Chapter 27 "Making Way" from
Prepare to Come About
hose headsails
are killing our tack! Go tell your husband to sheet in his jib—again.” Tim said. “We’re never going to
make it through Thatcher Pass at this rate.”
Oh dear lord, not again. I drew a deep breath and went forward to
relay the captain’s orders to my foredeck leader. I seriously doubted he’d be
any happier hearing from me this time than he was the last three. “Jeffery,
Captain says your jib’s still sheeted out too far. It’s killing the tack and
making us carry too much rudder.”
“Christ—I’m
doing it exactly the way he asked for
it last time! If I sheet in any more we’ll be backed!”
“All
I’m doing is passing along orders; please don’t kill the messenger.” I spun
around and returned to my new position at the quarterdeck, complaining under my
breath all the while. “Talk about getting caught between a rock and a hard
place…” I shook my head and silently
counted the hours until we’d drop anchor and I could go hide in my stateroom.
“This totally sucks. Why did I ever
think I could actually pull this off?”
It
didn’t help that on this, my first trip out as a mate, I had a fractious
captain and a partner who didn’t appear to be adjusting very well to taking
orders from his wife—especially when those orders often contradicted
themselves. I wasn’t certain whether Tim was testing me or just being testy—either
way, it made for a long day. It felt like I’d already logged countless miles
on-deck, relaying commands and responses to and from the foredeck.
I
walked up to Tim and inquired if the headsail was now to his liking and
received a reply that was more of a muffled grunt. I chose to interpret it as a
sound of approval. My next duty was to walk around the deck and make sure
everything was ship-shape. I began
capsizing a few coils, only to hear the captain’s voice from the quarterdeck.
“Chris—hands in your pockets! Your job is to delegate. You can’t keep an eye on
everything if you’re busy coiling lines!”
I
sighed. I missed my old job as a
deckhand where I could just manage my sail, stow my lines and retire below to
read or chat with friends. There was no such thing as standing down for me any
longer, and no reprieve from the constant vigilance. Now I had four sails to manage—over 7,000 square
feet of them—with two or three stations per sail. I had to watch over all the passengers now, not just the
ones who were assigned to my station. Worst of all, I had to keep a look-out
for eight other deckhands, a few of whom were beginning to stand out as
accidents waiting to happen.
I
finished my lap of the deck and collared the appropriate crew to tidy up their
lines. In doing so, I was met with several annoyed expressions and one unruly
complaint from a little blonde deckhand on the back-stays. “Mom! I hung it on the pin just like Tim
told me to! I don’t wanna coil it again!”
“This
is the mate telling you to recoil it, not
your mom. You can’t argue with the mate—if you don’t like it, go talk to the
captain.” Juliet pouted and went back to her station to tidy up lines.
Once
we cleared Thatcher Pass, Tim told me to sheet-out to a beam reach and order
the main and foresail crews to rig preventers—cables that inhibited the booms
from swinging back on an accidental jibe. I called my crew and their passengers
on deck to start rigging their preventers. I walked forward to supervise the
process and noticed that the main preventer cable looked strange; the mainsail
team had run it inboard of the jib sheet. “Hey Ron, I think you’ve led it
wrong. It’s gonna conflict with the jib once you sheet out…I’m pretty sure.” I
scratched my cheek as I studied the layout, and said, “Let’s redo it; I’m not
happy.”
Ron
glanced down at the preventer and shook his head. “Nah, this is the way it’s
supposed to look. I’ve done it this way a hundred times.” He continued to lead
his cable aft to connect it to the boom. I shook my head and stared at the mess
of lines; now the jib sheet, main and fore preventers were laying one atop the
other. My memories from my former position as the foredeck leader told me that
things were askew. It doesn’t seem right
somehow…Well, he’s been doing this a helluva lot longer than I have. I guess he
knows better.
