Spooky Sailing Stories: Red and Green

by Welton Rotz

I love to be on the water at night, sailing or powering. When the wind is down and the moon is up, it shines a shimmering path that begs to be followed. It is easy to set ones course—maybe even to the moon its self. On a dark night with no moon’s path to follow, the restaurants in Jack London Square along the Alameda Ship Channel are enjoyable destinations. The San Francisco Bay international container shipping facilities are also located in the Channel, their monstrous cranes towering over the water. The heavy industry along the shore line is blazing with lights, and these are multiplied by their reflections on the dark water. With so many lights and the profusion of piers built out into the water way, it is a challenge to determine one’s route along this dog legged water way. The edges are not perceivable, too many bright lights; on the shore, above it, and on the buildings behind. Only the pairs of red/green markers stand out proud from the multitude of glaring white lights.

Sailing from one pair of channel markers to the next is the only way to set your course past the looming cranes off-loading container ships. It is comforting to pass between the familiar pair of red/green marker lights, (“red right returning”) and sail on to the next pair of markers. But wait a minute! The next pair of red/green lights are higher above the water, way higher! THERE ARE NO SHORE LIGHTS SHINNING BETWEEN. The space between the lights is black, very scary black. There are no reflected shore lights on the water in front of me. I realize the lights are approaching closer, dead ahead. Those are port and starboard running lights. ITS A SHIP

I can hardly make my hands work. Everything slows down, except the looming hulk of the black ship. The water in the Channel turns to thick muck, sticking and holding back my little boat. My legs tighten, ready to run… but where? I feel cold, except for the warm wetness in my jeans. My hand grabs the throttle, my knuckles shine white even in the darkness.

Will the inboard diesel engine, which has been loafing along up to now, respond to my pressure on the lever in my hand? Just last week, or was it a month ago, the speed control jammed. I was gonna fix it, but the next time I went out, it was working okey.

The old marine engine, the one which is too big, too heavy, and has too many hours, roars to meet the challenge. My boat shutters, the prop kicks out a sizable wash. We move.

The ship passes behind me. •SCA•