The Florida morning is warm and the sea is calm. Just like every day since Harry and I arrived at Key West. Walking onto the marina we look at each with excited grins and agree that it’s perfect weather for a sailing trip.
I love looking at the boats and can’t help feeling a bit nostalgic. I tell Harry about the last time I went sailing. I was a teenager sailing at the mouth of the Tamar River in Tassie, with my father in our little Cherub racing skiff. These are probably the happiest memories I have of time spent with my Dad. The two of us out on the water together, reading the winds, leaning out to stop the boat from capsising as the wind catches the sails. Me holding the jib sheet and Dad holding the mainsail sheet and the tiller. So excillarating!
I’ve never been sea sick in the Cherub. I love sailing and I’m eager to be heading out in a sail boat to the reef for some snorkeling.
We’ve heard that the reef isn’t brilliant, compared to our Great Barrier Reef in Queensland, but we’re still keen to go. Harry had seen a flyer for a trip out in a small sailing boat rather than one of the bigger motorised ferries and thought this could be a more pleasant way to travel. And if the reef was disappointing at least we’d have a lovely time boating.
We find our yacht, “Coral Belle”, and fellow snorkellers. To say our Captain greets us heartily like a jovial old seadog would be a complete lie. The captain is a cranky piece of work and we do wonder slightly at his career choice.
Our small party is made up of four middle aged American friends, two pretty Scandinavian looking girls, a few solo travellers and a young German couple. We board without too much fuss and it’s not long before we’re bobbing about in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
That wonderful feeling of wind in your hair, and lunging motion of the yacht is positively euphoric! No wait, it’s positively sickening. Oh my god I want it to stop! I want to dive overboard and swim to shore! Who’s dumb idea was this anyway?
The skipper puts down anchor, in what appears to be the middle of nowhere in the sea. He allocates snorkelling equipment and tells us to get going into the water. It takes me longer than usual to get set up because of my queasiness. El Capitan (as I’m now calling him in my mind) gruffly tells that we haven’t got all day.
Not long in the water and I still feel very nauseated. And bobbing about in the waves makes it worse. The two minute lesson on wearing your snorkel and mask didn’t cover what you do if you needed to vomit. So here I am, treading water, clumsily yanking off my snorkel a little too slowly and spewing into the water I’m swimming in. I feel a little better for it though, and reapply my mask and snorkel. I look down into the water looking for some beautiful coral or colourful fishies, and only see sand and a shark. I really don’t know what type of shark it is but in my current state my brain is racing and thinks of how I’m providing some lovely chum to lure the shark and all her mates and that they are all going to come and eat the spew and then eat me.
Barfing into the sea and fearing my imminent death, I don’t notice that the sea is getting rougher and the skies are looking ominous.
I look down again hoping the shark has moved on. No such luck. Popping up to look for an escape route I hear El Capitan yelling for everyone to get back on the boat. Of course, I think it’s due to the woman eating sharks circling the boat and nearly hyperventilate into my slightly chunky snorkel.
Many of the party don’t seem to be quite so terrified as I am and are taking their time. It’s only been a matter of a few minutes that we’ve been snorkelling, and ears are down under the water.
“EVERYBODY GET IN THE BOAT NOW!” Bellows El Capitan. “THIS. IS. NOT. A. DRILL!!”
Several snorkellers race to climb the little metal ladder into the boat.
I’m about second on board, as I’m already heading that way because of the shark. Harry, being the chivalrous type lets every one else on before him. Which only adds to my fear. Will the sharks eat him? Will the Captain take off without him? He seems in such a hurry to depart.
Questions start flying about why the trip is being cut so short. El Capitan points north east toward mainland Florida. As he’s yelling I see a massive twister that’s touched down on the water, creating a water spout. El Capitan attempts to articulate this and the news that it’s heading straight for us.
I think “Cool!” (I’m a bit of an extreme weather fan). Then, Oh hell! When I look again I’m scared it could pick up our little boat and fling it across the ocean to Barbados.
El Capitan pulls up anchor and sets sail to port. The skies and sea are increasingly rough as the storm builds. My seasickness isn’t going to get any reprieve on the return trip.
This twister looks huge to me, but still a fair way off. Even so, the sight is a lot to take in.
