Due to a medical emergency at home here in Mill Bay, my posts will be minimal. Followers will be notified of new posts.
I have just published my latest book: Red Jewel. It is available on Amazon as an epub ($5.99) or a paperback ($24.99). Just go to Amazon.com, select kindle books and then type in Red Jewel in the search bar.
Click on the link below and then click on the shakeyjay link to view Red Jewel’s cover page:
Jim Turnbull is a twenty two year old Canadian with no sailing experience. Nigel Filtness is a thirty three year old British national who is a brilliant navigator and sailor with years of experience behind him.
Nigel, based out of Vancouver, British Columbia, is hired by Jim’s brother-in-law Sadao Katagiri to help him fulfill his dream of sailing his boat, christened Red Jewel, from Vancouver to Nagoya, Japan, his homeland. During the first leg of their journey to Hawaii, it becomes apparent that Sadao suffers from chronic seasickness and has to give up on his dream in Honolulu, their first port of call. Rather than abandon Nigel and Red Jewel in Hawaii, Sadao asks Jim to accompany Nigel as his crew and help him deliver Red Jewel to Japan. Jim jumps at this chance for adventure and agrees to go.
Jim’s arrival at the Ala Wai Marina and his initial encounter with Nigel are not without problems. Jim cannot understand Nigel’s coldness toward him nor his verbal slurs. Nigel’s intolerance and impatience with respect to Jim’s lack of nautical acumen is acute. Their relationship quickly becomes toxic. Nevertheless Jim is determined to make a go of things in spite of Nigel’s acidic personality and is enthusiastic and eager to do his part for a successful outcome. Indubitably, the unlikely partnership on this journey, coupled with the inherent dangers with open ocean sailing, will have signifi cant consequences for both of them.
John Morrison is a retired naval officer. He currently lives with his wife in Mill Bay British Columbia. His inspiration in writing Red Jewel came as a result of his experiences living aboard a sailboat at the Ala Wai Marina in 1973 and of his sailing from Honolulu to Saipan in 1974 in a Spencer Thirty Five off shore cruising sailboat.
The stories and characters found in the narrative of Red Jewel, while fictional, were mined by the author based upon his experiences as a young and very inexperienced sailor with much to learn.
An excerpt from my latest book: Red Jewel. Soon to be available on Amazon.
“Suddenly a large wave hit them directly on the starboard beam. Water came in over them and filled the cockpit up to its brim. Luckily the cockpit self-draining holes worked. They were soaked. They looked at each other and laughed. But it was no laughing matter. Nigel looked to his right and he didn’t like what he saw. The direction of the sea and wind were changing, veering to the northeast. Nigel didn’t know what to think. Jim was in shock. “HOLY SHIT…” he yelled and held on to the hard point where his harness was connected as hard as he could. He was looking down into a steep canyon of sea and swell and water. Red Jewel slid down into the abyss and for a short time was riding along between two enormous walls of water, like the parting of the Red Sea. And as fast as she slid down to a watery floor caught between two waves into a trough, she was catapulted up again to the crest of another enormous wave and swell. At that point their immediate world opened up before them and it startled them. They were awestruck by the enormity and horror of the canvas before them. Everywhere, in every direction, as far as they could see was water in turmoil: waves forming, crashing, running away to the south, piggybacking and riding the swell like some surfer off of Oahu’s North Shore. The smooth backsides of these waves fell over and into themselves. The whitecap crests were darkened by a sky without the lightness of the sun such that their color was subdued and a dull grey. It was as if the storm sucked the luminescence and life out of them. They formed and ran for a brief second or two and then collapsed in a foamy chaotic froth. It was awesomely frightful. Collectively, the seas were in turmoil: white water on a grand scale. At the same time the wind whistled through the rigging. The high-pitched sound was steady but would increase temporarily with every gust. A nightmare was unfolding before them.”
Check it out when it come on Amazon. Check out my other books above.
I loved it. I miss it. I am now too old. Perhaps, in another life, God willing.
Thus far Red Jewel had held out admirably. Thus far she had not been challenged. Thus far Red Jewel had only had to run before the wind so thus far she had not experienced the stresses and the pounding of a beat, or a close reach. Thus far the weather had been forgiving: a moderate breeze at its worst. Thus far the seas were relatively benign. Thus far her sails were intact, her decks whole, her hull’s integrity was sound. Her only flaw, thus far, was that she had a tired look about her.
