Page 67 of Untamed Coast

Marco hit Pause.

Definitely the wrong playlist for this weather.

Radio Flyer rolled left and right, with the following seas lifting her stern and making steering in a straight line impossible. Marco spun the wheel as a huge wave passed under the boat from behind, correcting to port as the swell sent the vessel surfing swiftly to starboard. He immediately turned the helm the other direction as the ship came over the top and the bow pointed skyward. Marco’s abdomen tightened and his jaw clenched as the next wave caught him. The vessel accelerated and skidded sideways once again.

A loud crash from the galley—glass breaking.

Dammit! Thought I had the galley tight.

He tightened the adjustments on the helm chair to make sure it didn’t slide around during the wild undulations.

The forecast was most clearly wrong.

Marco pushed the throttle forward to steady the boat and to give himself a little more rudder authority. He was approaching Point Retreat, and he was not looking forward to it. The almost complete reversal of direction around the point would put Radio Flyer’s bow directly into this mess, and Lynn Canal was infamous for funneling nasty winds into a chaotic maelstrom. Worse yet, in the middle of the turn, the boat would be directly abeam to the waves for a few seconds, and Marco knew it would cause severe roll.

Marco grabbed his phone, chose his “Rock On” Spotify playlist, and hit Shuffle. “Sabotage” by the Beastie Boys pounded through the pilothouse.

Marco rehearsed the maneuver in his head as the Point Retreat Lighthouse passed abeam. He would wait for a weaker wave to pass, spinning the wheel to port fast right after the crest. That would let the boat bottom out and complete the turn on the way up the next wave, then the smaller swell would be in front of him after the turn while he corrected back to a straight line.

Wait for the gap. Crank the wheel and gun it. Straighten on the backside.

Radio Flyer passed the point. Marco wanted to let it go a couple minutes longer to give himself plenty of room to clear the point.

Hang on, honey. This is gonna be…

He rubbed his hand across the smooth dark spot on the teak console where the snow globe used to sit. Sadness welled heavy in his chest.

Not that one…wait for it.

The next wave was much more modest. Marco bent his knees slightly, checked one last time to make sure he was clear of any other boats, and gave the teak wheel a spin.

Oh shit. Blew the timing.

The boat responded slower than he expected, continuing up the face of the bigger wave and over the top, then teetering and slipping sideways down the front. The heel angle indicator went past 20 degrees.

Countless crashes echoed from the salon and galley. Something was rolling around on the floor down below.

Marco pictured all his favorite things obliterated into piles of rubble. He spun the wheel the other direction and considered aborting the turn.

No. We’re not going through this again.

Marco widened his stance and held the helm steady as the rudder struggled for purchase and finally got a grip, pushing the stern in a perfect arc and aligning the boat exactly across the next wave.

For a second.

Then the boat oversteered and began to roll in the opposite direction.

More glass broke in the galley. Something heavy fell.

Marco spun the wheel desperately the other way. He lost his balance and banged his elbow into the helm, pain coursing up his arm.

Fuck.

He used his other hand to bring the boat to a steady line just as she crested the top of the huge wave. The bow pitched down and the boat accelerated toward the trough. The next wave was just breaking and green water washed across the bow, bringing the boat to an almost dead stop. Spray covered the windshield, and Marco flipped the three wiper switches. The windshield wipers each slapped to their own rhythm, creating an awkward out-of-time percussion line on top of the raucous Beastie Boys lines blasting on the Bluetooth speaker.

Marco’s knees ached from absorbing the brunt of the punishing ride.

Marco pushed the throttle lever forward, the big diesel engine revved, and the boat drove up the swell. At the crest, he backed off, and it slid nicely down the backside. The bow started up the next, and he throttled up again, the extra torque lifting Radio Flyer up the slope of the wave.