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Encounter Off Montauk, 2022
A Photograph by Luh Vek
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I'm not quite sure when or for how long they had endured the wrath of the Atlantic; there in that pitch blackness, when someone spotted a faint glow... light coming from the depths of the ocean just some thirty feet off the stern. There was an instant panic. "Sub!" It had to be a navy ship, there was no other explanation and that was enough to set off a mad dash to clear the area... As if the trip couldn't get much worse with the storm and the relentless seas and the gulls and the crushing darkness that threatened to swallow them all; now there was what they assumed to be a submarine below them and it was surfacing... they were trapped; they couldn't possibly move the boat fast enough in this weather and they were about to be capsized by the vessel ominously rising up from the depths. I imagine at this point they were trying to steer the boat; screaming commands to one another over the wind and waves... their words, ripped apart by the storm, not carrying anything of meaning... just the rising fear of imminent death or worse, being tossed into the abyss only to die slowly in an inky black torrent. I imagine their hands clasped, holding tightly to the ladder that led up to the fly deck preparing to be capsized and then the thing that rose not underneath them as feared, but just a few feet off the stern before rising, without a sound, completely out of the water. This was no sub.
