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Words And Phrases From The Sea Index FIRST CHAPTER EXCERPT: ANTIQUITIES The uncontested oldest piece of maritime history is an oar, dating back to 8,000 B.C., unearthed from an English bog. The oldest known completely intact ship dates to about 2500 B.C. It is a 142 foot Nile boat discovered near the Great Pyramid of Khufu. A very interesting antique ship was discovered in 1967 by a sponge diver off the coast of Cyprus, after it sat undisturbed in the sand for 2,300 years. This wreck was one of the richest in historical value in that upon sinking, it had been quickly buried by sand, effectively protecting it from attacking sea creatures. By 1969, Dr. Michael Katzev (1939 - 2001), a noted marine archeologist had identified the vessel as being a Greek merchant ship, one of the oldest, mostly intact vessels ever discovered. Of course, the ship was without a name, so he called it KYRENIA, for the city in northern Cyprus near where it sank. Dr. Katzev and his team labeled, measured, photographed, carefully dismantled and brought to the surface nearly 6,000 pieces of the hull, and reassembled them on the shore at the medieval Crusader Castle of Kyrenia, where it is presently on display. The boat is about 45 feet in length, with a beam of 14 feet. The cargo consisted of 404 terra cotta pots from Rhodes, which appear to have held wine, 29 millstones from Nisyros, which were either cargo or ballast, or perhaps both, and evidence of cloth bags of almonds. Carbon dating of the wooden hull, plus five Greek coins found helped determine the ship's age. Four sets of domestic pottery and fragments of four wooden spoons led to the conclusion that the ship was manned by a captain and three sailors, who ate and slept atop the cargo, typical of a coastal trader in the days of Alexander the Great. The discovery of iron spearheads under the hull led to the conclusion that pirates had attacked and captured the crew, who were then carted off, to be sold into slavery. There was a large hole in the hull, which was probably intentionally inflicted by the pirates to scuttle the ship and cover their crime. When she was advised of the find, the late actress, Melina Mercouri, who was the Greek Culture Minister at the time, became so interested in the wreck that an exact replica of the ship was built by the Hellenic Institute for the Conservation of the Naval Tradition. The replica, appropriately named KYRENIA II, was launched in 1985. The reconstructed KYRENIA II, under a single square cotton sail similar to the original, later retraced its namesake's assumed route in a study of ancient sailing. On 4 July, 1986, a proud Katzev was aboard KYRENIA II as she sailed past the Statue of Liberty in the parade of tall ships saluting the statue's centennial. This rare ship is presently on display in Greece. A newcomer by comparison, the third oldest intact vessel known is a homely fishing boat that lay submerged in the mud of the Sea of Galilee for two thousand years. In 1986, when a prolonged drought lowered the water level to a record low, an Israeli spotted a plank protruding above the surface. Curious, he investigated and discovered the only Galilee boat ever found dating from the time of Jesus. After a painstaking eleven-day excavation effort the boat was literally submerged in preservative, where it stayed for nine full years until the summer of 1995. At that time conservationist Orna Cohen, of the Israeli Antiquities Authority, removed the vessel from the preservative and visitors can now see it at its new site, the Yigal Allon Centre near the town of Migdal, in Israel. The boat is about 27 feet in length, and historians havE determined that it fished with a seine net. It was propelled by four rowers, while a helmsman steered. Scientists also found at least seven kinds of wood were used in constructing the hull, including several scraps from even older boats. IN APPRECIATION OF SEAMEN "It is only just that the poorer classes and the common people of Athens should be better off than the men of birth and wealth, seeing that it is the people who man the fleet and have brought the city her power. The steerman, the boatswain, the lieutenant, the lookout-man at the prow, the shipwright–-these are the people who supply the city with