Blinky

Mayday!

Mayday!

Mayday!

“This is the fishing vessel, North Wind on Emergency Channel 16. I am in trouble. Come up anyone.”

Peter grabbed the microphone of the VHF radio. He recognized the voice of his friend, Mario Garibaldi.

"North Wind, North Wind, this is the fishing vessel Sea Gypsy. What is your situation?"

"Sea Gypsy, this is North Wind. My engine is out, and the current is pushing me on Duncan's Reef. Can you help?"

Peter knew if North Wind grounded on the rocky shelf, Mario's survival chances were almost nonexistent. Heavy surf pounded the barnacle crusted reef. Any boats pulled onto it would be quickly shredded.

"North Wind, what is your exact position?" Peter demanded.

There was no answer.

"North Wind, North Wind, what is your position?" he repeated. There was silence on the VHF radio. With a sense of foreboding, Peter keyed the microphone, "Hold on North Wind. We are on the way."

Leaning out the wheelhouse door, Peter yelled to his brother on the aft deck, "Mark, get the lines in and hurry. North Wind is going on Duncan's Reef."

Mark quickly cut the long fishing line trailing behind the trawler, tied a marker buoy to the end of the line, and heaved it back into the blue water.

"We're clear,” he yelled. “Let’s go."

Peter spun the helm and pushed the engine throttle to its maximum. Slowly the 40-foot trawler turned onto a northerly heading and picked up speed.

Peter was worried. Mario was more than just a friend. He is their teacher and mentor. To this day, the brothers still argue as to whose idea it was to quit their jobs and buy the Sea Gypsy. It was done on a whim, and each brother blames the other.

On the rashness of their decision, Mario would comment, “Before you choose the devil, you should first look him in the eye.”

But his dark warning mattered little. Both brothers yearned for the freedom of the sea. Neither would ever go back to their old life.

When the brothers bought the Sea Gypsy, they didn’t have the vaguest idea how to make a living as fishermen. "They were just a pair of crazy city kids," as Mario laughingly called them. It was Mario who took the time to show them how to run the boat, how to fish, and most important, where to fish. The brothers owed him much.

Mario boasted that he was born and raised on a fishing boat. His mother was Irish and his father a fiery tempered Italian. Nobody knew whether it was true or not, but nobody disputed his ability as a fisherman. He had few equals.

Mario was uniquely easy to spot anytime he was around the docks. His rugged face was aged from years of exposure to the sun, wind, and sea. His small hands were calloused and covered with scars from an untold number of cuts. A black bandana covered his forehead, and a gold ring hung from his left ear. He wore the same red plaid shirt day after day.

"It's my lucky shirt," Mario claimed. Mark wryly suggested it was probably the only one he owned.

Nonetheless, Mario looked like the fisherman he was. Yet, on any given day, he could have just as easily passed as a Captain Blackbeard pirate.

Peter's thoughts were jarred by the wheelhouse cabin door opening. "What is going on with North Wind?" Mark asked.

"Don't know. Mario broadcasted a Mayday. But now I can’t get him on the radio."

Mark turned the problem over in his mind. Reflecting on his thoughts he said," You know, if Mario's up at Duncan's Reef, we’re going to have a hell of a time trying to find him. That’s a huge area; the fog will be as thick as pea soup. And, we don't have radar."

"I know, I know. But we don't have any choice. Coast Guard is hours away, and no one else is up there."

"Damm it!" Mark said angrily. "I will never understand why he likes to fish that reef. It is dangerous, there are huge rocks just beneath the surface and you cannot see any of them."

Peter shrugged. "Well, you know Mario. He likes to fish where no one else goes."

With a sigh of resignation, Mark reached for the book of coastal charts.

"All right, let me plot a course."

In what could be a race for life, or death, Sea Gypsy plowed through white-capped seas as it raced toward Duncan's Reef. An offshore breeze pushed a misty haze across the California coast but as they neared the reef, the haze predictably turned into a cutting cold fog.

"We have to slow down," Peter said, pulling back the engine throttle. "I can’t see two feet in front of us."

Mark nodded. "Have you tried raising North Wind on Channel 16 lately?"

"I’ve been calling him every couple of minutes. There’s no answer."

Mark spread out the chart of Duncan's Reef on the table.

"Okay Pete, here is what we will do." Peter smiled. As brothers, they were as different as day and night. He was emotional and hasty whereas Mark was cool and analytical.

"I’ve worked out a search plan. Knowing Mario, he’s probably fishing the southern half of Duncan’s Reef. So, I think we should start from the reef’s western tip and then run a parallel course North-Northeast up along its outer edge."

Pete looked at the chart and nodded.

"But, Mark warned, watch the depth sounder and keep at least three fathoms of water under us. Anything less, and it’s us who will be on the rocks."

"Okay," Peter agreed. "But I can’t see anything in this fog."

Pulling on his foul weather jacket, Mark grinned with self-confidence. "Don't worry. I’ll go up on the bow and be a lookout. You just stay on course and give a long blast on the horn every few minutes."

For the next hour Sea Gypsy slowly probed the murky, grey mist of Duncan’s Reef. Wet and shivering from the cold, Mark opened the wheelhouse door and stepped inside. There was a puzzled look on his face.

"I may be crazy," he said, but I would swear I just heard a dog barking."

Peter snickered. "Come on, Mark. The fog's playing tricks on your mind."

"No, I mean it. Come out here and listen for yourself."

