The Flying Stingaree
Someone once said that the Chesapeake Bay "looks like the deck plan of
an octopus," but the mental image created by the phrase tells but a
fraction of the story. Rivers and creeks empty into the bay by the
dozens, and every river, and most of the creeks, have tributaries. Even
some of the tributaries have tributaries. The result is thousands of
miles of navigable waters, forming a maze of waterways that it would
take most of a lifetime of weekend cruising to explore.
The cruising houseboat _Spindrift_ moved steadily across the mouth of
one of the principal waterways of the Eastern Shore, the Choptank River.
It was a good three miles across the river's mouth, and Rick occupied
the time by reading aloud to Scotty, who was piloting.
"'The Choptank River is navigable for large ships to the city of
Cambridge, a principal Eastern Shore port. Yachts will find the river
navigable for twenty miles beyond Cambridge, depending on their draft,
while boats of shallow draft can cruise all the way into the State of
Delaware.'" Rick paused in his reading and looked up. "Be fun to go up
one of these rivers to the source, wouldn't it?"
"Maybe we can," Scotty replied. "Read on."
"'The name Choptank comes from the Choptank Indians who lived in the
area until the middle of the nineteenth century. These Indians were
first discovered by Captain John Smith when he sailed into Chesapeake
Bay in search of a location for what later became the Jamestown
Colony.'"
"We're sailing through history," Scotty commented. "And we'd better step
on it." He pushed the throttles forward. The houseboat accelerated to
its top speed of about twelve miles an hour.
"What's up?" Rick demanded.
"Look to the southwest. That must be one of those Chesapeake Bay squalls
the book warns about."
There was a black line of clouds some distance away, but Rick could see
that the squall line was moving fast, crossing the bay in their
direction. He swung the chart table up and studied the situation. They
were close to the south shore of the Choptank River now, and the chart
showed no easily accessible place of shelter in the vicinity. They would
have to run for the Little Choptank, the next river to the south. The
chart showed several creeks off the Little Choptank. They could duck
into the one nearest the river mouth.
"Can we ride it out if we have to?" Rick asked.
Scotty grinned. "We'll find out, if we have to. But I'd rather not be in
open water when a squall hits this barge. It's not built for storms.
Keep your fingers crossed and hope we get to cover before it hits."
"I hear you talking. I'm going to do a little research." Rick ducked
into the cabin and took the tide tables from the bookshelf. Back on
deck, he leafed through the official publication and found that the
nearest point for tidal data was the Choptank River Light, only a few
miles away and clearly visible. High and low tides at the light were
about three hours and fifteen minutes earlier than Baltimore, the data
station for the area. Rick checked Baltimore data for the date,
subtracted quickly, and glanced at his watch.
"High tide in about a half hour. The chart shows three feet near shore
at mean low water. High tide will bring it up to four and a half at the
very least. That's plenty for this barge. Get inshore and cut corners.
We won't have to stick to the channel."
Scotty swung the wheel instantly, and the houseboat took a new course,
leading them closer to shore. "Better keep an eye out for logs or
pilings," Scotty warned. "No rocks in the area, so we don't have to
worry about shoals."
The wooded shore slid by, the trees gradually giving way to low scrub
and marsh grass as they neared the mouth of the Little Choptank. Rick
alternately kept an eye out ahead and checked their position on the
chart. They were in about five feet of water, more than enough for the
shallow-draft houseboat. His principal worry was the outboard
propellers. He didn't want to break one on a log that might be sticking
up underwater.
The squall was closer now, and the sky was growing dark. Rick estimated
that they had no more than ten minutes before the storm would hit. He
had to look up at a sharp angle to see the storm front. Visibility was
down to zero directly under it. Whitecaps and a roiling sea told him
there was plenty of wind in the squall. He doubted that the houseboat
could head into it successfully. The wind would catch the high cabin
sides and force the houseboat onto the shore.
Scotty swung around the northern tip of land that marked the mouth of
the Little Choptank. "We won't make it," he said, glancing at the chart.
Rick nodded. "But the wind will be behind us. We can drive right into
the mouth of the nearest creek. According to the chart, there's a cove
just inside the mouth where we ought to be out of the wind." He put his
finger on the place, and suddenly a chill ran through him. The nearest
safe harbor was Swamp Creek, where Link Harris had vanished!
There wasn't time to talk about it. He would have to be prepared to drop
the anchor quickly. "I'm going up on the bow," he said. "Once into the
creek, turn as hard as you can into the wind, then cut the power. I'll
heave the anchor over and the wind pressure on the boat can set it. But
keep the motors turning over in case it doesn't hold."
"Got it," Scotty agreed.
Rick stepped out of the cockpit onto the catwalk. The cabin top was just
chest-high, and he could hold on by grabbing the safety rails that ran
along the sides of the large sun deck. He moved swiftly along the walk
to the foredeck, a small semicircular deck used primarily for docking
and anchoring. The anchor line was coiled on a hook on the curving front
of the cabin, and the patent anchor was stowed on the deck itself. Rick
took the coil and faked down the line in smooth figure eights so it
would run out without fouling, then made sure the anchor was free and
ready to go.
When Rick stood up and looked down the length of the cabin top at
Scotty, he saw that the squall was almost on them. The turbulent cloud
front was directly overhead. He saw the wind line, marked by turbulent
water, move swiftly toward the houseboat. The _Spindrift_ rocked as
though shaken by a giant hand, and its speed picked up appreciably. The
houseboat began to pitch as the chop built up around it. Visibility
dropped suddenly; it was almost dark. Rick winced as large, hard-driven
raindrops lashed into his face, then he turned his back to the storm and
stared ahead.
