The Island: Into The Storm

The Journal of Professor Headonius Burroffski, 1st July 1930.

10am. Miami, Bojean’s Boatyard.

Lovely day. Went to the marina to pick up the Telesto. She’s even more beautiful than I remember. 30 feet long. Glides like a fish. I’m going to enjoy taking her out for a spin.

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2:30pm. Miami, Bojean’s Boatyard.

She handled like a dream! I feel as if I know her already. I’ve never sailed a craft so responsive, so… part of me before. I need to take her out again, this time further than the bay. She – no!, we need a good test to see what we can do together.

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The Journal of Professor Headonius Burroffski, 2nd July 1930.

6pm. Miami, Bojean’s Boatyard.

The supplies are being loaded now. Spent all day preparing the trip. Bojean think’s I’m mad to take her out so far. Key West isn’t that far I tell him, besides, plenty of places to head for in between if I need to. No. The Telesto needs a good run and I’ve been stuck in that dusty old University for far too long; I need some sea air in my lungs. There’s a fair wind, the sky is clear. If I set off at first light tomorrow, I should be there by sundown.

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The Journal of Professor Headonius Burroffski, 3rd July 1930,

5am. 25d 33.5m N, 80d 7.3mW (12 miles southeast of Miami). The Telesto.

She’s perfect! She slices through waves like they weren’t even there. She moves over the water as if flying. The tip of Biscayne Island, one of the ancient coral keys that eventually lead pearl-like down to Key West, is just visible to starboard.

10:20am. 24d 52m N, 79d 40m W. The Telesto.

I’ve looped out wide. I know I should stick nearer to land, but this sea is too good to waste; perfect wind, perfect water. Just wonderful!

2:44pm. 24d 41m N, 80d 3.8m W. The Telesto.

Spoke too soon! Damn weather front closing in from the southeast. Great anvils on the horizon. One hell of a storm brewing and no mistake. Still, it’s far off and I have the wind to get me back towards land – we’ll out run it, the Telesto and I.

3:26pm. 24d 3.1m N, 80d 22m W. The Telesto.

It has me. Dragged south. Maybe southwest.

4:17pm. Location unknown.

Good God. This storm is terrible. Sails gone. Have to ride this out. Must be somewhere near Cuba.

9:11pm.

Still as strong. Oh God, I don’t think she can take much more of this. I love you Rose. I’m sorry you’ll never read these words but I love you with every breath in my body and every beat of my heart.

No idea of the time. My watch has stopped. The compass has gone crazy. The storm is as strong as before; the rain is hammering down and the wind is ripping at the mast and rigging. Everything is lit by this damn queer lighting. Strange green sparks leap of any exposed metal and I’m all but deafened by a hideous sound like hundreds of train wheels screaming on rails. Jesus! Where am I?

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