My father and I were in a bay in Kaua’i. He was in a rubber raft for three. The wave swells suddenly became, oh, ten feet high. I was in a dingy. A rubber raft for one. My dad became petrified. I was 13.

     My father was 49. I got up next to the boat and told him I could take us in. I had no sensation of the danger. I was numb. We were being pulled out. Harsh like. I obtained the oars.

    With all I had, I countered the pull out to sea. In minutes I had pulled us, rowing, into a rocky cove. The greater boat tore all apart. We got on our feet and walked, dragging our popped boats. We left death back out their.

    I am convinced that the ocean is death. It is not beautiful at all to me. It takes and takes. You can’t drink from it. It produces weird life. It is interesting though to watch on TV. No more rafting!