The creek mouth was in sight. He pointed to it for Scotty's benefit, but
when he turned to look at his pal, the driving rain slashed into his
eyes and made him look away.
Scotty had seen the creek mouth. Staying as close to shore as he dared,
Scotty drove the houseboat to within fifty yards of the narrow mouth,
then swung the helm hard. The wind, which had been astern, was now abeam
and its force was acting on the high side of the boat. The houseboat
slewed sideways, and for a moment Rick thought they would be driven on
to the upstream bank of the creek. But Scotty had judged his distance
and wind pressure well. The boat shot into the creek mouth with feet to
spare.
The cove opened up ahead. Scotty reversed one motor and the houseboat
turned almost in its own length. Rick watched the shore through
squinting eyes, and the moment he saw the boat's forward motion cease,
he dropped the big anchor over. The wind caught the houseboat again and
drove it backward into the cove while the anchor line ran out. When he
had enough line out for safety, Rick snubbed it tight around a cleat,
held the taut line between thumb and forefinger until he was sure it had
none of the vibrations caused by a dragging anchor, and then hurried
back along the catwalk to the cockpit. He and Scotty ran from the
rainswept deck down the two steps into the cabin.
For a moment the two stood grinning at each other and listening to the
heavy drumming of the rain on the cabin top, then Rick spoke. "We'd
better get out of these wet clothes so we can sit down. This may last
for an hour or so."
Scotty agreed. "First one into dry shorts makes the coffee."
"That's me," Rick said. He stripped off the soaking clothes, toweled
quickly, and put on dry shorts. The rain had chilled the air, so he
reached into the drawer under the amidships bunks, took out a sweat
shirt, and pulled it over his head. It felt good.
Scotty had taken time to dry off the books and binoculars he had brought
from the deck before he changed his own clothes. By the time he was
dressed in dry shorts and sweater, Rick had the alcohol stove going and
water heating for coffee.
"Know where we are?" Rick asked casually.
"Sure. We're--" Scotty stopped. "For Pete's sake! I didn't make the
connection at first. We're in Swamp Creek, where that man got snatched
by a flying saucer!"
"Right. Worried?"
Scotty grinned. "Any flying saucer that can navigate in this weather is
welcome to what it gets. How's the anchor?"
"Holding," Rick said. "I hope." He looked out the galley window and
watched the shore. It changed position as the boat moved, but that was
only because the houseboat was swinging at anchor. "Seems all right," he
added.
Ten minutes later coffee was ready. The boys sat at the dinette table
and sipped with relish, listening to the storm outside. It seemed to be
increasing in intensity.
"Picking up," Scotty said. "The guidebook wasn't kidding when it said
'sudden and severe summer storms lash the bay.'"
"Wonder how long they last?" Rick asked.
"Hard to say. Perhaps an hour."
The houseboat jerked suddenly. Rick jumped to his feet. "Did you feel
that?"
The boat heeled under the lash of wind. Rick peeled off his sweat shirt.
"Feels as though the anchor dragged a little. I'm going out and let out
more scope. We can't take a chance of drifting in this wind."
"I'll go," Scotty offered.
"No. I put the anchor down. It's my fault if it slips. Stand by."
Rick pulled the cabin door open and winced at the blast of raindrops,
like heavy buckshot on his face and body. For a moment he hesitated,
then realized the sooner he got it over with, the better. He hurried to
the catwalk and swung down it, meanwhile estimating his distances. He
could let out another fifty feet of anchor line without getting the boat
too near shore. The more anchor line out, the better the anchor could
hold.
He made the forward deck and looked around, realizing that the wind
direction had changed and that the blast was now coming down the creek,
swinging the houseboat around. That probably was why the anchor had
shifted. He knelt and took the line in his fingers. It no longer seemed
to be slipping, but it was better not to take a chance. He unloosed the
half hitches that held it to the cleat, threw off all but one
figure-eight turn, and let the anchor line run out slowly. When he
estimated about fifty feet had run through, he put on more figure eights
around the cleat, then dropped half hitches over to secure the line.
Once more he reached out and held the taut line. It didn't seem to be
slipping. He pulled on it hard, and felt the boat move. The anchor was
in solidly this time.
Rick turned and started back to the catwalk, rain lashing his back.
Sudden instinct made him whirl around in time to see something huge and
black rushing at him out of the storm. Rain blurred his vision. He had a
swift impression of a black figure, shaped like a diamond, coming at
him. He threw himself flat on the foredeck. There was a rustling sound
overhead, and something clanged off the cabin top's aluminum rail. Rick
was on his feet again. Heart pounding, he looked around. There was
nothing but rain and wind. He stood upright and looked across the cabin
top. For an instant he glimpsed a black object above the canopy over the
rear cockpit, then that, too, was lost in the rain.
Shaken, Rick made his way back to the cabin, entered, closed the door,
and leaned against it. Scotty looked up, and was on his feet in an
instant.
[Illustration (2 page 29 and 30)]
"Rick! What happened? You're white as a sheet!" he exclaimed.
"Saw one," Rick managed. He was still shaking. "It went right over the
boat. I think it hit the upper rail. We'll check later. But it wasn't a
flying saucer. I'm sure of that."
"What was it?" Scotty demanded.
"A flying stingaree!"