Nanaimo Storm - Part Two
Continued from Bob's Journal
This wasn’t fun in the first place and it is getting worse. I jump, grab the handrail on the dodger to stay upright, swing below for the engine key, back into the cockpit, discipline myself to a full count of 30 for a cold engine start, and it does – thank you Chiron. No time for a gentle run-up. In gear, ease the throttle forward – Pisces-Isuzu vs. the storm. I can see the bow swing toward the dock and Morningstar strain against the line. Then there’s another gust of wind and another surge. The bow swings sharply away from the dock, dragging Morningstar towards the edge. She won’t let go, just like her. I’m yelling for her to let go. But I can’t hear myself over the mingled roar of the engine and the storm, so I know she can’t.
A slight drop in the wind – full throttle this time – and Chiron strains forward and swings tight into the dock. I can see Morningstar struggling with the tangle of loose line. I can’t see what is happening for sure but I know that she isn’t able to recover the slack and secure the line. I leave the throttle full in and return to the dock. At Morningstar’s side I can see that she is trying to sort through 35-feet of tangled line. I take the line, secure the bow. Safe. Together we shut down the engine, and tighten the other lines. There are tears in Morningstar’s eyes.
Morningstar’s Journal, 14 January 1998
Bob’s look of concern told me all I needed to know about the situation outside. The sense of urgency in his voice propelled me to quickly pull on my rubber boots and stick my arms into the yellow rain slicker. Still struggling to pull up the sticky zipper, I stepped out on the deck to find a sea turned ugly. Chiron was still securely tied, but the force of the wind hitting her broadside had stretched the lines so much that a wide span of churning water now stood between the dock and us. Bob jumped first, safely landing on the concrete dock beyond. Now it was my turn. Don’t think, I told myself, just do it. I searched for the narrowest reach, climbed over the lifeline and took a flying leap, trusting in something other than myself. Bob’s hand caught mine and I felt my feet hit solid ground. We ran forward and grabbed the bowline.
It didn’t seem possible, but the storm’s force was increasing. Each time we pulled Chiron in closer, a gust of wind or a powerful surge of water would shove her back out before we had a chance to secure the line. With feet braced and every muscle straining, I pulled as hard as I could. I threw back my hood so that I could see better. Within minutes my hair was plastered to my head, and little rivulets of water ran down my face. Wet jeans clung tight against my legs, water sloshed in my boots. “Pull with me and when I tell you to let go, let go immediately,” Bob called out loudly to me. We tried to work with the surge but had no success. Chiron was now even further from the dock and straining hard against the dock lines. It was getting desperate. Decisively Bob returns to Chiron, clearing the ever-widening gap. He grabs the ignition key from a cup hook in the cabin, and starts the engine. “I’ll turn the bow towards the dock. You untie the line and pull in the slack,” he yells to me. I see his mouth move but the wind-blown words never reach my ears.
Under power, Bob maneuvers Chiron’s bow closer to the dock. I struggle with the water-soaked knots, feeling clumsy and unsure. Bob wants me to retie the line. What kind of knot should I use? Can I do it and keep the line taut, without another surge pulling it from my cold, numb hands? I have so much to learn yet about boats and sailing. Years of gardening and homemaking did not prepare me for anything like this. At 58, is it too late for me to live this kind of life, to leave an ordinary life and live an adventure? I have always believed I could do anything if I had the desire and perseverance. What if that were no longer true? I stubbornly hang onto the line that had become much more than just a dock line. In a way it is symbolic of my life and the way I want to live it... pushing the limits. Never giving up. Never letting go.
Bob jumps off the boat and rushes over to give me a hand. The wind continues to blow and the rain to fall as one by one each line is tightened. Chiron is safely secured, but now that the crisis is over, tears fill my eyes. Facing the storm has brought me face to face with myself.
I came on this sojourn looking for peace and at fleeting moments I have found it. But mostly I have found challenges, stretching me beyond imagined limits, pulling me through groundless fears. I am learning to accept the unexpected, the unpredictability of this life we have chosen to embark upon. Each day is like reading a novel, wondering what is going to be on the next page, in the next chapter. What is going to happen next?