Thus far everything was working: engine, electrical, lights, radio, stove, running rigging, the whole suite of things. Nigel was in his element. Navigation was exemplary, as he knew it would be. Jim was gaining confidence by the day or so it seemed. He had mastered the knots, the compass, steering, well, the day to day husbandry of Red Jewel. His navigation skills were improving. He was beginning to feel a forth-righteousness that surprised even him. He was knowledgeable enough and not afraid to debate boat management decisions with Nigel…like the Majuro water question. Nigel’s outbursts toward him, his character and his intellect were less robust than they had been. The same couldn’t be said of Red Jewel and Sid. Nigel was unrelenting in his toxicity toward Red Jewel and her condition. It was a condition that he felt Sid had not addressed adequately and they were at risk. Or perhaps he was angry at his own carelessness in dealing with Sid and his boat. “What had it been called again?” He thought to himself. “Oh yeah, Kurofune: The Black Ship.” In Nigel’s mind it certainly was an appropriate name and the thought of that darkened his soul. It scared him.
Jim was acutely mindful of Nigel’s negative rants toward Red Jewel and he was uncomfortable with them. Acquiring a mariner’s superstition, Jim felt that Nigel’s rants were bad medicine and could only spell danger for them both. After every rant or outburst Jim would attempt to placate Red Jewel in kindness and encouragement with emotional rectitude.
“You’ve had too much sun.” Nigel would chastise Jim on these occasions.
“Perhaps, but I wish you would stop your rants Nigel. There is nothing wrong with Red Jewel. She has performed well enough thus far.”
Nigel looked at Jim, askance; a smirk came across his face
“Hmm, perhaps.”
Yes she had…thus far, but that was about to change.
November 10th, 1975. An ominous day for the Edmund Fitzgerald on Lake Superior.
Here is a short excerpt from the latest book I am writing. It is called “The Red Jewel.”
“We dropped anchor in the spot that Mac identified. Sails were lowered and secured. The engine cut. The anchorage was well protected by the high lush green hills of the coastal Tell. A few houses could be seen ashore just inland from a broad, dark sandy beach. Local fishermen could also be seen tending to their boats and nets. Seas were calm, crystal clear with a muddy pale blue of colour. There was little activity as we were well east of the port and industrial area of Bejaia. It seemed to me from afar to be a vibrant and beautiful Algerian city.
From our sailing directions I learned that Bejaia had the standard historical script for the area. The area was first thought to have been inhabited by the Andalusians. It then became part of Carthage and ultimately Rome – an important port of the Roman empire that supported and facilitated trade between the Mediterranean countries and the Sahara caravans. Over the years it became Byzantine, Muslim, Christian, Spanish, Ottoman and French. It was even the site of a major battle during the African campaign during World War Two. Today the port of Bejaia is the principal port of the western Mediterranean for oil exports although the area is also active with the export of iron, phosphates, wines, dried figs, and plums. An interesting place and one that I will never be able to explore.
The sun set and dusk fell rapidly. Tonight there was no moon. It was as black as Satan’s erse as Mac would say.
“Nigel, go below and stay up in the forward berth. Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch. Don’t come up unless I ask you to”
I did as he said but was confused and a tad frightened. What is going on? I thought.
I fell asleep, restless as I was.
I was awoken sometime early morning. A thud against the hull about mid-ships on Orion’s Belt startled me and caused me to sit up. Adjusting my eyes to the darkness and rubbing the sleep from my being I listened to a thud, thud thumping sound of what must have been a small punt banging against the hull by the motion of the sea and the up and down movement of Orion’s Belt on her anchor chain. I could also hear the muffled sounds of human conversation but it was so low and baffled by the hull that I couldn’t make out what was being said. Just then the familiar Scottish brogue from Mac came into audio range, but in a language I did not understand. It was all so low and muffled. I slowly and quietly got out of my bunk and peered out one of the small ports. All I could make out were the legs of about three men who were standing on the port side of Orion. I could not make out their faces due to the lower aspect of the small port. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness outside I could see that these men were all carrying weapons…shotguns: the weapon of choice in a confined area such as the topsides or the lower and restricted confines of a sailboat’s interior.
