Deep Blue Part Deux

Leaving St. Augustine, Josh said one thing he had learned from the cruising lifestyle was…shitty boat names (Memories passed by at that moment). I meant to make a list of all the ones we came across-believe me, there were some plain stupid ones. That night, I watched the mast slicing through the handle of the big dipper for about four hours straight. I woke up again in blue water. It was like being at Seabase, and waking up when your head bumps against the railing of a dusky. It seems you have skipped dawn in the oven-like green tent and the runny crepe pancakes and the wading out in cool morning sargassum, yelling back at the crew members who are dillydallying in the campsite. It seems you have awakened to find yourself already fifteen miles out, in that deepest of blues. And it’s just as incredible as the first time I saw it, two and a half years before, riding out Kemp channel with Captain Joe, Marky Mark, Leah, Sugarloaf, Gumby, Levesque, and Derek Pate, no cushions on the bow seats, ass bones taking a beating through the green water. Then, Mark and Leah, wise old island mates- “Is that not the most beautiful blue water you’ve ever seen?” Polarized glasses making things unbelievably vivid, a piece of plywood sticking out of the water… turned out to be a sailfish. Waking up to the clicker on the trolling rod is even wilder. It’s like you’ve been keeping half-alert during your four hours of sleep, waiting on that noise. I barreled up the steps and into the cockpit, reeled it in whoopin’ and hollerin’ to find nothing but a slightly chewed- up skirt. I did not, by any means, think that the two Spanish Mackerel we had already caught would be the only catches of the entire trip. Then, somewhat abruptly, it was evening again, we were about thirty miles off of Charleston, and I was halfway through A Farewell To Arms, enjoying it very much after two previously unsuccessful attempts to get into it.