Nightwatch
I looked out into the shipyard. After months of work and setbacks, here was the finished product: a fully restored vintage Tripp 40 sailboat. Looking back at everything I did to get here, I did not feel regret.
I thought back to eight months ago, before I had bought the boat. Still working at REI and wondering what I was doing. When I was going back and forth all day doing the same things. Sailing had always been fun in Seattle but coming down here was a good change of pace and better conditions.
Really we were supposed to leave in October, but hit so many unexpected maintenance issues. The repairs had been arduous with long, boring days of repetitive labor. Seeing all the people around town made me think a lot about what I was doing and I felt crazy at times. I have always had to be independent and working on my own.
I called Chris and gave him the news.
“Sweet, I was sure we were going to have to wait until next year,'' he said.
Chris was finally coming down from Alaska. He had split the coast of the boat with me when we bought it in May: $18,000 with about $6,000 in estimated repairs. Yes, we knew it would take some time but I had saved up some money and corporate was sucking the life out of me. I feel such pride when I look at the boat knowing that I had succeeded.
The layout of the cabin is optimized for living. It makes 200 square feet of space easy. Looking back on it, I thought I might have been able to meet some girls while I was in California. I usually had the boat docked at the marina on the Embarcadero. You would think a boat would be exciting or so exotic for these girls and one would have wanted to come. It does not make a difference to me though, maybe I just have high standards. Nobody can say I have not experienced a woman. I cannot be criticized for choosing not to put my full energy into leaping out into the dating world.
Chris flew in on Thursday afternoon. He Ubered down to the marina and I picked him up in the dinghy. We jetted out overlooking downtown and arrived at the boat. I had already picked up a lot of provisions and we were trying to get a pretty early start.
We grilled on the deck and hung out. Chris had about the same amount of sailing experience as me. I had known him back in college and we had been in the same dorm freshman year. Chris and I had kept in contact after graduating even after moving around separately a lot. Being out here was surreal in so many ways. We looked out into the strait as the sun set with deep purple and orange.
That morning, we embarked southwest out of the bay on a beam reach with fair conditions. The wind typically blew eastward with the best conditions in the afternoon. Coming out to the open ocean after passing Point Loma, we looked back at the city.
The first few weeks at sea were mostly what we expected. We crossed over to Mexico quickly and went south along the Baja coast. The days at sea were favorable and we’d cruise into port cities along the coast for supplies once in awhile. We fish often and get a decent amount of dry supplies, fruit and vegetables at port. Cooking was a creative exercise, I learned you can make extremely good sushi using tin foil as a roller.
There were long periods of calm winds after we passed Ensenada, but progress is still going mostly according to plan and the plan is to sail around and up through the Sea of Cortez after New Year. We see people once in awhile but there are long stretches of time not seeing another person and only water to look at all around us.
We proceeded along. The sleek hull of the boat sailed along with steady winds and we arrived at our scheduled anchorage. I saw how well the boat was functioning and felt so powerful for making something that can just handle and tame the ocean with its construction. I made it do that and what I have done is something to be appreciated. I am doing exactly what I want every day.
That night it was serene as I laid in my bed. Sleeping is perfect out here. The sound of the ocean and complete nothingness surrounding us cradled me as the waves rocked me down each night. I am glad it is still December and we are making killer time. The winds were consistent as we sailed further along the peninsula.
The next day, the late afternoon saw a clean northerly wind and we built to a perfect 15 to 20 knots and went onto our next two-day passage to Bahia Magdalena. This lasted for a few hours and conditions sustained to late in the day. A squall appeared to have formed to the west and the winds stayed and showed promise. The spinnaker had been rigged to maximize speed and we sailed south on a close reach.
Chris came up from the cabin.
“Eric, let’s do an overnight voyage. The conditions are too good to just anchor up. Dude, you’ve already been going hard all day. I’ll take first shift and you do twelve to four”.
I agreed. I did hate the twelve to four but whatever. And I can’t say I love sailing at night but it was sometimes a necessity to hit schedule. Chris was really a great friend and I felt glad I had picked him for this trip. College had such good times and I missed those days of going out to the dining hall and not caring.
Night came and we prepared by going through the final parameters on the daily sailing checklist. Night sailing required additional procedures and the amount of regulation, safety protocols, specialized equipment and design specifications on a sailboat was astounding. We activated the navigation light with its red and green strobes and Chris started his post. At 8:30pm, the sun had set. I went down to the cabin and took a nap.
My alarm went off at 11:15pm. I really do not feel like doing anything. The warm is undeniable in my bed and I know the world up there is ready for me to return. Chris is clipped to a harness attached to the grabrail up top. The conditions are still fantastic as we sail southward on a tight tack. Even with its solid design and our experience, operating a Tripp 40 sailboat by yourself took skill and is a notable feat.
On deck, I quickly notice how profoundly dark it is. There are not many towns that produce significant light pollution along the coast. The almost complete visibility of the stars was impressive every time you saw it. The moon is not out tonight. Even with nicely adapted night vision and only using red lights while I was down in the cabin, it was almost pitch black in every direction.
Chris saw me and looked relieved. Night watch was boring and demanding. You can’t just hang out and hope for the best. You have to be paying attention at all times and make technical adjustments as needed. Chris and I switched off and he went down to bed. It was interesting sleeping in such close conditions with another person like this. I thought about my days in corporate and how I’d feel to be seeing me now.
I had been sailing for about an hour when I saw the shape in the southwestern sky. It looked like a star and I first saw it when it started to move across the sky noticeably with respect to our course and direction. I went into the deck box and took out our marine-quality, gyroscopic binoculars. Looking out into the distance, I can’t see anything clearly.