Tim
called to ease out all sails for our new course and as the main boom stretched
outboard, I heard the twang of my jib
sheet springing tight. Dammit! I knew it!
“Chris!
Get that preventer fixed—before that ferry crosses in front of us and we have
to move out of his way—I do not want
to jibe!” Tim yelled at me.
I nodded my head and glared at Ron,
who was too busy trying to free the preventer to bother with my silent
reproach. Once their line had slacked, we struggled as a group to untangle the
main cable. Tim shouted at me to quit doing the deckhand’s work and to
supervise, but I pretended not to hear him—I could see that Ron and his
passengers were unable to cope with it on their own. I leaned overboard to help
disconnect the hasp, when suddenly a gust of wind grabbed the mainsail and
back-winded it, sweeping the sail and all its hardware toward the opposite side
of the ship. I instinctively ducked and at the same time heard Tim yell,
“Everybody—out of the way!” The massive boom caught on the throttle of our
inflatable tender that hung over the starboard rail. It wrenched the throttle
mechanism off the console with a resounding smack!
The tender jerked upwards, then fell back into the boat-falls.
The thermal eased as quickly as it
started, and the boom slowed its swing just enough that we were able to
counteract a complete jibe. I looked back at Tim’s face and had no doubt as to
what might be on his mind. He glowered as he spun the wheel around to keep our
sails in their rightful positions. Oh
balls. I’m gonna hear about this one. Deckhands ran to the rail and helped
the mainsail crew secure the preventer correctly. I stood by and pretended to
supervise, but inwardly I felt foolish and superfluous. At that moment, my
husband appeared beside me. “Whoa! How’d all this happen?” He inquired.
“Don’t even ask. I think I’m in big
trouble.”
“They shouldn’t have led their
preventers like that… didn’t you stop them?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be up on the
foredeck?” My irritation started to get the better of me—I was jealous that my
husband had the ability to just come and go during my crisis. I resented that
he could identify the problem so quickly and furnish a solution so assuredly.
“Alright, I’ll stay out of your way.
I get the hint,” Jeff said and went back to the charthouse to read his
magazine.
Tim called Worley and Jeff back to
the helm. “Get on the tender and see if you can repair that throttle before we
anchor this afternoon. We’re going to need it to shuttle passengers to shore.”
The guys went down to the engine room to find the appropriate tools. I leaned
against the lifelines, hands finally in my pockets, and awaited the reprimand
that I knew was forthcoming.
Tim ignored me for the most part,
and concentrated on keeping his sails full. Ron sat in the captain’s chair and
avoided all eye contact. Eventually, Tim handed the wheel over to a crewmember
and walked over to where I stood. “What went wrong?”
“The boom jibed because we didn’t
have the preventer hooked…” I started to explain.
“No. I know all that—I could see it
from the wheel. What did you do
wrong?”
I gulped. Oh, that. “Well, I didn’t trust my instincts and let a deckhand
overrule my decision… I didn’t step back and delegate to the crew when I needed
to and as a result, I didn’t catch what was happening with the boom.”
“Yep, pretty much. You would have
seen that we were about to clear the lee of Willow Island—and you probably
would’ve held off on releasing the preventer until you knew whether or not we’d
get a gust.”
“I’m sorry Tim. I… I guess I’m just
struggling with how to be the boss. I know I shouldn’t worry about how much
everybody else knows and, well, start believing in what I know.” I looked down
at the deck and fumbled with my words; at that point I didn’t feel like I knew
much at all.
“You got that right—you have to be the authority on the ship. I
need to know that you’re watching all this stuff and that you can give orders
that will be obeyed—otherwise stuff like this happens.” He nodded in the
direction of the tender, where Jeff and Worley were crawling around trying to
reattach the throttle.
“Yeah, I know, but—these guys—like
Ron… He’s ex-Navy and he’s been crew on here for years. I realize that I have
to tell ’em what to do, but it’s hard to make ’em listen sometimes,” I said.
