Isle Of Nanoho
I am joyful for the first time in a long time. No longer will I pine for the dead. There is only the living from here on. I am about to tack for shore and sail for home when the wind suddenly ceases, and “King Maushop’s smoke” rolls in. My visibility goes from fifty yards to twenty, to ten, blanketing Sea Gypsy like a shroud. Time appears at a standstill as I take the shortened oar from the cuddy and begin paddling, not knowing if I am gaining or losing way. With the boom allayed to the mast, the mainsheet goes slack in my hand. I reach over the side and find that the sea itself is at a dead calm and unmoving.
Dipping into my seabag, I take out my handheld foghorn that I always have on board for times like this. Having no running lights, Sea Gypsy is rife for ramming. Bein
