Typhoon

Not long after leaving
Fanning Island,
The winds started to roar
And the waves began
To build up to towering heights.
At one point I recall
Looking up at the mast
And seeing a wave
That looked to be twice its height
Come crashing over
And the next thing I knew
We were bobbing up
Like a giant cork
With the tilt meter
Registering an outrageous
Forty-five degree tilt.
That threw everybody around
And really wrecked havoc
In the kitchen.
Luckily no one
Wash washed overboard.
Those on deck
Had pretty much
Tied themselves down.
I was too excited
And too ignorant
To be scared,
But the truth was
We came very close to capsizing.
I had the indestructible
Naïve teenage faith
That if the boat sank
I would somehow survive
And end up washed onto
Some distant Polynesian shore
Where the local women
Would know how
To revive my spirits.
In three days of howling wind
And raging seas,
We raced nearly a thousand miles
At the incredible pace
Of 12 to 16 knots,
In a boat that couldn't
Have been designed
To sail more than eight.
The Araner may have been old
And in pretty sorry shape
But she sailed
Through that storm
With flying colors,
And did it under full sail.
I don't think any of us
Knew how to sheet in
Which would normally be done
In such rough weather.