Part one:
Disappearance of the Crustliner
“Harry! Get up right now, we have to save the
skiff.”
A
skiff is a small boat usually kept aboard a larger boat. The purpose of our skiff
is mainly pleasure and we use it to get to land for some beachcombing or berry
picking. We call our skiff the Crustliner. The actual brand name of our skiff is
‘Crestliner’ but the thing is so beaten and dilapidated that it is constantly
trying to sink itself in a variety of manners and often required a bit of
bailing.
I didn’t know what time
it was but had the sneaking suspicion it was earlier than I would’ve liked. I
jumped up, just in some shorts, and pulled my boots on over my bare feet. I
grabbed my red hoodie as I exited my bunk and went up to the wheelhouse to see
what the problem was. I expected an ‘oh the skiff is sinking again, great’, but
I got up to the wheelhouse and the skiff wasn’t where it’d been tied up the
night before. The skiff was actually gone…
Amber
had the binoculars out and was looking in the direction the wind was blowing. I
stepped outside, into the rain, to get a better look around the wheelhouse and
sure enough there it was. I wouldn’t say it was dark outside, but it certainly
wasn’t light yet and it was definitely raining. The clouds were low and dark.
The sea was darker still. And somewhere between the two, a good distance away,
was the Crustliner bobbing on the swell with a 20 knot wind pushing her towards
shore.
I
heard Amber firing up the mains (the main engines) which was my cue to haul the
anchor. I ran up to the bow, still in shorts, and started pulling her. Normally
I try to make the cable wrap as nicely as I can but in this situation we just needed
the anchor up. Amber got on the hailer and I could hear her through the deck
speakers.
“I don’t know if I can get close enough for us to
grab it, it gets too shallow. But get the pike pole and the grappling hook
ready.”
By
the time the anchor got all the way up I was already a little bit wet and cold.
Parker had the grappling hook and pike pole ready while Amber was driving us
closer to the skiff. I headed towards my bunk to get more prepared for whatever
was about to happen. I put on socks and pants. Just that small change made me
feel less miserable about the elements.
Amber called down from the wheelhouse “I won’t be
able to get that close to it. It gets too shallow too fast…”
I could see the skiff still
in the distance. It wasn’t close. I ran through what we could do in my head
real quick. In any other circumstance where something went overboard we would
use the skiff to go get it, but I’d never thought about what would happen if we
lost the skiff itself. The grappling hook and pike pole were good for like 10
meters but that was going to be useless. I mean the skiff still looked to be at least a quarter of a mile from the
boat and the wind was slowly pushing it farther from us and closer to the beach.
It was still early and I wasn’t thinking the clearest but,
“Ummm…. Should I get in a survival suit?” I asked.
“I guess I can swim to it….”
“I don’t know how else we could get it, but that
is a long way…”
I was down in the galley
pulling out one of the suits already. The survival suits are what we put on if
the ship is sinking. That’s what they’re designed for. Mostly just to keep you
alive. They’re big, heavy duty, and awkward as hell. I slipped it on over my
clothes and then got back up in the wheelhouse.
“Will you zip my hair in Amber?”
“Are you sure you want to do this? It’s a long way
and once you’re in we have no way of getting you back.”
“Yeah I guess. There’s no other way right? Either
I can swim to it or I’ll get washed back out to sea where y’all can hopefully
find me.”
Then
and there, that was all we discussed about the matter. Thinking back there are
a ton of questions I would’ve raised before going. Like ‘What if I can’t get
the skiff started and I’m stuck out there?’ or ‘should we agree upon some form
of signaling each other?’ and about million other what if questions but, like I
said, it was early and time was not a commodity.
Part two:
Into the Ocean
I
ran and jumped into the ocean. I guess it seemed like a good way to start
things, a running start. Things had been happening too quickly before the jump
for me to assess how nervous I was. All I was thinking about before jumping in
was this movie we’d watched recently. It’s a fighting movie called Warrior. The protagonist is fighting to
win some money and save his home from foreclosure. In one of the final fights,
where it looks like the protagonist has no chance of winning, his coach sits
him down in the corner for one of those classic motivational pep talks and says
“If you don’t knock him out in this round you don’t have a chance. If you don’t
knock him out, you don’t come home.” That’s what I was thinking when I was
running across the deck, as I went through the air, as soon as my head dipped
under and I tasted salt. If I don’t get this skiff I don’t come home.
Not that it was really that intense, but if I didn’t get to the
skiff I didn’t have a way to get back to the boat. If the skiff wouldn’t start
I wouldn’t have a way to get back to the boat. If the skiff beached itself
before I could get to it I wouldn’t have a way to get back to the boat. If I
got halfway and for some reason couldn’t go on I wouldn’t be able to swim
against the wind and the swell in open water to get back to the boat. There was
almost half a mile between the boat and the shore where the skiff was heading
and if anything went wrong all I could do is hope that the ocean would be kind and
choose to take me back towards the boat.
There was one other
problem I hadn’t considered. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to find
something in a swell, but it’s hard. Anything lost in the ocean can easily be
hidden from sight when it goes into the trough and behind a wave. It had been difficult
to see the skiff from the boat, which is significantly higher than being in the
ocean, and once I was wet it was impossible to see the skiff. From the moment I
was in the water I’d lost track of where the skiff was relative to me my
position. I was already committed and I quickly came up with a new plan instead
of trying to make it to the skiff. I decided to just swim to shore and walk along
to wherever the skiff washed up instead of trying to swim to the skiff.
