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Collins Rhōg – In the Belly of Now –

Collins Rhōg

Collins Rhōg

Sedona AZ (September 3, 2014)The following has been randomly taken from Collins Rhōg’s private journal, and reproduced exactly as it was written, by his own hand. The date has been omitted, at his request, but Collins view is always captivatingly honest, full of depth and color, heart, love, and perseverance in times of struggle. Collins spills his soul and captures his feelings with vivid imagery and heart felt emotion that oozes from the pages of this historic text.

The following is but a portholes view, from across the room of “The Life and Times of Collins Rhōg“:

in the belly of now

Tonight, as we were crossing Hope Point, we saw terribly bad seas, while exposed to the full force of an angry Georgia Straight. The bow of Teras Reclusas was swallowed and vanished by waves several times. Shugo hunkered below to brave crashing supplies and furnishings, while all portlights and hatches were secure. My sciatica screamed with every shimmy of the helm and every hollow drop and savage uprise from the waves tossing us about. We were pummeled… and pummeled… and pummeled.. fore and aft… side to side… the mast was a pendulum violently swinging atop the sea… like a voltmeter constantly touched to a battery terminal.

At one point, I lost all rudder control because the waves were beating us back with a vengeance and our little one-lunger diesel just could not fight the relentless current. I had no sooner regained steering when we rose and broke over an oncoming wave to slam down upon a massive piece of tree bark, that must have been at least four feet long and two feet wide. I couldn’t see it in the darkness but I heard it go into the prop… the growl was petrifying, like a blender catching an ice-cube. The little boat trembled and staggered in fear, while I held fast to the helm. And then I heard the oil pressure alarm screaming through the white noise as the little diesel engine died completely. Peering over the stern, into the darkness, I saw the black fractured chunks of bark, as the current swung us around and the waves crashed into us broadside, breaching the combing and cascading into the cockpit. Our starboard side was well in the water. I clung to the port-side combing, leaning over the stern and prying my feet against the compass’s binnacle to stay in the aft corner of the boat. Catching glimpses of the propeller, beneath the rise and fall of the frothing water, I looked for damage and could not see any blades obviously mangled. I rolled back into the cockpit, my cushions were floating, “…would the ignition switch energize under water?”, I thought to myself. It energized… and the engine fired to life… I engaged the transmission to hear that familiar clunk, looking back I could make out thrust flowing from the stern as the now distant bark was gobbled up by the dark sea.

Another wave broke over the combing and Teras healed hard to starboard, sea water spilling in as if pouring over the brim of a pitcher, my cushions flashed away and vanished over the side as the boat stubbornly righted herself… as if flipping the bird to the ocean. I tried to turn into the waves, but again there was zero response to port. I instantly turned starboard, and she came about… as another wave crashed over the stern and into the cockpit awash in seawater.

I brought Teras Reclusas around the long way… it seemed like it took forever to point her into the waves, as she bore the brunt of another punishing volley before facing the ruination of water head on. Now the waves were closer together, so she dove less and her prop remained mostly in the water. I began to believe we would make it… then I heard the prop begin to sing loudly, like a mermaid beckoning a sailor to jump overboard and join her. It was a beautifully terrifying whine. I wondered if the shaft may be bent… I had her pegged at 3,000 rpm, imagining the engine rattling itself to death below the cockpit which was full of tons of seawater. This went on for hours, but one loses track of torment in the moment.

Rain and spray pelted my numb face… the wind howled and roared as the sea continued to boil feverishly around us while she slowly plowed ahead through the darkness. Her bow rose above the waves, waist deep in the white froth that ran along her flanks as I gripped the helm, as my harness and lashings drew taunt with every wave that washed over the cockpit…“Would the prop fail?…”Would the engine endure the neck wringing I was giving her?”

I could do nothing but keep on keeping on. Slowly Teras Reclusas would rise… clawing her way up the waves only to stop and teeter but for a moment… before diving down into the frigid waters that swallowed the first third of her length until she’d struggle out… and begin clawing her way up once more… to stall, teeter and dive again…I held fast, hypnotized by the thrashing, focusing on enduring the punishment the ocean was administering.

At this point, I wasn’t thinking of getting by, I wasn’t thinking of holding on… all thoughts were washed away in the turbulent froth… I was sheathed in the grips of an instinct that deployed and surrounded me like an airbag, all life in my body seemed to shut down, except the vital systems. I was dazed and yet alive in the moment. Then, after a lifetime and ever so slowly… consciousness weeped back into my soul and I noticed the bitter cold, the noise of the storm, the chug of the one cylinder diesel… and the fact that I knew… like I knew, like I knew, we’d get through.

I was present again… feeling Teras as she continued to buck like a rodeo bull bound with flank strap. A euphoric warmth crept over me as I throttled back to 2500 rpm and screamed at the dark waves that I pointed my little boat into. There’s something indescribably incredible about holding the helm and steering Teras Reclusas into the intimidating shadow of water, looming above her, bracing myself, and knowing that she can withstand more than I.

And when the heavens break open, when I find safe haven and slowly make our entrance into the protected waters of a cove, or bay, or on the leeward side of some obscure rock, peninsula or island, the hair on the back of my neck rises to attention, my eyes scan to read the sky that has been scoured by storm, and I take a deep breath… feeling more alive than any moment I can fathom.

At about that time, Shugo pokes his head through the companionway doors, with a shit grin on his face and ears pointed back at 45’s, looking for permission to climb up and out from the inner belly of the boat. With a nod, he’s in the cockpit, lying beside me, his chin on my knee, eyebrows undulating as his nose twitches in the sea air.

All of a sudden the romantic chug of the little one cylinder diesel engine that just brought us to safety becomes audibly present in my consciousness… and I forget about the times I’ve been covered with grease, all contorted within the engine bay, swearing like a sailor, with bleeding knuckles and sweat dripping off of my brow and give thanks to the little engine that could. I crack a beer, hold it up to old King Neptune and pour a little over the side, appreciating that we’re not at the bottom of Davey Jones locker… then I hold it up to Brian Harvey for building such a fine boat… and throw it back, all dark and bitter, completely satisfied to not be in a cushy bed with a remote at my side and the television spewing out garbage.

Collins Rhōg

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2 Comments

  1. What a ride, quite interesting, anticipate more of same in future!

  2. Exciting, suspense filled, well told. Enjoyed it very much thank-you!

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