 The Unsinkable Spirit By Boris & Shirley King It was a day we never looked forward to. Shirley drove me to the Vancouver airport and once again parting was difficult. I knew I would miss her. I could tell her heart was aching - that she wanted to go - to be with me. But we had committed to give our two teenage boys, Trevor and Ryan, the opportunity of conventional schooling for a couple years before they were old enough to set out on their own. For many years Shirley had home schooled them on board our ship while we sailed the world. But now we felt it was important that their education be finished more formally. We knew I had to earn a living, skippering our 110’ traditional sailing ship, Latina, in the Virgin Islands. But this understanding did nothing to kill the pain of our separation. Ever since the day Shirley and I met, we had been inseparable soul mates, always yearning to be in each other’s energy or love orbit, so being apart was a painful experience for us both. As she drove off, leaving me at the airport, I could see her eyes cloud over with tears. Within twenty-four hours I was in the Virgin Islands, hastily preparing for Latina’s charter. It would prove to be a unique one. The day it was to begin the skies were clear, the sun was hot, and the wind gently blew from the east. What a glorious day. Perhaps that’s when I should have suspected something. The humidity that usually followed a rainy spell was not present. Only the night before, I had wondered how in the world we would be ready for this charter. How would we manage to dry the bedding? It had rained steadily for the past few days. We had a washing machine aboard Latina but relied on nature’s sunshine to dry our laundry on the line. This morning, however, within an hour of hanging it up, everything was dry and the crew was able to quickly make the beds on time. Everything else clicked as well, mainly because most of the crew were seasoned sailors. Because she didn’t have her own charter that week, Doris, who normally captained our 100’ sailing ship Maverick, and her first mate, Gary, joined me. Having two experienced crewmembers on board, together with Robert, a keen novice, it certainly had the makings for a great trip. Normally the fresh produce and meat provisioning truck was on island time but today it was punctual. Now I wondered why I had been so worried about this charter. But I should have known better. As the old saying goes, it isn’t over until it’s over. At noon our excited guests arrived. They were a group of friends from North Carolina who would enjoy a week aboard Latina, sailing throughout the U.S. and British Virgin Islands. Immediately they were pleased with the ship’s generous cabin and deck space. It didn’t take long to discover that one of the women was picking up the tab for the entire group. She had recently inherited a substantial amount of money and wanted to take her best friends on a unique vacation. This was their first experience aboard a sailing ship. It promised to be great charter, as everyone seemed very genuine and friendly. After our guests settled into their cabins, we picked up Latina’s anchor and slowly headed out the scenic harbor. As we sailed past a row of giant cruise ships resting against the dock, many of their passengers lined up against the ship’s railing and waved to us. It was a heartwarming send off. After eight years of operating sailing charters out of St. Thomas I still got such an incredible thrill out of going to work. Everything was turning out perfect. I started to relax – to enjoy the sail. As we headed out to open sea, Latina’s bow pounded into the oncoming waves sending an energizing shudder through the ship. Her stark white sails fluttered in the soft Caribbean breeze contrasting against the cobalt blue sky. Tropical green islands, speckled here and there, took on the appearance of an oasis rising out of the sea. It was a sight I could never drink enough of. My guests’ faces mirrored my excitement. But little did we know our ecstasy was to be short lived. After barely setting anchor in Frances Bay on the island of St. John in the U.S. Virgin Islands, I picked up our first weather warning over the VHF radio. I listened intently. A hurricane named Luis had formed in the East Atlantic Ocean and it was heading in a westerly direction. It was reported to be extremely large in size and very organized. The news made me edgy, but I felt there was no reason to spoil our guest’s good time by alerting them. It was still a good distance away and very unlikely to hit us. For the next two days I continued to closely, but inconspicuously, monitor the weather reports for the hurricane’s strength and direction. Three days into our charter we were still having incredibly beautiful weather with cloudless blue skies. The only variation was the trade winds. They had become so light, forcing us to use engine power to propel us to the British Isle of Jost Van Dyke. It was hard to imagine that close by, out in the Atlantic, a powerful hurricane raged. But it was true. Within twenty-four hours our lives would be altered forever. Meanwhile on the beach, Foxy, a good friend and one of the Caribbean’s most renowned entertainers, dazzled us with his songs and comedy. My guests enjoyed the reggae music, dancing barefoot in the sand under the moonlight, contorting their bodies backward as they did the limbo well into the night. The next morning, however, I would have to advise them about the hurricane. It was becoming obvious that we would get hit – how severe - no one really knew. With full cooperation from my crew and charter guests, the focus now shifted from enjoying the charter to preparing for a hurricane. After breakfast we sailed from Jost Van Dyke to the little village of West End, on the British Virgin Island of Tortola to seek shelter. I gathered everyone on the aft deck to explain our predicament and