Peter engaged the autopilot, pulled on an old Navy peas coat, then stepped out into the wet cold air. The wind was building, and the Sea Gypsy pitched in the now heavy, rolling sea. White-capped waves were breaking over the bow sending showers of water across the entire boat. The soaking spray washed Peter's face, leaving a taste of salt on his lips. Gripping the boat’s side rails, and with careful balance, Peter slowly made his way across the slippery deck.

Then he heard it. At first it was faint. He strained to listen. Again, he heard it - only now it was clear. Somewhere, within hearing distance, a dog was barking. But that make absolutely no sense. They were at least twenty miles from the nearest land. What was a dog doing out here?

Both men stepped back inside the cabin. "You are right, Mark. What do you make of it?"

"I don't know. Could it be the North Wind?"

Peter shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Mario hates dogs."

“That’s true. But didn’t we see Blinky hanging around his boat lately?”

Peter thought for a moment. Blinky was an old one-eyed mongrel that lived around the docks. Its lifeless right eye was a cloudy opaque white with only a small black dot for a pupil. No one claimed ownership of the friendly mutt, yet everyone fed it - everyone, that is, but Mario who would kick at the poor dog and chase it away yelping. For Mario, there was no room on a boat for a dog.

"Okay," Peter said. "Let’s take a look." Mark nodded. "I’ll stay up on the bow where I can watch and listen. You just watch my hand signals for which way to steer."

Using his ears like a directional sound finder, Mark tried to get a bearing on the yapping dog. As they drew closer, Mark used his nearly frozen hands as pointers to guide Peter to steer Sea Gypsy either to port or to starboard.

Slowly Sea Gypsy inched forward probing the thick wet fog. Mark was worried. They were in shallow water and the depth sounder showed large rock formations lurking below the surface.

Then he saw it. It was only a faint outline but as they moved closer, Mark recognized North Wind’s distinctive lines.

The boat was broaching sideways to the oncoming waves and rolling dangerously back and forth.

My God, he thought, she is going to roll over. And there, sliding back and forth across the deck and barking nonstop, was Blinky.

"Do you see Mario?" Peter shouted to his brother.

"No," Mark yelled. But I can’t see inside the wheelhouse."

"Okay," Peter said. “I’ll get closer."

Mark raised his hand to stop. "No, wait a minute. I have an idea." Opening a storage locker, Mark pulled out a long length of heavy line.

"Listen, Peter, we have got to get North Wind out of here and fast. If not, we will both go aground on the reef."

"What do you want to do?"

"Back down in reverse and get as close as you can to her bow. I’ll try to get a line around something so we can pull her out of here."

Gripping the helm, Peter carefully guided Sea Gypsy toward the stricken boat. At the crucial moment, he pulled back the throttle and shifted the diesel engine into neutral. Slowly, foot by foot, seemingly inch by inch, Sea Gypsy's stern drifted toward the bow of Mario's boat. As they drew near, Mark heaved the heavy line across North Wind trying to hook it on the trawler.

He missed.

By now, both trawlers were dangerously close to crashing into each other. Only feet apart, they pitched and rolled back and forth as if they were locked in a drunken dance.

Quickly Mark re-coiled the line. This time he hurled it in a high arc across North Wind’s bow. As luck would have it, the heavy line looped around the anchor capstan. He pulled it tight.

"I have a line on her," he shouted to Peter. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Spinning the helm, and easing the throttle forward, Peter headed for open water. Bracing himself against the cabin wall, Mark watched astern as the tow line grew taut. Slowly, the North Wind began to turn and trail behind. Peering over the wooden guard rail and barking furiously was rain soaked Blinky.

Suddenly a huge wave broke across both boats, washing them in a wall of white water. When it passed, Mark looked back. The tow line held but the old one-eyed dog was gone.

"Mark, Coast Guard is on the radio, they want to know about Mario."

"He is inside the wheelhouse," Mark yelled. "The door swung open, and I saw someone with a red shirt lying on the deck. It has to be Mario."

"Okay," Peter said. "I'll notify Coast Guard we need an ambulance at the dock."

News spreads quickly in a small port. Maneuvering Sea Gypsy down the harbor channel with North Wind in tow, Peter saw a group of fishermen gathered on the dock and the flashing red lights of emergency vehicles. A flotilla of smaller boats were waiting to help shepherd North Wind to her berth.

"Looks like we drew a crowd," Mark said, letting out a sigh of emotional relief.

"Yes, we did," Peter agreed.

Two medics in white uniforms with black medical bags quickly boarded the North Wind. Within minutes, one emerged from the wheelhouse to say Mario hit his head falling and probably had a concussion, but he would be okay.

Later, after the ambulance had taken Mario to the hospital, Mark re-boarded the North Wind to check its mooring lines. As he was cinching a stern line, he heard a faint whimper coming from below deck. He opened the rear hatch cover and looked inside. It was too dark to see deep into the hold, but the whimpering was distinct.

Mark climbed down into the confined bilge. On his hands and knees, he crawled along the keel toward the sound. Just beyond the fuel tank was a small dark storage space. When he looked in, two pairs of tiny eyes peered back. Reaching in, he pulled out two furry, coal black puppies.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said to himself. "So, that’s why that crazy old dog was barking."

Mario would later say that he had no idea Blinky was aboard the North Wind, or that she had given birth to a litter.

"But she saved my life," he declared. "Now, Mario will save the lives of her family."

Today, both the North Wind and the Sea Gypsy have mascots: Shark and Barracuda as Mario named them. The pups are as much at home on one boat as the other. When either trawler goes fishing, the dogs go along as well.

The barking can be heard for miles.