The Last Sunrise

By Richard Brumer

An aging man is nearing the end of his days and he wants to have one last adventure at sea. He purchases a thirty-foot sailboat named Noelle and takes her on his great journey. What follows is a thought-provoking trip inward as we discover what drives this man, and we learn that he could be anyone—even the reader.
Jane, a woman in her mid-eighties, sells him Noelle with everything on board. Below deck he finds reflections of Noelle’s past—tattered sailing charts with routes highlighted by Jane and her husband, items collecting dust that make him wonder about their journeys.
The Book of Seamanship teaches him the basics of sailing, preparing him for his trip. He makes the needed repairs and plans his next step. After talking with Jane, he discovers she and her husband had planned to sail to Tonga, a dream unfulfilled. A carefully folded pristine chart remains on board, with not a single line drawn to the remote islands of Tonga, a 2500-mile journey.
Now he knows where he must take Noelle.
And so begins the journey of a dying man, a man who is preparing to sail away and never return. He thinks of Kathryn, his late wife, and reminisces about the past. He faces storms and becalmed seas and sleeps under the stars. Upon reaching Tonga, he makes a new friend, Lepa, who guides him in his travels through the local islands.
The Last Sunrise follows a man’s love affair with nature as it challenges him during his voyage of self-discovery. Humbled by the ocean, alone with his thoughts, he is drawn into utter peacefulness—his last passage home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Brumer
• Release date: Mar 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370027040

Richard Brumer

A freelance writer of novellas and short stories

Book preview

The Last Sunrise

Richard Brumer

Copyright © 2013 Richard Brumer

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781482763744

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By the same author

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Gelt without Guilt

Love and Deception

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands but seeing with new eyes.

—Marcel Proust

CHAPTER ONE

A sailboat with a For Sale sign stuck on her drew my attention. She rested at a dock in Lahaina, a small town on the west coast of Maui. Stretched out along her stern, in faded blue script, was her name: Noelle. She was old and needed work, but she would do.

Noelle appeared to be about thirty feet long, sloop rigged, with a fiberglass hull and lots of unvarnished wood on her topsides.

At seventy-five, I shouldn’t have been thinking of buying a cruising boat but I had a purpose. It would give me an opportunity to have one final adventure before I reached the end of my days.

Noelle looked like a boat I could learn to handle. She was like me, a bit younger, but had been around for a while and was well seasoned. There was something special about Noelle. She had a nice way about her. I loved her looks and shape. I felt an instant connection, love at first sight maybe. She was a beautiful blue water boat, perfect for me. I had to have her.

My only experience with sailing was when I was fifteen. My parents bought me a Sunfish along with a book on how to sail. I read the book so many times the pages came loose from its binding. It even had pictures of sloop rigged boats, cutters, schooners, ketches, and yawls. They were boats I might meet later in life, but at fifteen, the book was my introduction to nature and life on the water.

I spent the summer sailing my fourteen-foot Sunfish back and forth across a lake in New Jersey. I filled my sail with the wind, and used the breeze to get me where I wanted to go. Sailboats were no different from birds—they had to catch the wind in their own way. Noelle and my Sunfish were alike. They each needed a good breeze to bring them alive.

Noelle had a mainsail and a roller-furling jib, two sails. Different from my little Sunfish, which only had one sail, but no matter. I still remembered the nautical terms, the parts of a sailboat and could never forget how to catch the wind.

Life had been good to me. It had given me the opportunity to make many mistakes, maybe overcoming them was where my fulfillment took place. But time was running out, and I needed to be alone in nature once again where solitude was often my best companion.

Noelle was owned by Jane Cummings who lived in Kula, about thirty miles from where the boat was docked. She appeared to be in her mid-eighties, looked like Katherine Hepburn, and had a pleasant smile and sparkling blue eyes. She had many warm memories of sailing Noelle in the South Pacific with her husband, Brandon, who died a few years earlier. She asked me to check out the boat before I paid her the nominal sum and mentioned that I could keep whatever was on board. Noelle tilted and pulled at her dock lines when I stepped aboard. I looked down at my feet. It was the first time I had ever been on a real cruising sailboat.

