- TOP PLAYERSOffensePABLO S. TORRE | August 20, 2012
- TAMPA BAY buccaneersENEMY lines WHAT A RIVAL COACH SAYSJune 28, 2012
- Faces in the CrowdJune 11, 2001
The wind was still north northeast. The seas were turbulent, very impressive, like mountainous country modeled in white-capped water. There were no regular waves. Looking from a crest to the trough below, I thought their height was 25 feet.
Now I am well fagged to the bone. I can often hear a striker sea coming. There is a lull in the wind, presumably when we are deep in the trough. Then the boat mounts sideways, and I can hear a sizzling from the comber. Then whacko! If it does not strike the boat, she seems to shoot over the crest and land a heavy belly-whopper in the trough below.
MONDAY, JUNE 27, 2325. I started at 0900 to repair Miranda. She needed a lot—a new halyard, topping lift, etc. It was difficult to stand on deck, and even sitting down one suddenly slid from one side to the other.
I had to climb to the top of the 14-foot mast to reeve the new topping lift. The roll was maddening in the great seas left by the storm. Because of my weight, when I got aloft the roll swung the vane and the mast itself clear around 180�. I hung on pretty tight and waited for it to come back. Instead, the roll back sent me spinning all the way around. The next roll of Gipsy Moth was timed just right and spun me all the way around again, and for about 15 seconds I was spinning around like a dormouse clinging to a whirling top.
After my first astonishment, I was scared stiff for Miranda. She was not built for a load like myself. If her mast snapped, it might take me a week to repair it. I finally caught the pulpit with a leg, dropped down as I swung around and got down from my perch as soon as I could. I kept at my repair work until I knocked off for dinner, which I have just finished, 14� hours after starting work this morning.
TUESDAY, JUNE 28, 0515. I feel depressed. At 10 o'clock this morning I shall be 17 days out and will be lucky if I find we arc halfway.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 29, 2050. The Mauretania passed, looking very solid and majestic in the dirty gray weather. I rushed for my Aldis lamp to signal and ask to be reported. Hell! The electrics were fused. The Mauretania sounded off with three blasts of her foghorn and was on her way, leaving me a trifle forlorn.
FRIDAY, JULY 1, 1500. Is it still only July 1st? It seems days since midnight. First, I found we were only doing 2.8 knots. Try as I would, I could not trim her. She was being overpowered by the wind, and she refused to move. And the wind, as so often, was right in the eye looking in the direction of New York. At last, at 3 in the morning, I decided to go onto the starboard tack. I thought the ship went better, with less crashing about than on the port tack.
When I went forward to the mast I got a start. There was a huge black giant on the sail ahead, most eerie, as if I had rubbed my Aladdin's lamp and its djin or genie had appeared from nowhere. The truth was that we were approaching a patch of light fog, and the powerful white light from the stern cast my huge shadow on the sail and fog patch ahead.
A Canadian station suddenly came in loud and very clear on my radio. It was a surprise after the long silence of the mid-Atlantic.