National Geographic : 1971 Apr
The waves seem to subside a bit and I light a cigarette. It is still raining. "'Tis good you're having a smoke now," says P. J., "because we're going to be hitting the weather after this." I thought we already had hit the weather. "Ah, sure, that was nothing," says P. J., reminding me of Bartley's calm-as-glass comment. Soon we are in Foul Sound between Inish maan and Inisheer (map, page 546). "Now here we go!" shouts P. J. These waves make the others look like ripples as they tower and crouch over the Muir Ara. Along comes a wave so enormous I can't even see the top. "Hold tight!" yells P.J., grabbing my arm, and we brace ourselves 562 against the wheelhouse wall. There is a tremendous crash and up we go as if in a fast elevator. Another crash follows and we fly back down, the boat tilting so much that I expect her to roll right over. But she doesn't. "That was a good one!" says P.J. "That was a beaut." "At least a hundred feet high!" I exclaim. P.J. shakes his head. "Twenty would be more like it." Gradually the sea calms again, and finally we're coming alongside the small jetty at Inisheer. "Have to be quick or I'll miss the tide," says P. J. No sooner do I step ashore than the Muir Ara is backing away and head ing out to sea again. It is still raining.