CALYPSO Rhyme of the Modern Mariner

by Dennis McGuire

Illustrated by Pat McGuire

© Copyright by Dennis & Pat McGuire, July 2020

Cover Art by Pat McGuire

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

The events and conversations in this book have been set down to the best of the author’s ability, although some names and details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

Particulars:

445 Quatrains

88 Illustrations

42 Photos

13,000 word Ballad

100,000 words Total

Fonts: Georgia, American Brewery Rough & Great Vibes

ISBN 978-0-5783505-4-7 (paperback)

ISBN 978-0-5789121-5-8 (epub)

First Edition

First Edition: January 2022

While Calypso’s free fallin’ in space

the mind’s thinkin’ we’re gonna leave no trace!

A fifty or hundred foot wave the truth be told

when we hit the trough she’s gonna explode!

Pat McGuire

Contents

Illustrations

PHOTOS

Preface

PART I

Chapter 1 - A Journey Begins

Chapter 2 - Intracoastal Waterway

Chapter 3 - Florida

Chapter 4 - Cuba

Chapter 5 - Mexico

Chapter 6 - Belize

Chapter 7 - Honduras

Chapter 8 - Isla Mujeres

Chapter 9 - Cabo Gracias a Dios

Chapter 10 - Nicaragua

Chapter 11 - Panama

PART II

Chapter 12 - Pacific Ocean

Chapter 13 - Doldrums

Chapter 14 - Gulf of Tehuantepec

Chapter 15 - Northeast Tradewinds

Chapter 16 - Downwind to Hawaii

Chapter 17 - Hilo, Hawaii

Chapter 18 - Beached

Chapter 19 - North Pacific Ocean

Chapter 20 - A Journey’s End

From the Log of Calypso

Illustrations

Portsmouth Rhode Island to Port Townsend Washington Map

Diver & Tender

Chapter 1

Kelp Diver

Sea Lions

Harvest Delivery

Amtrak Cross Country

Newport Used Boat Show

Bull Raker

Quahog Diver

Woodpile Woody

Sakonnet Point

Pumping

Pumping

New York City

Engine Breakdown

Hoist sail 1

Hoist sail 2

Hell Gate

Helicopter Pad

Crash

Jamaica Queens

Chapter 2

Atlantic Ocean

Shark River Jetty

Pt. Pleasant

Dismal Swamp

Sailing the ICW

Chapter 3

Melbourne Bridge Diagram

Halleyboo

Fiberglass Fiasco

Chapter 4

Florida to Panama map

Mariel Boatlift

Cuban Gunboat

Yucatan Strait (1)

Yucatan Strait (2)

Yucatan Strait (3)

Chapter 5

Cancun City

Yucatan Barrier Reef

Chapter 6

Coconuts

Live Boating

Ramming Speed

Chapter 7

Trapped

Pushing a Rope

Bucket of Blood

Open Roadstead

Locals Help Out

Tucked In

Rain

Chapter 11

Gatun Lock

Chapter 12

Mira Flores Lock

Water Spout (1)

Water Spout (2)

Water Spout (3)

Chapter 13

Freighter! (1)

Freighter! (2)

Freighter! (3)

Freighter! (4)

Chapter 14

Tehuantepecer

Chapter 15

Northeast Trades

Blue Footed Boobies (1)

Blue Footed Boobies (2)

Pumping

Chapter 16

Pumping (2)

Pumping (3)

Pumping (4)

Pumping (5)

KHLO

Pumping (6)

Pumping (7)

Chapter 19

Aloha Hilo

North Pacific Ocean

North Star

Universal Plotting Chart

Free Falling in Space

Pumping

Foul Weather

Back Wall

"

"

Magic Carpet Ride

Neptune’s Sledge

Sucker Punch

Chapter 20

Fifty Degrees North

A Myriad of Lights

Logship

PHOTOS

Chapter 1

Razzle Dazzle...Pat

Razzle Dazzle...Dennis

Break time on the Barge

Harvest’s End

Headed to Town.

Stone Bridge Marina R.I.

