The weather forecast called for south winds on Saturday and north winds on Sunday. I thought to myself, what perfect conditions for an overnight weekend sail from Sarasota to Anna Maria and back. My friend thought the same. He was already gearing up his thirty footer Soveraine for a free ride. This guy is a licensed captain and had sailed through storms offshore in the misnomer known as the Pacific. We weren't even leaving the bay of a gulf this time, and the keel on his boat weighed more than my entire Hobie Cat. With that weight, experience, and a dingy to spare what could go wrong?
The trip started in that dingy. It nearly folded in half as we powered head first into 20 plus knot winds and waves. Gear got wet and we made it on board. I wasn't concerned and the least of bother was outweighed by anticipation and clear blue skies. We decided to pick up his married friends at the dock. So we sailed. It was perfect. Calamity would not befall us or the second crew of friends tailing us in a smaller craft. This was the largest vessel I had stepped foot on, and even in heavy winds all was at ease. Yet taking an early jibe, the jib sail became awkwardly caught on the forestay and fluttered with ferocity. Without hesitation I ran to the bow and eagerly grabbed the sail with both hands to pull it free. As the sky covering canvas blew open, I felt the force of wind transferred through my hands and was quickly humbled by the power of its breath. For a second, I thought it might sweep me from the floor before I could release my grip. A part of me did not want to let go...and to be blown by the wind.
As we trekked north, the sun fell along with a blanket of dense fog. Soon our visibility was reduced to blindness. Shoals surrounded us in a narrow channel and the mist left nothing for see in all directions. In an age before satellites, we would have been forced to anchor in uncertainty just a stones throw away from shore to avoid beaching Soveraine. Technology did not take us to our destination, but it led us there before nightfall. All was cheers at the dock, and our two crews walked on down to the Drift Inn.
A seedy bar that I imagine sat no more than a handful of souls on Friday night was packed to the brim. As we entered the front door, fifty some odd Florida crackers turned toward us. Apparently we beat the bride and groom to their own party. Looking back out the door, a bamboo tourist trap bus stopped as if to lead us to our next watering hole. We climbed in...and of course there was karaoke. So we sang and the driver took both hands off the wheel to dance. At that point, I decided to no longer push him on the idea of driving off a pier for fun. It took some convincing my new friends that we should make our way to D Coy Ducks...another dive bar I had foggy memories of nearly a decade ago.
As we entered the four walled establishment, a barefoot wrinkle and salt with an eye patch circled around in their second home. My crew suddenly questioned who I was, and if I were captain a mutiny may have occurred. Finishing our one and only drink and about to climb back aboard the pineapple express, a group of no less than 15 women poured out of the same bus into D Coy Ducks. Before we could say aye, 15 shots lined the bar top and the band turned up the volume. But I was captivated by a lovely redheaded stranger that had crossed my path before. Since nothing was normal this night and I was the only bachelor around, I brushed shyness aside and stopped her. She spoke first and asked the exact words in my mind, "Have we met before?" Conversation ensued and she convinced me she was as fun and cool sober as she was drinking. We agreed to a nice sushi date and parted when my crew pulled me back on the bamboo bus.
From dock to bar, bar to bar, and bar to dock, we made or way back to Soveraine. Immediately upon return while capturing thoughts and taking shots, we gazed among the sailboats moored amid black silent fog. Then peace was broken...a boat burst into flames. A fiberglass fire raged on water thirty feet wide, thirty feet tall, and three hundred feet away. We stared in drunken awe and snapped a couple pictures before the alcohol delayed idea of someone on board crossed our minds. We were back in the dingy with wet shoes and a fire extinguisher for naught. As we approached the inferno, a single fellow jumped ship and began rowing away in his dinghy. I screamed across the water..."IS ANYONE ELSE ONBOARD?!?!" He replied..."NO, IT'S JUST ME!" As he made his way safely to land, my friend and I found ourselves thirty feet from a possible explosion. We quickly motored back off and up popped a dazed and confused body from the cabin of a neighboring sailboat. Half asleep and scratching his head in disproportionate wonder, the fellow mumbled out..."oh man ahhh uh ooh that's Steve's boat...ol' Steve and his candles." Back on land, the flashing lights finally arrived and began spraying a fire hose toward the wreckage...the massive jet of water fell short of the flames by a hundred feet. Oh, the humanity. Where was the firefighter boat? The fire raged on without threat in subtle surroundings of water and right when the climax seemed to cease, the anchor line burned through. Now the floating furnace began drifting through a field of moored sailboats. Disbelief set back in as the small number of helpless bystanders watched it T-bone a fine yacht...one could never imagine such a disaster in slow motion. It turned parallel and hugging the other boat, gently scorched its side before drifting off toward another victim laying in wait. As a third boat nearly caught flames, the innocent arsonist broke free again and finally halted adrift. It was sinking. Flames began slowly drowning in place. Then the fire boat arrived. With all its might, firefighters pummeled the last dying gasp of harmless plasma with a blast of water from above.
End of story. We sailed back the next day in pure serenity, and the redhead never answered my call. I was left perplexed in thought over the well known quote from the Hollywood sailing comedy, Captain Ron. The burnt out questionable captain uttered to his fearful crew at the dock..."If anything is going to happen, it's going to happen out there." What seemed to be so true, was not. All it takes is one candle.
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