full power of the diesel. It was like the
middle of a river, and the force of swirling water jarred the
boat, making it hard to hold the bow on a heading. Even with full
power into the current he was going backward at about five knots
over the bottom. He threw a strobe lighted life ring with a safety
line out the stern for her to grab if she missed the boat. The
current was increasing—the fierce wind was doing the rest.
Finding the lee of some islets that broke a little wind, twisted
the water, and reduced the current, he was able to slow the boat’s
backward movement. Silverwind’s stern was headed very near
the rock to which she clung.
Soon the current would roar to seventeen
knots and life on his boat might well come to an end.
“Let go after I pass,”
he called out, over an electronic megaphone, hoping she wouldn’t
hit a nasty whirlpool and disappear. It was a billion-ton washer
with the water beaten frothy, the current swirling and eddying.
The clouds looked worse, and at the heart of the gorge he suspected
the wind would rise to more than forty-five knots. Ninety knots
had been reported in winter
gales. The land was shaped to multiply as
much as twofold any normal wind.
Everything was rapidly becoming more
difficult. The first whirlpool caught the hull and shoved the
boat over on its side until the weight of the keel pulled it upright.
The boat jerked, shuddered, and careened before straightening
out. Less than fifty feet to go. She looked grimly determined.
Worried about running aground and ripping a hole in the bottom,
he swung the stern slightly outward and eased the throttle for
just a second, letting the current push him a little farther off.
“Do I swim?” she screamed.
“Wait,” he blasted over
the loudspeaker. Twenty feet.
“Get ready.
Going backward past the woman he shoved
the nose behind her rock as if he were trying to drive the boat
aground. The current created a massive eddy and a giant whirlpool
just to the stern of the woman’s perch and of Silverwind
