NIGHT WATCH

Night watch.  11:00p.m.  I peer through the window watchingblack rollers advance and cascade over the bow. Each time water strikes glass, I am certain the cracked panes willsuccumb to the sea and I picture my body pitched through the jagged openinginto ice-cold water - strangled by giant bullwhip kelp, toyed with by octopi,torn by frenzied sharks.

"No," I scold myself.  "I've got to stop thinking thosethings."

11:15 p.m.  CaptainMike sleeps soundly in his berth. Paperbacks, a half empty bottle of gin, and a box of wheat crackerssurround him.  Howling wind and peltingrain muffle his snores, a mariner's bathysmal lullaby.  Occasionally, sidelong swells keel the boatfar over on its starboard side.  I bracemyself for the inevitable roll. Nothing.  The vessel rights itselfand prepares for the next violent surge. How can he sleep through this?

"Mike, are you awake? Wake up, Mike!"

The cabin door crashes open, sending gallons of murky wateracross the weathered planking. "Damn."  I rush to closethe door and catch heavy spray full in the face before successfully pushing itshut.  Salt water stings my eyes.  Suddenly and unhappily, I remember it's timeto pump the bilge water.  Grabbing aslicker off a wall hook, I open the door warily and slip out onto the deck,into the slate-blue night.

Even with the slicker on the rain and sea drench meimmediately.  I feel for the guide ropethat we strung up earlier in the day upon sighting a stormy petrel.  Fighting the wind, clinging to the rope, Imake it to the aft hand pump and begin quickly to empty the bilge - using myright arm, then my left.

Just as I finish, another sidelong swell crashes overstarboard and tosses me roughly to my knees. I grip the splintered side of a bait box and hoist myself up to therope.  With a burst of energy, I rushtoward the door.  Another swell catchesme in mid stride and the rushing sea attempts to wrench me from the guide rope.  I hang on. An eternity passes while I hang on - rope cutting into my palms.  Vivid red welts appear in both palms.  In a final, desperate move, I throw myselfagainst the wind and smack into the cabin door like a freshly caught fish.  Pushing the door open, I fall inside, slamthe door shut, and bolt it.

11:30 p.m.  Standingnext to Mike's berth, dripping wet, I take a deep, thankful breath.

"Mike?  Noanswer.  Just snoring.  "You sonofabitch."