We were five miles out, the weather was nice, and we still had two hours of daylight. If I idled the engine and went slow the propeller didn't slip. It would take an hour or so to get in and still be daylight. No problem except for the fact that a small thunderstorm was building between us and shore. During the next fifteen minutes, the headwind got stronger and stronger and the sky got darker and darker. At this point we were no longer going forward. I bumped the throttle up slightly and then the propeller bushing failed completely. No problem. I will just get out the kicker motor and put it on the swim platform motor mount.
By the time I did, the wind had picked up even more and was rapidly blowing us back out to sea. I started the kicker but it couldn't make any headway against the strong wind. The waves were now high enough that they were washing over the swim platform and the kicker motor. Half the time the kicker was under water and would soon quit. Now we have a real problem. I climbed over the back and brought the kicker back into the boat hoping that it hadn't sucked in any sea water. By now the storm was getting intense. It was pitch black between lightening flashes and the heavy rain was stinging our faces. Not only that, the 30-40 MPH howling wind that made the bimini top flutter and pop fiercely was blowing us out to sea.
The tall fly bridge boat with its large bimini top was moving right along. The lightening was so intense now that I left the bimini up hoping it would offer some protection since my LORAN and radio were at the fly bridge station.
Most people have seen lightening and heard the thunder a few seconds later. But when the lightening flashes and the thunder is immediate, its within 100 feet or closer to you. To be on the deck or flybridge of a fiberglass boat surrounded by a metal handrail and a metal ladder connecting the decks and to have the boat pitching so violently that you can't move without holding on to the rail. Knowing that if lightening hit the handrail anywhere it would conduct all around the boat and kill anyone touching it. Then to have lightening striking that close every few seconds for a period of about 15 minutes. Thunder that close feels like the blast from an explosion. I just can't describe the feeling. It must be like being shelled on a battle field and knowing that you'll never hear or see the direct hit that gets you.
Now the big question. Where are we and where are those reefs?
The local fishermen's stories of large sharks kept crossing my mind. While I was using a flashlight to figure out our location, my wife was on the radio calling the Coast Guard for help. They asked if we were sinking. She said no but we were in great danger. If we weren't sinking they wouldn't come out. However, they would be happy to call a commercial towing company for us and would we accept the charge for the tow? "Of course we will!!!" she yelled.
We weren't angry at the Coast Guard for not coming because we thought they would never reach us in time anyway. At that moment it was up to God whether we lived or died. During this time my young sons were bracing themselves in the stairwell between the rear deck and the cabin. My wife was sitting on the floor of the flybridge with me. The bimini top seemed like our shield against the sky. When I told my her to go below with the boys while I waited by the radio, she kissed me and said "Goodbye. I love you." She didn't expect to see me again.
The Coast Guard said to drop anchor and that they would call someone. We were told to standby on the radio for them to call us. Another little problem. The anchor had been thrown in 10 feet of water with 100 feet of rope. It was just bouncing along on the hard bottom and wasn't even slowing us down. After several minutes the anchor finally dug in. It was like crack the whip. The rope groaned. The boat leaned far over to the starboard side and swung around into the wind. I was sure that the rope would break or pull the cleats right out of the deck.
The lightening was still right on top of us. Every time it flashed the thunder was deafening and immediate. The boat and even our bodies shook from the intensity of the sound. Large waves were crashing against the boat pitching it back and forth with such force that it was almost impossible to stand up. The situation was now desperate. I sent my wife and two young sons down into the cabin while I lay on the floor of the fly bridge waiting for a call on the radio from the towing company. Finally they called.
Next problem. The storm was interfering with their GPS so they wouldn't come out until they could navigate safely. I gave them my coordinates but advised them that my LORAN could also be off by some distance. I was about to go down into the cabin with my family when the wind suddenly stopped. In just a few minutes the water was flat. I couldn't believe that it ended so quickly or was so eerily quiet. I could see the lights of Marathon far off on the horizon and my own navigation lights but otherwise it was pitch black and silent.
The sudden end and peace at the end of the storm was a spiritual moment. The black sea merged with the black sky. There were no stars, no horizon, and the lightening and thunder were totally gone.
I climbed up behind the wheel and looked around. Off to the side of the boat a bright blue light appeared about 50 feet away. I just figured it was a can or bottle floating in the water reflecting back my own navigation lights. But then I thought, I don't have any blue lights. Mine are red, green, and white. I turned my spotlight toward it but there was nothing there. Strange? Then another blue light appeared behind my boat. I turned my spotlight at it and again nothing was there.
Now dozens of blue lights were appearing around the boat. Then even more and more. Everywhere from a few feet away to about a 100 feet away. They surrounded the boat on all sides. At first I thought of a submarine surfacing directly under us. But we were in only 10 feet of water and I doubt if submarines have little bright blue lights. I called my wife and sons out of the cabin to see. My 12 year old son said "Maybe this is what you see right after you die." Nobody laughed.
After the storm we just went through, maybe he was right. I brought my portable spotlight to the back of the boat and shined it at the nearest blue light. It appeared to be a worm about one inch long. It looked like it was spinning at high speed, making tiny fizzing bubbles as it lit up a brilliant blue the full length of its body. We attempted to video them with our old camera but although they were quite bright to our eyes the old camera didn't have enough light to record them.
The appearance of the blue lights which then surrounded only our boat floating in the darkness made it seem supernatural as if they had come to see us. When my son said "Maybe this is what you see right after you die." really expressed the feeling we all had. It also seemed incredible at first when I shined a light on them that it appeared to be nothing there. Finally, when one came close enough to the boat, I could actually see it was this tiny glowing worm. It was an amazing experience. Had they come to our navigation lights or to reassure us ?
After a few more minutes they all switched off at once and were gone. As we stood there staring out at the dark, the tow boat called and said they were on the way. A couple hours later we were under tow and nearing Marathon.
Next problem. The tow boat GPS was still having problems and they couldn't find our marina. They were calling to see what my LORAN position was. Unfortunately, when I had marked the marina entrance on my LORAN, I was using the stronger but inaccurate signals and had since changed frequencies. My original LORAN coordinates could have been up to a mile off. After making a couple passes up and down the Gulf side of Marathon, the tow boat finally got a fix on the marina entrance and towed us to our slip.
It was midnight. Earl was standing there waiting for us. He said he was afraid we might have had a problem and was about ready to call for help. We said thanks, went down into the cabin and straight to bed. We were totally spent from the stress of that day.
Hopefully, we will never have another boating day like that again but the appearance of the glowing blue worms seemed to make it almost a worthwhile experience to tell my grandchildren someday and I have this neat spear gun scar on my chest to remind me. Thank goodness I didn't get hit by the pointy end.