The Sail by Beach Landon

Author:Beach, Landon [Beach, Landon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-24T05:00:00+00:00

16

JUNE 1995

Trist lowered the main sail as they approached the waypoint Robin had programmed into their Loran.

Robin turned on the engine. “We’re almost to the wreck,” he said to Trist. “Go up forward and get ready to drop the hook.” Trist gave a pathetic salute and headed toward the anchor locker near the bow. At least he’s moving . Robin peered down at the display in front of the helm and adjusted course to starboard.

They were now on the southern side of Grand Island and not far from where they had put in at Munising. It had almost been an embarrassment to anchor last night without traveling very far. His son had made a mistake, but he had made mistakes at that age too. The Loran beeped as they approached the waypoint.

Bermuda was in thirty feet of water and still looked like the nineteenth century schooner that it was. At one hundred and thirty-six feet long, there was plenty to explore, and the ship was one of the most visited wrecks in the Great Lakes. It was also one of the safest to explore. Bermuda sat perfectly on the bottom with the deck only twelve feet from the surface. There were three open hatches that lead into the hull where he and Trist could explore, and the only dangers were the normal ones associated with penetrating a wreck, mostly silting. On the surface, there was a fair amount of tourist boating traffic—the only way to dive the Bermuda was to take a boat out to her—so they’d have to be careful when they surfaced.

Just off the bow, Robin spotted a Boston Whaler bobbing at anchor near the wreck site. He pulled the binoculars hanging around his neck up to his eyes and scanned. There was no one onboard. They’d have company beneath the surface. He lowered the binoculars and checked the Loran one more time.

Robin brought Levity ’s engine to idle and pointed the sloop into the wind. “Drop the hook, Trist!” Robin shouted.

Manning the anchor windlass up forward, Trist let go the anchor, and it entered the water with a familiar sploosh . He watched as the chain payed out and the anchor disappeared.

When the desired 5:1 scope of chain was let out, Trist set the brake. He tied a piece of line around the chain and then tied it off to a cleat, transferring some of the load from the windlass. “Go ahead and back down,” Trist said.

Robin throttled astern at around 1500 rpms for a moment to let the flukes set in. When the boat would not move aft at 1500 rpms, then Robin was confident that the anchor was set, and he cut the engine.

The cloudless sky allowed the sun to warm everything from the deck beneath Trist’s bare feet to the shirt sticking to his back. There was no hint of a breeze and the water looked like a never-ending mirror. Satisfied that the anchor was secure, he headed aft.

Robin emerged from the companionway with two scuba tanks.

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