Woody’s Bucket

Twin Towers

Statue of Liberty

Chapter 2

After the Storm

Chapter 5

Southern Scrap

Chapter 6

Turnstile Haulout

Poppy & Apprentice

Cayuka

Mr. Jones

Launch Day (1)

Launch Day (2)

Placentia

Chapter 8

Doug

Chapter 9

Cabo Gracias Bound

Chapter 10

Nicaraguan Coast

Chapter 11

Panama Approach

Yacht Club Harbor

Backgammon Break

Sea Horse

Stocked-up

Canal Identification

Farewell Doug

Side Tied in the Locks

Tow to the Pacific Side

Chapter 12

The Crew

Chapter 18

Hilo Tide Grid

In Irons Hilo Bay

Sailing Hilo Bay

Haulout

Joe Jack

Sam Kumukahi

Beached

New Planking

Corking

Chapter 19

Launch Day

Preface

Joshua Slocum, along with Howard I. Chapelle and Jack London are the early authors whose work influenced what follows in these pages. Their combined stories, knowledge and real life experience planted the seeds which grew into an insatiable yearning for a sailing adventure.

Slocum’s real life account, Sailing Alone Around the World entertains the reader from the acquisition of a vessel to the completion of the first round the world, single-handed voyage. An ingenious, determined individual and lifelong creature of the sea, he imparts valuable wisdom in his fascinating tale of the journey.

Howard I. Chapelle’s American Small Sailing Craft provides the reader with his intimate knowledge of Traditional Small Sailing Craft, Their Development and Design. One could not help but cultivate an appreciation for the fine lines of the working vessels of years gone by. Their seaworthiness, a product of an evolution in design over several hundred years goes all the way back to old England and beyond.

Jack London’s days as an oyster pirate in San Francisco Bay along with his Voyage of the Snark add comic relief with many truths embedded, applicable to this day. His story highlights the problems encountered in the building and sailing of a vessel, the results of the project learned in a most rude fashion, far out to sea.

Together with his tales of the inherent, adventurous spirit of the human being, London’s stories blur the lines between truth and fiction with an emphasis on hilarity, preceding disastrous consequences. His tragic stories do nothing to discourage the sailor borne to the sea, rather, one is drawn further into its embrace.

Lastly, three authors, and the characters they created must be included with those individuals mentioned above. Joel Chandler Harris, Br’er Rabbit, Mark Twain, Huckleberry Finn and Mort Walker, Beetle Bailey. Without them in the formative years of this author, in all likelihood this book would not have been written, nor the journey taken.

Dennis McGuire

PART I

Chapter 1

A Journey Begins

March-September 1979

Herring Roe on Kelp Dive

Late March in Prince William Sound

icy snow covers the ground

Through glacial waters streaks the spring dawn

great schools of herring have come here to spawn

The Alaska spring of 1979 is a banner year for the herring stocks of Prince William Sound. A bumper crop of herring roe on kelp ( kazunoko kombu ), a Japanese delicacy, will be harvested from these waters this year. Untold numbers of these colossal silvery schools will wind their way through the fjords. The waters will cloud up with milt released by the males to fertilize the eggs. The females swim into the clouded waters and flutter their tails as they lay snow white eggs across the leaves of ribbon kelp which stream down over boulders then intertwine in the hollows. Sieve kelp stand like giant cabbages in patches alongside fields of hair kelp. Hair kelp appears as sage brush before the arrival of the herring.

Ribbon and sieve fronds will receive a thick blanket of eggs. Layer after layer will flock the thin stranded limbs of the hair kelp thick as Christmas trees. The scene presents itself as a winter wonderland to the divers.

A circus atmosphere fills the air

as barges’re loaded for this grand affair

Kelp buyin’ stations these old wooden sleds

an’ the place where divers make their beds

The village of Cordova, Alaska is a beehive of activity with crews making ready to be on the fishing grounds well ahead of this most important opening day of the season. Early spring fisheries are a great economic relief to Alaskan villages following the idleness of the winter months. Herring roe on kelp along with its associated herring sac roe seine and gillnet openings are the first of the spring fisheries, which will be followed closely by the homeward migration of the Alaska salmon. The salmon runs will continue throughout the spring, summer and into late fall.

Barges are loaded with processing equipment, which consist for the most part of pallets of hundred pound bags of salt and thousands of white, six gallon buckets. Hundreds of kelp boxes (four foot oblong wooden boxes) are stacked atop the barge alongside tall columns of buckets.

Weigh stations and processing tables fill out the working deck, shared only with a generous galley partitioned off for the processing crew and divers. The galley is well appointed, with tables to seat about twenty. An ancient oil stove, with heavy cast iron skillets, jumbo soup pots along with spatulas, spoons, forks and knives hang from a locally fashioned galvanized exhaust hood.

