Dangerous Shores: The Journey Home Read online

  The smell of burnt coffee brought her thoughts back to the present. “Damn,” she said and grabbed the pot off the burner. Scorched or not, she would drink it. Coffee helped keep her sane and she could be mean even to herself without it. Carefully Ellen sipped from the cup. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, it was just a might stronger than usual. I can live with this she thought.

  Cup in hand, Ellen climbed the ladder into the cockpit. She needed time to think. The fresh air and coffee would help. Maybe it was just the battery that was dead. She hadn’t started the motor in days, maybe allowing the batteries get run down. And just maybe she had been reading too many “shit hit the fan books” allowing her imagination free rein to run wild. At this point she didn’t really know anything definite, but as soon as her caffeine quota had been met, she had every intension of finding out.

  Staring at her from the cockpit table lay the cell phone. She almost dropped the cup of coffee in her haste to grab it. However, the screen remained dark like everything else.

  “Dead, as always. You didn’t plug the charger in before you went to bed dummy,” she reprimanded. For weeks she had been meaning to get a new battery the next time she made land. However, she had always forgotten and so there was always the next time. Plugging it in before bed provided about a day’s worth of use. Nevertheless, she used it mostly for internet searches and that seemed to reduce the life of the battery drastically. So maybe it was a task that needed to transfer to her “this time” list.

  Momentarily forgetting, she fully expected to see a plethora of small fish boats casting for bait fish around the Caroline, an old steel boat permanently anchored about 100 yards off her bow. There were not any and furthermore, there were none buzzing up and down the river. Usually at this time of the morning small pleasure craft and fish boats were everywhere, their motors breaking up the silence.

  “Something is definitely wrong,” she muttered. It is positively time to drop the dinghy out of the davits and head for shore. Maybe someone at the park would know what was going on.

  It only took a few minutes to lower the dinghy into the water. She threw her shower bag in and climbed down. Still being too early, she could make use of the facilities until one of the volunteer staff showed up. Emerson Point was one of a pair of state parks at the mouth of the Manatee River and a favorite anchorage or layover point for cruisers or boaters just looking to get away for a weekend. Strangely, there was just one other boat at anchor, plus a derelict sailboat which had been anchored there almost as long as the Caroline.

  Climbing over the seat to the starboard pontoon, Ellen sat and prepared to start the motor. It was a great little motor, a four horse power Yamaha and it always started the first or second pull. But not this time. Impatient, she checked the gas; almost full, the fuel lever was in the on position and the emergency stop cord was on. There is no conceivable reason for it not to start. Right arm worn out and exasperated, Ellen finally gave up. She climbed on to the seat set the oars up and began rowing for shore.

  Fifteen minutes later found her wading through shallow water, dragging the dinghy up on to the sandy beach. She tied the bow-line to a bush, grabbed her shower bag and headed to the visitor center. Of course they were not open yet, and she didn’t expect them to be. Making use of the time, she went in to the ladies’ room. The motion lights did not come on so she had to prop the door open to see. Washing up there was always a pain in the ass; you had to use one hand to keep the water on and wash with the other. However, bathing there was a necessity in order to save the water in her tanks.

  “What? Now what?” she exclaimed, thoughtlessly expecting water. What came out was barely a trickle. No matter, it would just have to do. She hadn’t thought of the magnitude of problems that having no power would bring on. First the lights and now no water pressure. She could only imagine what else lay in store for her if the electricity did not resume soon.

  A quick drag of the brush and an elastic band brought sanity to her wild brown hair. In the mirror, which was nothing more than a sheet of polished metal, she did a quick inventory of her appearance. Most restroom mirrors Ellen would have to stand on tip toes to see her upper body and this one is no exception. Through someone else’s eyes, she could probably stand to lose a few pounds, but through her eyes, she was comfortable with herself. She knew that under her light sweatshirt, she is more muscle than fat. She is would never be considered beautiful and not even very pretty.

