Suddenly Overboard Read Online Free Page B

tonight, he was thinking, but at least they were reaching now instead of beating. Still, he anticipated a long night. He left the two reefs in.
    Only once more did he ask Hank to take the helm, when he went below for his foulies, and almost immediately he regretted it. The guy just couldn’t steer! An accidental jibe seemed likely any moment under Hank’s hand, and the shock of that—or of being rolled by a backwinded main if they tied in a preventer—might bring down the rig. And the guy still wouldn’t put on a life jacket.
    At 4 A.M . the radio reported steady 38-knot winds in the Solent and gusts approaching 50. Out here in deeper water the waves had built only to 2 meters and were full of curling white horses, but William was thinking ahead to the Chichester Bar. He checked the tide chart. “Looks like we won’t make it before the ebb,” he told Hank. “In this blow the bar will be breaking on the ebb, and I don’t think we want to get caught in there. We’ll have to stand off until the wind drops or until slack.”
    â€œWe’re almost home free,” Hank growled. This time William couldn’t see his eyes in the dark space under the dodger. “She’s a good boat—we’ll go on in.”
    They could wait for morning light, that would help some, William thought, but by then the ebb would reach its peak and it would be breaking heavily over the bar. “At least put on your life jacket and a tether,” William said. He wanted it to sound like an order from the captain, but not so much so that it would antagonize the owner.
    He was happy to see the other man go below then. But in a few minutes he came back out, still without a life jacket or harness. It had now started raining, and the water stung William’s eyes whenever he glanced back at a following sea. With no protection from the dodger with the wind aft, Hank unrolled his jacket hood and covered most of his face.
    William squinted to peer forward in the rain and dark at the Chichester Bar beacon ahead, trying to judge the waves. The depth-finder and his handheld GPS showed they were getting close. The seas were building, lifting the stern higher and slewing them sideways, but William was able to steer each wave as it passed, walking the delicate line between broaching to port and jibing to starboard.
    Then a big wave struck just before they reached the bar, as the water heaved up over the rising sea bottom. When the stern began to lift he instinctively looked back over his shoulder, not even seeing the wave at first in the dark because its white curling top was so high—it had to be 6 meters. Before he could even think, it broke and slammed the port quarter with massive force, knocking the boat down to starboard and flooding the cockpit with water. He held on as best he could, but was knocked loose. He felt his harness tighten around his chest as his shorter tether went tight, and he threw one arm over his head for protection and closed his mouth and eyes against the water.
    The boat must have been knocked right over 90 degrees, he realized later, because just before it rolled back up, he’d slipped and started to fall to his left but instead bumped his shoulder against the port cockpit seat vertical beside him.
    Hank was gone, thrown or washed overboard. In the white foam of the departing wave William saw him for a second in the water, only some 7 or 8 meters behind, but the boat was quickly blown away from him. William grabbed the dan-buoy from its rail mount and threw it toward him but lost sight of the man in the water.
    Acting automatically, William turned the boat hard to port to bring the bow up and released both sheets when the boat was as close to the wind as he could get it. In the turmoil of the wavesbreaking over the bar he’d never be able to reach Hank under sail. He turned the key and jabbed the starter button, barely able to hear the engine grinding in the roaring