadowing the entryway of the cabin, became permanently implanted in my mind.
Weeks later, when I awoke in a Florida hospital, my husband was standing at my bedside with tears streaming down his cheeks, and as I raised a finger to wipe them away, he took my hand and gently pulled it to his chest, holding it tight as he whispered: “I love you”. And when I asked what had happened, he simply said, “Later, rest now and welcome back babe”.
Image courtesy of U.S. National Park Service
