Chapter 18

One hears, “That’s as hard as herding cats.” I was reasonably certain that the cats referred to are the animal, small, furry, independent, affectionate in their own manner ... but, after the first day, I’m not so sure. I will admit that the recreational craft in our convoy were not all catamarans ... they were the worst offenders.

Since we were supposed to be part of the escort, it was SV Flint‘s duty to ‘Cut ‘em out, ride ‘em in, ride ‘em in, let ‘em out, cut ‘im out, Ride on in, Rawhide!’

At any particular moment there were at least six or seven boats trying their luck at fishing, two or three boats swanning off to investigate a reported whale and a couple of the older crowd spying on the nude sunbathers of the boats with teenage girls ... and Cassie ... and Zoe ... and a slightly preggers Cyn.

First one side of the collection of boats ... it is absolutely impossible to call the mess a column ... and then the other was slowing down or speeding up ... depending.

Depending on which the other bunch was doing ... they were sure to do the opposite. Things were as mentioned for a week ... until...

“SVFlint SVFlint SVFlint!” on channel 16.

“SVFlint.” I spoke into the microphone.

“SVFlint. Switch to secure as specified in your instructions.”

Unlocking the safe next to the NAV station, I checked the the rather large ... well ... thick ... set of instructions, found COMMUNICATIONS, checked the date and followed the directions. “SVFlint.” I said.

“Mel?”

“Yes.”

“You did it.”

“Did what?”

“Followed instructions.”

“Who is this?”

“The wet lieutenant. Communications officer.”

Dripping with sarcasm, I said, “Very funny.”

“The Captain needs to speak with you. Please wait.”

A short pause.

“Commander Collins here.” A male ... deep male voice said. “Are you missing any boats?”

“Cassie ... go count the boats you can see.”

“Are all the boats visible?” He has a great voice, I thought.

“That’s a little more complicated, Commander, than running out on deck. We’ll hoist Cassie.”

“Hoist?”

“Run her up to the mast head. Be about fifteen minutes, Sir.”

“Like a flag?”

“Pretty much. Won’t take long and gives us an area of 564 square miles to see.” I said. “Much better than from the deck.”

“JW?”

“Yes?”

“Hoist Cassie.” I added, “With the good binoculars.”

“Whee!” said Cassie.

“Was that Cassie?”

“Yessir.”

“She sounds enthusiastic,” said the radio.

“She says it’s the best Amusement Park ride ever.”

Cassie squealed and shouted with every roll and bob. Let down, she reported. After checking the count against the list, I thanked her.

Face flushed and smelling like excited woman, she said, “Anytime, ma’am. Anytime”

“Sir?” I said, “Her count matches the manifest. Why?”

“We have a capsized catamaran hull.”

“On our way.”

“Zoe, engine fans ... one minute and fire up both diesels.”

This wasn’t motor-sailing. We dumped the sails and hauled ass. 26.3 knots The fastest we’d sailed so far was 10 knots slower. It’s dangerous to go this fast ... a good bounce off a wave ... there’s no keel ... pendulum action changes if the boat catches air. Up on one hull ... not good.

Even so, it took us an hour.

We lived.

The twin hulled boat in the water wasn’t one of ours. Ours was the only boat longer than 47 feet. The one in the water was 57.

“Has a diver gone over?” I asked.

“No, why?”

“To see if there’s a mast.”

“Why?”

“No mast ... we can turn it over ... a mast makes it a bitch.” I said. “If it’s just broken but in the rigging we can still turn it over.”

After instructions to stay out of the hull, a pair of divers went over in a RIB and were soon bobbing in the swell. With the handheld, a report I wasn’t privy to was given. Soon a hawser was lowered and payed out. The divers took it under, got out of the way and the 64 powered away.

FLIP