Chris Speyer - Devils Rock

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For my parents who taught me to sail
and for Ming who is learning

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Contents

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The jagged reef that straggles out to the east of Devils Rock was only just breaking the surface of the water, its vicious tips disappearing completely beneath the swell when a wave rolled over them. Zaki, riding on the yacht Morveren s bowsprit, watched the foam streaming through the gaps in the glistening fangs as each wave surged across the outlying reef and heaved itself up the side of the brooding black rock that guards the entrance to the River Orme.

Start the engine! Zakis father shouted over the roar of the breaking waves.

I think we can make it! Michael was on the helm. He was forcing the yacht to claw its way into the wind, trying to make the entrance before the tide turned against them.

No you cant. Not on this tack, snapped Zakis father. Start the engine!

Zaki knew his brother would put off starting the engine until the last possible moment. Hed take the boat into a harbour and on to its mooring under sail, if he possibly could. Michael saw starting the engine as an admission of defeat.

Plenty of time, Michael pleaded.

Ten minutes before the tide turns. Start the engine, Michael.

Few boats ever venture into the River Orme. With its rock-strewn mouth gaping wide to the prevailing winds and a tongue of treacherous sand protruding from its constricted throat, the entrance is an uninviting prospect. Most sailors are put off by the curt description in the local cruising guide: Dangerous in all but the most settled conditions. Some more intrepid skippers will approach to within sight of the outlying rocks, see the breaking waves on the sandbank, and turn back out to sea.

For Zaki and Michael, this was their river, its ferocious mouth guarding its inner secrets, protecting a world of pools, beaches and streams that they alone were meant to explore.

Zaki had been longing to visit the Orme all summer but the weather had frustrated them. It had been a summer of storms and torrential rain, the wind stubbornly blowing from the west or the south-west, and even Zakis father, whod been sailing in and out of the Orme all his life, wouldnt risk taking Morveren through the reefs in an onshore wind. This morning the forecast had promised northerlies for the next two days, and with them the chance to return to Devils Rock.

Zaki felt a shudder run through the boat as the old diesel engine thudded into life. Zaki scrambled off the bowsprit and half swung, half danced across the rocking deck. Do you want the mainsail down? he asked.

Well get the sails down; you steer her in, said his father.

Zaki took a quick breath. Hed been allowed to steer the boat for as long as he could remember. But hed never taken her into the Orme. Never threaded her through the terrifying maze of rocks and sandbanks that led to the inner sanctuary. Michael had done it, but then Michael was four years older. Zaki looked across at his brother, who was meticulously coiling a rope. Michael grinned. The grin said, Dare you! He stepped away from the helm.

Shes all yours.

Can you see the dead tree on the cliff? Zakis father asked.

Zaki knew why he had to find the tree. You lined the tree up with the craggy edge of Devils Rock. You kept the two in line and you found the narrow gap in the outer reef.

His father turned to Michael, Lets get the main down.

Feet braced wide for balance, Zaki at the helm was just tall enough to see over the cabin roof. The anxiety that had swept through him a moment before drained away as he felt the boats tiller in his hand tugging and pushing like a living thing. He was born to do this, more at home on the rocking deck of a boat than he ever felt on the land.

Now, he said quietly to the boat. Now, Morveren , lets see where we go.

A wave rolled under the yacht, lifting her stern and then her bow, so that her bowsprit pointed for a moment towards the top of the cliff. There was the dead tree, trunk and branches standing out pale and grey against the wooded hill that sloped to the cliff edge. It was as though boy and boat had lifted their eyes together and searched out the all-important landmark.

His father had taught him how to read charts and tide tables, how to plan a passage and plot their course, but Zaki believed that, left to herself, the old boat could find her way into any creek or harbour on the south-west coast. Morveren had been his grandfathers boat, built by Zakis grandfather long before Zaki was born, always a part of the family, a constant through all the changes of Zakis early childhood the house moves, the different schools, the move from Devon to London and back to Devon again. He lived two lives, the life on Morveren and the life ashore. When he stepped aboard Morveren the complications of life on shore quickly slipped away to be replaced by the slow, easy rhythms of boat-life.

Zaki eased the tiller over so that the dead tree and the edge of Devils Rock came into line. He pushed the throttle forward a touch and Morveren picked up speed. Not a good idea to dawdle while attempting to thread through the narrow gap in the reef; a rogue wave from the wrong direction and they would be on the rocks.

Michael and his father busied themselves with the mainsail; neither offered words of advice or warning but Zaki knew they were keeping a close eye on everything he did.

Just four boat lengths to go and the swell running from behind. Perfect. Now they were in a trough between waves. The next wave would lift and carry them through the gap in the reef.

Keep her steady, Zaki coached himself slip off course now and the wave could slew the stern on to the waiting fangs; too much speed and the wave would carry them on to Devils Rock.

Boy and boat were one as they were lifted on the green, humped back of the following wave. Now they were surging forward, riding the wave, Zaki steering by feel rather than sight, keeping the boat on the wave one boat length to go into the gap with foam-flecked rocks passing on either side. Then Zaki let out a long breath as the swell slid from under the boat and raced away to fling itself against the unyielding mass of Devils Rock. They had made it through!

But no time to relax. Time to find the next landmark.

To the east of the rock, inside the reef, there appeared to be open water, but Zaki knew he must steer clear of the long sandbank that lurked just below the surface, almost entirely closing off the entrance to the Orme.

Zaki swung the boat through ninety degrees and searched for the ruined cottage on the opposite shore that would give him a bearing clear of the protruding sandbar and The Orphans, a clutter of awkwardly placed, half-submerged rocks.

Morveren rolled heavily in the cross swell and it took all Zakis strength to hold the boat on course.

Where was the cottage? Even on a calm day like today, each wave threatened to carry the boat sideways on to Devils Rock.

Ah! There! He could make out the remains of the stone chimney and tumbledown walls up on the hillside. A shiver ran down Zakis spine as he imagined attempting to make this entrance in a heavy sea. A bit more power from the engine and soon they were safely past The Orphans and under the cliffs on the eastern side.

Zaki turned the boat upstream, keeping within a few metres of the shore, where he knew, was deep water. Looks like the tides turned. His fathers voice broke through the bubble that seemed to have surrounded Zaki since he began the run into the bay.

The current in the channel hadnt yet reached any great strength, but it was already enough to slow their progress. Zaki looked around, seeing the gulls that swooped between the rock and the cliffs, hearing their cries above the sounds of the waves and the thud-thud of the boats engine.