The easiest way to swim
in the ridiculous lobster suit was on my back. The suit kept me awkwardly
buoyant so there was no way to do any proper swim strokes. It was more like
laying on a pool float and using my hands and arms to paddle backwards. Kicking
didn’t seem to help at all either. It wasn’t fast and it wasn’t easy. I wasn’t
very far before I was already breathing hard and I doubted my decision, just a
little. When I got tired of being on my back I would turn over in my stomach
and try to swim that way. The thing was the only place water could possibly get
in the suit was where the zipper came to a stop below my nose. I could already
feel the cold water seeping down my shirt from when I’d jumped in and gone
under for a fraction of a second. Every time I tried to swim on my stomach a
little bit more would splash in. When I tired of that I would turn onto my back
again and try to make way in that position.
I was concerned at first.
I wasn’t making much headway and with almost nothing to measure my progress
against I thought I was actually going nowhere for a while. It didn’t seem like
the shore was getting any closer or like I was moving forward no matter how
vigorously I paddled, but every time I looked back at the boat it was smaller
and smaller. I just kept swimming. I had a brief moment of fearfulness. It was
completely irrational but the water was so large, so dark, and I was so lost in
it. I thought about a storm I’d seen in Iceland once and how violent the ocean
can be. I couldn’t help but imagine the space in between me and the ocean
floor. I didn’t know how much depth was below me or what was in the water with
me and that weird part of the mind that is scared of the dark, even though it
knows there is nothing in it, was suddenly alert to the idea that there could
be anything below the surface. I had a picture of huge killer whale silently
gliding under me. The ocean is a deep and mysterious place though and, vaguely,
that has always worried me.
I continued swimming,
flipping from back to stomach every minute or so. I tried to rest some when I
got tired, but every time I tried to just float it felt like the ocean was
taking me farther away from shore and I was losing hard won progress. I got to a spot where the swell was getting
bigger as the water got shallower. With every wave that came through it pulled
me back a little, away from shore, then as it passed it would push me forward a
little, back towards shore. It was like I was stuck there with the waves
pulling and pushing me so that, essentially, I wasn’t moving forwards or
backwards. When I would flip on my back to try and paddle out of the stasis the
swell would hit me in the face and I’d get a beard and nose full of salt water.
After two facefulls I was over it and flipped back onto my stomach. I was very
tired but couldn’t very well stay stuck right outside of the breakers like that.
I summoned a little bit of extra strength every time a big swell came through
and tried to paddle with it like trying to body surf. I wasn’t able to get much
momentum while in the suit and I could only inch forward for a while until I
finally, finally, caught a breaker.
It pushed me forward just
enough for me to feel like I was making some progress. And then I caught one
more and there was the rocky earth under my feet. I stood up and waded the last
50 meters into shore.
Part
three: The World’s Dumbest Horse
Despite not being able to
see the skiff for the entirety of my swim I washed up not far from the skiff. The
wind was already trying to beach it. I unzipped the suit down to my chest, took
my hood off, and took my arms out so I could have some dexterity again. I
hurried over to the skiff to make sure it hadn’t already put itself on the
beach.
It
was shallow and sandy where the skiff had landed. Behind it, between the boat
and us was a small outcrop of rocks I couldn’t very well skiff over. I needed
to get around the rocks, but on either side of the outcrop were sandbars
creating breakers. I just had to go through the breakers. I pushed the skiff
out a little and pushed off as I jumped in. It stopped immediately as my weight
combined with weight of the water already in the skiff bottomed us out. I put
my suit back on all the way and jumped out again to push the skiff to deeper
water.
Once,
before this, Luc and I had been doing something with the skiff and he’d told me
sometimes he felt like he was leading the world’s dumbest horse. That was how I
felt as I pushed the skiff out. The wind was blowing hard and the surf was
against us. I was already exhausted. I was feeling nauseous from the exertion
and all the salt water that’d gone up my nose. I turned the skiff against the
wind and surf to get the bow pointed out. It was a struggle. I pushed it until
the water was waste deep and then jumped in again. It was a struggle to get the
outboard down and started with that dumb suit on and I wasn’t even sure I could
get it started. While I was messing with the outboard the wind turned the skiff
sideways and a small wave came in, putting more water and weight in the skiff.
I got it started cranked the throttle turning into the breakers when I hit the
sand bar.
I’d
been hoping it would be deep enough for me and the skiff to make it over the sandbar.
I was so tired already and it would take a lot to keep pushing the skiff out. Worse
still I was right where all the waves were breaking. I quickly raised the
outboard to and jumped out to push against the wind and the surf again. I was taking
extra care to keep the bow pointed into the surf to avoid sinking the skiff
beyond my ability to save.
Again, once I was knee
deep again, just past what I prayed would be the last obstacle, I jumped in the
skiff as fast as I could and fumbled to yank the pull cord on the outboard
before the surf and wind could turn us again. I got it on the second try and immediately
let loose on the throttle. With me and the large amount of water that’d come in
all the weight was in the stern of the skiff. The prop went into the sand but I
didn’t let the throttle go. I gave it more gas as I leaned forward to try and
get some of the weight off the stern. The skiff started moving forward just a
little. It hit a wave and the bow raised a ridiculous amount and, for a moment,
I was afraid the swell would flip us. When the bow came down it raised the prop
enough to get it out of most of the sand and I started moving forward for real,
at last.
I got over the last few
breakers with the bow continuing to raise to crazy heights. I got over them and
into the swell before turning towards the boat. The little light on my suit was
blinking and I hoped they could see me to know I’d managed it. And I had
managed it. I had the dumb horse, and I was going home.