A large swell suddenly rolled out of the fog in front of the whaler and the little mercury screeched as it climbed its slope then descended down the other side.
“Assholes…” Muttered Crackhead Ray as he struggled to keep the boat under control. “Ever heard of reducing speed in poor visibility!” He yelled and straightened his course again. His own echo replied to him eerily through the white vastness. Another swell passed, larger, and then another. Soon they were so large that the tops disappeared in the fog, appearing like walls of water around him. A few minutes passed. CrackheadnRay drained another Yahoo and threw the bottle into his wake. The mercury continued to sputter and screech. it grew cold, very cold, and dark.
“Must have left the inlet.” he said, timed the waves, then spun the boat around. He opened his phone and called Captain Bob.
“Im gonna be late.” He said, lighting a Seneca Medium.
“Ray you said you’d be here and have that boat ﬁxed an hour ago.” said Bob. “And why the hell is this a long distance call? Is this some trick to get me to pay because you cant afford your bill again?” His mate Matt looked up from the engine room and made a gesture like lighting a pipe with a grin. Bob waved at him angrily and stepped out on deck “We’ve got things to do here, where are you and where’s my boat?”
“Im in the bay with her!” He said, adjusting his course to take another large wave bow on. “Listen! Sounds like a fucking saws-all.” He revved the engine and held his phone to it. “See? Thats why ya call me, Ray is here!” “No, you’re not here and neither is my boat.” “Listen I’ll be there. Just wait ﬁve minutes for me okay? I got a little turned around in the fog.” Then he hung up.
Bob stepped back into the cabin of the old mainship yacht, sighed and shook his head at Matt.
“Where the hell’s he?” Asked Matt.
“Probably McDonalds.” Said Bob. Matt laughed. “He tries to tell me he got turned around in the fog. Can you believe that? Fog. On a clear day in February. He’s trying to tell me he’s lost in fog. Like I can’t see the bay from my god damn house. Do you see any fog?”
“Yeah, the fog in his head.” Said Matt, climbing up to the cabin sole. “You still paying me to do this shit?”
“Jesus! Money. Everybody wants money out of me. If I give everybody my money than I don’t have any ya know?”
“Hey, I’m a ﬁsherman, not a mechanic.” Said Matt wiping his hands on his jeans. “Some more beer would be nice too.”
Bob held his head in his hands. “I’ll be right back.”
The little old whaler slipped down into a trough, then back up another slope of seawater. “Long distance?” Said Ray as he put his phone in his pocket, shaking his head. “Crazy old man. He should be givin’ me a medal for being out in this shit.”