Rowboat in a Hurricane Read Online Free PDF Page B

kayak and a dishevelled miniature houseboat, it also sat precariously low in the water because of this excess weight. The scuppers—openings on the sides of the boat that normally allow water on the decks to drain—sat barely above the water line. On the open ocean, the vessel would be sluggish and prone to waves sluicing over the decks. As we ate our way through the cargo, however, the boat would gradually become more manageable. Like a rocket heading into space, it would become faster and more manoeuvrable as fuel was consumed.
    A shadowy cluster of five people huddled on the dock to see us off. Two sailors from yachts moored nearby joined Mario, his wife, and another friend. Although it was barely 7 : 00 AM , they had forsaken the warmth of their beds to bid us farewell. They offered parting gifts and words of wisdom, hugs and promises to stay in touch, plus one bottle of wine “to celebrate your birthdays,” another “to bring in the New Year,” and a third “to mark the halfway point.” I happily stowed the additional cargo despite our weight concerns, thinking we’d drink all the wine within the first week.
    We untied our rowboat, stowed the fenders, and pushed off from our berth. Colin steered us through rows of sailboats while I waved goodbye to our friends, to Lisbon, and to life on land. Within minutes we reached the main channel of the Tagus, and its strong tidal current doubled our speed to four knots, swiftly moving us away from the marina. Lisbon’s striking April 25 Bridge spanned the channel a few kilometres upstream and slipped into the distance. This long red suspension bridge reminded me of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge, which I later found out is its sister bridge. Built in 1962 , it was later renamed to commemorate the day in 1974 that the Carnation Revolution—a two-year movement that replaced Europe’s longest dictatorship with a liberal democracy and culminated with crowds of Portuguese walking the streets, holding red carnations for peace—began.
    Further down the channel towered the seventeen-storey concrete prow of a fifteenth-century sailboat called Monument to the Discoveries. Its deck was lined with illustrations of thirty famous Portuguese explorers from centuries ago; it was another reminder of the pivotal role Portugal played in mapping (and ruling) the world during the Age of Discovery. It was hard to believe that a country one-tenth the size of British Columbia was the first global empire, claiming territories that included Africa, South America, and Asia, but seafaring prowess had been its advantage.
    So many monumental voyages of exploration had commenced from this very harbour, and I felt like we were embarking on our own journey of discovery. When Colin tired on the oars, we switched positions and I pulled the blades through the water in long, steady strokes. The sun was now shining from a clear sky, and the anxiety I had felt a few hours earlier was lifting.
    “We’re at 4 . 5 knots!” I said, glancing at the GPS .
    “Wow! Those rowing lessons you took are really paying off,” Colin said as he fiddled with a rope securing the life raft. “See if you can get 5 .”
    I pulled even harder on the lightweight oars, but was soon distracted by another famous Lisbon landmark, the Tower of Belém. This sixteenth-century white castle looks far too ornate to protect the city of Belém from invading forces as it once did. Although it is fortified and the windows are small, delicate carvings encircle the balconies and watchtowers.
    It took little imagination to envision those great ships of the past leaving this harbour, and the crew’s conflicting feelings of excitement and trepidation. They had headed out to great discoveries and equally momentous dangers—scurvy, mutiny, and warring attacks to name a few. The sailors had left port knowing that they might not return to their mothers, wives, or children. As Laurence Bergreen writes in his book Over the Edge of the World,