Otto Take the Helm Until Midnight
Another spooky sailing story
Name: Shawn “Lawless” Payment
Where: 2014 Everglades Challenge, en route Checkpoint Two, Chocoloskee, FL
What kind of boat: Sea Pearl 21
What happened: It was my first Everglades Challenge. Just before sundown, Dave “Yolo” Martin and I had pulled in just south of the Naples Pier for a quick rest stop and a take-out burger order. Within minutes we had relaunched and were heading south towards Marco Island. We had been sailing pretty much non-stop for a day or so and Dave, who was 20 years my senior, was beginning to look a bit flagged.
“Hit the rack, buddy,” I said. “I’ll take the watch till midnight.”
Dave happily obliged and tucked himself into the midships cuddy.
The winds were light but we made good progress until south of Marco when the breeze tapered off and progress slowed to an interminable slog. Darkness had fallen and the moonless night revealed a spectrum of stars. I began to sing little ditties to myself in order to stay alert.
Then, out of the black, arose a tentacled appendage, wrapping itself over the aft rail. Moments later, I locked gaze with a large glassy eye as it rose into the cockpit. I was unsure how to proceed. My WaterTribe-required knife was close at hand, but sensing no immediate threat, I allowed the intruder to board without challenge.
Slowly, and confidently, one supple limb wrapped itself about the tiller, releasing the tension from my tired hands. I nodded in acknowledgment, wondering whether my newly arrived cohort was up to the task. Our eyes met. I checked our course, looked up at the stars, and back at our wake. Straight as an arrow. No worries.
Slowly, and confidently, one supple limb wrapped itself about the tiller, releasing the tension from my tired hands.
We sailed on into the black. Suddenly, my wristwatch “pings.” I focus my eyes. Midnight. 8 bells. I see Dave’s headlamp as he makes his way aft from the cuddy.
“Hey, Lawless. How’s it going?,” he says.
I quickly glance at my GPS. Dead on course.
“No worries mate. Second star to the right and straight on till morning,” I groggily respond.
Dave takes the watch and I crawl forward into the cuddy for a much needed bit of sleep. Along the way, I spot a tentacle or two stealthily retreating over the starboard rail.
Crashing heavily into my thin, camp mattress, I could hear myself humming random ditties to myself.
“When Otto the Octopus gets here, everybody’s gonna jump for joy!” (Repeated indefinitely.)
Lessons Learned: Rely on your shipmates, regardless of how many appendages that they may have. •SCA•
Feel free to share your own spooky stories on the water. Send to josh@smallcraftadvisor.com —Eds
Excellent 😊
My wife and I were in that 2014 EC, our first, sailing a then-new Hobie TI. The first several nights featured no moon at all. After that breezy Saturday kickoff, it settled to very light wind and we had to put in 18-hour days to make any real mileage. I remember those little wrinkles of light coming off the wavelets, and after many hours they started to build themselves into what looked like perfect brick walls in front and alongside of us. Very strange sailing right through brick walls. Then the storm blew through on Thursday, and very windy to the finish. We slopped our way through Whitewater Bay in the dark, shivering from the rain, and I remember seeing a little marina to the left and thinking we should stop so we could sleep on the docks. (When we got home, I looked on Google Earth - no marina there or anywhere nearby.) By the time we finally finished (in 6 days, 19 hours), we were both in near-total delirium. But we came back the next year, proving once again there's no accounting for a lack of good sense.