We heard the crunch as we stepped up on the platform. Wood. Metal clamps. Held together with what looked like veins of a five-day-old onion thrown against the wall and dowsed with curry powder. The smell wasn’t too dissimilar. We had two choices, continue on and make the ridge before dark or settle in, grill…


A tailwind caught the sails. We could do it – cut the reefs and jump the sandbars. We would have to hit the engine cycles perfectly though and make sure the cords held the turnip load. Fear would have overtaken us, but we had plenty of cord, cord made from the sinew of these links.…