“Aye, aye, aye. Yes…oui, oui.” It was Mac speaking French to these interlopers. But why?
“Dites a Momawd…that I will do as he says but there will be an additional cost. Aye, an additional cost. Comprendre?”
Silence, then “Oui Monsieur” one of the strangers said, and then to his comrades…”Allez, allez…la”…and with that they disembarked into the punt and were off. I went back to my berth and pretended to be asleep. After a few minutes Mac came below and aroused my out of my slumber.
Nigel…Nigel…up lad. We have to go…now.” he shook me and repeated himself. Up and at em laddy. Let’s go…NOW.”
I got out of my bunk. I was still in my day clothes. I stretched and yawned and called out to Mac who was heading aft toward the engine compartment. Get the anchor Nigel. I will flash up. We’ll leave the sails secure until daylight. I came up, topsides. It was still as black as Satan’s arse outside: warm and still and very humid. I could see the odd light ashore. Not a sound could be heard. I wondered where our company was at the moment but I could not discern anyone in a small vessel. It was too dark and there was no sound of voices.
The stillness and the blackness of the night made me shiver with anxiety, especially at what had just occurred. Mac was not forthcoming as to what was going on. It took me some time to get my night vision. In doing so I made my way forward to the anchor rode. I began the hand over hand motion to raise the anchor and get it out of the water and secured into the anchor locker. The muffled sound of our reciprocating engine came about and morphed into a smooth idle. In a few seconds Mac had the engine into gear and Orion’s Belt began her forward movement from our anchorage. With our sails down and secured we motored out and into the broad expanse of the Med. We continued in a northerly direction until sunrise. We both sat there in silence. I did not dare to raise the subject of what had just occurred as I was thought to be asleep. Mac was not open to me about his strange rendezvous. Who were these people? I thought to myself. And what do they want with Mac?”
That cold December day, or week in Paradise, Clyde, Brian and I were walking down a deserted Kalakaua Avenue turning left on to the Ala Moana Blvd, equally deserted. As we approached the Ilikai hotel we sensed that something was amiss. There, out on the rock cut breakwater of the yacht club, just to the west of the Ilikai Lagoon stood a large number of people, all looking to seaward, oblivious it seemed to us to the strong westerly wind, which was cutting and cold. Their attention was drawn to the inshore waters that were buttressed by the rock interface between sea and shore. We ran out there to see what was happening. To our amazement a large sailboat was bobbing up and down on the broad reef and shallows that were just east of the Ala Moana Yacht Club and Ala Wai marina navigation channel. This was the same water that Clyde, Brian and I often crossed on our surfboards to reach the outer reef breakers that were about one quarter of a mile offshore.
It was an amazing site to behold. The sailboat, christened the “Drummer” lay on its port side, her decks awash with the surf that was rolling in and across her decks. The white breaking, foaming water was in stark contrast to a grey sky and the dull grey colour of the water. Gone were the tropical hues of turquoise and the shades of pastel greens and indigo blues that were indicative of a tropical sun on a shallow tropical sea. It was as if the atmosphere was attuned to the tragedy of “The Drummer” as she lay there on her sides like the forlorn lady that she was.
What on earth happened? Everyone was asking of themselves and of those around them. No one seemed to know the details. Just then I saw Skip and a few others up and away from us jump off of the breakwater into the surf and make their way out to “The Drummer,” no doubt to lend a hand and to offer assistance. Clyde and I looked at each other and without saying a word jumped into the water ourselves, which was about waist deep at that point. We were able to walk out to the boat without too much difficulty. Just as we were approaching her a large wave came in and lifted the “Drummer” up and into the vertical plane, and then bringing her down hard on her opposite, starboard side. The masts came up slowly from the horizontal on the port side, rising like some sentinel of the Hawaiian water goddess Namaka, swaying back and forth in the sky above before falling again toward the sea. As the masts came down a shudder could be felt throughout the entire vessel. This occurred frequently as the larger waves rolled in, caught the “Drummer’s” bow, lifted her high and up and away, cascading water over her decks and under her keel before surging out from under the stern’s transom and then racing to the breakwater ashore. This went on from time to time and was a warning to all of us that this was indeed a very dangerous game we were playing. The crowds seem to sense this as their numbers grew on the breakwater.
