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The day Athene, Randy and I visited the cemetery with Mother; a seagull hovered, alighted and perched on a fence pole just beyond the gravestones. Then it flew off, as we were to do, back to our callings of catching not fish, but men. Throughout his life Dad steered by the coordinates of faith, hope and love. He kept this course despite a life in which he was tested to the limit on each. Long before he died, we used to think of him as a stormy petrel because global trouble spots always attract shipping. Sooner or later he would be there. I also remember his comment after leaving Durban as we sailed south opposite Isipingo, "any moment now we should pick up an albatross: they only come up as far as 30°." Sure enough, shortly after, as if on schedule, one appeared. Isipingo is about that latitude. On this, as in earlier voyages with him, he had spoken of one of his favourite passages from Scripture, Psalm 107, and particularly about "those who go down to the sea in ships" should praise the Lord for his goodness because despite the perils of the voyage (and I had been with him in a typhoon on a voyage where despite engines being on "Full ahead" and both anchors down, the ship was still dragging its anchors) he had been brought to his "desired haven." On his final voyage to His Master he had been upset because his "sailing" had been delayed from Wednesday to Friday. Revelation tells us "there will be no more sea." Having accomplished its purpose, the restless, turbulent element will eventually capitulate to its Creator. The Gospels tell us that Christ's return will be heralded by a "trumpet" and the Lord's appearing "from east to west," as a lightning flash illuminates the sky from horizon to horizon. Dad had sailed every ocean; he had found Christ's light wherever he went and had tried to share it with his shipmates and passengers.
Nereabolls guard that dust till the day of resurrection.
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