to share my strategy for handling what now looked like an extremely dangerous situation. I was surprised how receptive they were to the news. Strangely enough no one seemed too concerned. I had been in four hurricanes before, and I knew these people didn’t realize our beautiful windless weather was just the calm before the storm. I knew they couldn’t comprehend the seriousness of the peril just on our doorstep. West End had an excellent reputation as a good hurricane hole with exceptional protection provided by high mountains on each side of the deep cove. It was said that pirates, buccaneers and seafarers over the centuries had weathered great storms there. So I felt we were in good company. It was time to secure Latina. We set three anchors off her bow, facing west and tied her stern to solid moorings on the beach facing east. Eager to help, my guests got into the spirit of things. They cleared the decks, stowing away anything that could. possibly become airborne – windsurfers, cushions and chairs, and even a full-sized barbecue. Taking every precaution, we took off the sails and hauled one of the dinghies up on board. Now with the decks cleared and everything tied down, Latina was ready. It was incredulous how supportive my guests were. Not once did they complain about their vacation being interrupted by this inconvenience. They helped in any way possible, and had a great time doing it - all in a spirit of cooperation. I knew I had a very special group of people on board. When we were preparing the ship, I went ashore in search of extra rope, as I wanted to triple the number of lines holding us to shore. There I bumped into another charter yacht captain. Surprised that my crew and I were planning to stay on board to ensure the safety of our ship he said, "What’s the matter Boris? Can’t you afford a bottle of rum and a hotel room for the night? Don’t worry about your ship. Come and join us – we’re having a hurricane party!" I just stared at him, and then walked away. I had work to do. There was no way I was going to abandon my ship. I couldn’t understand that kind of thinking. I loved Latina and I would never abandon her. It would be like deserting a wounded friend on the battlefield while retreating. I felt we were taking a calculated risk and my crew agreed with me. They all had the option to leave any time they wished. As the hurricane approached tension began to build. The charter guests decided to take my advice and go ashore. I had previously arranged land accommodations for them in a concrete building. Swiftly, they gathered up their immediate personal belongings and left the ship. Only one guest was too stubborn to leave. Fritz was determined to ride out Hurricane Luis with me. Apparently his ancestors. had been seafarers and even though he was a landlubber himself, he felt he owed it to his ancestry to stay on board. Maverick’s Captain, Doris Bailey, with her tough determined character shining through, also chose to stay on board. She was a big strong salty hard working woman, the kind Boston breeds. Robert, our green deckhand, opted to leave the ship after I explained the danger in staying - not wanting to desert us in our time of need, but knowing it was the best thing to do. Tears rolled down his cheeks as I rowed him ashore. Gary, a long time and loyal mate, agreed to take the last ferry back to St. Thomas to fight the hurricane aboard Maverick. After the shuffle, only three of us were left on board Latina –Doris, Fritz and myself. Dusk set in and with it, a magic moment of peace before the storm. Magnificently the sun slipped over the horizon. Glorious pink and purple hues feathered across the sky and silhouettes reflected in the flat mirror-like water. Crickets sang to their heart’s content. The scene was one of tranquil bliss, an enchanted moment in time. And yet, in a few short hours, life as I knew it, so comfortable and secure, would be drastically altered. Originally it was expected that Luis’ eye would pass south of us. I hadn’t been too concerned, but as the winds built up and new weather reports came in, it was obvious that the hurricane had changed its course. I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if someone had punched me. It was now apparent - we were directly in the eye’s path! Night fell, bringing the first winds of the storm from a NE direction. In no time howling winds that exceeded seventy-five miles per hour dominated the anchorage. Strong gusts laid smaller boats flat on their sides. It didn’t take long for the storm to knock the power out and the stage was set. Total darkness created an eerie ominous feeling. My body was tense with anticipation, but at the. same time, I felt charged and excited like a kid about to experience his first roller coaster ride. As the night progressed the wind increased in velocity and shifted to the NW. It was difficult to get about the ship as the violent wind now blew about a hundred miles per hour with gusts packing much more. I was pleased with the way Latina headed up to the wind, even though the gusts were shifting direction rapidly. We’d barely recover from one gust before getting hit by another. Rain pelted down, piercing my face when I went forward to check my anchors. It felt like bees were stinging me. A couple of days after the hurricane I thought I was going through puberty again – my skin was breaking out. At first I thought it was a case of acne. Then I realized that sand and bits of debris, driven by one hundred and fifty mile per hour winds, had actually embedded into my exposed skin. Latina rode the storm like a bucking bronco. Everything seemed to be under control. Then suddenly there was a white hazy swirling in the air and a horrific howling noise. It sounded like a jet revving its engine just before take off. It was deafening and frightening and I thought it would drive me mad if it didn’t stop. A huge gust