power rather than her heavy infantry and men of birth and quality." OLD OLIGARCH - 480 B.C. BARTHOLOMEW DIAZ -- THE NAVIGATOR WHO RECEIVED ASSISTANCE FROM MOTHER NATURE For some reason, history has nearly overlooked an explorer whose discovery was probably as important, or possibly even more so than that of Christopher Columbus. Prince Henry of Portugal, often called "The Navigator," because of his curiosity about the world around him, was one of those who believed that if a ship were to follow the coast of Africa, he would eventually reach India. But prior to his time, expeditions in that direction had failed, and the theory went unproved. It was in August 1486, when a young navigator, Bartholomew Diaz (1445 - 1500) set sail from Portugal, in an attempt to prove the Prince's belief. When the little fleet was off Cape Negro, they were struck by a storm of such severity that they were driven southward for nearly two weeks. The howling gale obliterated all signs of land, and just to keep his ships together was a magnificent feat. When the north wind finally stopped, the skies cleared and the seas calmed. The weather turned bitterly cold. Disappointed, Diaz thought he had been blown far south of the continent. He turned east, and then headed north. Ready to admit defeat, he decided to continue his northward course, and return to Portugal. However, when he again saw land, it was on his port side. It should have been on his starboard. While in the grasp of the furious storm, Diaz then realized, he had rounded the Cape of Good Hope without seeing it. The crews of the ships, however, were afraid of proceeding further, and demanded to return home. As he passed the beautiful promontory, which had been shrouded from view because of the weather, he named it "Stormy Cape." When Prince Henry learned that Diaz had actually rounded the cape, he changed the name to the "Cape of Good Hope," because it was a great step for man to reach India by sea. BEFORE COLUMBUS THE NORSEMEN To Europeans of the thirteenth century, the Mediterranean Sea was the center of the world, with Europe to the north of it, Africa on the south, the Atlantic Ocean to the west, and the edge of Asia bordering its eastern rim. They knew a little about North Africa and the Middle East, but not much more. The rest of the world was shrouded in guesswork, legend, and mystery. What the Europeans never knew, or had perhaps forgotten, was at about that time, some five centuries before Columbus, the Norse had sailed from island to island across the northern Atlantic to eventually land in America. According to Norse legend, their people had established a settlement in Iceland around 870 A.D. Some hundred years later, another Norseman, Eric the Red moved his family there, but his restlessness drove him farther west and in 985 A.D. he discovered Greenland, a much larger but more forbidding island. Undeterred, he founded a small settlement there. It is said that Eric the Red went west to discover America, but this is questionable and cannot be verified. What is known is that Leif Ericsson, the son of Eric the Red, heard of a shipload of Icelanders who were headed for Greenland but were blown far off course by a vicious storm. They reported seeing a strange, thickly wooded coast, but rather than venture ashore they had reversed course and found their original destination, Greenland. Ericsson decided to find that new land himself, so he and his party of Vikings headed west. When he found it, he named it Vinland, because the abundant wild berries there looked like grapes. His company stayed a few months, until three boats with 160 colonists arrived from Greenland to start a settlement. It appears these settlers stayed in Vinland for about three years, when for some unknown reason they were set upon by the natives and they fled back to Greenland. Because there was a dearth of concrete evidence, even the tales of the settlement by Leif Ericsson were doubted by some historians until the 1960's. At that time, however, archeologists discovered, and positively identified the ancient foundations of Norse houses in Newfoundland, along with some debatable evidence of settlements as far south as the New England Coast. It was more than 500 years later that Christopher Columbus, with far more fanfare, "discovered" America.