I removed the wooden slats covering the companionway and walked down the steps to my new world. It was like entering someone’s home, someone I could get to know just by looking about, browsing their books, opening drawers and seeing what had meaning for them.

I quickly opened all the ports and overhead hatches to air her out. Sunlight and the brisk Hawaiian breeze streamed through the four ports on each side of the boat, providing adequate light and good cross ventilation, which had Noelle smelling better already.

The main cabin had a pull-down teak dining table and two built-in futon style couches covered in colorful blue floral Sunbrella fabric.

Forward of the cabin, on the starboard side was a toilet, sink, and a separate hand- held shower.

At the bow, a triangular V-shaped berth, covered in the same blue pattern, provided sleeping accommodations for two people.

Noelle had a diesel engine, and a navigation table with a VHF radio, a stereo, and all sorts of plotting instruments in a rack to one side. On top of the table were yellowed, tattered sailing charts of Tahiti, Fiji, Bora Bora, and the Hawaiian Islands. Each chart showed straight-penciled lines with arrows, numbers, and strange abbreviations written above and below them.

Another chart, titled, Vava-u Group, Tonga looked brand new with nothing written on it, not even a pencil mark. On a shelf nearby was a varnished square-shaped wooden box. I opened the latch and found a brass instrument with dials, lenses and colored filters. It appeared to be from another time. I gently removed it from the box. It was the first sextant I had ever seen or held. Jane and Brandon must have been quite the sailors. What a fulfilling life they had shared, and now Noelle was telling me about it.

There were two additional sleeping berths on the boat. They were used as storage for a folded, inflatable, gray dinghy and a foot pump, sails, ropes, foul weather gear, fishing tackle and an extra anchor.

On deck, a lightweight outboard motor for the dinghy hung on the stern rail along with a solar panel. Noelle had wheel steering along with autopilot. Books about sailing, maintenance, navigation and sea stories were everywhere. I could learn almost everything I needed to know to take Noelle to sea, just by staying on the boat reading, experimenting, and exploring.

I told Mrs. Cummings the boat was perfect for me and paid what she asked. That night I browsed the books, and fell into a deep sleep while reading Outward Leg, a sea saga by Tristan Jones.

The next morning I woke up hungry, not realizing I hadn’t eaten the night before. I took a book from the boat to Longhi’s Lahaina, an open-air breakfast place on Front Street. The restaurant was a Maui landmark with a spectacular view of the ocean. In the distance, I could see the islands of Lanai and Molokai. I quickly devoured scrambled eggs and poi pancakes, anxious to begin my book, which detailed the care and maintenance of an eighteen-horsepower Yanmar diesel engine. It would give Noelle an extra push when she needed it. When the Kona coffee arrived, I turned to page one, always the most exciting page of any book. I sat through three cups of coffee and learned what I could about Noelle’s engine.

The wind piped up. I left Longhi’s to return to Noelle who was tugging at her dock lines like a restless child. Her fenders hung over the sides between the dock and the hull, protecting it. A thick, yellow electrical cable connected Noelle to shore power, providing AC electricity and hot water while she was docked.

My morning reading at Longhi’s reminded me to open the seacocks before I started the engine, so that it would be cooled properly and not overheat. I made it a point to remember that. With high hopes, I turned the key in the starter. I immediately heard the click-clack sound that resembled a pebble tumbling about in a tin can, typical of a diesel. I looked over the side and saw water gurgling its way out of the exhaust. All was well.

The next few days were spent exploring more of Noelle. I traced the concealed electrical and plumbing systems to find their origins and destinations. When I removed the sail cover, I discovered a small tear in the mainsail, which I sewed with fishing line and a special needle that I found in a drawer.

Everything that was needed to make repairs was already on the boat. The trick was finding them. Gear was scattered and disorganized, although I was sure the previous owners could have put their hands on anything they needed. The big red box containing the tools was a mess. I had no idea what some of the tools were used for, but I knew if I needed something, it would be there. All my time was spent getting to know Noelle.

The assortment of books was fascinating. Mixed in among the teak shelves