Close Up: The Adventure

Close-Up: The Adventure
A Calm Day in the Windriders in the Kuril Islands
	I took a photo of Franz and Jenya’s colorful boats reflected in mirror-calm water and backlit by the setting sun. Then I started paddling toward shore, motivated by the desire to avoid another cold, hungry, sleepless night in the cockpit. But Franz and Jenya were lagging. Their two boats were lashed together, and Franz was driving his paddle into the water with long, powerful strokes. Jenya, however, was dipping his paddle fecklessly, with the air of a nonchalant dilettante.
Storm at Sea Along the Kuril Islands
	Then a sharp crack rose above the storm and my boat careened. The aft pontoon crossbar on the port side had disconnected from the hull. It was dragging, kicking up a plume of illuminated water, and transferring tremendous pressure to the forward crossbar. My fragile trimaran was breaking apart.
Battling the Surf along the Coast of Kamchatka
	The wave steepened, and suddenly Franz was sliding backward, almost vertical, racing helplessly toward the beach. The wave curled and his boat dropped sharply off its face. Franz spilled into the sea and the mast vibrated furiously, indicating that the stern had hit the sand with a thud. The boat righted itself and sloshed, broadside, in the surf. As I splashed into the water to help, I noticed a small, black object floating in the white foam. It was Franz’s rudder.
The Volcanoes of Kamchatka
	The next few days slid past uneventfully as we followed the coast toward the high sea cliffs at Point Shipunsky. Time seemed to expand and contract, one hour tangible, the next fleeting and chimerical. Morning hours stretched into eternity, but afternoons sped past as if racing to reach Alaska before us. Forty miles away, the 10,000-foot volcanic cone of Zhupanovskaya glistened with fresh, bright snow.
Kayaking in Heavy Sea Ice Along the Coast of Kamchatka
	A wave lifted Misha’s boat and the berg at the same time. The berg rose, tilted, and struck Misha a glancing blow to the head. He missed a paddle-stroke, and his kayak rotated into the undercut. I leaped into the waist-deep water, grabbed the kayak, and lifted it with all my strength. The big berg spun and closed the channel as I dragged Misha over the stationary ice to shore.
Paddling North, Toward Chukotka, and Caught in Steep Surf Once Again
	The classic sailor's nightmare: a storm, a lee shore, a rocky coast. We could either wait there and be battered against the rocks, or try to paddle into deep water. Misha climbed in the cockpit and secured his spray skirt. A rogue wave broke against his chest, and his kayak floated free before he was ready. The next wave rolled in and knocked him sideways, so I jumped into the water, grabbed his stern, pointed the boat straight, and pushed him seaward with all my strength.