  Her mother used to tell her that she never made the most of her attributes, and maybe she was right. Now her attributes have lost some of the glow and crow’s feet shadowed her eyes, and it hadn’t been that long ago that she had pulled out her first gray hair. The woman in the mirror was a thirty-one-year-old, “Old Maid” with no boyfriend in her life and not even a friend with benefits. I am all I am ever going to be and I am happy with that, she thought as she patted her face dry with the last paper towel. She rubbed on some lotion and felt ready to face anything.

  Fully expecting the office door to open, she almost broke her nose when, mid-stride she pushed on the door. It remained closed and apparently still locked up tight. She looked at her watch in frustration; it was blank.

  Now things were really starting to feel uncomfortable. Was she scared? Not yet, but close. She would have to guess, but she decided to give the ladies who took care of the office fifteen minutes and then if they had not arrived, she would haul anchor and head back up river to the marina.

  Practically scuffing her tennis shoes in the dirt, she wandered to the picnic area to wait. Patience, was not one of her many virtues. But, how could she be upset with the ladies for being late, when she didn’t know the correct time? For all she knew, it could have been much earlier than she thought. Regardless, Ellen hated waiting for anything.

  Always, at least every morning that she had been anchored she had seen a lone fisherman standing in waist deep water, casting his line out. Not today it would seem and there were no cars in the parking lot. She briefly wondered about walking the trail back to the roadway and seeing if any of the birdwatchers were by the small pond. Someone was always there with their cameras set up on tripods ready to capture the same pictures as the day before. She didn’t understand the need to be there every day, but they were. Waiting for that one special picture. Not that she could blame them, the Florida birds were beautiful and worthy of the extra attention the photographers paid to them.

  Not thinking, Ellen checked her watch again. Still the same nothing as before. She had no idea how long she had sat waiting; it could have been only ten minutes or it could have been a half hour. She judged if someone was going to show up, they would be there by now.

  “Okay,” she said out loud, “Time to find some answers.”

  Dreading the trip back to the boat, she untied the dinghy and dragged it out to where the water was deep enough it wouldn’t bottom out when she got in.

  Surprisingly, she saw movement across the bay. There was a catamaran raising its sails. From the action on board, she appeared to have a full crew and then some. It looked like they must have been lying at anchor at De Soto Park.

  To her added surprise, down the river came three more sets of sails. She was too far away to see if she knew them or not, but all three were scooting right along. The big cat was soon moving out, taking the lead. It was so seldom that anyone used all of their sails in the river, but to see four boats all sails up, was a beautiful sight. It wasn’t long before they were soon out of sight, lost in the morning mist.

  Chapter three

  Intent on rowing the shortest distance back to the boat, she hadn’t noticed the kayak until she was practically on top of it.

  “Ahoy the dinghy,” a man called. His voice had completely caught her off guard and she froze with both oars out of the water.

  She plunged her port oar back into the water and the dinghy swung to the left. She quickly made adjustments to face him, and saw he wasn’t alone. A woman drifted up behind him on another kayak. He
r eyes were puffy as if she had been crying.

  “Was anyone there?’ he asked. “Did they say what’s going on? Nothing on our boat works, the electronics are all dead. The motor. The GPS…everything. Did you find out anything useful?” His words tumbled out so fast, she couldn’t answer one question before he threw out another. He had grabbed her bow-line to steady himself and the woman gripped the side of his kayak to hold herself in position.

  “No one there and it looks like we may be in the same boat. I haven’t tried my engine yet, but the dam dinghy motor doesn’t start.” She added, “No electronics either, I didn’t think to try the radio.”

  “Crap, why didn’t I think turn on the VHF, (Very High Frequency) radio?” She silently asked herself. The Coast Guard always monitored channel sixteen. If the radio still worked they would be posting announcements every hour.

  “Don’t bother. Mine was as dead as everything else. No cell, no motor, nothing works,” He blurted again. His voice had risen with panic and his hand now had a firm grip on the dinghy’s carry handle putting his kayak tight against the dinghy.

