The Vagabond. Frank Rautenbach

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      They had just heard about how God had saved a man’s life from death.

      THE VAGABOND

      My mother withheld most of my father’s challenges from us kids. She wanted us to lead as normal lives as possible under the circumstances. It was only after I had heard my father tell his version of the story that I realised how close we had come to losing him.

      Two days after my father’s heart operation I did what I normally did: hang out at my girlfriend’s house. It was the Friday afternoon, 13 October. The phone rang. It was for me. It was my friend Miles.

      He was super excited, wanting to know if I was keen to join him and another mutual friend, Eyeball, on a great adventure. (Eyeball got his nickname because his eyelid moved up and down, in sync with his jaw, when he chewed.)

      Miles’s mother had organised for us to go sailing from East London to Port Alfred overnight, a distance of about 130 kilometres. The plan was to sail there and surf in Port Alfred the next day. Eyeball’s mother would pick us up and take us back to East London, in time for his father’s birthday on 14 October.

      I thought about it for a half second.

      ‘I am in! When are we leaving?’

      ‘In an hour; see you at the harbour.’

      I grabbed my helmet and shouted back to my girlfriend as I was leaving.

      ‘I am going sailing with Eyeball and Miles to Port Alfred!’

      I got on my bike and rode home as fast as I could. As I ran into the house, I asked my grandmother if I could stay at Miles’s house for a surfing weekend. It was not unusual for me to do this. Plus, my grandmother knew Miles well. It was fine, she said. Just be safe.

      I didn’t breathe a word about the sailing.

      I grabbed my wetsuits, board, towels and blue-and-pink parka. Miles and Eyeball had already arrived when I rolled in on my bike. There seemed to be a little tension between Miles and his parents, but it seemed to get resolved fast.

      Eyeball’s mom had dropped him off. She waved goodbye. ‘See you guys in Port Alfred.’

      An impressive double-hull catamaran was moored near where Miles and his parents were standing. I thought, ‘Wow! This is going to be amazing!’

      I walked up and asked, ‘Hey bru which one is our boat?’ An older-looking gentleman waved from the other side of the catamaran.

      ‘Come aboard!’ He was the captain we’d be sailing with. He looked like an old-time sailor – white hair and beard. Only his yacht was moored next to the catamaran. She was about 18 metres long and the stern deck looked like a messy tool shed.

      Her hull was navy-blue. Her name, painted in white – The Vagabond.

      She wasn’t perfect, but she’d do for our adventure. The only complaint I had was the smell; everything on the boat smelt liked diesel fuel and fish.We got settled in – and learned from the captain that we’d be using the boat’s motor to get out of the harbour. Once we got into the open ocean, we’d set the sail on course to Port Alfred.

      We waved at Miles’s parents as we left the shore. The closer we got to the open ocean, the more we felt the swell as it came rolling in. Full of excitement and energy, we made our way to the bow. We held onto the pulpit and lifeline dearly, hollering and riding those waves as if they were bucking broncos.

      The sun was starting to set as we rounded the harbour wall. The swell was getting bigger. We were excited about this; it meant good surf the next day. There was a northeasterly blowing, which would be helping us down the coast. None of us had sailed before, but we were keen to learn. The captain was showing us the ropes as the wind filled the mainsail and we were off on our adventure.

      It had been a beautiful, sunny day in East London – until the sun went down. We were not even 10 kilometres out when we noticed the wind picking up. Every gust blowing harder and stronger than the previous one, until the ocean was whipped up into a frenzy.

      Angry waves bashed into our yacht and, before we knew it, we were caught in a severe storm.

      The captain stayed calm. He commanded Miles and me to strike the mainsail. As we started turning the crank to bring it down, we heard a massive ripping sound. We both looked up and realised the sail must’ve got caught against something sharp. Then the wind just ripped it further.

      ‘Be careful!’ the captain shouted.

      We had no idea what we were doing, so we kept cranking until the sail was fully down. In a moment, we had lost our mainsail. The boat was tossed around violently as we battled to secure ourselves on the deck.

      We didn’t think to tie the sail down onto the boom.

      Another wave hit us. Eyeball screamed. We looked up and we saw him holding his wrist. The wind had caught the unsecured sail and sent the boom jibing across the deck, missing his face by a hair’s breadth. It knocked his diving watch right off his wrist and into the ocean. Eyeball was in shock.

      The captain kept shouting above the noise of the storm, telling us he would be using the motor to get us back to the harbour. It spluttered and coughed as it sprang to life. The boat slowly turned into the face of the storm. The Vagabond fought bravely through the oncoming swell. The motor strained to keep her moving forward. We’d hardly turned around when we heard a loud clunk. The captain stuck his head in the engine room. A few minutes later, he came back up. The motor had seized.

      ‘Not to worry,’ he said. ‘We’ll send out a mayday distress call to the harbour.’

      The wind and waves kept driving us deeper into the ocean, until we could barely see the city lights. We were only a few miles from the harbour. Why was no one picking up our distress call?

      The two-way radio wasn’t working.

      Eyeball’s sea legs didn’t last long. He was doubled over the side of the boat, emptying his stomach. Miles stuck by his side, making sure he didn’t go overboard. The captain, looking more distressed, told us he was going to try to fix the motor.

      And that is where he stayed all night.

      The captain gave me the job of ‘steering’ the yacht. I tried my best to point the bow in the direction that the wind was blowing. I had no idea what I was doing, or if I was even doing anything to affect the direction that we were moving in. The wind gusts kept getting more violent. Miles and I still hadn’t secured the mainsail properly to the boom, and the wind kept unfurling it and chasing it up the mast.

      This, in turn, would cause the boom to jibe unexpectedly and dangerously across the deck. We also hadn’t secured ‘the preventer’. We didn’t know what ‘the preventer’ was, let alone how to fasten it. (The preventer is a line that stops the boom from jibing across the deck if the wind shifts or boat rolls.)

      The captain came up on the deck to check our position and noticed the unsecured sail.

      He shouted at Miles and a very sick Eyeball to tie down the sail and secure that preventer thing. At least Miles had the sense to ask for harnesses, but the captain didn’t have any.

      Cautiously, they stumbled СКАЧАТЬ