onesix
12-20-2006, 12:03 PM
http://www.pierandsurf.com/forum/images/editor/menupop.gifMANY LESSONS ARE LIFE THREATENING
FEAR IS THE KEY…
The sea is a brilliant green as I gaze up at my overturned kayak, a bright blue tackle box and rod still bunged in place. The Hobie Maui seems to almost glow with its redness and the whole scene appears oversaturated and crystal clear. A dream, unfortunately not, as I free my leg from my anchor rope and struggle to the surface of a gray and turbulent Casco Bay Maine.
Having just acquired a used kayak to go along with a beautiful 7’ St. Croix surf rod and Quantum reel I had only been fishing a few days and it had been exhilarating. Hooking on to 18” stripers they call ‘schoolies’ with a surface lure and being towed as I try to haul them in, the reel screaming 8lb. test until I pull them on board amazed at their radiant golden color as I release them back into the bay. However, time was running out for me at my daughter’s newly renovated house in Cape Elizabeth but I couldn’t get enough of this magical pastime.
The weather got rough as a storm blew into the bay with monster waves now crashing onto what had been a peaceful shore. I waited a day, and then another, my patience and time were running out.
Dawn broke crimson red and I thought the storm had finally passed on, this being my next to last day on Alewife Cove. The water looked flat and wondrously reflective but there were still large rollers crashing on the beach. Wait till after lunch I rationalized, when the tide went out. I should have recalled the old adage ‘red sky in the morning sailors take warning’ but I wanted more of that fishing rush.
The tide drops below the finger of rocks out front and provides me with a calm launch area. The skies are troubled and the sun is gone as I push off the beach and cut through a narrow opening to the bay. I’m paddling over some good size rollers now, thinking this won’t be to bad. My little Maui is sailing over and through some major seas. From the bottom of the troughs I lose sight of everything but the clouds, a light should have gone on.
I’m paddling NW, at a slight angle to the waves, thinking I’ll break free and just deal with the rollers. The fish must be starved.
I glance to my right and see a 12-foot roller starting to crest; finally some fear inters my mind. A light snaps on but I turn into the wave too late and with not enough conviction. The monster flips me like a toy.
I’m now in the water next to my yak with adrenaline pumping through me and a useless paddle in my hand. Trying to reach over the overturned boat and right it proves fruitless. Finally reaching under it I manage to flip it back and attempt to swim and climb back in. Splash it overturns in an instant. I flip it back and bungee my paddle back and try again, and again, and again. Its useless, I’m exhausted, have taken in several mouthfuls of seawater and terror begins to grab me with its death hold. My body wants to give up.
Fear is the key; I preached to my kids all their lives. I lead a Platoon through the heaviest combat of Vietnam, I can’t die like this…
Incredible images of my grandkids play through my mind. I want to live to see them again. Think Greg, think. Use those survival skills you honed in the Nam and I attempt to shake off the grip of death.
I’m clinging to my yak and look around for the first time. Out beyond me several hundred yards is a boat. I wave at it pathetically and a tiny little voice cries out for help. I have a whistle in my PFD but never even think of it. I crest another big roller and see the surf pounding along a very rocky shore, closer then I thought.
Survival is my paramount thoughts now and I get to the stern of the little kayak, pulling my 225lbs up onto it like a surfboard. She flips again but I know I did it and try once more with the last of my strength and will. I’m back on enough to try and catch my breath and shake off the panic and fear. I regain a little energy and try kicking away from the approaching barnacle incrusted rocks and monster surf.
I have my head turned toward the shore as I weakly try and kick out of this mess and know in my heart I can’t. It’s going to be a brutal landing, will I make it? Has my luck finally played out?
My daughter Ashley and Jim just left for Paris, am I going to make them come home to identify a body?
I stop following that thread of thoughts as I see some guys with day glow orange helmets and wet suits. Christ, are they surfers! What other mad men would be out in this crap. They are between the shore and the rocks I’m approaching darting around, finally breaking to my left and out of sight.
A helicopter passes close over me but I don’t have the strength to look up, it passes to the right through the edge of my vision and I see it’s a big orange Coast Guard one as it disappears. Strange they must have seen me? Oh no they must think I’m just one of those crazy surfers, shit. Impending pain, death and depression sink back into my thoughts.
I hear a voice and look up to see my imaginary surfers are in a small rubber boat with a little outboard bobbing resolutely towards me! This bearded Viking pulls me to safety!
After thanking the local sea rescuers and assuring them I was suffering only a post adrenaline weariness I learned others had not been so lucky. It seems a 38’ lobster boat had been capsized an hour earlier with two saved but the Captain lost. They had been on the beach and witnessed my entire misadventure.
