Legend of the Captain Jack

Our little sloop had been on the hook (that is, anchored out) all afternoon. We arrived that very morning at the island’s west end, which is usually pretty quiet with few if any party boats nearby.

We had decided to take our inflatable dinghy on a town-run before it got dark. This trip involves motoring down-island to grab a few groceries and some ice.

The ride back up-island was bumpy as the wind tends to picks up in the late afternoon. I squat in the rear of our little inflatable, and lean forward grasping the outboard tiller with one hand and hang on the other, as our ice and groceries slosh around on deck in a half inch of sea water.

TR rides up in to bow, facing backward she grasps two hand loops. This mostly shelters her from incoming spray, but gives no waring to any oncoming swells or other items of interest on the horizon.

I peer ahead through my spray flecked sunglasses. As we approach our mooring something odd takes shape ahead. I throttle back and point to starboard. TR takes a quick look over her shoulder.

There before us is a big, ugly, black work boat, her decks strewn with gear and rigging. Her sides are stove inward revealing metallic ribs and giving her the look of a hungry dog.

On the trawler’s aft deck we see a guy franticly waving us off as we approach, as if to say “Stay away! Go wide!”

“Okey dokee” I mutter to myself. “No worries dude. Have a nice day.” Yet as we get closer we see something unusual is afoot.

“Check THIS out!” I shout to TR over the noise of our outboard motor. But she is already transfixed by the goings before us. I throttle back and we swing a wide arc around the action.

It seems the black trawler has launched her open boat, which is motoring around the mothership following a… Wait… What!? They’re chasing a sea monster!

The massive animal has a huge dorsal fin, its slate gray tail thrusting itself forward. But it’s not making a break for open water. Instead it circles the trawler, the motor boat following close behind.

Is the monster on a tether of some sort? Perhaps it’s caught on underwater rigging? Are they trying to rescue it, or capture it - or kill it?

As we continue to motor on around, the bow of the trawler comes into view. The words “Captain Jack” are crudely painted in white over a vicious looking shark-mouth motif, giving the her an even more sinister appearance.

The same deck hand has scrambled to her bow to confirm that we are keeping well clear of their urgent activities.

“What ARE they doing over there?” TR’s gaze is locked on the Captain and the circling duo as we motor onward toward our boat.

“I donno - lets unload our stuff and talk later.” says I, hoping to get away before they chase us down with a harpoon or something. Back onboard, TR grabs the binocs and peers intently at the Captain Jack, rolling gently at anchor.

“They’re chasing a whale! They can’t do that!” she insists. “We should call somebody on the radio!”

“We should mind our own business.” I reply. This response does’t go over very well. Yet it does seem prudent to hunker down as the sun has already set and darkness will be upon us shortly.

I didn’t sleep well that night. Between the incessant moan of the Captain Jacks’s diesel generator and my foggy dreams of renegade saki-wags, I was up on deck before dawn.

The clarity of a calm, clear morning and a hot cup-o-joe helps me to regain my senses. I wedge myself into the cockpit of our sailboat and contemplate the situation in the light of day.

TR pokes her head out the hatch and takes a long hard look at the trawler. “I still think we should call someone.” she says.

I don’t respond immediately, as I sense this may devolve into an issue-du-jour. Nonetheless, after a long silence I suggest that we motor over after breakfast and have another look-see, implying that both a hot meal and a little time to wake up would be a good idea about now. TR drops back below deck as I pick up the binocs to study the nefarious Captain J.

After breakfast we cast off in our dingy and casually motor back down wind toward the good Captain, keeping a fair distance and a weather eye out for whatever. The crew is busy, and as we get closer we see something is definitely not right here.

There on deck is the biggest Great White shark I have ever seen! It’s got to be at least fifteen feet long, and it’s cut cleanly in two! The animal’s gaping maw and dead black eyes still look menacing, even from way out here in our dinghy.

We slowly round the stern of the Captain Jack, staring in disbelief. Now there’s a guy crawling out of the belly of the beast, as the body's two halves are hinged open on deck.

The hows-and-whys of it all this still has me in a stupor until I notice a flange of bolt holes and the workings of a machine inside the shark’s lifeless body.

That thing is no shark! It’s is a… It’s a one man submarine! A Shark-Sub! YIKES! TR and I exchange dumbfounded glances.

As we continue to gape at the weird world of this Neo-Captain Nemo and his minions, out on the horizon appears a gleaming white mega yacht bearing down upon us. We can see her knifing through the seas, pushing a frothing bow wave; the proverbial bone in her teeth.

Seemingly within minutes the glistening white wonder has hove to just off shore, deftly swinging into the mild swell. Her anchor drops, followed by the metallic clatter of flowing anchor chain. Aboard, her uniformed crew hustles about smartly bending to their various tasks.

