The Gimp

Our Story Begins

Our Story Begins

The Pacific Ocean – June 15, 2008

The body of a goddess, the mind of a polymath, the determination of an Olympic athlete. Not the common attributes of an accomplished sail racer. But two out of three have been handy in attaining success in the eccentric world of solo yachting. And Cocoa Michelle’s photo genesis has brought notoriety to the sport. When she wins, the press scrambles to capture her bronzed, well muscled, but well shaped form holding aloft yet another trophy. Handsome, even features, a smile of pearl white, she exudes beauty and a level of confidence beyond her 28 years. Competitors silently sulk but in the end know her widely publicized triumphs have brought acclaim to an otherwise relatively unknown sport.

This day, in this race, Hawaii to New Zealand, Captain Cocoa Michelle has fallen behind. Noted for her strong finishes she finds solace with thoughts of a competitive effort. Yet as nightfall beckons, a view to the bow offers two competitors just at the horizon, a good distance ahead but within range. Inclement winds are predicted, gusts from a storm one hundred miles to the north. In brazenly offering more canvas than most, exposing her craft time and again to the vagaries of the elements, Cocoa Michelle will strike in the darkness. A slight change to port will hasten the advantage of the gusts. A later tack to starboard, at dawn, will bring her back into the suggested line of navigation. Properly calculated, her gambit will bring increased knots and offer the lead.

Hours into the improvised course the clouds from the storm enhance the darkness. The charts suggest her revised course comes dangerously close to coral reefs, yet also suggest adequate water. But the wind increases. The howl masks the sound of crashing waves. The charts do not, can not predict the change in shallow depths as winds whip the ocean water into a frenzy. The waves grow. Cocoa is calm as the deviation in peaks and troughs expands. Nothing she has not faced before.

But the revised course brings her to waters rarely sailed, in winds of great strength, in shallow seas with depths made incalculable by varying waves. There comes a glimpse of land. An island estimated to be two miles to port is more proximate than prudence warrants. Cocoa Michelle changes course.

Then the bow dips violently, lurching downward from the crest of a huge wave. There come the gut wrenching sounds of scrapes and squeals. Sharp coral against strong but light fiberglass. The hull yields to nature’s domain. The winds, adroitly captured to bring advantage, unpredictably expose shallow depths thought to be more than six feet below the surface. Water invades. The gush is sickening.

Years of experience bring rote reaction. Cocoa Michelle knows her ketch is doomed. To the port stern the silhouette of the small unknown island is barely discernible. An inflatable life boat works to perfection. An unflappable Cocoa Michelle abandons her vessel. The coral, which condemned her craft, has also formed to offer sanctuary. A mid ocean atoll.

There will be another race, another opportunity. But for now a new challenge presents. A mile, perhaps two, in a small inflatable raft in heavy seas.

Cocoa Michelle is unfazed.