In spite of the dangers we managed to get close. Some people emerged from the cabin aboard. It was an eerie sensation to us seeing some of the “Drummers” crew coming up from below decks out of a hatch whose aspect lay on the horizontal. On seeing us they waved us off.
“Thanks man” someone yelled above a cacophony of the sea, the wind and the groaning, moaning creaking sound of the “Drummer.” Like a baby in distress, it was a sound that I would not want to ever hear again.
“We have all the help we need.” A woman said. “Any more would just complicate things. We have everything under control. Thanks.” Skip appeared, saw me, and also waved me off.
“Jim, go ashore, to the clubhouse and see how Harry is doing. He is one of the crew who was injured in this mishap. Let us know. Perhaps you and Clyde could act as messengers for the “Drummer’s” crew here.”
“Will do Skip.” Clyde and I turned back and went to the clubhouse. It took some time to get there. When we arrived we were amazed at the level of activity going on. The lower decks of the clubhouse were set up as a temporary Command Centre to address the problem of the “Drummer.” Staff from the clubhouse had set up some tables with charts and phones spread out upon them. In time I was able to locate the club’s Commodore who was the acting “On Scene Commander” until the Coast Guard showed up, expected shortly. I introduced myself and told him that Clyde and I could be used as messengers as the need arises. I also asked him of the condition of Harry, one of the “Drummer’s” crew who had been injured. He told me that Harry had been taken to the hospital with suspected broken ribs. No other injuries of a serious nature could be ascertained….for now……
……Derek Armstrong, the owner of the “Drummer” gathered his crew together on the lawn of the yacht club.
“We have to go to our assigned berth. Down on Kilo dock. Our time here at the visitors berth is up.”
“Now?” Mary asked incredulously. “It’s blowing a gale out there Derek.” A Kona wind had come up. Kona was a Hawaiian term for a very strong dangerous wind.
We should be fine under power Mary. Harry will secure “Drummer’s” topside and man the foredeck. I want you and George to take the stern. I’ll be driving.”
“I don’t know about this.” Mary continued. “Why can’t we just wait until it calms down some? Tomorrow perhaps. “After all…” she looked at her crewmates for concurrence…”Drummer’s” a big boat and will be difficult to manage in this wind. Her freeboard is extremely high. Her sail area could be a detriment to our ability to safely maneuver her.”
“I don’t see a problem.” Derek said emphatically. Harry and George said nothing. They got up and went across the lawn to Drummer’s slip and boarded her. Mary followed, reluctantly.
In time Harry had secured the “Drummer” for their short jaunt to their new berth on “Kilo” Dock. He then singled up forward and rigged the remaining line for self slipping. Mary and George did the same aft. The forward and after springs were released.
Derek started the diesel engine and the “Drummer” came to life. Without saying a word Derek motioned George to let go astern and for Harry to ease out on the bow line. Once he was confident he had sufficient way on and clear of the slip, he motioned for Harry to let go forward. “Drummer” was underway under power. Once clear of the slips Derek manouvered the “Drummer” toward the turning basin just off of the yacht club’s main channel. Mary, George and Harry remained at their assigned stations holding on, watching.
Out in the main channel the wind was very strong. Derek was having difficulty altering course. As Mary suggested the “Drummer’s” high freeboard sail area was causing problems.
Derek yelled up above the howling wind.
“HARRY, WE HAVE TO GO OUT AND INTO THE NAVIGATION CHANNEL TO COME ABOUT AND RUN BACK INTO “K” DOCK BEFORE THE WIND.” He then paused and looked at Mary and George. Mary said nothing. She just looked about at the situation as it was unfolding. She was noncommittal in her judgement of Derek.
“HOLD ON HARRY. HERE WE GO.”
“Drummer” headed out the navigation channel. The wind was howling and whistling through the shrouds and the rigging of not only the Drummer but in the rigging of the other vessels at the marina. As the strength of the Kona wind increased in varying degrees of gusts the whistling sounds of the rigging increased into a very high pitched squeal. It was scary. At the same time the height of the seas in the exposed channel increased dramatically. Harry was caught off-guard and found himself holding on to the standing rigging for his very life. The “Drummer” responded in kind. Like some maritime thrill ride her bow rose and fell chaotically, coming down hard into the oncoming seas and swells then rising again in a steep ascent as the next wave rolled in. Occasionally Harry was completely immersed into the water, almost invisible with every onslaught of the crashing waves. Derek realized that he had made a grave error in judgement. But it was too late. He had committed Drummer and her crew. He had to continue.
