The Ill-fated Voyage of Jakatar - Part I

I spit overboard and watched my saliva bubble bobbing in the waves quickly drifting away from the boat.

Ten minutes earlier, I had been looking at another sailboat through binoculars when I heard a loud rattling noise, felt the boat shudder and heard the engine die. A few feet away to starboard, a blue plastic jug confirmed that I was in deep shit.

I didn't have to look to know that Jakatar's propeller shaft was fouled by a thick pick-up rope for a fishing net. I was now forcibly anchored to the seafloor about 2 miles NW of Cape Espichel.

I had only one option, but I didn't like the speed at which the spit had drifted away, I didn't like how the waves were heaving the boat up and down, I didn't fancy diving in, and I was alone.

Only a few hours earlier - on the second day of my trip - I had crossed the Tagus River mouth without a care in the world. Even a Chinese freighter steaming straight for me failed to rattle my good disposition. I was going to the Algarve on a beautiful sunny day.

These two were anchored, but the one below, a Chinese freighter was moving fast...in my direction.

I dug out my wet suit and knife and smiled one last time.

The smile doesn't look very authentic, but then it never does. 

If I got swept away by the current, if I got my head smacked by a bouncing 11-ton boat or if I got entangled in the line, this would be a fitting picture to remember me by. If I disappeared, the fishing vessel would come to retrieve the nets and this photograph would look great in the evening news and the next day's papers. 

I'm writing this post so, obviously, I made it back aboard.

If I had known what was coming next, I would have never smiled.

To be continued....