Above the processing deck and galley is the bunkhouse floor where the processing crew, divers and their tenders hot bunk in cramped quarters. Those unlucky to have no bunk make their beds under dripping dive suits and gear.

Japanese technicians, required participants in the operation, have a more comfortable room set aside. They are here to insure high quality and proper handling of the kelp as it comes aboard the barge.

Out on the grounds get their skiff ready

air compressor pumpin’ steady

Waxin’ zippers on the suits

checkin’ for holes in bottoms of boots

The condition of the suit top notch throughout

gotta’ protect the diver from freezin’ out

Air hose coiled, kelp boxes stacked

with charcoal ‘n cotton the air filter’s packed

Working their skiff the crew had dubbed Razzle Dazzle in honor of Jack London’s sailboat during his oyster pirating days, they are filling kelp boxes with ribbon, sieve and hair kelp which are heavily laden with herring eggs.

The pair had been invited to the fishery by Smitty, a major kelp buyer who offered a skiff, with space in the bunkhouse and a seat at the galley table. The newlyweds, a commercial dive harvester between jobs and a wandering waitress with a boat, had met in Port Townsend a few months earlier. The diver promised the waitress an adventure in Alaska and the waitress gave the boat-less, unemployed vagrant, quarters from her tips along with a place to live on her 22’ lifeboat, Stella B. They were married in short order by Ferry Boat Hank, engineer on the local ferry, Rhododendron.

A compressor is pumping fresh air down to the diver on a hookah hose in the frigid waters of Valdez Arm. Ice bergs the size of a small house, calved from the Columbia Glacier are beached on Bligh Island,¹ Rocky Point and the shallows of Tatitlik Narrows. Bergs and bergy bits are floating free nearby in the deep waters of The Arm.

Breathing in fresh glacial air while surrounded by the majesty of Prince William Sound, Pat is busy keeping an eye on the diver’s bubbles and a worn out compressor. Cranking bags of kelp aboard, then sorting by species into the boxes, she learns the ropes of a tender quickly, a critical role in a tethered dive operation.

There’s a new beauty down below

across the undersea landscape

a fresh herring spawn snow

The next generation springin’ to life here

on ribbon, hair ‘n elephant ear

Ten or fifteen feet under the boat, thick schools of herring surround the harvester; their spawning uninterrupted by his thrashing flippers or the cutting and bagging of the kelp. Diving ducks are pecking along, busily competing with the diver for their share of the feast.

Steller’s sea lions roam through the schools in herds, acting like unsupervised children in a candy store, gorging themselves as they run amuck. The animals appear without warning, their massive, agile bulk made even larger by the magnification of the diver’s underwater vision. These gangs of beasts speed by gracefully, then are swallowed by the opaque herring milt, the visibility being only several feet.

Clams, urchins ‘n cucumbers’re fine

but herring roe kelp divin’s really sublime

Swimmin’ straight down into this

icy cold brine

fillin’ our skiff with a product so fine

Divin’ hard eight days in a row

we have eight grand to show

for that sailboat we’d been a wishin’

long before we started fishin’

The quality this season does entice

a very satisfying healthy price

Leavin’ the grounds far astern

headed to town with money to burn!

Finding Calypso

Rode the Empire Builder to the eastern seaboard

beat the docks for boats our funds could afford

Lookin’ aroun’ an’ whaddaya know

wound up at the Newport Used Boat Show!

The crew discovers very inexpensive cross country tickets are available on Amtrak. Rumors of cheap boats on the east coast combine with visions of sailing and diving warm waters offer an opportunity viewed as an open door to adventure.

On arrival in Connecticut, the search for a sailboat begins in earnest. Friends are a great help, having provided a vehicle for use in touring the coast. Walking the docks in a variety of harbors from Connecticut to Massachusetts, there are an abundance of sailing vessels found, however, limited funds narrow the possibilities substantially. The hunt alters course when an advertisement for the Newport, Rhode Island Used Boat Show is discovered on a harbor bulletin board. Without hesitation the crew makes a beeline for Newport, arriving late at night, before opening day.

Hop a fence middle of the night

‘cause we spot a boat that looks just right

When mornin’ comes an’ the show’s open

Calypso will be ours we’re a hopin’

Gates are locked, however the fence is low; the crew hops over to get a closer look at one particular boat, blue in color, with a short bowsprit standing out among a long line of sailboats on the dock.