They all saw it. A rogue wave of about eight to ten feet in height was coming down the channel, hard and fast onto them.
“HOLD ON.” Derek yelled. Harry didn’t hear him. The “Drummer’s” bow came up fast. Higher and higher and higher it rose. Then, in a moment, the bow seemed to stop in its tracks and in its relentless rise into the sky. For a few seconds respite…a great pause…as if in a calm. And then, like a roller coaster transversing the summit of the “killer” hill, “Drummer’s” bow turn downward and then crashed with its full force of potential energy in a descending motion into the oncoming wave. For a brief second Harry was completely weightless. His stomach turned over. His life was not in his hands.
Caught off guard by the sheer force of the waves and the wind, Harry’s footing gave way. His balance was compromised. He couldn’t hold on much longer. To make matters worse a second rogue wave rolled down the channel. This one was higher than the first, about twelve feet in height. The same terrifying motion occurred. Harry was gone in an instant over the port side of the boat. Luckily for Harry Derek saw what had happened. He immediately came hard over to port so as to clear Harry from a pounding hull and a menacingly dangerous rudder and screw. Seeing what had occurred Mary and George instinctively threw a few lifelines over the port side hoping that Harry would see them and grab one. He did. They were able to pull him over to the Jacob’s ladder and get him back onboard. He was in major pain.
Derek’s hard over to port saved Harry’s life but it stood the “Drummer” into danger. The alteration to port to avoid Harry put the “Drummer’s” aspect at a right angle to the direction of the wind and sea. The high freeboard acted like a sail area taking the “Drummer” on an uncontrolled ride. There was nothing that Derek could do to manage her. The high sea and the swell added to her distress taking her high up and over the rocks and reef that skirted the channel’s port side and onto the shallow area beyond. Drummer’s full keel lodged it self into the sand in about four feet of water. She then fell over onto her port side while the engine coughed and then quit.
Except for Harry’s injuries they were all safe but in shock. Derek called for emergency aid on VHF Ch 11 suspecting Harry suffered some broken ribs. When the situation had settled somewhat George helped Harry ashore by pulling him in a the Drummer’s punt via the breakwater and then to the medical first aid resources at the clubhouse. From there he was taken by an awaiting ambulance to the medical clinic on King Street….
….The coast guard arrived. They quickly assessed the situation and took charge. I made myself known to them and told them I had just been out to the boat. The remaining crew seemed safe and were securing what they could of the Drummer. The coast guard had a surf boat available and before long had set up direct communications with Derek and Mary, Skip and a few others that had offered to help. Other than a diesel fuel tank that had been breached all was well. The hull seemed intact. They spent the night and the next morning clearing the diesel out of the bilges. The Coast Guard provided Derek with some fuel bladders to ensure that no fuel leaked out onto the surf and sand of the immediate area around the “Drummer.”
It would take the next day’s afternoon before the tide was high enough to take “Drummer” out of the shallows. This they did and then towed her to a repair facility at Sand Island in the port of Honolulu. That was it for us. To show their gratitude Derek treated us all to a dinner at one on the local restaurants that evening. The adventure may have been over but I felt good about it…that I had had a small hand in helping out this boat in distress.
Update: It was 1981. I was standing the middle watch (midnight to 0400) in HMCS Saskatchewan, one of the training warships of the Royal Canadian Navy. We were enroute to Hawaii from Esquimalt BC, our home port. We were about half way there. Suddenly the VHF radio, Channel 16, came to life: “Securite, Securite, Securite…be on the lookout for sailing vessel “The Drummer” out of Anchorage, missing, while in transit from Honolulu to Alaska. Be on the lookout….”
I wondered if Derek, Mary, George and Harry were still with her. Had Derek made another fateful decision? I made the sign of the cross, said a short prayer of remembrance, and hope for their safety.
Presumed lost at sea. She was never heard from or seen again.
