The Big C

The moment had arrived to cross over to Hispaniola. We had run out of islands. Anticipation and dread had preceded this decision for months. One hundred miles of deep, unbridled ocean lay between us and our destination; Luperon, DR, a sixteen hour voyage in our dawdling little craft. We had patiently waited over three weeks for calmer wind and seas. Neither had appeared. It was time to go. We had no choice. We had run out of beer.
Just before sunset, we abandoned the tiny sandbar we’d spent the last seventy-two hours hiding behind. Once out in the open water, we remarked to each other, “This isn’t so bad”. An hour later we were eating those words. 
Significant swells mixed with a nasty chop pummeled against our beam. Our boat pitched violently from side to side. The swivel seat in the upper steering station became a hazard. We pulled it out and lashed it down as best we could. Our dinghy was set in its cradle high above our sundeck. It began to viciously swing back and forth, wanting to launch itself into the deep blue. I climbed up with ropes and precariously balanced myself during the maelstrom while I tied them fore and aft. Lines and bungee cords were now woven web-like from stem to stern. We looked like the Clampett's.
I had put a rod out earlier hoping to catch dinner, but I’d forgotten to set the drag. While retrieving more ropes, the captain noticed it was bent and reeled it in. A half-drowned barracuda stared back at him. He clubbed it on the head a couple of times and tossed it in the freezer.
The swells increased. They beat mercilessly against our hull. Our dinghy was still trying to reach the heavens. We had to change our direction in hopes that would mitigate the nauseating back and forth motion that imperiled our only method of escape. We ditched our course, turned east and smashed head-on into the strong seas. The rocking also continued, but less so. The dinghy calmed down. The first evening stars popped out to greet us while we prepared for a long night.
The hours dragged by. Every so often a wave would crest and shoot a stream of water over us up on the upper-steering station. That helped keep us awake. At 12:01 a.m., the first minute of my birthday, we reached the point of no return. Twenty minutes later I threw up. 

The seas continued to clock east. We followed them, throwing us more off-course. A waning moon rose, illuminating the treacherous, dark swells that surrounded us. We battled them until just before the dawn. Then, twenty miles off the Dominican coast and twenty miles off-course, the sea state diminished. We turned west. The friendly waves pushed us forward. Three hours later, the port of Luperon appeared off of our bow. 
Cool mountain air with a hint of manure reached out to us as we entered the harbor. We glided through murky pea-green water awash with mammoth pink jellyfish and dropped anchor. I threaded my way below. My cabin was in shambles. I pushed what I could out of the way and hit my bunk. 
I awoke ten hours later around 8:00 p.m. I still had four hours left to celebrate. I stared at the stars shining through my hatchway. Then I turned over. My birthday would have to wait. Within minutes, I was sound asleep.