The Molesworth luck has not run out and Fear truly is the key!
Greg Molesworth
10 September 2006
FEAR IS THE KEY…
The sea is a brilliant green as I gaze up at my overturned kayak, a bright blue tackle box and rod still bunged in place. The Hobie Maui seems to almost glow with its redness and the whole scene appears oversaturated and crystal clear. A dream, unfortunately not, as I free my leg from my anchor rope and struggle to the surface of a gray and turbulent Casco Bay Maine.
Having just acquired a used kayak to go along with a beautiful 7’ St. Croix surf rod and Quantum reel I had only been fishing a few days and it had been exhilarating. Hooking on to 18” stripers they call ‘schoolies’ with a surface lure and being towed as I try to haul them in, the reel screaming 8lb. test until I pull them on board amazed at their radiant golden color as I release them back into the bay. However, time was running out for me at my daughter’s newly renovated house in Cape Elizabeth but I couldn’t get enough of this magical pastime.
The weather got rough as a storm blew into the bay with monster waves now crashing onto what had been a peaceful shore. I waited a day, and then another, my patience and time were running out.
Dawn broke crimson red and I thought the storm had finally passed on, this being my next to last day on Alewife Cove. The water looked flat and wondrously reflective but there were still large rollers crashing on the beach. Wait till after lunch I rationalized, when the tide went out. I should have recalled the old adage ‘red sky in the morning sailors take warning’ but I wanted more of that fishing rush.
The tide drops below the finger of rocks out front and provides me with a calm launch area. The skies are troubled and the sun is gone as I push off the beach and cut through a narrow opening to the bay. I’m paddling over some good size rollers now, thinking this won’t be to bad. My little Maui is sailing over and through some major seas. From the bottom of the troughs I lose sight of everything but the clouds, a light should have gone on.
I’m paddling NW, at a slight angle to the waves, thinking I’ll break free and just deal with the rollers. The fish must be starved.
I glance to my right and see a 12-foot roller starting to crest; finally some fear inters my mind. A light snaps on but I turn into the wave too late and with not enough conviction. The monster flips me like a toy.
I’m now in the water next to my yak with adrenaline pumping through me and a useless paddle in my hand. Trying to reach over the overturned boat and right it proves fruitless. Finally reaching under it I manage to flip it back and attempt to swim and climb back in. Splash it overturns in an instant. I flip it back and bungee my paddle back and try again, and again, and again. Its useless, I’m exhausted, have taken in several mouthfuls of seawater and terror begins to grab me with its death hold. My body wants to give up.
Fear is the key; I preached to my kids all their lives. I lead a Platoon through the heaviest combat of Vietnam, I can’t die like this…
Incredible images of my grandkids play through my mind. I want to live to see them again. Think Greg, think. Use those survival skills you honed in the Nam and I attempt to shake off the grip of death.
I’m clinging to my yak and look around for the first time. Out beyond me several hundred yards is a boat. I wave at it pathetically and a tiny little voice cries out for help. I have a whistle in my PFD but never even think of it. I crest another big roller and see the surf pounding along a very rocky shore, closer then I thought.
Survival is my paramount thoughts now and I get to the stern of the little kayak, pulling my 225lbs up onto it like a surfboard. She flips again but I know I did it and try once more with the last of my strength and will. I’m back on enough to try and catch my breath and shake off the panic and fear. I regain a little energy and try kicking away from the approaching barnacle incrusted rocks and monster surf.
I have my head turned toward the shore as I weakly try and kick out of this mess and know in my heart I can’t. It’s going to be a brutal landing, will I make it? Has my luck finally played out?
My daughter Ashley and Jim just left for Paris, am I going to make them come home to identify a body?
I stop following that thread of thoughts as I see some guys with day glow orange helmets and wet suits. Christ, are they surfers! What other mad men would be out in this crap. They are between the shore and the rocks I’m approaching darting around, finally breaking to my left and out of sight.
A helicopter passes close over me but I don’t have the strength to look up, it passes to the right through the edge of my vision and I see it’s a big orange Coast Guard one as it disappears. Strange they must have seen me? Oh no they must think I’m just one of those crazy surfers, shit. Impending pain, death and depression sink back into my thoughts.
I hear a voice and look up to see my imaginary surfers are in a small rubber boat with a little outboard bobbing resolutely towards me! This bearded Viking pulls me to safety!
After thanking the local sea rescuers and assuring them I was suffering only a post adrenaline weariness I learned others had not been so lucky. It seems a 38’ lobster boat had been capsized an hour earlier with two saved but the Captain lost. They had been on the beach and witnessed my entire misadventure.
The Molesworth luck has not run out and Fear truly is the key!
Greg Molesworth
10 September 2006