Running The Edge: Epilog

 

Epilog

Present Day

Umpqua River Lighthouse

 

Internet Stock Photo

                Ron Gallagher before speaking simply shook his head in amazement after Matt finished telling his story to him. “Matt, I must admit, that was one incredible adventure. At first, I was thinking we might work in a simple storyline publication in the paper, but after listening to your account, well, this requires something much bigger. A Book. Putting it into a book form will take some work and time, but I can maybe even see a series of books produced from this. I've got connections with publishers and promoters. If you're up to it, I’m all in so whenever you are ready, let’s get started, the sooner the better.”

Matt held his words closely and as the last reminiscence from those days so long ago receded again into his memory. Sharon held his hand. His face grew somber and as he thought of those men, his friends, who failed to survive. He wasn’t wanting to benefit from the telling of his story, just wanted to keep the memory of those events alive.

                The trawler was now sitting outside the bar. As the tide flowed inward and the Umpqua River spilled its reserves into the Pacific, a break line formed across its width. The trawler skipper decided to wait it out instead of risking a crossing until the Coast Guard placed a surfboat on location.

                Matt’s eyes watched the slow rolling of the ocean as each swell found its final resting place against the beaches and ran the length of the Jetty. His eyes locked onto the spot where the Marc Eagle met its doom. Parts of it were sure to remain submerged there even now.

                Behind them they heard a vehicle approach from down the road below the hill that curved toward the lighthouse. A moment later it pulled into a parking area and a young man stepped out. Dressed in dark blue ODU’s and wearing a dark blue ball cap with the emblem “Umpqua River” embroidered in an arch across its front panel. He stood about six feet tall, was lean and well kept. As he lingered near the entrance of the lighthouse, Matt hurriedly walked over to him.

                “Yes sir, can I help you?” The young man reacted as Matt approached him.

                Matt hesitated as he surveyed his uniform. The stripes on his arm indicated he was a boatswain mate second-class. He wore no name badge but his name was stenciled across the top of the left shirt pocket. It read ‘J. Adair’.

                “Adair.” Matt inquired.

                “Yes sir.”

                “What’s the J stand for.”

                “That would be John, but most folks call me Jack.”

                “I once knew a Jack Adair. My wife’s dad’s name in fact. He was a good man. Use to operate a trawler out of Winchester Bay, but that was a long time ago.”

                “No relation I’m afraid.”

                “It doesn’t matter. Mind if I ask you a question, Jack?”

                “Fire away.”

                “What is it you do here?”

                The young man paused reflecting on Matt’s question. In the distance the rumbling sound of a powerful boat became noticeable. They both turned and saw a gray hulled motor lifeboat motoring at high speed toward the bar as an escort for the trawler.

                Jack stepped forward and motioned for Matt to follow him. They walked across the road stopping at the edge of the retainer wall where he placed one leg on the wall and leaned his forearm against the raised knee.

                “See that boat down there heading for bar. She’s one of our new 47-foot surfboats and she’s something else. Never operated one of the old 44’s, but I hear they were good surfboats, but these new 47’s, well, I’d venture to guess they could probably run rings around those older boats, faster, more maneuverable, packed with a lot more high-tech electronics. They are amazing vessels. We can get to where we need to be, faster, and complete our mission more safely, in the worst of conditions.”

Overhead a bright orange Coast Guard helicopter buzzed a couple hundred feet above the beach heading north. The high then low doppler effect sound pitch of its rotors echoing across the dunes finally fading in the distance. They both watched until it disappeared.

                “There goes one of the MH-65 Dolphin rescue helicopters out of North Bend, probably heading to one of the stations further north for some training ops. Those guys can really fly those things. Someday I hope to get into the Rescue Swimmer program. Long waiting list to get in though.”

Art By Brian David Snuffer

Matt politely nodded. “I hear it is an excellent program. I knew the guy who helped get all that started. I hope you can get in.”

                “Thanks, it’s a tough program to complete, but I’m sure I can do it.”

                Matt liked the young man’s confidence, “I’m sure you can too. But, until then, what is it you do now?”

                He smiled before answering. “Well sir, to answer your question…that is what I do.” He pointed to the bar as the 47-footer arched into position. “I run the edge, I am a Wave Warrior, like so many who came before me, for the United States Coast Guard.”