pinned Latina broadside, and it was obvious that our three anchors to the west had started to drag. Hastily I started the engine. The gusts were so violent and constantly shifting direction that it was becoming virtually impossible to keep Latina’s bow into the wind anymore. But I knew we had to keep her away from the beach. The fight was on! Somehow we managed and for hours the three of us, Doris, Fritz and I, took turns, running the engine and spinning the massive wooden wheel from port to starboard - trying desperately to keep Latina’s bow into the wind. Working the wheel, located high up on the poop deck, we. were totally exposed to the elements and were becoming exhausted in our battle against nature. The wind was so strong it tried to blast us off the deck, and the driving rain so dense we had to wear snorkel masks in order to protect our eyes and faces. We had to turn sideways just to be able to breathe. At this point, I don’t think we could even see our bow. All along I feared the danger of other boats breaking loose and dragging into us. Periodically, in the glare of lightening strikes, I could see in the distance, boats helplessly drag towards shore. Suddenly in the mist of the ocean spray and rain, I spotted a boat, loose and out of control, being dragged at the wind’s mercy. My stomach did a summersault when I realized - it was heading directly for us. "Full port! Steer full port!" I screeched into the deafening wind. Charged with adrenaline, Captain Doris vigorously spun the wheel to port. I tried to jump from the poop deck down onto the main deck in an attempt to make my way forward. An intense gust stopped me, held me up, suspending me in mid air, then tried to fling me back onto the poop deck. Finally I managed to land on the main deck. I dropped on all fours and quickly crawled up to the bow with hopes of fending off the oncoming boat. Fritz was close behind. A small sloop rushed toward us out of the darkness, dragging just past our starboard side. It was an eerie, ghostly sight, captured in short frames of light produced by the lightening. The boat’s mast was broken and dangling. A huge chunk was missing from its bow. It came so close that I could just about touch it, but before I could react it flashed by us and was gone from sight in seconds. I stood shocked in disbelief. I started to fear what our destiny was to be. From previous hurricanes I had experienced I knew the water would become full of debris, some of it being washed into the sea from land and some from battered and wrecked ships. It’s one of the dangers associated with such violent storms. Around midnight it was evident that the debris made up from snapped anchor lines and the like had wrapped around Latina’s propeller, causing her main engine to stall. Without the assistance of that engine we’d lose Latina for sure. With not a minute to spare I dashed into the engine room to restart it, but each time I re-engaged the transmission, the engine would stall. What could I do? My mind was racing. My heart was pounding. There had to be something I could do. I just had to free that propeller. The crew watched in horror as I grabbed my dive tank and a hacksaw and leaped off the ship’s deck into the darkness. I don’t know how, but I felt my way through the black water to the stern of the pitching ship. I couldn’t see a thing. How I found the propeller is beyond me. It was totally jammed with rope. Frantically, I tried to cut through it, but the hacksaw just wouldn’t do the job. The ship was pitching so hard that I had trouble hanging on and cutting at the same time. One minute I was flying high above the water only to be plunged deep under the next. Every time Latina’s stern fell down on me, I felt barnacles cutting into my head, back, shoulders and arms. I had to forget the hacksaw; it wasn’t getting me anywhere – it was just barely ruffling the rope. I cussed myself for bringing it. I needed a sharp knife. Fritz and Doris helped drag me back up on board and I scurried off to the galley in search of a better tool. In seconds I leapt back into the water – this time clutching the largest knife I could find. Blinded by the darkness I closed my eyes and let my sixth sense guide me. This time, lady luck was on my side. As I slashed the tightly wound ropes, I felt one layer after another giving way. It gave me such an adrenaline rush that I hacked away with the rage of a wild animal. Suddenly a sharp pain shot up my right arm as one of my muscles tore. But I didn’t stop. I was too close. Then another blow of Latina’s 132-ton hull slammed down on top of me, knocking the air supply regulator out of my mouth. I couldn’t hear the rage of the storm anymore. Confused and barely conscious I continued to cut away at the rope, but my mind started to wander off. My first thought was of Shirley. If she knew what I was doing right now she would be furious. If I were to die, she would kill me. Then I started to ask myself. Why was I doing this? Where did I get my drive – my passion for life? Where was it all coming from? Why didn’t I, or why couldn’t I care less? Maybe the guy on shore was right. Maybe sometimes I should let go, not be so committed. Why can’t I? Where does my survival instinct come from? How did I acquire such an adventurous spirit? Sardonically I shook my head, and wondered what in the world a prairie kid from Croatia was doing in the middle of the Caribbean under a 132-ton ship in a raging hurricane? How did I get into this predicament? Then my whole life flashed before my eyes. Not only is this book a heart-stopping read, it will enlighten, encourage and inspire you. Bestselling Author, Chicken Soup for the Soul Series In this dynamic book, Boris and Shirley King certainly prove it pays to live your dream. ... Dennis Connor Four-Time America’s Cup Champion One of the best page-turners I have ever read. You won't be able to put it down. |