Strong Finish at Halfway Rock

“Strong Start”, was a 21-foot Downeast pocket cruiser, a solid bargain but a little bit “tippy”, according to Harry Tarbuck, Brian’s friend up in Rockland. Brian, living and working in Portland, was not an experienced boater but he trusted his friend’s advice and bought the boat.

It was late May, a high-pressure system brought clear blue skies, light wind, and warmth to the Gulf of Maine. It was perfect weather to motor the boat 60 miles down the coast, from Rockland to Portland.

In their Portland kitchen, contemplating Brian's plan to go get the boat the following day, Brian's wife, Sammy, thought he was being rash.

“Don’t worry,” said Brian. “Harry found it, but I got a second opinion. I promise.”

Sammy wasn’t satisfied.

“That’s quite a hike, babe,” said Sammy, leaning back against the kitchen sink. “Are you sure you can manage an open water journey?”

Sammy was Maine aristocracy, the daughter of a lobsterman. She’d lost a cousin at sea.

“No problem, Sammy. How hard can it be? Think of all the numbskulls that go out to sea every day and come back alive.”

Sammy rolled her eyes at him. It was true that her brothers and cousins up in Rockland were mainly ignorant or damaged men, but they were courageous and skilled seafarers.

“The water is cold, and the weather can change like that”—she snapped her fingers—“and there’s rocks and reefs to navigate, plus you don’t really know enough about boats.”

“Give me a break! If I can fix the truck, then I can fix a fucking boat!”

Sammy chewed on her lower lip. “All I’m saying is that the ocean can be dangerous for anyone; you should definitely not go alone.”

“No problem; Harry volunteered to be my wingman.”

Sammy rolled her eyes and sighed. “That’s a stupid idea, Bri…”

Brian avoided her eyes. “Give Harry some credit. He’s changed.”

Sammy, Brian and Harry all went to Rockland High School at the same time, just over 20 years ago. Sammy knew Harry Tarbuck well enough to not give Harry any credit. It would only go up in smoke.

“Besides, Harry volunteered.”

“Great.”

“And I’m paying him $200 to help him get on his feet again.”

“Money can’t fix Harry,” said Sammy. “Why not wait a few weeks ‘till the weather improves? It all feels rushed.”

It felt rushed to Brian too, but he needed the boat ASAP, before business picked up with the summer people, and Harry was the only person available.

Brian knew how to manage Harry.

Brian took the coach from Portland to Rockland and stayed overnight at his mom’s house.

“You be careful with Harry, dear,” said Brian’s mom. “Drink and drugs have addled his mind ever since you dropped him from the business...”

“First up, Ma, he’s been clean 3 years. And second, I didn’t drop him from the business. I bought him out, which is different… just business.”

“Some men never can’t forget the hurt.”

Brian’s mother paused, sighed. She was talking about Sammy not the business. Brian got the business, Brian got the girl too.

“That was a long time ago, Ma... and I’ve been looking out for him ever since.”

Brian’s mother looked out the window at the reflection of the setting sun in the thin skein of high-altitude clouds. “That’s decent of you, son, but Harry isn’t your responsibility.”

Brian ignored her. “And Harry knows the sea like the back of his hand.”

Harry was Rockland royalty too, just like Sammy, though the Tarbuck family strayed from lobstering into the fentanyl trade, and went badly wrong downhill from there.

Brian went upstairs to his childhood bedroom, unchanged since he left home and started out with Harry on their landscaping business caper. Everything was swell until Sammy chose Brian over Harry as her boyfriend. Not long after, Harry hit the bottle and then hit the skids.

Next morning, Strong Start, the little white boat was tied up at the town dock, rocking in the breeze. Harry was already aboard, smoking a cigarette. When he saw Brian approaching, he flicked the cigarette into the harbor.

“Bro,” growled Harry. His eyes were red and sunken, his face gaunt, and he hadn’t shaved in days. He looked like a bum.

“Bro,” said Brian.

The two men embraced.Harry stank of tobacco and sweat.

“What you got there?” said Harry, pointing to the paper bag that Brian held.

“Food and drinks, which I picked them up at the corner store.”

Harry was empty-handed, except for a pack of smokes in his shirt pocket.

“Is there water aboard?” said Brian. Water would be a good thing to have if something went wrong.

Harry sighed and looked around, searching the deck. He’d forgotten the water.

Brian breathed deeply and counted to three.

“What about diesel? Did you fill her up last night?”

Harry held out his hands, empty. “Ain’t got the funds, Brian.”

Brian clenched his jaw, irritated. “What about the commission I paid you?”

Harry shrugged. “Long gone, bud.”

Brian noticed how Harry looked sickly and was ageing fast.

The boat was a mess.Ropes knotted and tossed away. The deck was grimy. An empty 5-gallon cannister sat in the middle of things. Brian’s heart sunk at the sight.

Harry started up the boat for Brian. The motor ran fine, lifting Brian’s spirits a tad.

Harry untied the boat. Harry cast off. Harry piloted the boat into the nearby marina for diesel.