The excitement is tempered when the asking price is found to be $5900, just out of reach. A complete walk through proves there are an abundance of boats very well within reach, some showing wear in areas which are an indication of major disrepair, unseen, below decks. Buying a boat, in the water where the hull may not be thoroughly examined is risky business; the crew must be very careful when considering a purchase.

Only a few weeks earlier, they had turned down a potentially good deal on a fishing vessel in Alaska, which, had they purchased the boat, would have sent them off on an entirely different path of life. What saved them from that course of action was inspecting the interior hull below the floorboards, as the vessel was in the water, sitting in her slip. Reaching down, pulling out fistfulls of rotten wood from the keel and frames told a story, the whole idea was scrapped on the spot.

After a sleepless night the pair are up early, they gobble a breakfast sandwich, drink too much coffee, then set off for the boat show. They arrive early to find a sizable number of folks waiting at the gate.

The pair squeeze with the crowd through the gate as it opens. A quick, cursory tour of the show reveals a wide selection of wooden boats of every description, motor and sail, large and small. The interest in wooden boats here is self evident, noting the early birds in attendance.

One particular boat, which is free from worries of hidden issues is fancied by the would-be boat builder of the duo. A brand new, clinker built (lapstrake) twenty six foot double ender. A thing of New England beauty, from her lines to her meticulous construction, perfection. Dazzled by the view from the dock into her bare hull, as she has no decks or ceiling (interior planking) installed, the inner side of the frames and hull planks expose fine workmanship.

The builder is fussing with details, inviting the crew to take a close look. She is ballasted with rudder installed. Ready for engine, decks, cabin, mast and rig. The downside, although she could be had for a paltry $2000, the crew is well aware that would just be the beginning. Taking on this project will not have them sailing anytime soon.

The fellow is left shaking his head with the knowledge he had nearly closed a deal, and a very good deal it was, for the right person; if they were to be the new owners an income would need to be found, as well as a place to finish the boat.

If that was to be their decision, they would not have left their home in Port Townsend, the wooden boat capital of the Pacific Northwest.

Not to be discouraged, the crew returns to look once again at the little blue sailboat that had caught their attention the previous evening, and lo! The $5900 price tag has a red line slashing the price by one thousand dollars. The crew has the cash in pocket!

Built by shipwright A.A. Bernard

nineteen fifty two in his backyard

A sturdy little ketch of twenty six feet

this boat deal’s hard to beat

Introducing themselves to Marie, the owner, the crew begin looking over the vessel. Calypso is a twenty six foot ketch-rigged pocket cruiser. She appears turnkey with a full compliment of sails; her standing rigging and two cylinder hand crank gas motor, a Blue Jacket Twin are in working order.

Stoutly built for her size, white oak frames are closely spaced, the planks clench nailed; solid, traditional New England construction. Her open cockpit is generous, due to the wide, raked transom stern. She has a shallow draft of three feet and carries iron pigs of inside ballast.

Down below, a bronze plaque with the inscription A.A. Bernard, Woburn Massachusetts 1952 engraved is prominently displayed above the port berth. There is a head, of the joker valve design at which the crew looks askance. Should they buy this vessel, it will be replaced in short order with a five gallon bucket.

She will require the minimalist living of a pocket cruiser. No standing headroom, standard in this length and design, yet the living quarters below are quite comfortable with her generous nine foot beam.

Inside ballast makes her stable

we slap all our money on the table

Then Marie with tears in her eyes

to her little boat she says her goodbyes

The cursory inspection complete, the combination of intuition along with five thousand dollars burning in the pocket are an irresistible driving force. The wad is pulled out, a single one hundred dollar bill is plucked, the remainder placed on the engine cover.

Marie stares blankly at the wad. The pair seeing her hesitation, remain quiet. The pain is obvious as she ponders her decision. A decision not thoroughly thought through until this very moment, staring at the rolled up wad of hundred dollar bills.

A boat’s value is not always measurable by way of money, rather by way of the heart. The pair hold their breath at her hesitation. Marie looks at them with tears welling up, her voice firm. "I’ll do it. I’ll sell my boat, I’ll sell Calypso." With that, she takes the cash. There follows an emotional sigh. Tears and words of encouragement flow freely when Marie embraces the pair. She makes a very simple, not unexpected request to sail her boat one last time to Portsmouth where she has her slip.

