LONG TIME DEAD

With a light breeze on the mainsail and a two foot swell slapping the hull, I raised the bottle to the setting sun and watched the rum glow a deep rich caramel as it met my lips. There was simply no greater set of circumstances. I nodded my head, took another swig, let the mainsail go slack and prepared the anchor line. With the bottle wedged between my thighs, I reeled in the mackerel lure trailing the stern.

Ten nautical miles off the starboard bow were the jagged peaks of the island of Hawaii, rising in defiance of the sea and touching the low cloud. It was