Dolphins to the Rescue
We were sailing in the Indian Ocean from the Seychelles Islands to Madagascar on my brother’s plywood-built 40ft trimaran, Romany Road, a 1,000-mile voyage. It was a clear, calm day far from land. The gentle wind drove us smartly along through the royal-blue ocean.
Out of nowhere, whitecaps began hurrying toward us from the eastern horizon. Th is made no sense—there should be no whitecaps in 10 knots of breeze in the deep ocean—that is until a white-streaked gray torpedo suddenly leapt into the air and landed with a dramatic splash. Next thing we knew, an immense school of dolphins, hundreds, maybe thousands, were rollicking, diving, streaking through the waves all around us. The fleet leaders crossed our path, swimming on toward God knows where, the rest of the school stretching off behind them to the distant horizon. A few chose not to ignore us, but paused to play with our boat, zigzagging, twirling, shining, rocketing around us and in between our three hulls before continuing on to wherever it was they were going. An hour later we were alone again, to marvel and reflect.
was built on the beach in Pattaya, Thailand, for my brother, Bob, while he was working as an engineer during the Vietnam War. The boat’s accommodations were all in the main hull, the two amas serving to provide stability. Not surprisingly, the combination of ’s single tall mast, large sail area
