(This entire 17-part story can be found in the “travel” category.”
The intense storm continued to turn our St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands to Florida trip into an immense adrenalin rush. The scary kind, the “I don’t want to do this again” kind, but nevertheless it got your heart pounding so loud you could hear it over the howling wind. It also made my head feel like my brain was bouncing around inside my skull. Boy, did I have a headache!
On one of my shifts, outside alone in the dark with nothing for company but the roar of the wind and waves, a tune suddenly popped into my head. “The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed, if not for the courage of the fearless crew, the Minnow would be lost.” Where did the Gilligan’s Island theme song come from? Was I losing my mind?
After about 36 hours, I was off shift and down below in the cabin which was strewn with the entire contents of the ship. Everything was soaking wet and the boat was rocking vigorously from side to side. I was attempting to fix our location on a map and discovered an island to our west. I pointed it out to Tony and he decided we’d head for there. With the wind coming from the east, there should be shelter on the west side of the island.
We sighted a light two hours later (the first signs of civilization in eight days) and the wind pushed us just north of the island. We mustered all our energy and with partial sails pulled to the west side of the island into a safe cove. It was 40 hours since the storm first struck.
As if an omen, the storm suddenly abated just minutes after we dropped anchor. The clouds spread and it was near sunrise. We had survived! It had now been 10 days since we left St. Thomas. That was 10 days without a shower or anything cold to drink, 10 days of constant rocking of the boat.
I had to get away from the rocking motion. My solution was to jump into the water, where I could also wash off the blood that was caked on my arms and legs from the hundred cuts and abrasions I had received in the storm. I turned the water pink.
The refuge we had found was Mayaguena Island, one of the southernmost islands in the Bahamas chain. It had about 200 inhabitants. From our vantage point in the cove, all we could see was a large, empty dock in the eerie first light of day. We all retired below for a quick nap, but I was soon alerted to the sound of diesel engines. Did I really hear it?
I ran up top and there was 150-200 foot ship hauling butt past us. The dock now must have contained half of the island’s population. Every age group of locals was ready to greet the ship. And no wonder. It was the once-a-week ship bringing everyones supplies from food to clothes to furniture.
A sense of relief flushed over me. This was land and there were people. Hurray! I needed to not be on a boat for a while. I wanted solid ground that didn’t sway back and forth like a dadgum sailboat.
- Mountain Man