Chapter 40

The Signal

When the time finally came to get out of the FAA tower, Mark was anxious to go to the post office and pick up a few things at Save-U-More, the locally owned grocery store in Homer, before heading to see his old friends on Acapella III. Those two had been married for years now, but Mark just hadn’t been able find the right woman. Truth was, he had never really looked around until he spotted Helen for the first time.

He drove down Kachemak Drive and then headed around Beluga Lake on Ocean until it turned into Sterling Highway. The deep ruts in the asphalt made turning off to the post office a test of his Jeep every time. He took it very slowly until he found a place to park in the crowded parking lot. He grabbed his mailbag and was headed in to empty his box when he spotted one of his fishing buddies.

“Well, George, what are you doing in Homer this time of year? Aren’t you supposed to be in Bristol Bay commercial fishing?” said Mark.

“Oh, yeah, but we’re waiting for parts from Seattle. The captain is a nervous wreck over it. Part of the hydraulic system went out. You wouldn’t believe how cutthroat the competition can get out there. Every hour counts this time of year. Everyone knows a tide can make or break your year financially. On top of that, one of my kids broke his leg and I flew home to check on things.”

“Anything I can do to help, have your wife give me a call. I know you’d help me if I was in a situation.”

“You betcha. I’ll tell her. Did you hear about Indian Joe?”

“Yeah, a pilot saw him on his cabin porch yesterday.”

“No, he’s in Kanakanak Hospital in Dillingham. His arm got stuck in the purse seine today as it was going out, and he got dragged in the icy bay.”

“How is he? Is he going to survive?” asked Mark

“Oh, yeah, but he’s pretty mangled and thinks his commercial fishing days are over. Don’t know what he’ll do. Sure hope it never happens to me. I’ve got too many bills to pay.”

“It’s got to be tough losing your only livelihood at that age.”

“That’s the truth. Well, good seeing you. I’d better get going. Lots to do before I fly back to Naknek tomorrow morning. Parts should be arriving and the captain will be chomping at the bit to be ready for the next salmon opening. Got to work when I can. Summer’ll soon be over and that darn winter’s right around the corner.”

“See you when you get back. Remember to tell your wife I’ll help her if she needs it.”

The friend walked out to his car, and Mark emptied his mailbox. At Save-U-More, he picked up a bottle of wine, some fresh fruit, and a carton of ice cream for dinner. Diane was cooking fresh halibut, and Mark was looking forward to a good meal and stimulating conversation while sitting on the deck.

 

Mark stood at the top of the steep grey metal ramp and looked down in search of the huge mast of Jack and Diane’s yacht, moored in the Homer harbor. The tide was turning, and he consciously noted his climb back up after dinner would be much easier. Scanning the hundreds of boats of various types and sizes, he knew there normally wouldn’t be more than a couple of huge sailboats in Homer. Every craft of any size was a working craft of some sort: tugs, long liners, crabbers, seiners, barges, landing craft and many others. They’re on dock C, slip 22. There were a few small recreational sailboats, but they were tiny in comparison to the yacht he anticipated exploring with Jack. “Ah, there it is,” he said to himself. Once down the ramp, he walked the wide concrete and wood maze of floating docks that eventually led to Acapella III.

Diane was shaking out the rugs on the port side as he walked up. Jack was on deck, fiddling with the rigging on the bow. A huge golden retriever was lounging on the deck beside the boat. It walked over, tail wagging madly, to greet Mark. He reached down and rubbed the happy, panting face behind the ears.

“I finally found the two world travelers! Good to see you both. Your boat is incredible.” He looked down at the dog and said, “What’s your name, fella?”

The fit and trim Jack quickly jumped onto the dock and shook Mark’s hand vigorously. “This is Skipper, the lover boy. He’s a retired service dog for the disabled. He worked his best years helping a young man in a wheelchair. It’s great to see you again, Mark. What’s it been, eight years since you left Annapolis?”

“You have a good memory. So this is the sailboat you mentioned in your lectures. It’s a beauty; that’s for sure.”

Skipper continued to rub his long body against Mark’s legs, hoping for more affection. Mark gave him a bit of rubbing behind the ears and turned his attention to his old friends.

“It should be,” said Diane as she walked carefully down the step on to the dock to give the younger visitor a welcoming hug. “He’s been cleaning it up all day. We got in a bit of ash yesterday.”

“I’ve watched the little sailboats here in Homer, and I have to admit, I would love to have one. Truth is, I’ll probably get a plane first. They’re another temptation since I work for the FAA and am constantly in communication with everything from single-engine Pipers to huge jets.”

“Jack, let’s sell him on being a sailor rather than an aviator while we have the chance. Mark, we love living in our home that rocks us to sleep every night.”

Mark held up a bag. “I brought some Bear Creek wine, locally made here in Homer, and some cheese and crackers.”

“Wonderful. I’m a little late on the main course,” said Diane. “It needs about twenty minutes more in the oven, but everything else is ready.”

