It was the splashing that woke me.
Loud and repeated splashing, coming from all around the boat.
That's not a sound you expect to hear when lying quietly at anchor in the Indian River. I glanced at the clock on the shelf above the bunk: 2:15 a.m.
The splashing continued, crowding its way into my curiosity until I had to get up to see what was causing it. I cleared the companionway and stood in the cockpit. The nearly full moon cast a silver glow on the water's surface.
When I realized what was causing the commotion, a sense of awe overcame me.What I saw that night could not be purchased for the dearest price. If the most powerful man on the planet had wanted to see it, he could not have ordered it to happen. What I saw had me as its only witness.
A family of dolphins (or porpoises if you prefer) were playing in the water right around the boat. They leaped and chattered and splashed, oblivious to my presence. For easily a quarter hour I watched, dazzled by their agility and sense of fun. An adult swam close to the cockpit, stopped and, I thought, looked right at me.
From that moment, I chose tothink the whole show had been just for my benefit. I still believe it.
Life on the river sometimes reminds you that you don't have the control over events that you might think. The wind, the water and the fates WILL assert their absolute authority over you. Good seamanship and regular maintenance can usually bring you through, but once in a while the elements conspire to remind you that they, not you, are in charge. Rarely, very rarely, do these elements threaten any harm. Mostly, they just shake their finger at you, to re-teach a little lesson you should know, but somehow forgot.
Early one night, it must have been August or early September, I heard my name being called from the water near the starboard side."Are you dragging?" the voice yelled, " you look like you're too close to the piling". Since immovable objects like rocks, pilings or other boats are on the short list of things that threaten a boat at anchor, the question was enough to make me bolt out on deck, scraping my shin in the process. My friend Nick had called it right. I had been sailing earlier in the day and the wind was light when I got back to the anchorage, so I had been a little "casual" about making sure the anchor had found good ground.
That finger was shaking in my direction.
A late summer thunder-boomer had passed through and the anchor had dragged at least ten feet. That made the stern a little too close to the concrete piling for comfort. Another storm was firing up, lighting the dark sky over Cocoa and moving our way, so Nick tied off his dinghy to the stern and climbed aboard to help me get her moved into safer water.
Now Nick was a wild-eyed French-Canadian, a mechanic savant who could de-construct and re-construct a dinghy engine between cans of beer, a beverage for which he had an Olympian capacity. The only thing bigger than Nick's heart was the enormous shock of reddish hair that erupted in all directions above and below his ears. He settled into the cockpit, warmed up the engine and gently eased her into gear.
Up on the bow, I hauled away at the anchor line, pulling it aboard as we moved closer to the hook. The twenty-eight pounder broke the surface of the water at the same moment the sky broke open and the rain fell with a Niagara-like roar. I turned to point a course for Nick but the stern had disappeared. I could see only as far back as the mast. The drenching curtain of rain hid the rest. I yelled back at Nick, "Slow and steady! Hold the course!" If he heard, he didn't answer.
We motored on through the darkness. We were blind, deaf and soaked to the skin. While I strained to see if anything was in front of us, I thought of a tee shirt one of my sailing pals frequently wore. In boldletters it read "EXPERIENCE SAILING. Stand in a cold shower and rip up hundred dollar bills."
For all the yin that sailing gives you, the price tag is a little yang.
The fates were just presenting a little bill for all the good times. The rain continued to pound down. After five minutes or so, I figured we should be clear of any possible danger, so I worked my way back to Nick and told him to count to thirty, then head up into the wind and stop. That gave me time to go forward again and let the anchor slide gently back into the lagoon. No sooner had the anchor touched the water -- I mean at the same moment it touched -- the rain quit -- it didn't ease up or slow down. It just quit!
If I had just made sure that the anchor was secure, if we had just waited below and had a cup of coffee, we could have been warm, safe -- and dry, instead of tired, cold and miserable.
Dolphin and downpours. Drama and delights. And the ever present finger of fate. That's life on the Indian River.
When I realized what was causing the commotion, a sense of awe overcame me.What I saw that night could not be purchased for the dearest price. If the most powerful man on the planet had wanted to see it, he could not have ordered it to happen. What I saw had me as its only witness.
A family of dolphins (or porpoises if you prefer) were playing in the water right around the boat. They leaped and chattered and splashed, oblivious to my presence. For easily a quarter hour I watched, dazzled by their agility and sense of fun. An adult swam close to the cockpit, stopped and, I thought, looked right at me.From that moment, I chose tothink the whole show had been just for my benefit. I still believe it.
Life on the river sometimes reminds you that you don't have the control over events that you might think. The wind, the water and the fates WILL assert their absolute authority over you. Good seamanship and regular maintenance can usually bring you through, but once in a while the elements conspire to remind you that they, not you, are in charge. Rarely, very rarely, do these elements threaten any harm. Mostly, they just shake their finger at you, to re-teach a little lesson you should know, but somehow forgot.
Early one night, it must have been August or early September, I heard my name being called from the water near the starboard side."Are you dragging?" the voice yelled, " you look like you're too close to the piling". Since immovable objects like rocks, pilings or other boats are on the short list of things that threaten a boat at anchor, the question was enough to make me bolt out on deck, scraping my shin in the process. My friend Nick had called it right. I had been sailing earlier in the day and the wind was light when I got back to the anchorage, so I had been a little "casual" about making sure the anchor had found good ground.
That finger was shaking in my direction.
A late summer thunder-boomer had passed through and the anchor had dragged at least ten feet. That made the stern a little too close to the concrete piling for comfort. Another storm was firing up, lighting the dark sky over Cocoa and moving our way, so Nick tied off his dinghy to the stern and climbed aboard to help me get her moved into safer water.
Now Nick was a wild-eyed French-Canadian, a mechanic savant who could de-construct and re-construct a dinghy engine between cans of beer, a beverage for which he had an Olympian capacity. The only thing bigger than Nick's heart was the enormous shock of reddish hair that erupted in all directions above and below his ears. He settled into the cockpit, warmed up the engine and gently eased her into gear.
Up on the bow, I hauled away at the anchor line, pulling it aboard as we moved closer to the hook. The twenty-eight pounder broke the surface of the water at the same moment the sky broke open and the rain fell with a Niagara-like roar. I turned to point a course for Nick but the stern had disappeared. I could see only as far back as the mast. The drenching curtain of rain hid the rest. I yelled back at Nick, "Slow and steady! Hold the course!" If he heard, he didn't answer.
We motored on through the darkness. We were blind, deaf and soaked to the skin. While I strained to see if anything was in front of us, I thought of a tee shirt one of my sailing pals frequently wore. In boldletters it read "EXPERIENCE SAILING. Stand in a cold shower and rip up hundred dollar bills."
For all the yin that sailing gives you, the price tag is a little yang.
The fates were just presenting a little bill for all the good times. The rain continued to pound down. After five minutes or so, I figured we should be clear of any possible danger, so I worked my way back to Nick and told him to count to thirty, then head up into the wind and stop. That gave me time to go forward again and let the anchor slide gently back into the lagoon. No sooner had the anchor touched the water -- I mean at the same moment it touched -- the rain quit -- it didn't ease up or slow down. It just quit!
If I had just made sure that the anchor was secure, if we had just waited below and had a cup of coffee, we could have been warm, safe -- and dry, instead of tired, cold and miserable.
Dolphin and downpours. Drama and delights. And the ever present finger of fate. That's life on the Indian River.
*************
