Pshtt

Ken is wedged in the companionway.  He is on night watch.  I have just poked my head out of the companionway hatch and am standing behind him.  Surveying the scene illuminated by the stern light, I see the breaking white caps of the raging sea.  I hear the wind howling through the rigging.  I hear the slam of the trysail self-tacking to maintain stability as the boat rocks, rolls, skids, slides and climbs.  I sense that all wheels of the cog are in motion and if there is just one malfunction of the smallest part, all mayhem will break loose. 

A wave approaches.  We ride up.  There is silence then a crack as it hits the stern and sprays water at us.  I duck and hear a lout pshtt and an expletive from Ken.  It sounds like something tearing, as if the bimini has just lost its battle with the wind.  I look up and see it intact.  Then I think that the sail must have ripped.  I look at Ken.  He sits motionless, all puffed up like the dough boy. 

Now imagine that you’re wearing the patch, you’re a little groggy out there in the dark by yourself and suddenly there’s a loud blast in surround sound  and the next thing you know your head is rendered immobile and you feel like a kid wearing too many layers in the snow.  You might be startled and confused.  Feeling cold water on your face, you might think that you had just gone overboard, but no, you feel the cockpit sole under your feet.  It might take a minute for you to gain your senses, to realize that your life jacket reacted to a load of cold water and inflated, smack dab in the cockpit.  And since you’re still on board, you might want to spend an extra few minutes below in the safety of the cabin and fix some hot chocolate when you fetch a different life jacket.  You just might feel reassured knowing first hand that your life jacket does function…just not always as expected.