FOUND: MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

Another Lore of the Sea Comes to Life

Sailor’s stories captivate: pirate treasure maps, mermaids, monsters, rogue waves, sunken chests of gold, the Bermuda Triangle. We’ve all heard reference to a message in a bottle from a damsel in distress or simply someone, somewhere, trying to see where the oceans will take their words, their dreams, their wishes, a little piece of themselves. Writers know that feeling; when someone reads our carefully cultivated words, they are accessing a piece of our soul, or at least of our mind.

Last week during the retrieval of our friend, the Bahamian water at our final anchorage, uninhabited Sale Cay, was gin clear along the edges, particularly the spot chosen to abandon convention, strip down, and wade in. That beach is so shallow and dappled that it mesmerizes with an occasional refracted rusty starfish and a few softly swaying seaweeds I call Medusas for their remarkable resemblance to that particular head of ‘hair’. Their tentacles reach toward the surface with otherworldly elegant grace, grabbing calves in deeper water with a touch that can trigger paranoia in even the fearless.

The flag blue sailboat was far enough away that no one cared, and I watched it move effortlessly toward the western horizon. Discarded clothes were stacked on the concrete floors of a 1950s, long-forgotten missile monitoring base, used for the defense of the United States against what was then the USSR. (Author David Castero answered my inquiry on how many bases were built, very interesting stuff, and far more extensive than I ever imagined. It’s worth a minute.)

The slabs are now cattywampus and half buried in long brown pine needles, making perfect homes for crawlies galore, all hiding from the afternoon sun. We are unobserved, and, for the moment, at peace amongst the ruins of a cold war that now hovers again in the collective consciousness of the planet. I wonder if most Cubans ever even knew of the ‘crisis’, nuclear missiles pointed at their nation from previously pristine islands they had never heard of, their lives manipulated by names they knew. Was the risk real? How does one know?

We had explored the craggy east side of the island before swimming, in search of things long lost, intentionally discarded, or set afloat; the detritus of countless vessels who traveled before us, near and far. Windward shores often hold more trash than I want them to; it’s brutal on the creatures I revere, the shores I wander, especially the remote ones. The balance-required scramble was worthwhile. Lying amongst the seaweed, trash and limestone was a jar containing two notes and a yellow rubber ducky. After very carefully unscrewing the rusty metal cap, we almost reverently unfolded two separate pages with very faded ink in a foreign language. The clear JM Smucker’s jelly jar was reassembled and pocketed until it could be decided how to best determine its meaning.

Quite a discovery, the storied, fabled, romantic, mysterious message in a bottle; a connection with another soul, far away and unknown.

I'd love to be able to track down the writer, but I don’t think it’s no social note. To me, it’s more like a goodbye f han rom a damsel in distress(!), but the German content is too faded to completely decipher. Was her risk real? If you readers know anywhere I could send these for further investigation, I would appreciate that opportunity. My curiosity is certainly peaked!

Not quite as thrilling as a wine bottle, but quite a mystery!

Page one

……….I don’t think there are……went most different…the kids

…Stories (or history) which I don’t miss…

I think you have a good….…the Prosecco….imme…

…and you are so right

We may never know what she was trying to convey.

Page two “Vergin (alone on top half of page)

…we have given (or sent) me…

…we argued

…you have made me steady (or ready)

…today gun.

I will never forget.

Shit! Rhea (?)

We wandered on, heads bent, oblivious to the conflicted note we had just discovered, admiring drying sponges of all shapes and sizes, the salty air, the seashells. Not far from the message jar was an undoubtedly unconnected, seaglass-smooth, Champagne or sparkling wine bottle dated 1958, CMLVIII (bottom dates are generally not vintage but disgorgement, the beginning of the second fermentation of sparkling wines, a year or so after harvest and primary bottling). Where had that traveled from?! Silt had accumulated inside and the exterior is coveted opaque complete with barnacles. I admired its tenacity and kept it, this souvenir from a world seven decades and many seas away. Two years ago we ‘saved’ a wooden Asparagus Crate with French lettering from the Central Bahamas. Treasure? Trash?

When I first knew I was going to live aboard a boat, I printed copies of a letter intended for each of the wine bottles I brought aboard, thinking that I would send them, after delighting in the contents, to foreign shores via Mother Nature’s tides, storms and currents. I stumbled across them this winter, tucked away, unused and almost forgotten. I'm tempted, now, to revive that plan, to see what happens, and hope they land in someone's hand much like my own, someone who appreciates the unplanned connection such a discovery can bring. Would they be plucked up by the next boat, or could go to the next continent? Worth the chance, isn't it? Worth the effort. Here’s what my note says:

THIS IS YOUR MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE!

Would you like to be part of my NEXT BOOK?

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHEN AND WHERE YOU FOUND THIS NOTE. I am exploring the world on a Sailboat with Soul named STEADFAST.

EVERYBODY HAS A STORY. Tell me yours!

J Wheeler Independent Publishing JaniceAnneWheeler@gmail.com www.JaniceAnneWheeler.com Digame! Hablo español.

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Isn’t it captivating when something you’ve always heard about becomes a REALITY? These treasures of the sea are prominently displayed on my dining table and each time I see them I wonder who, what, when, where & why. Ah, the lore of the oceans and what they can convey… ~J

SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE is my captivating reality and free for all to enjoy. I’m spectacularly honored that ALL of you are here and appreciate some of you financially supporting my work. This writing, for me, is not about money; it connects us, especially when comments come rolling in. The best way you can support me is to share or restack my stories (little circle arrows—free&easy) as that makes a huge difference in exposure. I have books ready for publication and this platform, Substack, can be seen as representative of my influence as a writer. So my job is word wizardry and your job is to get it OUT THERE!!

THANKS.

Presidential Yacht SEQUOIA is far right; we are the ketch under cover to her left.