Brian stood next to him, shifting from one foot to the other, sour-faced. He didn’t feel welcome on his own boat.

“How did you start her up, Harry?”

Harry pointed at the key, glumly.

Brian wondered whether he should have listened to Sammy and his mom.

Harry smoked a cigarette while he filled the tanks at the marina. Brian wanted to tell him to stop smoking, but bitching and moaning was going to make things worse, and he needed Harry to be in a good headspace for the journey ahead.

Harry reached for the wheel.

Brian jumped up. “No, I’ve got it from here.”

It was a tight fit in the cockpit. Harry smiled at Brian as they swapped sides; Harry’s missing teeth gave him a rakish appearance, like he was amused by Brian.

“You still paying me the two hundred? And putting me up tonight?” said Harry.

Brian twisted the key, sharply. Nothing,

“Yeah, of course I’m paying for you, and I’ve found a motel nearby where you can stay overnight… on me.”

Brian turned the key again, with the same outcome: nothing.

“And I will pay for your coach fare back to Rockland.”

“Shame, Bri, I was hoping to see Sammy.”

“Sammy’s out of town.”

“So why can’t I stay over, just the one night?”

Brian wiped his brow, shook his head. “Shit, Harry, I can’t get the thing to start up. What am I doing wrong?” There was a tremor of anger in his voice.

Harry withdrew the pack of smokes from his pocket. “Fuel knob,” he said.

Brian stood back from the wheel and found a pull-out knob down by his knee. He pushed it home, turned the starter switch, and the boat woke up. He found the throttle. The boat lurched forward and stopped abruptly.

“You need to slip the lines,” said Harry; that wry smile again.

“Shit. Forgot. Perhaps you can help me out Harry?”

“I don’t know, Brian… looks to me like you need to go through the motions, man. What would you do if I weren’t helping you out?” Harry dragged on his cigarette.

Brian went through motions, by which time he was sweating like a pig, but the boat was soon underway, and he was at the controls. The GPS and radio worked. The little boat was solid. As they left Rockland Harbor and entered the grand sweep of Penobscot Bay, Brian felt the tension fall from his shoulders. The water was smooth; the sky was clear; it was good to feel the sun on his face. He glanced over at Harry, who was staring ahead, glassy-eyed, drinking in the enormity of the ocean.

They were kids again, awed by the enormity of the universe.

Brian slapped Harry on the shoulder, surprised at how thin and bony he was.

Harry turned and sat back in his seat. “Life’s been good to you, Brian,” he said. “The city, the business, the boat, the girl.”

The girl, Sammy.The pain.

“Just luck and hard work; you know that, Harry. But nothing beats the times when we were starting out. Remember?”

Harry gazed at the fast-approaching Monroe Island. The sea just ahead was smooth and bulging. “I suppose that some of us just start out strong.”

“Funny, Harry.”

“What’s funny?” snapped Harry, for whom the start was good, the middle wasn’t anywhere close to good; not funny at all.

“Strong Start is the name of the boat, ain’t it?”

Harry frowned.

Brian gave Harry another friendly slap on the shoulder. “Snap out of it, dude. It’s not how you start out; it’s how you finish.”

Harry mumbled something that got lost in the sound of the motor.

Brian leaned over, tucked five folded Benjamins into his buddy’s shirt pocket, alongside the pack of smokes. “In case I forget.”

Harry checked the money and stuffed it into his pants’ pocket.

The ocean was empty, dull and lifeless beneath a blue-dome sky. A handful of lobster boats lay traps out beyond the islands. Brian waved, the lobstermen ignored him.

When they reached Ash Island, the sun was overhead, but the canopy threw shade into the cockpit. The wind from the east was cold. Brian leaned over the gunwale, dipped his finger in the water, and nearly toppled headfirst overboard.

“Jeez, watch yourself there, Brian,” said Harry laughing. His laugh turned into a rasping smoker’s cough.

“It’s fucking freezing,” said Harry.

“We ain’t even crossing the bay yet.” Harry was pensive. “And the weather can turn like that.” Harry snapped his fingers. Just as Sammy had done two days ago.

Brian looked to the east, the direction from which the wind came. It was as clear a day as he’d ever witnessed, but much colder than he’d expected. He wore a T-shirt and a thin sweatshirt, but his teeth were chattering. Harry was wearing a red flannel shirt, old-school Maine, untroubled by the cold.

The men in Rockland were a different breed.

“Well, it’s a good job we’re teamed up, right? If one of us fell overboard...”

“Might be a good thing if it was me,” said Harry. “Put an end to it all. I think it would be a good way to go. Painless in the cold.”

Harry’s face was gaunt, his skin yellowing. Brian wondered whether Harry was sick or just plain sad and beaten.

“Shut it, Harry. That’s stupid thinking.”

Brian decided he would watch Harry carefully, just in case. The man seemed desperate.

The waves picked up when they crossed Muscle Ridge Channel, and the little boat rocked and twisted as they powered across open ocean toward Mosquito Island.

“You want to take the wheel again, Harry?” said Brian.

