Out of the Fog

© 2025 by the author using the pen name

UpperNorthLeft

.

This story is submitted as part of the

2025 Valentine's Day Contest

.

I'm very grateful to

Jalibar62

and

Comentarista82

for reading and commenting on earlier versions of this story. Their suggestions have greatly improved this tale.

Chapter 1

I was sipping a cup of hot chocolate in the cabin of my sailboat

Nereid

when my boat took a hard roll to port. I spilled almost half the cup, somehow without scalding myself. As I started to wipe up the spill, I heard a scream.

I slipped on my coat and life jacket and climbed up on deck. I looked around, but couldn't see much due to the dense fog around me. I shouted, "Hello! Who's out there?"

"Help me, pleeeease!" Some splashing came from the fog astern of my boat.

"What happened?"

"Flipped m-m-my kayak. I'm f-f-f-freezing!"

The waters of Puget Sound are pretty damned cold year-round, with an average temperature of about 51° F even in July. Now in the ides of January, the water was probably more like 45° F.

This would be a perfect job for the Coast Guard, but they'd never make it here in time. Whoever was out there was going to die pretty quickly unless I could get them aboard my boat and warm them up.

I yelled, "Hang on, I'm coming!"

"Hurry!!"

I pulled a reel of avalanche cord out of my rope locker and grabbed my trusty Temo off its charging rack near the stern and slipped it into an oar lock on the dinghy's transom. The Temo is a small electric motor that I use to drive my dinghy, and looks something like the love child of a sculling oar that hooked up with a kitchen immersion blender.

I made one end of the avalanche cord fast to the stern of the

Nereid

and the other end to the dinghy. Hopefully, it would keep me from getting lost in the fog.

I cast off and shouted, "Where are you?"

"Over here!" More splashing.

I aimed the dinghy toward the splashing, using short pulses of the Temo. The

Nereid

and its lights vanished into the fog by the time I had gone 20 feet, and I mentally thanked my dad for teaching me the avalanche cord trick.

As I got closer, I saw the source of the shouts and the splashing -- a woman clinging to a small kayak. I maneuvered my dinghy so that I could pull her aboard over the transom.

She could barely talk by now and was only moving weakly in the water. I grabbed her life jacket, and braced my feet against the transom. It's hard work bringing a waterlogged person into a boat, especially if they can't assist in the process. It took several heaves, but I eventually pulled her into the boat. I then grabbed the kayak, and attached it to my stern.

Okay, now to get us all back to the

Nereid

. I couldn't see any of the lights from my boat, so I started gently pulling in the avalanche cord. In a minute or so we were back at the stern of the

Nereid

. I made the dinghy fast to the stern, and then climbed aboard.

In an action movie, the hero would throw the woman over his shoulder and climb up into the boat. Fuck that. I fed a line under her armpits, tied it in a bowline, and then attached that to my spare halyard. Using a remote control, I used my powered winch to lift her up from the dinghy and then lower her gently down into the salon.

By the time I unclipped and belayed the halyard, the woman was barely conscious. I said, "We need to get you warmed up. I've got to get you out of these wet clothes."

Her only reply was an incoherent moan.

It's hard enough to remove one's own wet clothing. Hers took me a bit longer. With her clothes off, I needed to warm her up as quickly as possible, and the only means I had at hand was body-to-body contact. I quickly pulled off my own clothes, and wrapped myself around her, my warm skin against her cold, damp skin. I pulled several blankets around us, and reached for my handheld VHF radio. I flipped it to channel 16 and said, "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is vessel

Nereid

,

Nereid

,

Nereid

, over."

The Coast Guard was quick to reply. "

Nereid

, this is Coast Guard Base Seattle. What is your emergency?"

"I've just rescued a kayaker who flipped her boat in the Sound. I'm trying to warm her up, but she's pretty cold."

"Copy,

Nereid

. What is your location?"

"I'm tied up to one of the two mooring balls at the south end of Blake Island. My Automatic Identification System beacon is on."

"Roger,

Nereid

. We see your icon on our screen. We're sending a boat your way with EMTs."

"Thank you." Wow, that's a relief!

I shivered and then remembered my pot of hot chocolate. I pulled it over to me, and it was still warm. Great. Feeling only mildly selfish, I swallowed the rest of the pot to try to warm myself up. If the woman ever regained consciousness, I'd make some more for her.

I continued to press as much of my skin as possible against the woman in my arms. By now, her skin felt slightly warmer to me. A few minutes later, she opened her eyes slightly, and said, "Where am I?"

"You're on my sailboat. The Coast Guard is on the way to help us."

She blinked, and then said, "Where are my clothes? What the fuck are you doing?!" She tried to wrest free of me, but was too weak.

"I'm really sorry, but it's the only way I have to warm you up. Hang tight until the Coast Guard gets here. Maybe they have something more sophisticated."

She stopped struggling, slumped down in my arms, and whispered, "Okay."