A difficult decision she had wrestled with for some time, selling her boat. The new owners could relate, having both sold boats that had played major roles in their lives; they are happy to leave Marie with her boat for a final sail. Boats become living friends over time, a difficult parting is inevitable.

Portsmouth

The Stone Bridge Marina in Portsmouth we stay

start divin’ for quahogs other side of the quay

Every day I go a clammin’

on Calypso Pat’s a jammin’

Making their way to Portsmouth,the new owners waste no time moving aboard. Calypso is tied up at the Stone Bridge Marina, which happens to double as a major local buyer of quahogs.

As luck would have it, there is an active quahog fishery in the vicinity, which upon further investigation offers the opportunity to purchase a license to dive for the clams commercially. Dive gear is shipped out in short order as this fishery is viewed as a huge stroke of luck. One may go so far as to consider this an omen.

Portsmouth is a tight knit community, with a large number of Portuguese quahog fishermen. Commonly referred to as bull rakers, they can be seen standing in their skiffs working long, specialized rakes. The rakes have a basket with curved tongs incorporated to capture and collect the clams. They are limited in their optimum working depth, appearing to be most efficient in the neighborhood of about twenty feet or less. As the rakes are worked deeper, extra lengths must be added. The angle of the rake steepens becoming more inefficient as well as slower to haul back.

Only recently a dive fleet has developed around the fishery, creating intense conflict between rakers and divers. Having been a commercial fisherman long enough to be sensitive to fishing issues, it is easy to understand the problem, as well as the solution, for this diver to keep the peace. The more ambitious goal being to earn the respect of the raker fleet.

It is imperative, living at the dock on Calypso, to get along with everyone in this harvesting endeavor. There has been some nasty encounters between the two groups, however the disputes are taking place in relatively shallow water.

Quahogs

Rigging the eight foot dinghy, which the crew has dubbed the Rinky Dink with an air compressor and a hundred fifty feet of hose, the diver, wearing a simple wetsuit, is ready to go to work in a spot circled on the chart.

Typical of fishermen, the search begins where the legal fishing boundaries are placed by the authorities. The particular fishing spot chosen lies a mere two hundred yards from Calypso’s slip.

The rakers are running much further down the Sakonnet River shoreline, where they work the shallows. Oddly labeled pollution line, the selected location is just off the Fall River, Massachusetts shoreline and down river from Providence.

Locally known as The Nuns, named for the convent on shore, the area is free of rakers, as it is fifty feet deep; undesirable for their gear. There are a couple negatives for the diver as well. The most obvious is again, the depth, which involves diving the tables. This puts the diver in the ever present danger of the bends (decompression sickness).

The second issue is its location on The pollution line. Working the legal side where, theoretically, the clams are clean, free of harmful contaminants, proves to be as bogus as one would expect. A political rather than scientific drawing of a fishing area. Throwing caution to the wind in favor of the potentially decent income, the Rinky Dink is rowed out between the two blown-out halves of the Old Stone Bridge to the far shore. Hurricane Carol had defeated this landmark structure in 1954.

Dropping onto a soft mud bottom, on the initial dive, the raking tool is abandoned almost immediately. Gloved hands are able to feel the size of the quahogs, laying a few inches deep in the mud.

A few days into the routine, which only involves roughly one hour of bottom time each day, production exceeded initial expectations. Working virgin ground, there were almost too many clams.

The size of the clams being a critical factor in the learning curve. quahogs are chowder clams. The first clams delivered by the Rinky Dink were a mix of quahogs and cherrystones. Quahogs fetch ten cents a pound where cherrystones bring ninety cents a pound. It does not take long to train the hands to locate the smaller clams which would pass through the sizing ring. Profits shot up as the smaller clams out outweighed the larger, less valuable clams by a large margin.

Loadin’ the dinghy with cherrystones

workin’ fingers to the bones

Scratchin’ out a hundred bucks a day

from the bottom of Narragansett Bay

Eventually, after several days diving, the top raker in the quahog fleet shows up at the Nuns. He gives a hearty wave, which is returned, signaling the game is on. The fleet had taken notice of the interloper’s deliveries coming out of the Nuns and sent their best man to scout it out. Fishing has always been a competitive endeavor, the new arrival is welcomed for company and sport.

Surfacing from the third trip to the bottom, the overfull bag is hung off the port side of the dinghy, helping to balance the two bags hanging off the starboard side. Meanwhile, my neighbor is standing in his skiff, breaking down his gear. With another friendly wave, he motors away. Twenty minutes left on the sixty foot dive table allows for one last scramble across the bottom, a final bag will top off the load.