It was definitely there, but locking onto it for any real time was challenging while still operating the boat. It could be a satellite but it looks bigger than one. Maybe it’s some type of plane. But it’s not blinking and it’s moving too slowly and erratically for that. I went through the other possible options and thought about stories I’d heard of maritime optical phenomenon.
There are a lot of things this could be. The ocean can play tricks on you, especially when it’s nighttime and you woke up in the middle of REM sleep to operate a large sailboat.
The shape stopped. Was it moving for sure? Or did it look like it was moving because I am moving? I looked at my watch: 12:50am. I ate a banana and took a deep breath. Stationary, it stayed where it had stopped; it stayed like this for 45 minutes. It must have been some kind of optical illusion.
Then the shape started moving downwards slowly towards the blackness of the horizon. What is happening? Is this a UFO I am seeing? My stomach felt tense and I held my breath as I watched it. I have never seen an airplane or satellite move like this. I want to believe this is something natural but the smooth directional changes were so deliberate.
My hands are sweating. I watched the shape continue with its consistent bright white light until it went down over the horizon into the distance and behind the subtle curvature of the earth. I swallowed and tried to think. There’s just ocean and darkness all around me. The navigation light on the bow strobed as we moved along. I then thought of how few people know we are actually out here.
I stayed on our course for another hour before seeing the shape again. I saw it while tacking. Looking against the horizon, it didn’t seem to have any altitude. It is way bigger than it was before. It can’t actually be in the ocean after flying at that altitude. There are no amphibious aircraft that can maneuver like that. I watched the shape keep clearly getting bigger.
I can’t tell what’s happening, but I think the shape is coming closer to the boat. A hollow pit formed in my stomach and I feel sick. I can barely breathe. I thought about waking up Chris but did not want to lose visual again. Then I saw it happen, the shape went lower and slowly disappeared into the ocean.
I try with every logical approach I can take to rationalize what I saw. I had seen a shape in the sky do a controlled landing into the ocean. There is nothing I can think of to rationalize this and overwhelming dread envelops me.
I adjust the mainsail and set the jib and the wind conditions are still favorable despite the situation. We cannot anchor and have to keep our course until we can port at a safe place. I can’t see anything else looking around and consider again that what I saw could be some kind of rare natural occurrence like the green flash or ball lightning or something.
Looking out about a thousand yards, along the shallow waves as we continued on a beat, I see a shimmer. I focused slowly and saw again a contrast against the black oscillations of the current. Intense horror crept over me as I realized I was seeing the shape under the surface of the water this close to the boat.
I watch it rise to just under the surface, brightening the water like a huge bioluminescent organism. It’s a long oblong shape, almost like an olive. It has to be at least 100 feet long and is totally silent. Despite our consistent speed, the shape appears to be tracking our course. Does it know we are here? Is it following us? I want to wake up Chris but what would he be able to do? This could still be nothing. This could still be a submarine or a military exercise.
I watch the bright light of the shape dim into a fading smaller circle before landing on the sickening realization that it was diving again. I wait for twenty minutes in profound anxiety. I think of Chris and being his roommate as a sophomore after we had moved out of the dorms. The night is now at its darkest point and I see it’s 3:05am. Why did we night sail? We do not have anywhere we actually need to be.
I see it again just below the surface. This can’t be happening. It’s so close to us now. It’s coming so much closer. Oh my god, it’s coming closer. It’s moving so fast. I’ve never seen anything move so fast underwater. I can’t breathe. I feel like my heart is going to explode out of my body. It’s going to hit us! Oh my god, no! The shape went under the hull and I passed out.
Waking up, I can only see blackness all around me. Then I hear a low humming sound. Oh my god, I can’t move. I can’t feel anything. What happened to me? Help me, please, help me.
I stay immobile for hours in pure silence and disturbed agony in disgusting vulnerability as I wait as a prisoner, helpless against everything. The humming grew more distant as I lay there powerless in painful and ugly resignation. I try to cry and feel scared because I can’t tell if I am crying or if I actually have eyes. I can’t tell if I can hear my voice as I try to scream for help into the abyss. Did I die and go to hell? Am I in hell right now?
Suddenly the humming sound is louder. It was like a slow, rapid clicking in low, smooth octaves. I felt an entity. There is a complete lack of spatial and directional awareness from my fully conscious paralyzed self.
“How do you like your new home, Eric?”
“Who are you? What did you do to me?”
“We saw you and we like you. We want to keep you”
“You can’t keep me, I am a person. I have a life and family.”
“We can’t keep you?”
“No, I want to go home, please let me go home”.
Then it opened its eyes. The grotesque eyes stared at me with disturbing complexity as the irises reflected back at me in multifaceted, awful precision.
“Eric that makes us so sad. Well what about your friend Chris?”
“What?”
“Maybe we can just take Chris instead. Would you at least let us do that?”
I want to be anywhere instead of here. I think about meeting Chris at the dorm after orientation, about kissing girls in bikinis during the summer, about drinking coffee from the machine at REI. I want to be dead. Anywhere but here.
“I just want you to let me go, please”.
“So we can take Chris? I am barely open to this. We want you. Look at how beautiful you are like this. We know you are perfect for the exhibit.”
“Take Chris, please. Just please let me go. Take Chris. I just want to move. I want to move again, please. Take Chris. Please.”
The alarm went off in my bed. It is light out up on deck and I can tell we are docked. I get out of bed and stretch. The calmness and mellow sounds of the splashing waves flowed against the boat in a familiar and soothing rhythm.
I climbed up the ladder and looked around. We were anchored at a marina. Everything on the boat is in perfect condition and I look at my watch. The date read 24 January. I can’t remember anchoring or planning to port this close to land.
Confused, I looked along the deck, then I went down to the cabin. I feel the complete weight of it all at once when I realize it, Chris is gone, Chris is nowhere to be found.