Focusing Harry on the chart and the wheel might take his friend’s mind off morbid things.

“Sure, no problem,” said Harry.

They swapped sides.

Brian recalled how Harry was a good worker; when they’d started out the landscaping business, Brian took care of the customers and the finances, Harry took care of the equipment. They’d been a good team for a short while. Perhaps he could give Harry a try-out for a job?

As they later passed Pemaquid Lighthouse and Whale Rock, Brian got sandwiches and drinks out of the bag.

“All this fresh sea air has given me an appetite.”

He handed a can of coffee, and a sandwich to Harry, who declined both.

“I’ll set is aside in case you change your mind. Sammy will have a big dinner ready for me when I get home tonight.”

Harry flashed an angry look. "I thought you said she was out of town?”

Brian cleared his throat.“Oh, she is, she will be. I mean we’ll probably have dinner before she leaves.”

“So why can’t I stay over?”

“We’re really not set up for guests…”

“Ah, I see.” Harry leaned forward, squinted into the sun.

Casco Bay was the long haul, two hours of open ocean to port, the land to the West barely a thin green strip. Halfway Rock Lighthouse was dead ahead, poking up and out of the water; the middle of nowhere. There were no boats in sight.

Did the fishermen know something that Brian and Harry did not?

The wind picked up, and the waves became larger and more erratic.

“Watch out!” shouted Brian as a four four-footer bore down on the small boat from the direction of the approaching Lighthouse.

Harry pointed the boat at the wave and rode through it without flinching. The boat plunged into the next wave, water sloshed up over the bow and slammed the windows of the cockpit. Brian’s heart pounded, and he had an empty feeling in his stomach. He thought of Sammy.

“You all right there, buddy?” said Harry, apparently unfazed, that wry smile again.

“I’m alright Harry, just shook up. How about you?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Got nothing to lose, so it don’t mean nothing to me.”

“That’s crazy talk.”

“Nothing much meant anything much since me and Sammy broke up.”

“You and Sammy were never a thing, Harry.”

Harry scowled. Brian felt a rush of adrenaline. At first, he wasn’t sure whether he was scared of Harry or scared for him.

He was scared for him.““That was nearly twenty years ago,” said Brian.

“Feels like yesterday to me, still.”

“You’ve got to get over it. Life goes on. Me and Sammy are happy. You can find happiness too.”

“I can’t find happiness, Bro, but maybe I can find peace some other way.”

Harry stared blankly at the ocean, which slopped about like it was trying to figure out its intentions. Harry placed one foot up on the gunnel, nonchalant, but it was foolish to be unbalanced in a rough sea.The blow of a wave might knock him from the boat.

Harry was frail these days, easy to tackle. If things got weird Brian could easily wrestle him to the ground and constrain him. There was rope in the back of the boat. He could tie up Harry’s wrists.

Crazy-town! Brian was losing his mind!

The better solution was to give his friend safekeeping of the boat again, responsibility for a second soul.

“Hey Harry, I need to take a leak” Brian squeezed through the tight cockpit.

“Give me a warning if a wave’s coming.”

Harry paused for a second, then said, “Sure thing, Bro. I got your back.”

This time, it was Harry that slapped Brian on the shoulder, and he slapped him hard, like joke gone wrong, but then he removed his raised foot from the gunwale, sat back in the pilot’s seat, serious. “Now is as good a time as ever, my man,” said Harry, giving Brian a wink and a thumbs up.

The sea looked busy but not dangerous.

Brian clambered over the onboard engine housing and staggered toward the stern. He glanced back and was relieved to see Harry back at the wheel, focused on what lay ahead. Brian unzipped hit fly and turned leeward.

The wave broadsided the boat, which a loud thud. The boat tilted.

“Fuck, Harry... I thought I told you to give me a warning…”

Brian looked over his shoulder.

Harry stared at him blankly.

Brian grabbed for something, but the only thing within reach was the five-gallon diesel cannister.

Brian’s fingers were cold and numb, his grip weak.

Brian toppled headfirst over the transom.

The sea was dark, frigid, shocking.

Brian surfaced, gasping, mainly from the prickling and paralyzing cold. The boat was plowing through the waves, onwards. Brian waved, his head barely afloat. Brian fell into a trough, then rose high again.

Harry waved from the cockpit.

Another wave welled up, Brian lost sight of the boat, then rose on a crest.

Harry did nothing.

The boat was a distance away now, slow to turn. Too slow.Not turning at all.

A million thoughts flashed through Brian’s mind, but none of them could be held fast between wave after wave of blind terror and the thousand-needle cold. It was miles to shore, miles to the lighthouse. Brian was a competent swimmer, but the water was so cold, his limbs felt so heavy.

Harry would loop back and save him.

The boat receded into the distance,

The last thing Brian saw the name of the boat; “Stronger Finish,” painted in red on the transom.

Brian was disoriented, was he seeing clearly, was he thinking straight? Where was the boat? Where was Harry?

The ocean tugged at Brian's arms and legs, dragging him, backwards and down.

The sea was darker now but not so cold. Painless, actually.