MOUNTAIN LIFE - Blue Mountains | Spring 2020

49 Have you ever been part of a story so unbelievable it could be a movie scene? One you’ve retold so many times you can visualize it unfolding in your head without any effort at all? Such is the tale of the 100 sea scouts. Through mutual friends and family, my husband and I ended up with crew jobs aboard a 120-foot steel-hulled ship in the Caribbean in the late 1990s. The ship took tourists out for day trips, snorkelling and swimming, serving up seaside meals and cold brews to mostly Dutch visitors. On this day, the captain had decided to support the local community and offered to take 100 sea scouts out to a nearby island for an afternoon. We were a small crew—three of us—in addition to the captain and his wife and a handful of scout leaders. The scouts boarded the ship in great spirits. The seas were rougher than on our typical tourist tours, but these were scouts and, surely, they could handle it. The boat had a 20-foot bowsprit and with the considerable waves it was diving underwater before quickly roaring back up. The bow became the main attraction, a huge congregation of scouts riding it like a roller coaster up front, screaming in mixed terror and glee when the waves crashed on deck. Everything was fine, loud and exciting, but fine… for about an hour. The first indication that anything was wrong was an ominous quiet that fell over the group. The scouts were sitting down now, looking a bit pale and confused. The quiet was nice at first, until we realized it was a bad omen. The first barf landed on the top of a boy’s brush-cut hair, perching neatly on top, the liquid not yet reaching his scalp. The boy saw the horror in his friend’s eyes, slowly put his hand to his head and promptly felt his fingers in the inaugural puke. The realization that someone had barfed on his head resulted in the second puke, which witnessed by his friends, led to the fourth, fifth and the sixth of the day. If you’ve ever barfed on a ship in the wind, you know there’s a right place and a wrong place to heave overboard. The wind decides which is which. But with 100 scouts barfing, all the “right” places were occupied. It soon became unclear if you were being hit with sea spray, vomit or the tears filling the leaders’ and crew’s eyes. I saw a kid run up the deck, slip in something wet, land on his butt and projectile vomit at the exact same time. It lasted about 30 minutes, and I am unsure if a single sea scout was spared. When we reached the island and the ship stopped moving, the scouts made a miraculous recovery. They went to shore, swam, played and picnicked. They were tired but happy on the ride home—but the damage was done. Our time as crew ended a few weeks later, and I doubt if the captain ever extended the sea scout invitation again. I can only tell you that the memory of that day (complete with sights, smells and sounds) is burnt forever in my mind. –Allison Kennedy Davies On the bowsprit, before the deluge. ALLISON KENNEDY DAVIES Sea Scout Disaster: Tourist Ship Crew It lasted about 30 minutes, and I am unsure if a single sea scout was spared.