Running Short of Irish Luck by Max H.

“Upsurge ahead!” screamed Jack McFarland.

A rugged sea captain around fifty years old, McFarland was an easy man to understand. Dedicated but stubborn were his biggest traits. Irish born, McFarland often fished off the Irish coast.

He gazed into the experienced eyes of his crew. Four men clenched their ships protrusions as a monstrous wave engulfed them and the ‘Old Maid’.

“All men accounted for!” first mate Scott Shimson yelled as the waves quieted and the ship began to settle. Grunts came from the three other crew members, Steve Shirley, and Matt and Jon Rider.

“Get used to it boys, there’s more trouble brewing once we near the coast.” McFarland chuckled.

Each crew member wondered why the skip would take the chance of nearing Ireland with such unlucky weather and the rocky reputation Ireland’s coast held. Becoming uneasy about his captains decision to continue on just so the crew wouldn’t lose some of their catch, first mate Shimson brought up the topic in the late hours of the day.

“Skip, I’m worried this idea of yours can lead us to bad outcomes. The coast can be very untrustworthy with weather like this and its deadly rocks.”

“It’s no secret Scotty, the ‘Old Maid’ isn’t in her prime anymore. I did the figuring and this catch could give us just enough money to hold ourselves up ‘til we find our bearings and get the Maid fixed up good.

The captain raised his head and looked dead into Shimson’s eyes.

“If we lose any of our catch, the price of our fish goes down and we won’t have enough money for the ship. It’s that simple.”

Getting up from his seat and raising his voice just enough for his crew on deck to hear, the captain said aloud, “We’ll sail to the Irish coast with no worries about the storm. The ‘Old Maid’ will live on if I have any Irish luck left in me!”

As night came the sea became choppy. All five men prepared themselves for the worst possibilities as the ship passed the first few indomitable rocks off the coast. The rain seemed to be as thick as glue and waves crashed along the ship, teasing its tired body from years of use.

Members of the crew began questioning where the coast actually was, when from the nest, Jon Rider was heard clear, “Light ahead! Light ahead! Due north Skipper! Right in front o’ our eyes!

The men on ship cheered and jumped, all seeing the lighthouse clearly, some four hundred yards away.

Dangerously sidetracked from the excitement, the crew paid no attention to the disaster they had placed themselves in. Steve Shirley was the first to notice but it was much too late. A cry was heard above the waves as the ‘Old Maid’ was treacherously smashed against an enormous coastal rock.

“Man over board!” Shimson barely finished while the right side of the ships hull was destroyed, sending the crew and debris to the sea.

By early morning the two Rider brothers and first mate Scott Shimson found their way onto the high point of the rock. Captain McFarland and Steve Shirley weren’t seen by day break.

Realizing they wouldn’t have much time before another storm and ultimately their death, the three men began to think up possibilities of how they would make it to the shore. Sitting close to the water, Matt Rider noticed the Maid’s anchor was wedged between a few rocks very close by, the rope still attached. He gathered the rope and brought it to the others who had quickly thought up a plan.

One man would have the rope tied around his waist and swim to the closest rock. The other two would hold the ropes end and make sure the man made it across. Once arriving at the rock, the order would reverse as the two men swam to him.

With the water relatively clam, this idea worked phenomenally. In a mere four hours of work, the men made it to Ireland’s shore. Scott Shimson, Jon Rider and Matt Rider lay on the cold beach of Ireland, remembering never again to test their Irish luck.