Ron Arias has also written a novel, The Road to Tamazunchale, which was nominated for a National Book Award; Healing from the Heart, with Dr. Mehmet Oz, and the forthcoming Moving Target: A Memoir of Pursuit. An avid sea kayaker, he is married and living in Hermosa Beach, Calif. AUTHOR COMMENTS: My deep appreciation goes to the five fishermen and their families for enduring my endless, pestering questions about their lives before and during the nearly five months of the Cairo III's unintended, fateful voyage. The warm hospitality of the Costa Rican people also made my research stay a pleasant one. The many hours I spent individually recording the fresh memories of the five crewmen and others especially helped me in the recreation of their thoughts, conversation and actions during pivotal moments and interludes throughout their saga on land and at sea. I must also applaud the meticulous efforts of my friend Akihide Teraoka of Fujieda City, Japan, for interviewing a number of Japanese men who were key characters in the story of the five Costa Ricans. Additionally, I am pleased that John P. Kaufman, a publisher of nautical books, and his chief reader believed in the enduring, universal quality of this story, which first appeared in 1989 in book form with another publisher. For the present edition, I have made slight revisions throughout, mostly re-wordings and additions for more clarity and dramatic effect. Most of all, I want to thank my wife, Joan, who steered me right in shaping the early chapters, and my son, Michael, who proofread the manuscript and caught some choice goofs. To all concerned in this project, I can only hope the story as told in the following pages reflects an accurate and faithful account of the crew's relentless struggle to survive. TABLE OF CONTENTS: Chapter 1 Departures Chapter 2 A Great Catch Chapter 3 El Norte Chapter 4 The Big Hole Chapter 5 Missing Chapter 6 Last Chance Chapter 7 Separate Quarters Chapter 8 Pandora Chapter 9 The Island Chapter 10 Sharks Chapter 11 The Whale Chapter 12 The Net Chapter 13 May 10 Chapter 14 Last Entry Chapter 15 Thirst Chapter 16 Dreams Chapter 17 Rain Chapter 18 Rescue Chapter 19 Home Afterword FIRST CHAPTER EXCERPT: DEPARTURES Puntarenas, Costa Rica January 19, 1988 Just before dawn Edith Gonzalez awoke to a rooster's crowing. It was a reassuring sound, she thought, an announcement that the world was still here and the day could now begin. She listened for other signs -- barking dogs, birds, a distant cough, muffled voices. A faint light shone around the edges of the window curtains, and she pictured the sky's creamy reddish glow over the mountains to the east. Soon the fishing barrio called Veinte de Noviembre would be filled with the sounds of wide-awake life: babies crying, vendors shouting, boat engines sputtering. But for now, for these few moments by the side of her husband, the time was quiet, peaceful. Joel Gonzalez moved restlessly under the sheets. "What time is it?" he whispered. "Sleep," Edith said. "You don't have to get up yet." For days they had been anxious about the fishing trip planned for today. The last two eight-day trips out into the Gulf of Nicoya and beyond into the Pacific Ocean had been failures, with such small catches that the Cairo III's captain and his four crewmen hardly had any earnings to divide up. Now Joel, one of the crew, was about to leave for another eight days, giving Edith the last of their savings -- about fifteen dollars -- to buy food for her and their four girls. If the trip went well, he had told her, maybe it would be one of his last. After all, he only worked at fishing out of need; what he really would like to do while he was still young -- not even thirty yet -- is run a business of his own or work in an office, at least something where he could use his high school education. Edith looked at the quiet figure beside her and silently prayed that their luck would change. Joel, she was convinced, was meant for cleaner, less risky work, something with a future. If only he could earn enough to quit fishing, if only the little bakery they had started behind the house with hired help could prosper, if only they could move to higher ground where there were fewer mosquitoes. . . . Suddenly Elke stirred in her crib, and Edith, her twenty-five-year-old body still slender and shapely after four births, slipped out of bed to nurse the baby. A neighbor: I don't know what his friends call him, but we called him the Salvadoran. I think he left El Salvador when he was little, but once he had moved in here, if you asked for Joel Omar Gonzalez, people would say, "Oh, the Salvadoran." You see, we're all known as something around here. We're getting a lot of Nicaraguans lately, so they're known as Nicas. And of course we Costa Ricans are the Ticos. Then you get all kinds of nicknames, like Toad or Big Ears. But really, it doesn't matter where you come from or what you look like. What matters is who you are. Names are something extra. With Joel, we just thought he was a serious young man who had gone to school. He wasn't rich but it looked like he had plans and they didn't include fishing all his life. * * * 6:30 A.M.: Pastor Lopez, another of the four crewmen, hurriedly drank the last of the coffee his wife, Rita, had prepared, then he lit a cigarette. After