This wasn’t fun in the first place and it is getting worse. I jump, grab the handrail on the dodger to stay upright, swing below for the engine key, back into the cockpit, discipline myself to a full count of 30 for a cold engine start, and it does – thank you Chiron. No time for a gentle run-up. In gear, ease the throttle forward – Pisces-Isuzu vs. the storm. I can see the bow swing toward the dock and Morningstar strain against the line. Then there’s another gust of wind and another surge. The bow swings sharply away from the dock, dragging Morningstar towards the edge. She won’t let go, just like her. I’m yelling for her to let go. But I can’t hear myself over the mingled roar of the engine and the storm, so I know she can’t.
A slight drop in the wind – full throttle this time – and Chiron strains forward and swings tight into the dock. I can see Morningstar struggling with the tangle of loose line. I can’t see what is happening for sure but I know that she isn’t able to recover the slack and secure the line. I leave the throttle full in and return to the dock. At Morningstar’s side I can see that she is trying to sort through 35-feet of tangled line. I take the line, secure the bow. Safe. Together we shut down the engine, and tighten the other lines. There are tears in Morningstar’s eyes.
Morningstar’s Journal, 14 January 1998
Bob’s look of concern told me all I needed to know about the situation outside. The sense of urgency in his voice propelled me to quickly pull on my rubber boots and stick my arms into the yellow rain slicker. Still struggling to pull up the sticky zipper, I stepped out on the deck to find a sea turned ugly. Chiron was still securely tied, but the force of the wind hitting her broadside had stretched the lines so much that a wide span of churning water now stood between the dock and us. Bob jumped first, safely landing on the concrete dock beyond. Now it was my turn. Don’t think, I told myself, just do it. I searched for the narrowest reach, climbed over the lifeline and took a flying leap, trusting in something other than myself. Bob’s hand caught mine and I felt my feet hit solid ground. We ran forward and grabbed the bowline.
It didn’t seem possible, but the storm’s force was increasing. Each time we pulled Chiron in closer, a gust of wind or a powerful surge of water would shove her back out before we had a chance to secure the line. With feet braced and every muscle straining, I pulled as hard as I could. I threw back my hood so that I could see better. Within minutes my hair was plastered to my head, and little rivulets of water ran down my face. Wet jeans clung tight against my legs, water sloshed in my boots. “Pull with me and when I tell you to let go, let go immediately,” Bob called out loudly to me. We tried to work with the surge but had no success. Chiron was now even further from the dock and straining hard against the dock lines. It was getting desperate. Decisively Bob returns to Chiron, clearing the ever-widening gap. He grabs the ignition key from a cup hook in the cabin, and starts the engine. “I’ll turn the bow towards the dock. You untie the line and pull in the slack,” he yells to me. I see his mouth move but the wind-blown words never reach my ears.
Under power, Bob maneuvers Chiron’s bow closer to the dock. I struggle with the water-soaked knots, feeling clumsy and unsure. Bob wants me to retie the line. What kind of knot should I use? Can I do it and keep the line taut, without another surge pulling it from my cold, numb hands? I have so much to learn yet about boats and sailing. Years of gardening and homemaking did not prepare me for anything like this. At 58, is it too late for me to live this kind of life, to leave an ordinary life and live an adventure? I have always believed I could do anything if I had the desire and perseverance. What if that were no longer true? I stubbornly hang onto the line that had become much more than just a dock line. In a way it is symbolic of my life and the way I want to live it... pushing the limits. Never giving up. Never letting go.
Bob jumps off the boat and rushes over to give me a hand. The wind continues to blow and the rain to fall as one by one each line is tightened. Chiron is safely secured, but now that the crisis is over, tears fill my eyes. Facing the storm has brought me face to face with myself.
I came on this sojourn looking for peace and at fleeting moments I have found it. But mostly I have found challenges, stretching me beyond imagined limits, pulling me through groundless fears. I am learning to accept the unexpected, the unpredictability of this life we have chosen to embark upon. Each day is like reading a novel, wondering what is going to be on the next page, in the next chapter. What is going to happen next?
posted by Looking for Hope | 10:38 AM
1 Comments:
That took my breath away. I was born in the sign of water and it is for that I long. You inspire me.
Doc's Girl
Post a Comment
<< Home