Rowing back to the buying station, Rinky Dink is taking water over the bow. Having put on a heavy load, due to an abnormally large number of big clams which had not been sorted out in the heat of the competition, now there is a real threat of sinking before reaching the dock.

Bailing water between strokes stays ahead of the flooding until tying up. The fleet is congregated, well aware of the match-up between diver and raker, and clearly curious of the result. Looking down from the dock at the Rinky Dink, loaded to the gunnels with her bags of clams, the result is obvious. Quahogs are tallied proving that the rakers in shallow water had out-fished their friend who had left the fleet to work in competition with the diver at The Nuns.

A wide grin, his head shaking while staring down at the pitiful pile of clams he had produced spoke volumes. Earning the respect of the fleet for not intruding on their traditional quahog raking grounds assures life on the marina docks in Portsmouth will be quite pleasant.

Final Preparations

Calypso is readied for her journey throughout the summer. With Marie’s help, encouragement and the many meals she shared, along with the support of so many local folks, preparations for the journey continue apace.

She is hauled out of the water, her hull cleaned and painted. The deck seams are reefed out and corked after a number of leaks are located. A tremendous summer deluge strikes during this process, an entire night is spent, sleeping in raingear and pumping many gallons of water out of the boat.

One particular old timer would stop by to observe the progress. After a time the crew became irritated with the fellow, as he would go through the same routine, every day. He would stand quietly for awhile, then walk away, pointing at the bottom of the boat saying ya, but what’re ya gonna do about those garboards?

The garboards are the two planks on either side of the boat which fit into a groove, known as the rabbet, at the keel. This is a critical joint in the vessel and must be properly corked with oakum and cotton, then puttied with underwater seam compound or bear shit as it is known in the trades. The garboard planks look fine. The crew ignores the old fellow, launching Calypso as mare’s tails and fish scales appear in the high altitudes of the Autumn skies.

Out of a woodpile appears a kitty

name him Woody ‘cause it’s kinda witty

Woody completes our crew of three

an’ soon we’ll be sailin’ cross the sea

The boatcat arrives, not unexpectedly, appearing in the early hours one morning, wailing mournfully atop a pile of wood next to the boat. Some unknown person had thought to provide the crew with a cuddly companion, an irresistible tabby kitten.

In short order, the kitty is taken aboard, promptly and appropriately named Woody. As cats go, this one is no exception, immediately finding a cozy, pillowed spot on a bunk then settling in.

Food and water are made available as well as a simple, handy cat box using a five gallon bucket with a hole cut in the side. Maintenance, a simple matter of removing the lid,dumping the contents then adding fresh sand, a readily available commodity.

Block Island Sound

Doesn’t take long workin’ on her steady

Calypso’s gone through ‘n made ready

An’ when the moon’s just a sliver

Calypso’s sailin’ down the Sakonnet River

Setting out from Portsmouth, motoring down the Sakonnet River, dusk has the light diminishing rapidly as Calypso approaches Sakonnet Point, where the river meets Block Island Sound. The crew are counting the seconds of intermittent red, green and white flashes partially obstructed by lights ashore while rain squalls pelt the helm sporadically. They strain to pick out the variety of markers playing hide and seek in the rainfog, on points of land or on mid-water obstructions.

Calypso has a fathometer, the style where the zero and the sixty foot mark are in the same spot at the top center of a circular face. The indicator light makes a full sweep of the face, marked in ten foot increments from zero to sixty feet. One must pay attention, it is possible to read the sounder erroneously. The only remaining navigational tool aboard for inland navigation other than the combined wits of the crew, is a standard marine grade compass.

The voyage doesn’t start out just right

nearly hit rocks very first night

Sailin’ ‘n bailin’ I gotta say

Calypso’s leakin’ thirty gallons today

A bit of inattention to the depth sounder, added to some confusion reading the lights in the obscured visibility leads to the startling result. Rocks make their unexpected appearance, breaking ten yards off the starboard beam. A ghostly, abandoned lighthouse, unlit and unseen until this very moment, sits atop the reef. The hair rises on the back of the necks with the immediate realization the path to open water is blocked by the reef.

The gain automatically turns up on the crew’s inner radar, all the senses are at peak alert. The compass and depth sounder are instantaneously scanned for clues. The compass points to open water directly through the rocks. The depth sounder throws the crew into confusion.