THE SHIP OF FOOLS IN THE PERFECT STORM

by Mariane Holbrook

The Three Amigos, Harry G., my husband, John, and Captain Wetlegs haven’t seen the movie "The Perfect Storm." They don’t need to. They rode out the "Perfect Storm " on the south Atlantic, off the coast of North Carolina. And they lived to tell about it.

One morning The Three Amigos met for their wake-up coffee at McDonald’s. They were in splendid form. They joked and cajoled, emptied several cups of coffee and finally, bidding their envious compadres goodbye, headed for Cap’n Wetlegs’ Big Yellow Boat, which was parked beside the bait and tackle shop. It had been gassed up by Herb at the local gas station, a chore Herb relishes since the Big Yellow Boat drinks gasoline with the same gusto that Harry G drinks his favorite beverage.

The men were in rare form. As they stashed their fishing gear, snacks, drinks and bait into the boat, Steve suggested that, in order to relieve the boredom, John should take along a book to read. Dismissing the idea, the men headed for the marina to set forth on a day of fun, fishing, fellowship, and (the group being what it is) sheer foolishness.

At the marina, they added another passenger, "K", to the boat, waved goodbye to strangers they didn’t know, and laughed their way through the inlet.

They needled each other, picked on Harry G. who began snapping can lids, and made fun of Cap’n Wetlegs’ piloting skills. Wetlegs’ name wasn’t just handed to him on the proverbial silver platter; he earned it. He had single-handedly sunk two boats; hence the name Wetlegs.

Reaching their destination of twenty-six miles out, they began some serious fishing. They managed to haul up an imposing curtain of about eighteen fish - a few grunts and some small black bass. Not to worry, plenty of time left to bring up the big ones.

They told jokes, made fun of each other and were content with Cap’n Wetlegs’ earlier weather forecast which promised optimum fishing conditions all day.

Suddenly, Harry G. spotted them. Black clouds and lightning due West. Thinking he’d better seize the moment, Cap’n Wetlegs revved up the motor and headed towards home on full throttle.

At fifteen miles out, white caps began appearing, followed quickly by twelve to thirteen foot waves. (They later learned that two storms had come together and they were smack-dab in the middle of the converging storms.)

As the sheets of rain began stinging their faces, bare arms and legs like angry, nose-diving hornets, John, feigning bravado, exclaimed "Wow! Look at that beautiful lightning!" "You crazy idiot!" yelled Harry G. "We’re a lightning rod out here on the water." With that, Harry popped another seal on a drink can. John laughed and remarked, "I’d give $5 million to have my wife on this boat now for only five minutes!" (a remark his wife later rewarded with an uncomprehending, blank stare.)

As thirteen feet high waves dumped gallons of water inside the boat, K" began bailing water out with a five-gallon bucket, a chore made virtually impossible by Harry G’s scores of empty drink cans which clogged the two drain holes.

Cap’n Wetlegs instructed Harry G to radio their bearings at 167 degrees off Carolina Beach. Harry G nervously informed the Coast Guard that their boat was 167 miles off Carolina Beach, an error which did little to further endanger them since the radio was set on the wrong channel anyway.

With air temperatures dropping twenty degrees, the men became  cold and anxious. Harry G, white with fear, eyed John’s snuggly fitting official coast guard life jacket (which John had earlier bought at a yard sale). Harry held on tightly to John. He reasoned that John was a practicing Christian, and if this boat was going down, he was going to his eternal reward holding onto John for dear life. Who knows; it might work.

With the storm now at full force, Cap’n Wetlegs could only see three feet in front of the boat. He followed the GPS to continue his bearings.

Back on shore, Harry G’s son, Chip (a mate on another boat) expressed alarm that his dad was still on the ocean in such a dangerous storm. Friends began phoning each other to ask if the Big Yellow Boat had returned. Wives began pacing, watching the clock, alternately praying for and screaming at their husbands adrift on the ocean.

Finally, the soaked and tired men reached shore and pulled into the marina, none the worse for wear.

The Big Yellow Boat proved how soundly it was constructed. Wetlegs proved his prowess as a captain. John proved he could fish with the big boys and not lose his lunch. And Harry G proved he could face the worst storm of his life, call on God to protect him, and still pop open a drink can.