Alone against the Atlantic by Spiess Gerry 1940-;Bree Marlin 1933- & Bree Marlin 1933-

Author:Spiess, Gerry, 1940-;Bree, Marlin, 1933- & Bree, Marlin, 1933-
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Spiess, Gerry, 1940-, Yankee girl (Ship), Travelers
Publisher: New York : Berkley Books
Published: 1983-12-14T16:00:00+00:00

preparation—and here I was, with the possibility of failure hanging over me like a shadow.

It seemed obvious that I would have to stop and perhaps even turn back. Instead I gritted my teeth and reverted to my southeasterly direction. I would keep fighting for as long as I could.

"Better Bermuda than Nova Scotia," my friend consoled me.

"At least it's warm there," I admitted.

The fifth day dawned bright and clear. Even though I was motoring right into its glare, I was glad to see the sun again. The wind was down, and for the first time I could see the full horizon without having my view interrupted by waves.

"If only you'd thought to bring along 90 more gallons of gas," my friend chimed in. ''You'd have it made."

"You're starting to get on my nerves," I told him. "Don't forget—you're supposed to cheer me up."

At about 11:30 a.m. the wind had died down completely. The surface of the water was as flat as a billiard table and almost as green.

This was the moment I had been waiting for. Eagerly I shut down the outboard, dove into the cabin, and grabbed my bottle of Joy dishwashing detergent. Then, after stripping off my long-sleeved shirt and flinging my cap below, I leaned over the port side as far as I could.

Yankee Girl responded by heeling over about a foot under my weight—enough for me to dip my hands into the ocean and splash water over my head.

I was enjoying my first shampoo in five days.

I had to wash and rinse my hair three times to remove the accumulated salt and sweat, but the cool wetness felt good. I tried not to think about what I might bring up in my next handful of sea water: a Portuguese man-of-war on my arm or head would be no joke.

I was reaching into the Atlantic, my eyes screwed shut to keep out the salt and soapsuds, when a loud whoo-oo-oo-sh made me jerk upright. With my eyes burning and lather running down my face, I stared at the water in front of my boat, transfixed.

From no more than 15 feet away, a pilot whale was looking directly at me. We locked eyes for what seemed like ages.

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