  She realized all three boats were drifting back to shore with the incoming tide. The wind had kicked up out of the north and the water, flat when she had rowed in was now forming small white caps. For her in the dinghy it wouldn’t be a problem, but soon the water was probably going to be difficult for them. Flat-bottomed, sit on kayaks were too unstable for the choppy waves.

  “Look, I need to head back to the boat before we end up on the beach again.” she told him, nodding in the direction we were drifting.

  “Wait, you aren’t going to leave us out here are you?” Clearly the man was becoming agitated, his cheeks turning an unbecoming shade of red.

  “I’m not leaving you here. I thought you were going to shore. I however am not. I’ve already been there and now I’m going back to my boat. If you don’t turn me loose, I will be sitting on the bottom stuck in the mud.” The woman hadn’t uttered one word, but she obviously was as panicked as he was. She was having a hard time clinging to the smooth surface of his kayak and looked to be in danger of tipping over.

  “You need to turn me loose, and help your lady friend,” Ellen said, with a nod in the woman’s direction where her kayak was rocking and bobbing dangerously close to dumping her off. Ellen didn’t know if he lost his balance or his lady friend pulled him over but he was now floundering in the water, one leg draped over his kayak the other in the water. His upper body was draped over the dinghy pontoon with his hands scrambling for a hold. Water rushed in as his weight pushed the pontoon underwater. She threw her weight to the other side trying to counter balance him. “Let go,” she shouted at him. The water was only waist deep on the woman, who had managed to get her feet under herself. Her kayak and paddle were drifting away to shore, and she scrambled after them.

  He struggled, trying to pull himself up into the dinghy with little success. His kayak skittered out from under him, landing his bottom half in the water. He still had his top half dragging down on one side of Ellen’s boat. What he was going to do was capsize it and then they would all be in the water. He had inadvertently pulled the oar out of the oarlock, but she managed to grab it as it was going over the side.

  “What are you doing? Get off!” Ellen was screaming at this point. She just wanted his hands off her boat and to be away from these people. Without another thought, she brought the oar down soundly on his arms. He bellowed in rage, and tried to grab the oar. This was just the move she needed. She kicked him firmly in the face.

  Before he had a chance to retaliate, the oar was back in the oarlock and she rowed for all she was worth, pulling away from him putting everything she had into distance between them. The water hit him just below his waistline and he was trying to run after her.

  “You fucking bitch,” he screamed, “Come back here!” Blinded by his rage, he must have tripped because down he went.

  Ellen’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it would burst through her chest. She had never been so afraid of anyone in her life. She pulled those oars as if her life depended on it, and just maybe considering the ill temper of the man behind her, it did. Her only thought was to get back on her boat and move as far away from him as she could.

  If the guy had any forethought, or calmed down enough to be able to think, he would already have figured out that he could quickly outdistance the dinghy, if only he tried. His kayak would skim across the water in the right hands. Facing shore as she rowed, Ellen was able to keep an eye on them. His kayak bobbed in the shallow water several feet from shore, his paddle nowhere in sight. He splashed and stumbled his way to the beach.

  The dinghy fairly slammed into the transom and she had to scramble to grab the davit lines to keep from drifting away. The wind had started to really kick up, making it hard to hold the rubber boat steady while she hooked the carabineers to the lifting harness. Finally, the dinghy was up and secure in her cradle.

  Arms shaking with fatigue, Ellen sank to the bench seat in the cockpit. She had no idea what had just taken place. A chance meeting with two unknown people had turned vicious with no provocation on her part. “Well I did hit him, but only when he began acting aggressive towards me.” She said, surprised she had even done that. She had never before in her life struck another person in anger.

