And the Sea Will Tell by Vincent Bugliosi, Bruce Henderson Page A
Authors: Vincent Bugliosi, Bruce Henderson
Ads: Link
the picture until after she was grown and living on her own.) For Muff, blue-water sailing meant not only being away from home, but also being apart from her loved ones and friends when they needed her, and she them.
“Look, I know you’re worried about your mother,” Billy said, still trying to deflect her friend’s concerns on the eve of their departure. “But she has Peggy and Dorothy. And anyway, she’s pretty darn healthy. Don’t worry about her. You have your own life to live.”
Muff nodded distractedly.
Billy laughed and playfully poked her friend’s arm. “Hey, worry about me. With you gone, who the heck am I gonna find to beat at tennis?”
Muff cracked up.
There’s that sweet smile , Billy thought with satisfaction. Sometimes, her friend was just too nice for her own good.
CHAPTER 5
A T SUNRISE ON J UNE 1, 1974, the Iola departed Port Allen on the southern shore of Kauai, the first island of the Hawaiian chain to rise from the smoking seas millions of years ago.
Long before Jennifer and Buck lost sight of the cloud-draped peak of mile-high Mount Kawaikini, they picked up the northeast trades and were heading southward at a good clip.
The sense of being alone on the sea with the man she loved, feeling young and healthy and free, soaking in the brilliant sun and cooled by ocean spray, was exhilarating to Jennifer. Their future was now in their hands, not the law’s, and they were heading for a faraway adventure that held new and thrilling possibilities.
Her pleasant reverie came to an end in a few hours when the wind fell and they were dead in the water, just bobbing on the waves. They discussed starting the outboard engine attached to the stern, but decided not to. What fuel they’d brought had to last. They’d just wait it out.
Experienced sailors would have been shocked to see three dogs traveling aboard the Iola . Sailboats rarely carry even one dog. Jennifer owned a small ball-of-fluff mutt, Puffer, named because of the way she panted happily after playing. When she’d decided to bring Puffer along on the voyage, Buck had countered that he was going to bring his two dogs; Sista, a brindle-colored part-Lab bitch, and Popolo (“black” in Hawaiian), a male pit bull. Buck’s dogs were big, clumsy, and hopelessly dumb, and Popolo had a mean streak. Jennifer had tried to talk Buck out of bringing them. “Sure, I’ll leave them if you leave Puffer,” he had said stubbornly. There was no way she could leave her little Puffer, who was as responsive to her moods as a confidante, so all three dogs and 150 pounds of dog food were along for the ride. To keep the dogs from being washed overboard, Buck had picked up eighty feet of netting at a fishing supply house and secured it to the lifelines from bow to stern.
The wind picked up again early that first afternoon, and Buck hoisted the mainsail. But at nightfall, when the wind tapered off, he lowered the main and put up the smaller jib, which gave the Iola about two knots.
The slow-moving boat’s rolling motion became more uncomfortable, causing Buck to feel queasy, but they didn’t know how to respond. Neither realized that they were “under-canvasing,” a common mistake of novices, who tend not to put up enough sail. Experienced sailors would have stayed with more sail in an effort to squeeze out more speed, which would have diminished the wallowing effect. Buck went below to nap. In the close quarters, he became even more nauseated.
Jennifer, less affected, remained at the helm alone. The night was soundless except for the uneasy creaking of the booms and gaffs. Her biggest fear was colliding with another ship in the inky blackness. A big ship would have radar, though. Wouldn’t it? But suppose it wasn’t working or the operator was snoozing? She kept a sharp lookout for lights or looming shadows in the night.
Buck unsteadily came up on deck and relieved her for a couple of hours, manning the helm until one in the morning, when
“Look, I know you’re worried about your mother,” Billy said, still trying to deflect her friend’s concerns on the eve of their departure. “But she has Peggy and Dorothy. And anyway, she’s pretty darn healthy. Don’t worry about her. You have your own life to live.”
Muff nodded distractedly.
Billy laughed and playfully poked her friend’s arm. “Hey, worry about me. With you gone, who the heck am I gonna find to beat at tennis?”
Muff cracked up.
There’s that sweet smile , Billy thought with satisfaction. Sometimes, her friend was just too nice for her own good.
CHAPTER 5
A T SUNRISE ON J UNE 1, 1974, the Iola departed Port Allen on the southern shore of Kauai, the first island of the Hawaiian chain to rise from the smoking seas millions of years ago.
Long before Jennifer and Buck lost sight of the cloud-draped peak of mile-high Mount Kawaikini, they picked up the northeast trades and were heading southward at a good clip.
The sense of being alone on the sea with the man she loved, feeling young and healthy and free, soaking in the brilliant sun and cooled by ocean spray, was exhilarating to Jennifer. Their future was now in their hands, not the law’s, and they were heading for a faraway adventure that held new and thrilling possibilities.
Her pleasant reverie came to an end in a few hours when the wind fell and they were dead in the water, just bobbing on the waves. They discussed starting the outboard engine attached to the stern, but decided not to. What fuel they’d brought had to last. They’d just wait it out.
Experienced sailors would have been shocked to see three dogs traveling aboard the Iola . Sailboats rarely carry even one dog. Jennifer owned a small ball-of-fluff mutt, Puffer, named because of the way she panted happily after playing. When she’d decided to bring Puffer along on the voyage, Buck had countered that he was going to bring his two dogs; Sista, a brindle-colored part-Lab bitch, and Popolo (“black” in Hawaiian), a male pit bull. Buck’s dogs were big, clumsy, and hopelessly dumb, and Popolo had a mean streak. Jennifer had tried to talk Buck out of bringing them. “Sure, I’ll leave them if you leave Puffer,” he had said stubbornly. There was no way she could leave her little Puffer, who was as responsive to her moods as a confidante, so all three dogs and 150 pounds of dog food were along for the ride. To keep the dogs from being washed overboard, Buck had picked up eighty feet of netting at a fishing supply house and secured it to the lifelines from bow to stern.
The wind picked up again early that first afternoon, and Buck hoisted the mainsail. But at nightfall, when the wind tapered off, he lowered the main and put up the smaller jib, which gave the Iola about two knots.
The slow-moving boat’s rolling motion became more uncomfortable, causing Buck to feel queasy, but they didn’t know how to respond. Neither realized that they were “under-canvasing,” a common mistake of novices, who tend not to put up enough sail. Experienced sailors would have stayed with more sail in an effort to squeeze out more speed, which would have diminished the wallowing effect. Buck went below to nap. In the close quarters, he became even more nauseated.
Jennifer, less affected, remained at the helm alone. The night was soundless except for the uneasy creaking of the booms and gaffs. Her biggest fear was colliding with another ship in the inky blackness. A big ship would have radar, though. Wouldn’t it? But suppose it wasn’t working or the operator was snoozing? She kept a sharp lookout for lights or looming shadows in the night.
Buck unsteadily came up on deck and relieved her for a couple of hours, manning the helm until one in the morning, when
Similar Books