Mark followed Diane down past the covered wheel area with its radar, GPS (Global Positioning System), and depth finder and down into the galley. “Wow, this is incredible. Must be fun living this way,” he said.

“We also have cabins, one for two people here in the aft section. The saloon area can be made into berths for three more, and then Jack and I sleep up here.”

They walked into a tidy cabin with bright blue pillows and down comforters. Shelving and built-in lockers kept all their belongings orderly. There was art hanging on the wall by local artist Erik Behnke. The humpback whale matched the décor of the room beautifully. There were two heads on board, one with a small shower and sink in the same compartment. Even the curtains of the boat were hand-embroidered with northern sea motifs. Diane was proud of her beautiful home, and rightfully so.

 

After a luscious dinner of fresh-caught halibut, fresh fruit salad, and steamed broccoli, they all sat around pleasantly full but not overly stuffed. They continued to get reacquainted as the hours went by and evening set in. The bottle of wine was long gone.

“What are you doing tomorrow? Just wondering if you’d like to go sailing,” asked Jack.

“Thought you’d never ask. Tomorrow is my day off. Where would we go?”

“Where would you like to go? I’m sure you’ve heard where the pretty places are,” said Jack.

Mark sat still, thinking about the offer. Instead of talking about where they should go, he changed the topic to the lost Special Olympics athletes’ plane. He told the entire story about Helen, her calling in, the mystery of her disappearance, his involvement, along with search and rescue stories he had heard.

“Where do you think they might be?” asked Diane.

“I have a theory, but I can’t prove it.”

“Let’s get out the charts and have a look-see,” said Jack. “Do you have a general location?” He pulled up the marine charts on the chart plotter. The boat had an elaborate system that included radar, weather, AIS (Automated Information system), GPS, and sonar (depth finder). He focused on Cook Inlet.

“Yeah, let’s look at the charts north and west of Augustine. I think she had engine failure because of Augustine. It belched ash for the first about the time Helen was flying by. Her altitude was probably about twenty-three hundred feet. That would give her time to turn the plane and go for a landing on the beach. The tide was out. They found the plane this week, and it appears that it made a pretty good dead-stick landing. The inside of the plane was completely empty except for the emergency locator. Even the wheelchair for one of the athletes was gone, which is a good sign. They think the plane drifted in the tides, so it might not be anywhere near Helen any longer. Search planes have looked up and down the beach now and still haven’t found them.”

“In your mind, what’s your best guess? Where do you think they are?” asked Diane.

“Iniskin Bay,” he said, pointing at the charts.

“Out of this entire huge chart, you think THAT one place is where they are!” stated Jack with disbelief.

“Yes, I do.”

“Why? Gut feeling?” asked Diane.

“Well, a little of that, but also there was a boat that saw some lights in the area. The boat was far away and thought it was probably just sunlight reflecting off something, maybe another boat or Indian Joe’s cabin, but they did report it because of the lost plane. No one else has reported anything odd on that side of the bay, but even so I think it could be . . . . And on top of that one of the search and rescue pilots spotted a man they thought was Indian Joe, standing on his porch. Problem is, Indian Joe is in Bristol Bay and was probably commercial fishing until yesterday when he was in an accident. Now he’s in the hospital in Dillingham. Fishermen have been in Bristol Bay for the past two weeks getting ready or out fishing the short season. I think Joe was right there with them when that plane went over his cabin, though I have no proof since I don’t know who he fishes with.”

“Then who was on the porch?” asked Jack.

“I think it was one of Helen’s athletes. The team is made up of adult-size people, not children. They are a mix of white and native. One of the boy athletes could have been what the plane saw.”

“Tell me again, how many people were in this plane crash?

“Six, counting Helen.”

“I think you like this girl pilot. You really only talk about her and not her passengers. Am I right?” asked Diane.

Mark’s face turned a little red and he looked down at the map, trying to hide his visual confession. “Well . . . I’d really like to get to know her better. She’s a wonderful talented lady.”

“Honey,” said Diane looking at her husband, “we have to help him save the day, don’t you think?”

Jack smiled at his old student and returned to study the charts and the distance from Homer for a minute before he said, “Let’s leave tomorrow morning at dawn. That’ll give us plenty of time to sail over and search. Should take a minimum of fourteen to fifteen hours one way. At least we could anchor up in the bay off the inlet for the night. According to the charts, it’s well sheltered and look! There’s a place behind a large rock outcropping that’s at least three fathoms deep for the rudder. We could sail back the day after.”

“Honey, don’t you think it’d be best if Mark just slept on the Acapella tonight so we don’t have to wait for him in the morning?”

“Great idea.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re willing to sail all the way over there on a hunch?”

“You betcha!” said Diane and Jack in unison.

“We’re always out for an adventure, and I’ve heard that clamming is a cinch at low tide on that side of the inlet. Why not?” said Diane.