Nizuc - Blog21

BLOG 21 – A Tale of Too Sticky

It was the best of wines; it was the first of tides.

Meltdown.

With the engine on to charge batteries, and butter melting all over the place, humidity became our sticky situation. The sun crept in any gap to encourage even thicker layers of sunscreen. The waves hardly broke the viscous treacle of the sea as we creased our hull towards the beckoning sunset, like a hot knife through whipped cream.

The night brought little relief. Lightweight sleeping bags, like jumpers on a hot day, were as inviting as warm milk in a sauna. The languid smile of the falling moon left a briny trail over the turbid ripples, to guide us through the night; we surfed in rhythmic parabolas along its argent lure, towards the waxing orb on the shimmering horizon.

Don’t look back.

We looked back. The mouth of Cerberus rose on the crest of a huge swell; we both knew he could come aboard, and there would be no way of stopping him. The foaming bone in his mouth was wider than our boat as the plangent roar shook our gunnels. Cerberus dropped, leaving a gaping abyss, leading straight to the depths of his realm. Struggling to see the compass, we steered hard, watching the glimmer of the sails for clues, calling out fickle bearings to the helmsman. Even with small sails, we snaked in all directions. The first squall was upon us, and the gusts were rising. Rain gushed down in deluges as the gusts came relentlessly on. Cerberus waited for us to founder as we fought. One squall followed another as we went from wind to rain in cycles. The maelstrom cast bellowing cries behind us, but we couldn’t look back. Time slowed as we hung on huge breaking peaks, and plunged into devilish troughs; our only goal was to stay the course.

So that was nice.

To comfort anyone who finds this alarming (mainly, my mum), this was written a few days ago; we have been through so many squalls that people are taking shower gel to make the most of them. We are always tethered at the helm, and Cerberus is just being friendly.

All is good. We are fishing, again, and it’s a clear day, with a lolloping sea.

That’ll do.