a moment in the lee of the trough, and then a wave would tilt them up again, lifting them into the gale. Under her father's expert seamanship the boat seemed to fall into a rhythm, its predictability bringing a small sense of reassurance. Abbey watched their progress across the bay, and finally, when they entered the protected waters of the Muscle Ridge channel, the sea subsided dramatically.
'Abbey,' said her father, 'check the forward bilge. I'm getting almost continuous bilge pump action here.'
'Right.'
She climbed down the stairs into the cabin and undogged the hatch, peering in with a flashlight. She could see water sloshing about. Probing with the light, she saw the water was well above the automatic bilge pump switch.
Leaning in farther, she shone the beam into the murky water, then reached down into it, feeling along the inside curve of the hull. Her fingers located a crack and she could feel the flow of water coming in. It wasn't a wide crack but it was long, and what was worse, the corkscrew motion of the boat was moving the two pieces on either side, grinding them against each other, slowly but surely opening it up. The water level was increasing in the bilge, despite the pump working full time.
She came back up. 'The water's coming in faster than the pump can pump it out,' she said.
'You and Jackie form a bucket brigade.'
Abbey pulled a plastic bucket out from under the sink. Jackie positioned herself at the cabin door, while Abbey dipped it into the bilge and handed it to Jackie, who tossed the water overboard. It was exhausting, cramped work. The bilgewater had engine oil and diesel fuel in it, and soon they were both covered and stinking with it. But they seemed to have turned the corner: slowly but surely the water level was dropping. Soon the long crack came into view.
'Get me some of that waterproof marine gaffing tape,' Abbey said.
Jackie handed her the roll and she pulled off a strip. Leaning into the rocking bilge, stinking with fuel and oil, Abbey wiped the fiberglass clean with a rag. Then she taped the crack, horizontally and vertically, adding several layers and pressing down. It seemed to hold. The bilge pump, going full bore, now was able to draw down the water on its own, without the help of their bucket brigade.
Jackie called down to her, 'Abbey, your father wants you on deck. We're heading into the rip.'
Abbey climbed up the stairs into the pilothouse. They were out of the channel and the seas were mounting up again. Ahead, Abbey could see a stretch of whitecaps where the rip current began that gave Ripp Island its name, churning along the northern reefs. It was a classic cross tide, the flow running against the prevailing wind and seas, creating massive standing waves, whirl pools, and a brutal chop.
'Hang on,' said her father, increasing speed. As the boat hit the current, it slowed down and her father continued to throttle up to counteract the current. The sea was pushing the stern and the current wanted to turn the
Silently, her father remained at the wheel, the faint light from the electronics bathing his tense face in a ghastly greenish glow, his muscular arms working the wheel. It was a losing battle. The water erupting into the stern couldn't clear out of the scuppers, each wave breaking over the foredeck piling more water into the stern cockpit.
'Jesus, I think we're swamping,' Jackie said, heading for the stern with a bucket.
'Get back in here!' Straw said. 'You'll be washed overboard!'
The engine roared, straining against the increase in weight, the boat shuddering and struggling in the sea. Abbey could hear the grinding and scraping of the cracked hull. It didn't sound good.
She ducked down the stairs into the cabin.
Undogging the hatch, she saw the crack had opened up again, worse than ever, seawater pouring in. She grabbed the tape and peeled off a strip, trying to affix it to the crack, but it was underwater again and the previous piece had pulled loose. The heavy flow of water coming in prevented any attempt to cover it.
'Get the bucket brigade going!' her father cried.
'It's coming in too fast!'
'Then shift the forward bilge pump aft! Jackie! Get to it!'
Jackie ducked down into the forward hatch and emerged a moment later with the pump, a roll of hose, and some wires.
'Cut the hose and wires,' said her father. 'Hardwire it straight to a battery and reclamp, run the hose out a porthole.'
'Right.'
The boat boomed and groaned through the seas while they worked furiously. In five minutes they were done, the outflow hose pushed out a porthole.
The pumps hummed. The rising water in the bilge held steady and even began to drop.
'It's working!' Jackie yelled, giving Abbey a high five.
At that moment a huge wave slammed the hull with a deep thunderous boom and Abbey heard a
'Oh my God.'
Abbey watched in horror as the water gushed and swirled up, within moments spilling over the hatch and flooding the cabin.
'Dog the hatch!' Jackie screamed.
Abbey slammed the hatch into place and jerked around the levers as water came squirting up around the edges, and in a moment it was sealed. But the remedy was only temporary. The bulkheads, run through by cables and hoses, were not watertight and Abbey could hear the roar of water coming into the engine compartment.
'On deck!' she heard her father yell.
They scrambled up.
'Dad!' She scrambled up. 'We're sinking--'
'Get on your life preservers. Now. As soon as that water tops the forward bulkheads, we're DIW.'
Trying to build as much forward momentum as possible, he shoved the throttle to the console. The boat roared past Ripp Island and Abbey got a glimpse of the lights in the admiral's house flickering dimly through massive curtains of rain. Even with the engine at peak rpms the boat was slowing rapidly and beginning to list. The engine struggled, roaring.
'We're sinking!' Jackie cried.
A wave broke over the side, tilting the boat, and it remained cockeyed, dragging itself along, the heaviness of the incoming water straining the engine. Abbey glanced at the raging currents beyond, the massive breakers thundering on the rocky shore; they would not survive a sinking.
Her father spun the wheel and pointed the boat straight toward the rocks of Ripp Island. Now the seas were bashing the boat on the beam, water erupting over the gunwales. A lash of sparks arced across the engine panel. With a loud
The boat swung toward the pounding surf, the combers pushing it toward the line of white.
'You two, get in the bow and get ready to jump!' her father cried.
The boat, now dead in the water, swung past the tail of the rip current and another rising breaker caught it by the stern and carried it toward the maelstrom.
'Go!'
Clinging to handholds and the rail, Abbey and Jackie went forward. The surf in front of them roared like a hundred lions, a great boiling mass of white, with great jets of spray leaping ten, twenty feet into the air. Her father stayed in the wheel house, at the wheel, trying to keep the boat aligned.