drawing deeply on the filterless tip, he fixed a blank, frowning stare on his sleepy-eyed, four-year-old son, Alvaro; the boy had just entered the tiny kitchen, having left his asthmatic baby brother asleep behind the partition where the family slept. "The boat's leaking," Pastor said flatly. Rita, who was mixing some cooked rice and black beans together in a saucepan, stabbed the fork into the mound of speckled mush and eyed her husband intently. Pastor then continued in a monotone, "Too much water, too much water, all night too much water." "It can't be all that bad," Rita said innocently. "Oh, yes it can," Pastor said, now frowning. "All night the water came in. I could hear it trickling and trickling." A small young man with light-brown hair, Pastor was a clam-digger, and it was only in the last month that he had started fishing regularly for a living. But fishing was only a temporary job he took during the Christmas holidays when a few of the boat's regular crew were missing and the owner needed a fifth hand to complete the usual complement of five on board. Today's departure would be Pastor's third time out on the Cairo III and the start of his last trip -- definitely his last, he had decided. Even though he liked the others on the boat well enough to continue with them, he was eager to return to digging in the soft mud around the mangrove trees. Clamming didn't earn him much, but at least he was his own master. For a restless, feisty man with a quick temper, a life without many rules suited him fine. "I'm me and I do what I want," he would say with a laugh. "Nobody bosses me, nobody crosses me." As his son approached for a good-bye hug, Pastor went on about the boat, as if in a trance, saying the leaks in the hull needed patching. Shipworms had eaten finger-size holes in the wood along the sides and near the bow, but worse were the cracks in the higher, sun-exposed planks near the stern. Yesterday they had loaded the water, food, fuel, bait, and ice to store the fish. Now the boat sat lower in the water, which had begun to seep and spurt through parts of the dry, split seams. As the crew's newest member, Pastor was asked to spend the night on board guarding the boat's cargo of necessities, and it was then that he had noticed the water collecting beneath the engine compartment. "Daddy," his son Alvaro blurted, interrupting his father's anxious thoughts. "Don't go!" Pastor reached out to hold his son by the shoulders. Then he knelt on one knee. "Listen, little man," he said. "I want you to do something for me." "Don't go," the boy said, shaking his head. "I have to," Pastor said. "Just one more time, then it's back to the clams. I promise." "And some money," Rita added. "The baby's sick, and if I need more money for medicine, what then?" "Look, little Alvaro," Pastor continued, ignoring the question, "just do one thing for me. Pray to God that this trip goes well. Pray with all your heart. Can you do that for me?" The boy nodded, and Pastor -- dressed in short pants and a t-shirt -- kissed his wife and son, retrieved a handbag with a few changes of clothes, and left with a smile and a wave. Hilda Rojas, Pastor's mother: What got him into prison was a fight in a bar. With a policeman, of all people. Well, what happened in the end, so not to go into details he knows better than I do -- what happened was that he was sent to a year and a half on San Lucas Island. That's where he grew up, he said. He learned a lot. That was his classroom, the place where he learned to survive. * * * Late morning: Gerardo Obregon, the dark, stocky captain of the Cairo III, startled his wife Lidia when he appeared in the doorway of their small, rented house, a cigarette in one hand. "What happened?" she said. "I thought you'd be out to sea by now." "We're fixing some leaks," Gerardo answered, entering and sitting down at the table with a sigh. "Can you make me some lunch?" Lidia wiped her hands on her apron, then she snapped her fingers. "Lunch. Just like that, huh? Why didn't you let me know you were coming back? I could have bought something. This is lunch for the kids." "Never mind. I'll have coffee." "Oh, no, you'll eat. I'll fry you an egg with a little rice." Gerardo, squinting through his cigarette smoke, made a face as if he were gagging. "Ah, the delicate one," Lidia said. "The lion doesn't like egg, doesn't eat bread. He only eats steak." It was true. For most of his thirty-three years Gerardo had been a picky eater and lover of beef. Although he fished for a living, he never liked to eat fish, preferring barnyard meats like pork, chicken, goat, lamb, and his breakfast favorite, beef sirloin, medium rare. The barrel-chested captain had even taken to calling himself a "carnivore," as if he had finally discovered a word whose sound and meaning fit him perfectly. On a wall next to the kitchen table hung a cloth print of a lion, Gerardo's birth sign and spiritual mascot. Lidia slid a scrambled egg from the skillet onto a plate. Not only did he sometimes blame her for his drinking, she felt like saying, but he would also probably blame her for starving him. "Here," she said, plunking the egg and a big scoop of mushy rice in front of him, "you're worse than the kids." Reluctantly, Gerardo lifted a fork and dug in.

440 pages, 8 Halftones, 53 Figures, 2 Maps, 6 x 9