  “What the hell was he thinking?” she asked herself. Ellen shook her head in disgust and pulled the binoculars out of the holder. Training them on the beach she searched for the man. The woman was sitting, knees up in the sand. Her forehead was resting on her knees with both arms wrapped around her head, fingers clinging to her hair. The way her body shook, Ellen suspected she had to be crying. In vain, she tried to spot the man. He was neither on the beach or in the water nor anywhere between her and the tree line. However, one of them had dragged both kayaks part way onto the sand.

  Before she put the binoculars away, Ellen did another quick scan of the area, looking for the guy. She did not want him to pop up unexpectedly at the boat. Fortunately for Ellen, he was nowhere in sight. She was startled to see the woman had raised her head and was looking in her direction. One eye was swollen almost closed and blood covered her lower jaw. Tears leaked from her good eye. As if she could read Ellen’s mind, the woman slowly shook her head No. Her hand slowly waved her away. Ellen understood her actions to mean I am okay, please just go.

  Ellen thought briefly off going back and getting her. She looked so forlorn sitting there. Ellen hated to think that the man had done this to the woman, but who else could have? Her injuries had not just manifested out of thin air. And she had obviously been recently crying when Ellen first saw them. Ellen could only think that if the lady was lucky, she would never see the guy again. Ever!

  With fingers crossed, she turned the key to initiate the glow plug. Nothing! She knew it was probably a waste of time but she turned the key again. She did not hear the familiar ticking sound of the fuel pump as it pulled the fuel to the motor. Nothing else electrical worked, how could she expect the motor to? She shook her head in disgust at herself. She realized she needed to develop a new way of thinking. Nothing that ran on electricity yesterday was going to work today.

  “And that’s why you have a sailboat and not a diesel guzzling power boat,” she reminded herself. She sighed heavily and wondered how bad the day was going to get.

  Walking forward she sidled past the fuel jugs that were lined up on the starboard deck and knelt before the anchor locker. She lifted the hatch. Hand over hand, up came the anchor rode, dropping it neatly in the locker. The chain was a little harder to handle and covered in mud but there was only 25 feet. Anchor stowed safely on board, she hurried back to the cockpit, not wanting to take the chance of drifting into shallow water.

  Ellen un-cleated the furling line and pulled on the sheet lines. The jib unrolled quickly once the air caught it. Quickly, she wrapped the port sheet line around the winch and tightened it down. With help from the wind she knew they would reach hull s
peed or close to it, so she saw no point in pulling up the main.

  Jib full, they sailed right on out past the Caroline headed up the Manatee River for Palmetto, more specifically the Regatta Pointe Marina. If anyone would know what is going on, likely they would. For sure they would know much more than she did. Or so she hoped.

  Chapter four

  Ellen couldn’t get her head around the idea of no power boats on the water. As long as she has been sailing, she and other sailboats have been plagued with wash coming from every direction. There was no such thing as courtesy on the water and most would even disregard the manatee warnings. Most of these gentle giants were scarred from the props of careless boaters.

  Before she knew it Ellen had reached nineteen green. Quickly she began hauling on the furling line neatly rolling up the jib. In the past she had thought of adding electric winches in the cockpit to make the little boat easier for single handed sailing, now she thanked God she had not.

  She knew the Annie-C would skim across the water after the sails were dropped and hoped she had planned correctly. Timing was everything when it came to dropping the sails in the right spot; too soon and you didn’t reach your destination and not soon enough, there were no brakes to step on. A good hand on the dock went a long way to making a bad landing look good.

  “You got lucky this time girl,” she mumbled as dock line in hand she jumped to the dock. Cleating off the spring line, she jumped back aboard, grabbed the bow-line and back on to the dock. Quickly, the Annie-C was made fast.

  “Ahoy! Annie-C!” a voice called. “Hey Ellen! You need to get out of here.”

  She knew that voice and looked around trying to locate the source. The sailing vessel Sparrow silently crossed behind the stern of the Annie-C out in the main channel, their small main sail pushing them along.

  “Hey guys,” she hollered and waved, “Wait! Where are you going? What do you mean out of here? Why?”