Red sky in morning, sailor take warning.
This morning, the sky’s lit up like a volcano about to erupt.
Basically it means the sun's lighting up the bottoms of a bunch of clouds. Bunch of clouds means a storm. Smart captains will stay pretty close to shore on these kinds of days. Maybe not even leave the docks.
Too late for that for me. So now I just wish I had a bigger boat.*
Some of the other captains have boats designed to be out for a couple days if you have to and in all kinds of weather. They’ve got cozy cabins with space to sleep, stainless steel kegs full of fresh water, snacks in the pantry, and some of them even have built in sonar navigation.
I wouldn’t complain about any of that right about now.
Still, don’t you ever let anybody badmouth the Montauk.
Plenty of folks say that a 17-foot Boston Whaler Montauk is about the finest small boat you could ever own. They’re used by Navy SEALS, Coast Guard, even pulled behind yachts for famous people.
Reason is, the boat is unsinkable.
And that's not hogwash, either. When the owner of Boston Whaler realized what he'd done making an unsinkable boat, he invited photographers from a magazine to come out so he could prove it. When they showed up, he drove the boat out into a bay then pulled out a big old wood cutting saw and sawed his own dadgum boat in half. He drove the back half home towing the front half behind him.
It's true. Dad showed me the pictures.
No matter how hard I try, I can't think up a better way to prove you believe in something.
There are other boats better equipped for commercial fishing. Carolina skiffs, dories, trawlers. But the owner of Boston Whaler had uncommon confidence in his boat, and that's why Dad bought it. He bit on somebody else's belief.
I remember one time a storm rolled up on us out of nowhere while we were a good three miles offshore looking for kingfish. It didn't look like much at first, and the bite was good, so we stayed out. But then those clouds got low on the horizon and blacker than squid ink and all of a sudden it was right on top of us.
“Hang on, boy,” was all Dad had to say.
I knew well enough to listen.
When he punched that throttle to full, we raced the storm as if the devil was chasing us. Big old waves licked at our heels like hellfire. I know it's kind of funny to compare fire and water, but either one can kill you just as dead. If I had to choose, I suppose I'd pick water.
Knock on wood.
In any case, the Montauk outran the storm. A bigger, slower fishing boat would have been swallowed up in the squall.
So if anybody ever finds this, and says I’m stupid for taking the Montauk, you can tell them about the fuel, the storm, the boat that got sawed in half, and the misty rain pooling up in the bimini.
Maybe that will shut their mouths.
That's why I was never worried to go offshore in the Montauk.
That's why I’m not too scared about drifting to Cuba now that I’m used to the idea. Because this boat can survive anything.
Even this mother of a storm that’s about to smack me into next Tuesday.
I’ve got everything packed away that can get packed away. Hatches are locked. Life jacket around my neck. Here it comes.