The tiny plane landed on the hills of Whangarei. The crew walked out. White teeth straight across. It was the energy of greenhorns.
The captain and the first mate greeted them with matching enthusiasm. “Let’s get you aboard and out to sea,” the captain yelled. So they cheered, and high-fived, and told stories about the tropical beaches they would see in the islands to the north.
But hundreds of miles away, a low grew into a storm. Buckets of rain fell from the sky. The waves picked up. And the gods sat together laughing and drinking rum.
Those early days were full of grins and optimism because no one knew. Meals were prepped, items stowed. The crew learned from daybreak to sunset about life aboard a boat. The captain spoke, often with unceasing excitement, about sail trim, and reefing, and safety protocols, and even how to flush the poop. The crew listened attentively and with purpose. And when it got late, they drank until the sun rose. Or that’s what they said, but they actually went to bed by eight o’clock.
On the third day, the weather window showed up. They left the dock and began their journey north, aiming for the land of white-sand beaches and people who wore no socks. But one stop separated them from the dreamy life they sought. It was Opua, the land of the ocean gods.
“It’ll be a quick stop,” the captain said. “Two nights at most. We’ll get some food, clear out, and up we’ll go.”
And then a second low began to build. And the gods kept on laughing with snorts.
On the fifth day, the window closed. There would be no sailing to the north. “Next week for sure,” the captain said. So they went to land and ate Thai food. Books were read and more meals were made. They played cards and did jumping jacks with smiles and cheers, and their hopes still intact.
And day after day, they waited, patiently, for a window, or an opening, or a pinhole.
But the third low came and went. And then the fourth. And a fifth.
On the eleventh day, the captain spoke. “Maybe next week, but I’m not so sure,” he said in a defeated voice. And the gods laughed, except for one.
“You guys don’t think it’s a bit too much?” she asked her fellow gods. But they just rolled their eyes.
By the end of the third week, the crew gave up. The captain and his first mate waved them off as the crew boarded the tiny plane to fly north.
It was now just the two of them, captain and first mate, as it had always been on that sailboat of theirs. They worked to get the boat ready again for the passage north. The laundry was done, the floors were swept, the rig was checked, and the captain made more shackles with some silver rope.
“Don’t we have enough of those?” she asked.
“Never,” he said.
But there was no window to sail north. Not even a pinhole.
By the end of the sixth week, they had canceled their departure exactly seven times. They sat together under blankets with freezing toes, watching incredulously as the weather guy reported on yet another low. It was the tenth, or the eleventh, he didn’t know.
The smiles were gone, even from the gods.
And the story goes that there is a cold bay east of Opua where three dozen boats are anchored near the shore, full of skeletons still waiting to sail north.
Greetings from New Zealand!
Thank you for reading this flash fiction story inspired by true events and old tales of the sea. It’s dedicated to the fellow sailors who, like us, just began week six of waiting for a weather window to sail to Fiji. One of them suggested we set sail into the storms brewing to our north so I could gather stories for a future book. But I thought there was no need. There is always a story, even when it’s just about waiting for weather and losing crew. So here we are.
And speaking of books, my author website went live at nlduran.com, and my first novel, Fifteen Years in Hiva Oa, is now available for pre-order on Amazon. I will soon be asking for readers who are interested in receiving a free early copy in exchange for writing an honest review on Amazon or Goodreads. If you are interested in getting a review copy, email me at hello@nlduran.com.
Ok, you win. Impressive. May the God's take pity and open a huge window for you.
The gods are still laughing. Let's not kid ourselves.
More seriously, rejoice as we have a gloomy dark day in Tonga, even rain.