The Pulse

or so to me.”

“I know you miss her. I can’t imagine. You’ve done a great job with Casey, though. And I know she knows it too.”

“I just can’t lose her too. You know that, little brother.”

“I do, and you won’t. That’s why I’m here. We’re going to get you to her and we’re going to keep her safe.”

“I’m sorry it’s already cost you so much,” Artie said, looking at his brother’s arm again. “I could never do this without you and Scully. I don’t know what in the hell I would do, still stuck in St. Thomas with no way to get back to the mainland. I would go insane worrying about her. I’m worried as hell now, but at least we’re doing something about it. At least we’re in motion, thanks to you, and I can feel hope that she will still be okay and will be there when we get there.”

“I’m sure she’s fine, Artie. The campus is probably one of the safest places to be in New Orleans. Casey’s got a lot of sense. She’s not going to go wandering around town getting in trouble in a situation like this. I’ll bet she and Jessica are hunkered down at home with their friends, keeping a low profile and waiting to see if help is coming. They’ll be okay until we get there.”

“What’s your best estimate at this point? How many days?”

“Given that we can count on favorable winds this time of year on this leg of the trip, I’m going to say we’ll reach the Keys in three and a half more days, give or take a few hours. We’re going to shoot straight up the Old Bahama Channel, just north of Cuba. That will keep us from having to thread our way around all the reefs and islands in the Bahamas, other than the Cay Sal Bank. There is a place on the bank I want to stop at though. The spear-fishing there is some of the best in the world.”

Artie looked at the chart Larry showed him. The Cay Sal Bank was a huge area of shallow water far to the west of the main Bahamas archipelago, situated between Cuba and the Florida Keys. Larry said it was one of the few coral atolls in the Atlantic, and like the atolls of the South Pacific, it consisted of a lagoon of shallow water protected by an encircling fringe of reefs and low islets.

“I’ve never even heard of it,” Artie said. It’s amazing how many of these places, not all that far from Florida, I’ve never heard of. It sounds interesting, but do we really have time to stop and fish?”

“In this case, we can’t afford not to. See that tiny string of islets and cays there?” Larry pointed to a line of specks on the edge of the shallow bank labeled Anguilla Cays. “That area sees so few human visitors that the grouper and yellowtail hardly know what a diver looks like. It’s also so far from Nassau and Bimini that even in normal times the Bahamians rarely patrol there. We won’t have to worry about clearing into the Bahamas and all that hassle. Just drop the hook and go hunting. With my arm out of commission I don’t think I would do much good, but give Scully a speargun and he can load this boat with a few hundred pounds of fish in a couple of hours. And he can show you how to help. Think about it, Doc. We only have so much food on board, and the local Winn-Dixie in New Orleans ain’t likely to be open when we get there. And the muddy water up there doesn’t exactly offer the promise of spearing fish there if we get hungry.”

“Yeah, but assuming it is that easy to spear them, how will we keep all that fish fresh? It’s not like you have a deep freezer or even refrigeration on board.”

“No problem, mon. You see how much wind and sun there is out here at sea, and all the open deck space we have around us, being that we’re on a cat. We’ll preserve the fish the old way. We’ll dry it. People in the islands still do it all the time. Anyway, you’ll see. A brief stop to anchor there for a few hours will hardly make any difference in the grand scheme of things and will hardly affect our arrival time in New Orleans, but it will make a huge difference in our provisions.”

“Okay, fine with me if you say so, but you never did answer my question. How long do you think it’ll take to get the rest of the way, from the Keys on up to New Orleans?”

“Five days, tops, assuming we have wind. Weather in the Gulf is more fickle than here. We won’t have the trades, but we might get a lift from the Gulf Loop Current, and the wind should still generally be out of the southeast or east unless there’s a northern blowing, and that’s not likely this late in the year. We’ll leave the Anguillas after we take on our fish and cut right through the middle of the Keys under the Seven Mile Bridge at Marathon. I don’t plan on stopping there at all for any reason unless we run into some Coastie or Florida Marine Patrol boat and get pulled over. Once we clear that bridge and get in the Gulf, I aim to set a straight course for the Mississippi Sound, just east of the entrance to Lake Pontchartrain.”

