Gone Coastal (part IV)

08:10

As soon as the excitement of spotting the California Grays dissipates, Ed and John are dispatched to the foredeck, opting to click onto the jacklines so they can safely peer into the thick fog. Eleanor scribbles in a notebook as she asks me to confirm my wobbling course.

“Three five zero.” In an attempt to make it so for more than a few seconds, I aggressively push the wheel to port as we hit the trough.

“What’s the wind direction?” she asks without looking up from her writing.

I look at the wavelets and answer, “West north west.”

And as if she does not need to see, she asks, “What’s the wind wave height?”

“Less than a foot, but we have some pretty big rollers.”

She nods and scribbles. There’s no need to confirm the rollers. We climb and slide down an impressive mound of sea during the exchange. Eleanor turns, notes our oil pressure, engine temperature and RPMs, then disappears down the companionway. I know the routine. She is walking through the ship, checking each cabin and compartment (except for the Captain’s cabin), spending extra time inspecting the touchy heads.

Sam settles in the cockpit next to me. His glasses fog into two gray blanks as he blows into the hot coffee held in both his meaty hands. I joke his view is not much altered from mine — we both see only gray. His broad sad face blooms with a fleeting smile while he shyly looks at his feet. As he looks up, past me, I notice his pupils crisply magnified by his strong prescription to the size of quarters. His eyes are a gentle Caribbean blue. Tipping the steaming cup, he pulls in a slow sip then lowers the mug to his lap. When he catches Eleanor stopping at the chart table, he glances over his shoulder into the grayness. Her back is to us while she looks up as if praying to study the radar. She turns, climbs the stairs, then steps into the cockpit directly in front of me. With both her hands clinched on the Edison, and her feet widely planted, she begins to admonish me.

“Debbie, you left your light on in your berth. You could of started a fire. Fire is the very worst thing that could happen on this boat. An unattended lamp is a dangerous hazard.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I was in a hurry to find my hat. I can’t believe I did that. I know better.” I pause and wait for her to respond while I imagine us all bobbing in the frigid water watching the ship burn and sink.

Sam’s eyebrows peak. He pulls both feet inward to give her room, sits the mug at his thigh and curls both large hands on the edge of the seat. He looks ready to stand and leave as the boat rocks at the crest of a large roller.

Eleanor shifts her weight with the wave — away, then toward me — leaning over the compass. I glance down to check my course then hope she does not do the same. 330 degrees. Trying not to bring attention to the twenty degree diversion I’ve taken us on during the short exchange, I turn the wheel slowly, casually. The bow points towards the heavens, pivots, then begins to slide down towards the colorless sea. Eleanor’s hands grip the Edison. She says nothing to forgive me for nearly frying the ship and my mates. Once we are climbing again, she turns and descends to the chart table.

Sam picks up his cup and takes a long drink.

I can see that Eleanor is making a note in the log. Surely it says, “Debbie nearly killed us all. Watch her!”

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