Our calm in a crisis Captain gives us more instructions .
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF THE RIGGING!! WHAT YOU’VE GOT THERE IS A FUCKING 30 FOOT LIGHTENING ROD!!” He shrieks, flailing his arms at the mast while trying to pilot the yacht.
Well at least he’s living up to the stereotype of a surly old salt. I’m half expecting him to yell out “Avast ye, you scurvy scoundrels!”
We urgently look for ways to hold on to any non-metallic parts of the yacht as it tosses and pitches in the roiling sea.
So now I mentally add to our inventory of possible ways to die today: electrocution by lightning, sucked into a twister, falling overboard and either drowning or being eaten by sharks, and being captive on a small wind propelled craft headed up by a slightly deranged Captain. Oh and not to mention what anyone who’s ever been sea sick will tell you, that you’ll actually consider death preferable in that moment.
I’m trying to stay calm but I just can’t keep my eyes off that tornado. I feel like I’m playing “What’s the time Mr Wolf?” If I take my eyes off it to grab hold of something, or look at Harry, I look back and it seems to have jumped so much closer.
Eventually we see our little port ahead and there’s a glimmer of hope that death won’t be the outcome today. This hopefulness doesn’t last long as El Capitan starts to really freak out that in the wild seas, he can’t berth the yatch.
He navigates his way into the marina, but each time we get near the wharf he pulls away.
By now the mainsail is down and he’s just using motor power. But the water, even inside the marina is just too rough.
“I’m not going to be able to bring her in!” He yells into the wind, to no-one in particular. “This sea is going to smash us to pieces against the dock.”
Oh, so glad we’ve picked this confident sailor to take us to sea in a tropical storm zone.
Sadly, the harbour master is equally reticent about the chances of the yacht being safely berthed.
What the hell?! What’s the other option? Is he going to fling us off the boat to make a swim for it in the churning sea? Do we set sail for the Florida mainland, through the storm to find a safe haven somewhere else? Just when I think we might get off this vessel of doom, death still seems the inevitable result.
On the positive side, I can’t see the twister anymore. But the storm appears to be gaining more ferocity and the Harbour Master is telling El Capitan to stay away from the dock.
I remember that I’m not the only one onboard, but looking around at the fearful white faces of the other snorkellers doesn’t bring me any comfort. Strangely, no one has any advice or wants to offer any assistance. We sit quietly waiting for our salvation. The water bottles have all run out. I can’t remember ever being this thirsty at the same time as having a busting urge to pee. Eventually we sink into a fearful, but subdued state, as we bob about in the marina.
Then finally there’s a tiny lull in the storm and the skipper manages to bring her in close enough for ropes to be thrown, amid a lot of yelling between wharf and El Capitan, and the yacht is pulled in and tethered.
El Capitan is anxious to get us all off his boat. But there’s a few more nervous minutes because we are all anxious not to get squashed between the dock and his lurching yacht. Miraculously it seems, men appear and grab an arm each and haul me, and the rest of the party, from the yacht onto the wharf.
With wobbly legs and pukey churning stomach, I’m finally on dry land. With no time to take stock of what did, could’ve, or didn’t happen, we head back to our villa confused and traumatised.
………
Key West is a party town and comes alive at night. Our favourite evening activities include wandering along Duval Street to choose our restaurant for the evening. Or maybe it’ll be watching the sunset from a rooftop bar with prawns and beer? Or a visit to Sloppy Joe’s, famous for being a regular haunt of Ernest Hemmingway. Or my favourite, Turtle Kraals Oyster Bar, sitting over the water, watching the fish beneath, eating oysters with the late evening sun shining on my margarita.
Tonight we don’t even consider doing any these. Harry and I barely speak, but we know it’s going to be a quiet night in. We feel wet, weak and fragile. We buy a bag of chips and jerky, and a bottle of medicinal brandy from the liquor store. Then hop into bed, turn on the TV for the first time and watch the football game. The tropical storm rages outside, but like all things, eventually passes and settles to a heavy rain. Falling asleep has never been so welcome.
To visit more places at Key West: Click here for Hemingway House. Here to see snorkelling adventure trips. Sloppy Joes Tavern. Or general Key West travel info.
To read more travel adventures stories from Amanda Gambas visit Mountain Ash Chapter.