Rowboat in a Hurricane by Julie Angus Read Free Book Online Page A

small boat in big seas, but she lacked many of the stabilizing features of other seagoing vessels. Sailboats, for example, are steadied below the water by a large keel that resists lateral movement, and above the water by the pressure of the wind on the sails. Fishing boats and cruise ships usually have stabilizing fins to counter their natural rolling movement. Our boat, however, had only a tiny keel and no sails. The smallest wave sent it rocking and pitching.
    As I lay in the cabin, waiting for my rowing shift to begin, I examined the foam-padded ceiling and read the pen scribbles barely an arm’s length above me. The previous owners had left phone numbers, short checklists, and, right in the middle, a jailhouse calendar composed of fifty-six dashes—one for each day of Ondine ’s previous voyage from the Canaries to the Caribbean islands. Our journey, from mainland to mainland, would be double the distance and would likely take twice as long. It still seemed incomprehensible that we were spending a single night in this rowboat, let alone any number of months. I prematurely started our own countdown and marked off day one with a permanent marker. Then I nodded off, escaping to a dream world that didn’t include rowboats and waves.
    “Five minutes!” Colin yelled.
    The world came spinning and rocking back into focus. I slipped my cycling gloves onto my already-blistered hands.
    “How are things coming along out there?” I asked.
    “Lots of shipping,” Colin replied. “We’ve had several freighters pass quite close to us. You can still see land, but it’s getting low.”
    “How about Miami?”
    “What about Miami?”
    “Can you see it yet?”
    “Almost. I think it’s just over the horizon.” Colin looked over his left shoulder, brow furrowed. It almost looked like he really was searching for the sandy shores of Florida.
    “Ex-lax!” he suddenly exclaimed.
    “Huh?”
    “Ex-lax,” Colin repeated. “We forgot to get laxatives! ”
    “Oops!” I said.
    I remembered all too clearly our bid to purchase laxatives. The clerk in the pharmacy spoke no English (which is rare in Portugal). He didn’t understand what we were asking for, and finally Colin was forced to mime what the product was used for. It was funny and embarrassing at the same time. Unfortunately the pharmacy had none in stock, and we had to try elsewhere. But we forgot.
    Our diet would be devoid of fresh fruits and vegetables, and very high in low-fibre carbohydrates. I shuddered at the thought of having problems thousands of kilometres away from any medical facilities or pharmacies.
    “I remember reading the book Lost by Thomas Thompson,” Colin said. “Their trimaran flipped and they were living in the overturned hull. The woman was suffering from extreme constipation, and it reached the point where her husband had to reach in and remove a stool the size of a baseball.”
    This conversation wasn’t helping me reach peace with our new lifestyle.
    “How the hell do you just reach in and grab a turd the size of softball?” I snapped.
    “ Baseball, ” Colin corrected. “I don’t know—that’s just what it said.”
    I made a mental note of where we stored the prunes and slid out the hatch to begin my shift. Miami seemed a long way away.
    BACK AT THE oars, I felt uncoordinated and exhausted. The waves seemed to be even larger from this vantage point, and far too often an oar would get caught on a wave and slam into my leg. Normally, both oars would be balanced when I pulled them through the water during my stroke, but now I found it easier to put one slightly ahead of the other. This allowed me to get the oars a little higher out of the water, and prevented unnecessary damage to my thighs. I was sure this was a big no-no in terms of rowing technique and would dash my dreams of arriving home a rowing champion. My dreams were quickly fading.
    From my outside vantage, I looked directly at the cabin. Colin’s long, sun-bleached hair poked