grouping of polypropylene lines with buoys every ten feet. In other words, a single tether made of three lengths of 1.25 inch poly line bound together was stretched taut, hooked around our rudder deep in the water. It stretched off into the darkness. Around the stern were clustered a huge barrel, many enormous floats, a torn fishing net and spiderwebs of lines holding everything together. It was a meticulously woven system complete with elaborate chafe gear. It could have anchored a tanker. To complicate things our boat was surging violently in the waves, moving up and down four to five feet at a time. This was enough to bring water on deck on the down surge and the mess of lines far out of reach on the upsurge… Our first plan was to grab the main line with a boat hook. This was humorously ineffective. We tried to reach them with our hands. Also impossible. Our choices were limited, the lee shore an issue, and the source of the problem was visible but deep in the water. Max decided he would have to get in and dive to cut the lines. Nothing wracks my nerves like Max getting into a black, seething ocean with a sharp knife and line wrapped around him, but my mind struggled for an alternative. I rambled off the dangerous possibilities as he prepared himself—you'll get knocked out by the boat, and I won't be strong enough to help, you'll cut the line and I will sail away without you, you will drown, you will impale yourself. But there was no alternative and not much time. I also knew that Max would stop if he felt it unsafe. I set to work duct taping lights to the stern pulpit to illuminate his work space. while Max prepared himself for the water. Is this a bowline, he asked, after tying one up close around his torso. Yes, I answered and worked on getting the ladder in place. He started down, flying fish all around him as if congregating for a spectacle advertised by our spot lights. Once in the water I kept telling him to take his time and he did, beginning by stabbing the large float and returning to the ladder while the waves deflated it. They picked him up and dunked him under several times. As soon as it was calm he went and cut away the thinner lines on the float, moving quickly and aggressively. It was out of the way and he dove for the main line. I saw him beneath the water and the stern rising and falling with all its ballast towards him and felt sick. That is an image that I will not soon forget. I could see that it wouldn't work. The lines were too deep, too thick, and the rudder was like a rodeo bull. He surfaced and we both said at the same time, this isn't safe. Once he was in the cockpit I told him I just really felt like we could pull the floats that were tied off to the side towards the boat and cut them loose one by one. But it's not the main
HVWP COMMONPLACE 65
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