the whims of Tangaroa (caution - long as hell)

She was 80 feet long        
fresh from a fitout in New Zealand        
which included the best of every safety thing        
       
she had a crew of pro sailors        
all salty salts to their sailor’s beards        
with a combined experience of half a million miles        
on every sea        
in every kind of boat        
and still last winter        
in the teeth of 80 knot winds        
and 12 story high breaking waves        
she went down        
all hands lost        
without even a word on the radio        
just here then gone        
not even a lifejacket left floating to be found        
and sailors who know those waters put that story away        
to retell in late night drinking sessions        
in hushed boat’s cabins all around the Pacific        
told as just another boat that got eaten whole        
by that narrow ditch of widowmaking water        
the one that Captain Cook made mention to fear        
that ditch        
that bitch        
the Tasman sea        
       
In 8 weeks I’ll take my little boat        
a crewman or two        
all the luck a liver can hold        
and leave port        
to sail those waters        
winter-cross them like I said I would        
       
my boat is 32 feet long        
just 10 steps from bow to stern        
and 3 steps wide        
a design famous for weathering the Tasman storm of ’72        
that took 20 lives        
6 boats and a lighthouse        
       
sailor’s rule number 1, son:        
take a good boat      
       
I’ve been planning this trip all my life        
this one and plenty more      
have read every news story        
have followed every rescue        
have read the coroner’s report on as many as I could        
no rhyme or reason or common thread to them      
except bad weather        
broken gear        
and shitty luck getting worse        
       
it’s the women who die        
if only 1 sailor gets done        
the skipper’s wife mostly        
washed overboard        
or crushed between the broken boat and the rescue ship        
or just disappeared after a big wave came aboard        
       
the rest of the fatal stories      
go down all-hands-lost        
usually at night and within 100 miles of shore        
first the boat was there        
and then it wasn’t        
until some timber washes up        
enough to satisfy the cops to write the case off        
and no more work to do        
       
the Maori sailed it in their open catamarans      
and they tell their own stories        
all 4000 years of them        
of monster seas that ate their tattooed heroes        
all blamed on the whims of their sea god Tangaroa        
       
I wear a bone carving of him tucked in my foul-weather gear        
always handle him carefully        
with the first drink tipped over the side at journey's end      
to thank him        
and no jokes made about sea gods when in his house        
if the barometer is on the way down        
       
so this winter        
I will gather my boat        
and that carving        
and a crew or two        
and make my run        
will try to time it between the weather lows as best I can        
will make a 12 day play        
and see where it gets me        
       
that’s the plan      
       
I took a walk down to the sea today      
because this is the last day this plan is a secret        
and stood at the edge of it while foot-high waves fell      
looked out to the horizon      
due east        
same as the course I’ll take        
rolled my mind back 8 years      
to the last time I went out that far        
       
we got caught in an honest force 8 storm        
in the Tasman sea      
off the northern tip of New Zealand        
in late winter        
in a 50 foot steel tank of a boat        
that took 4 days of breaking waves on her topsides        
each one as powerful as a car crash        
playing her like a drum      
       
I remember fear        
nights and days of fear        
and the smell of vomit down below        
just the skipper and I left to sail the boat        
while the rest went to bed and stayed there        
saying seasick        
but really        
and no blaming them        
it was the brainflood of fear on fear that storms can bring        
       
I stood on the beach        
looking out to sea      
the sun going low behind me        
people sunday-walking their dogs      
kids getting one last run to the waves in      
before a mother's call to home      
then I turned and walked back up the beach track      
no last looks        
       
tonight I’ll drink a quiet one or two        
might even say a word to the sky        
but after that no more time for romance and old stories        
cos 8 short weeks to prep and check and load and plan        
luck the last thing to rely on        
       
a good boat well sorted        
a good crew        
a good plan        
and a weather window        
then throw the lines and roll the dice        
then maybe time for the romance again      
time to reach in my pocket        
to hold that carving        
       
for 12 days aboard I’ll watch the sky to the south        
if the long deep swells start coming from there      
watch for when the high cloud comes from there too     
looking like fingers on an outstretched godly arm        
telling of what's coming      
of unfeeling things      
of powerful dreams        
and the whims of Tangaroa