Tim looked unsympathetic. “If you
don’t believe in yourself, then why should any of them believe in you?” He
gestured toward Ron, who was now snoozing in the chair. “Ron’s probably forgotten
more about sailing than you and I’ve ever known—but the problem is, he doesn’t
realize he’s forgotten it.”
“I understand.”
“Alright then, let’s tack and then
we’ll drop in about thirty minutes or so. Get ready to slack preventers.” He
turned back to the helm and then paused to add, “Hands in your pockets.”
“Yes sir. I got it.”
Later that evening, with the hook
down and our passengers occupied in conversation and cherry cobbler on deck, I
stole away to my little cabin. The mate’s stateroom had become my favorite
place on the ship; a solitary confine where I could curl up in my bunk and lick
my wounds from the day. And by this time, I’d develop some substantial wounds
to care for—after the throttle debacle, we’d encountered another mishap as my
crew launched the tender. I’d assigned several of the younger crewmembers to
the boat-falls and instructed them to listen for my commands. Unfortunately,
one of the old timers took matters into his own hands, calling for the bow to
lower first. This resulted in a rather ungainly and rapid entrance into the
water for our poor inflatable. I’d pondered briefly about which of us was
having the worse day: our little tender or myself. Before Tim had the chance to
start yelling, I went back to the helm to explain. “I know, I know…”
“Get control of your crew,” Tim
said.
“I will—I swear. Mitch just jumped
in without asking. I’ll come down on him next time.”
“Yes, well, Mitch… having him as crew is like losing ten good men.” Tim
grabbed his sweater and newspaper from the scuttle. “You either have command of
your deckhands or you have… anarchy. It’s your choice.” With that he walked
below.
“Aye boss.” I said aloud to myself.
A soft tap, tap at my cabin door shook me out of my contemplation. “Yeah?”
I said.
Jeff’s voice emanated from the other
side of the door. “Hey, you up for a little company?”
“I s’pose so.” I leaned over and
unhooked the latch. “Just don’t mention anything about today’s events, please.”
I thought to myself, If Jeffery had been the first mate, there
wouldn’t have been any arguments or insubordinate looks… nobody would have
presumed to call orders out of turn. My ego felt trampled and my
insecurities ganged up on me.
“Can I get you anything—you hungry?”
Jeff asked.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Well, you don’t look good,” he
piled several armloads of clothes onto the sole so that he could sit next to my
bunk. “Are you in here feeling sorry for yourself?”
“Perhaps. It’s been a sucky kind of
day. I think Tim may have overestimated my ability to take charge.”
“He told me you might be feeling
that way,” Jeff replied. “He also said that you’re doing OK… all things
considered.” Jeff repositioned himself on my tiny bench seat; my cabin was not
built for a tall individual such as himself. “Wanna know what I think?”
“I
guess.”
“I
think that you’re just going to have to commit to this thing—make your
decisions, right or wrong, and stick to them. You’re going to get blamed
regardless, so rather than getting chewed out for somebody else’s mistakes, you
might as well get chewed out for your own. Does that make any sense?”
“Yeah—yes,
I reckon it does.” I moved to the edge of my bunk. “What you’re basically
saying is that I just need to ‘cowboy up’ and grow a pair.”
“Exactly!”
I
sighed, “Alrighty then, starting tomorrow I’m gonna own this whole mate’s job,” and then added with a smile, “There’s
just one thing babe.”
“What’s
that?”
“Sheet
that jib in tighter when we come about—you’re killin’ the tacks.”
Jeff
chuckled and got up to kiss my forehead. “You got it Madame Mate. You got it.”
~ Chris
So, anyways, these little fishy pals of mine have completely inspired me. They've actually made their way into the manuscript. Chapter 29 of Sea of a Thousand Words. You can "catch" them on the link below. (Sorry, puns are really not my forte). Windline Press: "Sea of a Thousand Words" Chapter 29 
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