The Chase: One Courageous Skipper Battling The Perilous Evil Out To Destroy Him. (Sea Action & Adventure) by Herzel Frenkel Page A
Authors: Herzel Frenkel
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. Looking again at the boat, he said "The masts seem to be made of wood. She is not a fiberglass boat, is she?"
"No, no, she is all wood. We don't make many fiberglass boats Down Under, mostly well-crafted woodwork".
"Down Under?" Avri repeated, puzzled.
That friendly smile readily returned as Oakeley explained loudly, "Australia, my old mate. That's Down Under, isn’t it now."
Avri smiled back, this time genuinely cheerful, relieved. It was like entering a port just ahead of a storm.
"Australia. That's great Jim, really great," he repeated, relieved. "Escaping the winter back home, are you?"
"Yeh," Jim laughed, "But we've been cruising for almost two years now, the whole family. The wife, a daughter and a son. They all went home last week for Joanne's matriculation examinations. They'll return in a couple of months, and meanwhile I'm stranded around here".
"Why stranded?" Avri managed the conversation much more fluently now.
"Well, you see, the Jay Bee is too big to be sailed single-handed. So it seems that I’m marooned like a fish in an aquarium until my crew returns".
Their morning conversation flowed easily, as most waterfront conversations do. Oakley’s yarns were as pleasant as his smile. He was an accomplished sailor and he had tales of many seas. It was definitely a pleasant way to wait for Danny, should he ever arrive. They had lunch together aboard the Jay Bee (the Jay was for Jim and the Bee for Beverly, his wife, as he explained). Later they went over to the Galatea for a few beers and the second half of their mutual survey of each other's boat.
At three o'clock that afternoon the daily ferry sailed in, carrying a deck full of tourists who stayed on board while she unloaded supplies. There were no tourist attractions in Port Vathi or on Samos Island, at least none of interest for vacationers who have been sailing for a half a day now from Piraeus, by way of Hiros, on their way to the famous island of Mikonos.
Avri and Oakeley idly watched the activity on the ferry. People were assembled on the dock, waiting for the cargo to be unloaded before they climbed onboard. They had luggage of all sizes and sorts, some carrying merchandise for trade, some personal belongings. There were idle onlookers, colleagues and friends gathering at the great open gateway.
Only three passengers disembarked after all the trucks had rolled off. A young woman carrying a child was greeted warmly by a man, probably her husband. The two others were men, definitely not locals and apparently not related to each other.
They carried expensive looking luggage and appeared to be accustomed to traveling. Avri hardly noticed them as they walked into the taverna.
Even though it was too early for Danny to show up, Avri could not help searching for him around the ferry. His gaze wandered in that direction almost against his own will.
The ferry sailed out at half past three, leaving a smooth wake behind her stern, and no solace for Avri.
The afternoon advanced slowly, bearing long shadows that veered to the east. As time was nearing six o'clock, Avri excused himself from the easy companionship of his new Australian friend explaining that he had some letters to write. Writing letters is considered a very personal moment amongst sailors. It's the opportunity to reconnect home, family and friends, staying in touch with the past or providing for the future. Most often it is the time for the voyagers’ eternal question: "what the hell am I doing here?”
Avri was now assured of a solitary evening.
Back on the Galatea, tucked in the forward corner on the Starboard side of the cabin, he turned on the small overhead reading light. He leafed listlessly through the pages of a SAIL magazine. The radio played, mournful Greek music, its downbeat tone did little to calm his turbulent mind.
His thoughts swirled like lost fish in a whirlpool, a dizzying mix of the Russian antenna, the western equipment it was meant to track, the possible
"No, no, she is all wood. We don't make many fiberglass boats Down Under, mostly well-crafted woodwork".
"Down Under?" Avri repeated, puzzled.
That friendly smile readily returned as Oakeley explained loudly, "Australia, my old mate. That's Down Under, isn’t it now."
Avri smiled back, this time genuinely cheerful, relieved. It was like entering a port just ahead of a storm.
"Australia. That's great Jim, really great," he repeated, relieved. "Escaping the winter back home, are you?"
"Yeh," Jim laughed, "But we've been cruising for almost two years now, the whole family. The wife, a daughter and a son. They all went home last week for Joanne's matriculation examinations. They'll return in a couple of months, and meanwhile I'm stranded around here".
"Why stranded?" Avri managed the conversation much more fluently now.
"Well, you see, the Jay Bee is too big to be sailed single-handed. So it seems that I’m marooned like a fish in an aquarium until my crew returns".
Their morning conversation flowed easily, as most waterfront conversations do. Oakley’s yarns were as pleasant as his smile. He was an accomplished sailor and he had tales of many seas. It was definitely a pleasant way to wait for Danny, should he ever arrive. They had lunch together aboard the Jay Bee (the Jay was for Jim and the Bee for Beverly, his wife, as he explained). Later they went over to the Galatea for a few beers and the second half of their mutual survey of each other's boat.
At three o'clock that afternoon the daily ferry sailed in, carrying a deck full of tourists who stayed on board while she unloaded supplies. There were no tourist attractions in Port Vathi or on Samos Island, at least none of interest for vacationers who have been sailing for a half a day now from Piraeus, by way of Hiros, on their way to the famous island of Mikonos.
Avri and Oakeley idly watched the activity on the ferry. People were assembled on the dock, waiting for the cargo to be unloaded before they climbed onboard. They had luggage of all sizes and sorts, some carrying merchandise for trade, some personal belongings. There were idle onlookers, colleagues and friends gathering at the great open gateway.
Only three passengers disembarked after all the trucks had rolled off. A young woman carrying a child was greeted warmly by a man, probably her husband. The two others were men, definitely not locals and apparently not related to each other.
They carried expensive looking luggage and appeared to be accustomed to traveling. Avri hardly noticed them as they walked into the taverna.
Even though it was too early for Danny to show up, Avri could not help searching for him around the ferry. His gaze wandered in that direction almost against his own will.
The ferry sailed out at half past three, leaving a smooth wake behind her stern, and no solace for Avri.
The afternoon advanced slowly, bearing long shadows that veered to the east. As time was nearing six o'clock, Avri excused himself from the easy companionship of his new Australian friend explaining that he had some letters to write. Writing letters is considered a very personal moment amongst sailors. It's the opportunity to reconnect home, family and friends, staying in touch with the past or providing for the future. Most often it is the time for the voyagers’ eternal question: "what the hell am I doing here?”
Avri was now assured of a solitary evening.
Back on the Galatea, tucked in the forward corner on the Starboard side of the cabin, he turned on the small overhead reading light. He leafed listlessly through the pages of a SAIL magazine. The radio played, mournful Greek music, its downbeat tone did little to calm his turbulent mind.
His thoughts swirled like lost fish in a whirlpool, a dizzying mix of the Russian antenna, the western equipment it was meant to track, the possible
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