“The direct route then, that’s good. How far is that?”

“About 550 nautical miles. It’s wide open sailing until you get to the oil fields about a hundred miles off the north coast. Normally, that’s a dangerous area, with all the crew boats and other vessels that serve the rigs running 24-7. There shouldn’t be any activity at all out there now, though.”

They passed the border that separates Haiti from the Dominican Republic later in the night, and by dawn were north of Tortuga, a Haitian island Larry said was made famous by the buccaneers who used it as a base of operations in the seventeenth century. After another jump of roughly 80 miles out of sight of land, they were abeam of the eastern end of Cuba. It was now late afternoon on their third day of sailing since the attack at Isleta Palominito. Larry said they would parallel Cuba for some 350 miles to the Cay Sal Bank. The trade winds were holding steady, and by staying 20 or so miles off the coast of the island, they would avoid the land effects that would interfere with the wind and be able to maintain an average speed of 10 knots as they had been doing since they left. Larry calculated this would put them near the southeast corner of the bank and the Anguilla Cays at dawn the day after tomorrow.

“If we happen to reach the banks before daylight, we’ll just have to heave to until there’s enough light. Even with just two feet of draft and a working GPS, that would be a risky area to enter without good light. The coral heads just about reach the surface in a lot of places, and they’re everywhere.”

For the most part, the waters they had traversed north of the island chain had been deserted except for a few sails spotted on the horizon off Puerto Rico and near Samana Bay. Cuban waters were no exception. Larry said that no sailing vessels leaving the U.S. were likely to be seen this far south, as it was a dead beat to windward to go from Florida to the islands in the Old Bahama Channel. He figured a lot of people on the mainland who were lucky enough to own cruising boats would indeed leave for the islands to get away from the chaos, but most would cross the Gulf Stream to Bimini or the Abacos since they wouldn’t likely have the benefit of a working engine to help them motor-sail a more direct course to windward.

Other than an occasional visit to the cockpit to get some fresh air and look around, Larry stayed below in the port cabin most of the time, reading or sleeping in his bunk. He was still in a lot of pain, and Artie insisted that he take it easy and not try to do too much. By now, Artie had adapted to a four hours on, four hours off routine of alternating watches with Scully. But there wasn’t a whole lot to do while on watch. The wind vane took care of the steering, and the steady trade winds allowed them to sail a downwind run with the sails set wing on wing—the jib poled out to starboard, and the main eased out as far as possible against the port shrouds.

Cuba, by far the longest of all the islands in the West Indies, seemed to go on forever. The main island was out of sight by night at their distance, but the following day Artie caught occasional hazy glimpses of the higher mountains inland.

By carefully recording their dead-reckoning position each hour in the logbook and marking off a rhumb line on the chart, Artie and Scully were able to keep track of their progress along the island coast. They were able to check their calculations against charted landmarks, especially along the long outlying island of Cayo Lobos, which they passed much closer to than the main island. One more night at the consistent speeds they were sailing put them at the Cay Sal Bank around dawn, just as Larry had estimated the day before. As they neared this area of reef-studded shallow water, Scully reduced sail at around 0400 hours to slow the boat down to six knots, a speed that felt to Artie like sitting still on the catamaran, but still a respectable average on many sailboats. Scully told Artie that this would ensure they would not arrive at the banks too early.

“Got to wait for de sun come up to enter dat bank, mon. Only one way to navigate de banks—dat’s by de eyeball. Even when it’s workin’, de GPS no good in a place like dat.”

“I thought it wasn’t that big of a deal on a catamaran. Isn’t our draft so shallow we can hardly hit anything anyway?”

“Shallow draft, but on dem bank de reef sometime all de way to de top. Even a skiff got to find de channel. Coral like dat tear out de bottom on a plywood boat. Dem banks no place to get in trouble like dat. No watah on dem cays and even before now not many people going dat place.”