Hands of a Sailor

I settled into my seat across from Dobie, captivated by the glint in his eye as he began weaving his tale of surviving the treacherous Turtling hurricane. While I suspected some embellishments were at play, I was eager to hear the story of a seasoned raconteur. The starry night sky above, the warm breeze against my cheek, and the gentle rocking of our ketch in the tide's ebb created the perfect ambiance.

Dobie took a hearty sip of rum, then began with a nod.

"The wind began to act up, forcing the Cop’n to order a reef in the main. As conditions worsened, the jib topsail was lowered, followed by another reef. With the seas churning and the wind opposing the current, and the added chaos from the reefs we'd left behind, it was challenging. We reduced our sails to the main, foresail, and inner jib. They say it's 'wet sailing on a dry boat,' but soon we were drenched from both above and below."

He continued, "We had to pull down all sails, stowing them below deck as best we could. Now, we were hove-to with just a heavy staysail to keep us steady against monstrous waves."

Dobie vividly described the scene, "The bowsprit plunged into the sea, drenching the deck. Cop’n and Uncle Tubby grappled with the helm, trying to maintain our position against the towering waves. We rode the waves, up into bright turquoise peaks and down into dark green valleys. We saw fish, sharks, and turtles tumbling in the waves."

His voice took on a tone of exhilaration, "I loved it. The feeling of freedom was overwhelming. The wind shifted, allowing us to stand upright again. I stood by the lee rail, feeling the spray and watching the foaming seas. But just as I thought the worst was behind us, Uncle Tubby warned that a hurricane was approaching, not just a Nor’wester as we’d assumed."

"As the storm intensified, Cop’n tied axes and machetes to the masts. The possibility of cutting them free was real, and it terrified me. Uncle Tubby believed we should seek shelter in Rio Lagartos in Mexico, but Cop’n was determined to head for Isla Pinos, trusting the reefs to protect us."

Dobie’s face clouded over as he recalled the hurricane's fury, "The seas became monstrous. The wind roared like a freight train, lifting and tossing us like rag dolls. I was holding onto the foremast, fighting against the wind's force. I saw Cop’n, Uncle Tubby, and Jamie at the helm, their faces etched with determination. That image is seared into my memory."

He paused, his eyes misty, "That was the last I saw of them. The Cop’n’s bloodied shirt, Jamie’s chequered one, and Uncle Tubby’s resigned smile. I want to meet my end that way, you know."

Dobie wiped away tears, his body trembling with emotion. After a moment, he continued, "After that wave, Celia was in ruins. The main mast was gone, the rigging tangled. The next big wave capsized us. When it was over, I found myself adrift with only a barrel for company."

With a determined tone, he said, "I spotted an upturned dinghy and managed to right it. I rigged a makeshift mast and sail, slowly steering towards Mexico. I navigated by the sun, moon, and stars, trusting my instincts."

Dobie's story took a lighter turn, "I caught fish to eat and used the sun-bleached cabin top as bait. I was sustained by hope and the will to survive. When I saw land, my heart soared. I navigated through a reef and found myself amidst sunbathers on the shore."

"That’s the tale," Dobie concluded, "and here I am, alive to tell it."

I pondered his story, "You went back to turtling after that?"

Dobie nodded, folding his hands. "Yeah, man."

His tale of survival, peppered with danger, resilience, and a touch of recklessness, left me in awe. Dobie’s journey was not just a tale of surviving a hurricane but also a testament to the human spirit's will to endure against all odds.