Now his face is worried and I think he'd rather be at a desk preparing cutblock documents. I wave, he raises his hand. His boat tosses. They surge ahead, then slow down to match the uncertain speeds of the Black ship. The bow wave now subdued, the froth disappeared into the arching water that rides ahead of the 300 foot hull.
Tiny figures move behind darkened wheelhouse windows.
Binoculars hide their faces as they search for a sign, an opening. Rhythm of paddles pull the cedar canoe through the water. Eight speedboats from Old Massett stand by. The water is ruffled. The wind steady.