After a couple of days of frenzied sailing that see us rising at 6am and only finishing our day's activities and studies at 10pm, we are saddled with a new mission: a nighttime crossing between islands, over to Ganges harbour. We've been sailing all day, but embrace the nocturnal mission with great excitement. Much saluting and "aye-ayeing" marks the start of the undertaking. As soon as dark falls I rush up to the bow of the boat and begin scanning the moonlit waters. The waves shimmer peacefully, bathed in the full moon's glow, while dark blotches hint at islands ahead. "Shaggy! What are you doing up there again?" Our captain is curious as to my course of action. "I'm keeping a lookout for Kraken. I haven't seen any yet." "What? For the love of Christ Shaggy, there aren't any Kraken!" "There might be Kraken. I'm checking." I speak with the bright certainty of a man who knows that the world holds many dark secrets. "No. There aren't any Kraken." "There could be Kraken. It's a big ocean." "Aren't you supposed to be navigating?" "Oh. Right." I retreat, momentarily subdued, to the cockpit area of the boat, and am nearly pitched overboard in the process by a Godless blow to the head from a stealthily placed spreader on the mast. Jorge watches me with the resigned expression of a man who knows how cold and unpleasant a rescue out of the benighted ocean can be. "Aaarrr Shaggy, did ye see any Kraken?" Reece enthusiastically inquires as to the status of my lookout duties.
"No, no Kraken thus far. It's something of a disappointment." Reece looks suitably let down. Jorge stares at us expressionlessly then points out that we appear to be heading directly for a land mass of some variety. Corrective actions hastily follow. As we slide up the narrow channel into Ganges harbour, slipping quietly thorough an inky blackness penetrated only by a few distant waterfront lights and the electronic feelers of the radar, I chance to look up into the star speckled coastal sky. A large, bright light is glowing almost directly overhead, upstaging the other stars. I'm trying to think, based on the time of year, whether I'm looking at Venus or Jupiter, when suddenly the light starts to shrink, within a few seconds it narrows to a pinpoint then disappears. Suddenly I'm filled with the overwhelming urge to go on a tequila bender. Up ahead, the twinkling lights of the marina wink invitingly at me. Seafront bars beckon with moist breath and soft arms, but we aren't actually going ashore. We're just dropping anchor in the middle of the bay and going to bed. I seriously consider diving overboard and swimming for shore but am interrupted by Jorge shouting at me to start tying off some rope or other. Sooner, rather than later, it's off to sleep to prepare for another big day. The dawn comes early, searching for us with the relentlessness of bloodhounds. It's been five days since I shaved and I'm gravely disappointed to find that this equates to a covering of stubble barely visible from four feet away. My dreams of looking like a weathered sailor appear to be going the same place as my dreams of being a good sailor. Happily, Skip bashes his head on the cabin roof so hard that he is almost driven to his knees. Suddenly I feel better. |
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrr.......
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