At over 150 feet the vessel is sleek, beautiful and spotless. Bedecked with all the onboard trimmings one might expect of her breeding. She even sports a little helicopter, neatly secured to her flight deck.

Suddenly her aft transom folds down to reveal a hold containing some good sized open boats. A couple of jet skis are also being prepared by her attentive crew.

The two vessels make an odd juxtaposition. Here be the salty coal black trawler, and there the blinding white gentleman’s yacht. I half expect to glimpse Thurston Howell III with ascot and captain’s hat, escorting his bejeweled wife Lovey around the promenade. Gilligan must be on deck somewhere, I think.

I shake off my TV Land fantasy as the tenders are launched with business like efficiency. Their passengers carry cameras, boom mikes, and a dozen aluminum equipment cases containing who-knows-what kind of expensive production gear. And could that be the “talent” gingerly boarding a special launch? You’re looking good folks! Soon enough the little flotilla motors over to the waiting Captain Jack.

“This must be some kind of publicity stunt or something; the aquanaut in sharks clothing.” I mumble.

Perhaps a commercial in production; a daredevil stunt, or even a death wish. In any case it most definitely is worthy of reality television. Having gawked enough for one morning, we motor back to our sailboat.

Once back onboard we arrange our cockpit cushions topside and crack open a couple of cold ones. We are an attentive audience of two, relaxing as the nearby reality theater unfolds before us. And what a show.

The yacht’s film crew mingles with the trawler’s scruffy deck hands as the intrepid adventurer is bolted into his shark-sub undersea vehicle. Rigged with cables and lifting gear, our daring young man in his swimming machine is neatly hefted over the Captain Jack’s stern and dropped into the heaving blue ocean.

Equipped with spiffy looking underwater cameras, a couple of divers grasp their masks as they fall backward from their infallible boats. And… Action!

The little procession swims off, no doubt capturing the drama on film. Man versus nature under the rolling waves.

Roll credits. Fade to black.

The following Thanksgiving weekend finds us back on land, our annual sailing adventure now many months behind us. We’re hosting our extended family and enjoying the controlled chaos that is fun with grand-kids.

As is my style, as the commotion increases I duck off to quieter environs for a little quality TV time. I’m followed by a few of the more attentive youths in our group.

Dropping into the couch, I grab the remote and flip through the zillion channels of cable television. I pause on the Discovery Channel, which just happens to be airing All Shark Thursday. Oooo Ahhh! Big bad beasties of the deep. Let’s watch THIS!

Images of powerful Great Whites fill our flat screen TV. Here cruising menacingly; there gnawing a shark cage; now devouring a small seal in a single gulp.

He never saw it coming. Circle of life, kids.

“Have you ever seen a Great White shark gramps?” asks little Vinney, as he deftly ducks his sister’s incoming weaponized pillow. Before I can answer - and as if on queue - there it is! Right there on TV!

The young red capped aquanaut and his shark-sub. He poses dramatically on the stern of the old Captain Jack as the deck hands prepare him and his intrepid machine for launch. Soon he will seek out the noble yet misunderstood carnivores of the deep.

As the SS Great White sub slips under the waves, the scene cuts to a watery world and shimmering blue fills our TV screen. The waterborne hero is inside his Nautilus-like submersible, which looks and swims pretty much like a real shark.

He narrates over the images of his mechanical undersea marvel. His smooth, continental accent endearing his American audience with yet another tail of environmentally responsible deep-sea adventure.

But what’s this? A really big and for-real Great White shark approaches from the deep and seems to be agitated with the shark-sub. The real shark darts in and out. Now swimming away, now returning with the menacing look of a cold blooded killer in those tiny black orbs-for-eyes.

The narrator tells us that posturing with pectoral fins down, body arched forward is a sign of male shark aggression. Seems like an underwater territorial dispute is about to develop. Now it looks like our shark-sub is trying to beat a hasty retreat. Swim! Swim Away!

With a few jiggly underwater camera shots and more bubbles, the film cuts away to the aft deck of the faithful Captain Jack. The aquanaut is being extricated from his shark-sub among lots of commotion. Our hero crawls from his machine clearly shaken. He doesn’t talk to the film crew, but stumbles out of the frame.

The camera pans out to sea. A menacing dorsal fin cruises tauntingly nearby, as if to say “Is that all you got?”

Meanwhile, my youngsters have quit their horseplay and are riveted by the undersea drama on TV. After a long pause, I finally respond to Vinney.

“Actually, I have seen a Great White at sea, but I’m not sure why a guy would want to swim around with them?”

Vinney ponders this for a moment, before commenting. “Well, maybe he doesn’t know that kids shouldn’t try this at home.”