Chapter 14. A Safe Harbor

We were cutting through growing but gently rolling seas. Anna held on, standing next to me at the helm under the overhang.

Ryan’s package comment stuck. I had to ask, “Do you remember anything about Saigon?” Anna didn’t answer. She was turning green. I knew the signs and pointed to the port side of the deck, “There’s a bucket in that locker. Go over the side or in the can but don’t use the head.”

She sat at the gateleg table in the cabin with the bucket on deck next to her. I hollered into her, “the cabin makes it worse. Fresh air out here’s better. Not much, but better.”

“I don’t give a shit,” she answered while opening the windows within reach before the sound of Ralphing came out at me. She moaned, “I’ve never been sea-sick before!”

I assured her, “Anyone can get sick if it hits you right.”

I turned the navigation lights on when we entered the shipping lanes to reduce the chances of a tanker running us down. It’s best to give out tasks to sea-sick sailors and I knew it would get a bit rougher soon enough. I hollered into the cabin, “Anna, bring the bucket with you and make sure the forward hatch is battened down. Then come back here and help me secure the skiff.”

The currents in the channel are jokesters and they could easily take us off-course over two miles. A warm stream runs from the south along the Santa Barbara side of the coast but the prevailing cold stream from the Gulf of Alaska courses further out in the opposite direction nearer the Islands. This makes for a confusing drift to amateur sailors and, with the winds adding to this, the seas churn up like a mad dog at the most unexpected times. I expected it and enjoyed how the Mizz Sherlock handled the white capped swells. For the fun of it I had her full throttle over the top of one wave and plunging down the trough and into the next, sending spray radiating from her prow high and wide, before I cut back for Anna’s sake and to maintain her into the seas.

We made only about three knots progress for about an hour. The seas rolled glassy calm a mile south of the shipping lanes in the shelter of the Island. This did little to relieve Anna’s seasickness. By the time we came in sight of the lights at Prisoner Harbor, the marine layer thickened. I set my direction but couldn’t see much of anything but the shadow of the Island on the radar screen. I turned Mizz Sherlock’s bearing southwest, hoping the reverse current would keep us on course. The radar missed it but we were only a couple hundred yards off the coast when I got a visual of the soft glow of the surf’s foam churned up on the shoals at the entrance to Lady’s Harbor. Once safe in the harbor by midnight, we dropped anchor where it was only a couple fathoms deep. I’d been in Lady’s Harbor before and always thought it was the best of all the anchorages for its privacy. It had the extra assurance of no hiking trails through the spiny brush above the surrounding cliffs.

Anna came out of the cabin and washed out her bucket on a line over the side. “Sorry, I never get sea-sick. Can we camp on the beach ‘til I get over this bile? I need to be on solid ground. There's a cave over there.”
   "No, that won't do, my dear little green one. Not unless you want to get woke up by the next tide."

We took the skiff to the beach and rolled out our separate bags in the bush beyond the graveled sands and more importantly, above the hightide line. saying nothing, Anna skootched herself back up to me and fell asleep pulling my arm over her shoulder. I held it there as any father would hold his sweet snoring child. The sound of waves splashing on the graveled beach lulled me into the harmony of nature resonating with the stars above. When I had it, I don’t believe I appreciated it as much as I did then… the comfort of simply holding someone I cared about this much.

Anna woke me from a bad dream at sunrise… That is, the erased chalk residue of a memory of a bad dream… a feeling… a sense of loss… the image of my daughter… and the child... the package in Saigon. Anna nudged me, “Wake up, Mister, let’s go have some breakfast.”

She had already rolled up her bag and tossed it in the skiff by the time I stood. I didn’t roll mine but slung it over my shoulders against the chill of dawn and stiffly stepped over and into the skiff.
"Say there Mr Kraszhinski, do you wake up the house yelling like that every goddamned night?"

I sat aft for a few minutes after boarding the Sherlock to put together my thoughts."No... I mean, I don't know. Sorry."
Anna had started the burners by the time I joined her. Chattering like an early morning scrub-jay, she chirped, “No biggie. Say, I found powdered eggs, real butter in the fridge, some homemade bread, and cans of corned beef hash here! You hungry for some powdered eggs and hash?”
   Happier than I ever thought I could be, I sniped back, "What's this, a father/daughter day at the office?"