Authority 591: my guardian angel at sea

I still can't sleep!

And I am in a state of constant euphoria, what's wrong with me?

Well actually, I got some sleep last night. I think what went wrong is that I keep getting up to read a novel everytime I lie in bed for 10 minutes and can't fall asleep. And then I ended up finishing the entire book as the sun threatens to rise...

Funny how I used to dread sunsets; now I am nervous about sunrises too.

Right, that irrational fear of sunset. I have been going through my mishaps on the water in my head lately, as I remembered how I overestimated my speed and waited until well pass 4pm to leave Po Toi for Lamma Island. By the time I reached Aberdeen, it was dark enough that I had to turn on the strobe light.

That was my 4th day of being stuck in a kayak, away from civilizations. I suspect my head wasn't working properly, either due to heat-exhaustion or, well, general exhaustion (fatigue). I actually arrived Po Toi before noon and allowed myself to lie around on the warm sand and procrastinate till 4:30 to depart. I just glanced at my map and decided I didn't need to embark until 4pm, I even talked myself into believing that I was protecting myself from a potential heat-stroke. That was... suicidal.

I was paddling that crazy-busy channel between Aberdeen and Lamma. The sea was calm but the sun was also threatening to retire. It's pretty obvious that I wasn't thinking at all, because I decided the only way to survive was to paddle the shortest distance between where I was and Lamma. That is to say, smack in the middle of the shipping lane.

Bloody hell, that was really stupid.

I tried to catch every mini push generated by the boats-driven ripples (waves). But my gears were heavy, and Indian Summer was also taking in a long of water. I had to stop at intervals to bail water out with my sponge. The sun was setting so it was right in my eyes; the sunglasses weren't providing enough protection and soon my eyes were protesting. I had to close my eyes for intervals to retain my visions. Even with sunglasses on and my eyes closed, I was still seeing red the entire time. I was getting dizzy from the constant glare and the heat.

I also had to keep turning around to watch the chain of sealiners behind me. Literally, there was a long queue of them. They started out so far away that it was very difficult to judge their distance. In fact, I wasn't even sure if they were heading my way, or if they were sailing away from me.

So I shutted my eyes and paddled on. I was terrified, I knew there was no way in hell I could get back before nightfalls. I started to zone out, which happened too often in these ridiculously long trips. It's a silly thing to do, of course, you are suppose to be alert and ready to respond to anything the sea might throw at you. Ha! Alert and responsive! Fat chance. I'm pretty sure my mental capacity was seriously compromised by that time. But then again, a lot of people think I have always had compromised mental capacity... u_u

Next thing I knew, I was only 10 meters away from a gigantic, powder-blue sealiner. I jabbed my paddle into the water to my right and made a sharp 90 degrees turn. and paddled as fast and hard as humanly possible. For the second time of that trip, I asked myself, "why the frog am I sitting on, instead of wearing my PFD??????!?? Grrr.."

The gigantic sealiner generated a huge pull on my kayak; and I can feel my vessel being sucked backward towards it. I paddled desperately, not thinking about anything other than to get away from that monster. The stern of my kayak sank into the water and even my waist was below the waterline. The bow of Indian Summer turned up hopefully, I paddled frantically, thinking only to gain forward movements inch by inch. The waves generated by the sealiner was huge, but for some reasons I knew I wasn't going to capsize, despite the violent rockings of my tiny vessel.

After much struggles and a sh!tload of adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream, I felt the pull towards the sealiner began to ease. I moved myself closer towards the Hong Kong Island as the powder-blue sealiner passed through the channel, blissfully oblivious to the fact that they had almost ran over an insane, suicidal kayaker. (Their stupid radar probably thought I was a particularly large piece of drift wood...)


The calm that rippled through me afterwards was unreal. I was panting, relieved, glad to be alive, and amazed at my own stupidity. I paddled on meekly, trying to deal with the adrenaline dump that was still surging through my blood.

I kept looking behind again, more sealiners were lined up behind me, I also saw a small sailboat closing in. Having had the displeasure of being rammed by a small dinghy while I was windsurfing in St. Stephen Beach, I was getting really wary about the approaching yacht. "Gosh, not another one of those bullies."

But it was no bully, it was an angel, the answer to my frantic prayers. (metaphorically speaking, of course. I am an atheist.) They came alongside my kayak at a gentle speed, and one of the crew spoke to me.

"You are paddling in the middle of the fairway." he stated the obvious. (I mean, how could he think that I did not notice? Didn't I just fought for my life..?)

"I know" I shot back moodily. Last thing I needed was another assault to my morale. What is he going to do, make me do lines for not following the guidelines of watersports safety?

"Where are you going?"

"Pak Kok Tsuen, the Northern point of Lamma Island." (What is it to you, you self righteous prat, I silently cursed.)

Just goes to show how contemptuous I can be. (or.. I ... am..???) Because the gentleman then went on to offer to tow me back, I declined initially, claiming that I don't have much further to go (I was near Luk Chau by that time.) But eventually, sensibility came back to me and I accepted their offers. They gave me a line to hold onto, which resulted in my kayak trying to speed forward sideway... I constantly felt like I was about to capsize and had to fight the instinct to brace with my paddle. I tensed up every muscle in my body, getting increasingly terrified by the minute. Eventually, I released the line, and politely declined their offer again.

After some discussions between themselves, they slowed down their yacht for me again. This time, one of the young men on the yacht reached down from the port side gunwhale and grabbed the toggle in the bow of my kayak. He then tied the towline to it. Finally, my kayak was moving the way it's supposed to. I could sit back, relax and feel ... saved.

They offered me drinks; most of the young men onboard were drinking. Losing the last bit of my modesty (!?), I practically begged for a can of coke. Would have loved a can of beer after such a long journey, but was terribly dehydrated. I remember leaning back in the cockpit, the paddle lying idly on my spraydeck. I stared up into the beautiful yacht as I sipped the heavenly can of cold soda, admiring the unblemished white hull, marvelling at her beauty not unlike the translucent skin of a small child. White as angels were supposed to be; her sail spreaded out magnificently like the wings of a benevolent angel. It was as close to a religious experience as I've ever experienced in my life.

After a few polite exchanges with the crew and helm of the yacht, I fell back into a blissful silence and quietly watched the crews onboard. One of the young men was leaning out of the yacht with a bottle of beer in his hand, in a posture very much like the album cover of "Chet Baker & Crew." I then stared at the sail again; the number "591" was printed on the main sail. "Hmm.... 591 ... laputa... I must remember this number. It's my angel's number, my lucky number..." I said to myself quietly.

At some point I asked them where they were going, they told me they were heading back to Disco Bay Marina...


Why am I digging up such an old memory? Because I just found out today that this magnificent, angelic yacht is called "Authority," and her owner is Mr. Torben Kristensen, who still lives in DB Marina.

I should try to contact him, see if I can get his address and at least send him a thank-you postcard. If not... well, I am sure I will run into him at sea again. Hopefully next time I see him, I will not be the center of another self-inflicted disaster...