I was pretty wasted from the rescue, and as we started warming up, I may have dozed off for a bit. I was awakened by the sound of a nearby ship's engine, and my VHF radio crackled, "

Nereid

, this is the Coast Guard. We're alongside and coming aboard."

"Roger, we're down in the cabin."

Footsteps sounded overhead, and a coastie clambered down the ladder into the cabin, followed by two EMTs.

I relinquished my patient to the EMTs. They took her vital signs, wrapped her in a heating blanket and started an IV line with warmed saline.

I told my side of the story to the coastie. He checked her clothing, pulled an ID out of a small waterproof bag. He turned to the EMTs and said, "This is Julie Stanton and she's 33 years old."

One of the EMTs nodded. "Thanks. Her pulse is steady but weak. She's breathing on her own, but her temperature is 85° F. She's stable for transport. Let's get her to Harborview." They strapped her to a stretcher.

The EMTs offered to check me out, but I waved them away, and they had Julie aboard their vessel in short order. I promised to drop by their headquarters near downtown Seattle once the fog cleared and give a more formal statement.

Chapter 2

After the Coast Guard boat left with Julie, I made sure that my mooring bridle was still set properly. My stomach growled as I battened down the boat for the night, and I realized that I had missed my supper. I wolfed down a sandwich and washed it down with a fresh pot of hot chocolate.

After all the excitement, it took me a while to wind down and get to sleep. It helped that I was fairly exhausted after all the hard work of the water rescue. Eventually I drifted off to sleep in my cozy bunk and slept like a log.

* * *

When I awoke, the pallid light of morning trickled in through the portlights and deadlights in the cabin. I considered going back to sleep, but my bladder made a convincing argument otherwise. I used the head, got dressed and went up on deck. I could now dimly see the southern coast of Blake Island nearby, but it was still too foggy to sail.

I took advantage of what light there was to take a closer look at Julie's kayak. I was intrigued to see that she had one of the "origami" folding boats made by Oru Kayak. A friend has one of their smaller boats, so I was familiar with the brand. Julie had one of the larger models, designed for kayaking on the ocean.

Her boat had taken on a bit of water during her struggles last night. The kayak was now riding low in the water, with its flotation bags in the bow and stern keeping it afloat. My first job was to drain the water out so that I could lift it up on deck.

I clipped on my safety harness and pulled the kayak in toward my stern, while standing on the aft skirt of the

Nereid

. By gentle use of my boat hook, I was able to tilt the kayak enough to dump out most of the water. I then used a small hand pump to get rid of most of the rest. Then I tied its bow to my spare halyard and winched it up on deck.

I took a break and fixed myself some scrambled eggs and bacon. While I ate, I watched a YouTube video that showed me how to disassemble and stow the kayak. About twenty minutes later, I had the kayak folded into a tidy package the size of a large suitcase.

Visibility was still minimal, but I expected the fog to clear by midday. I checked the

Nereid's

batteries, which were at 90%. I decided to earn some money while I waited, and fired up the radiology workstation I keep on board.

Before my divorce, I worked 40-60 hours a week for one of the large radiology groups in Seattle. When my marriage cratered, my group was, shall we say, not as sympathetic as they could have been. What started out as a "Fuck you!" to my wife escalated into a "Fuck all y'all!" to my group. I quit them and then signed on with a large national teleradiology group that was happy as long as I gave them 10-20 hours per week. It's a small but adequate income and gives me some much-needed flexibility in my life.

With the Starlink system on my boat, I can work from just about anywhere. Today that was on a mooring ball by Blake Island. Next week I could be up in the San Juan Islands.

After three hours of interpreting CT and MR images, I was ready for a break. I shut down my workstation and took a turn around the deck. I could now see the shore well enough to navigate back to Seattle. I would be able to see the big ships running up and down the Sound, and more importantly, they would be able to see me.

* * *

After lunch, I started my engine. I untied from the mooring ball, and headed east toward the Shilshole Marina in Seattle. Other than the usual Washington State Ferries going by, there wasn't a lot of traffic to dodge. As I cleared the eastern edge of Blake Island, there still wasn't any significant wind. No matter. I motored across the Sound at an easy pace, and spotted a few Dall's porpoises heading north for purposes of their own.

As I got closer to the marina, I turned on the autopilot, so I could attach my fenders to both sides of the boat. I hailed the harbormaster with the VHF radio, and a dockworker met me at my berth and helped me attach all of my lines to the dock.

* * *

I showered and then called the Harborview Admitting operator to find out Julie's status. I learned that she had been transferred out of ICU and was now on one of the main floors. The operator connected me to the phone by her bed.

She answered after a few rings. "Hello?"

"Hi, Julie. This is Dan Sitton. We met briefly last night when I pulled you and your kayak out of the Sound. I wanted to see how you were doing, and to give you back your clothes and your boat."

A pause. "Oh, um, yeah." She coughed, and then, with a bit more enthusiasm said, "I'm so glad you called. Last night is still pretty much a blur. Thank you for saving my life."

"I'm very glad I could. Would you mind a visitor today?"

"Um, sure, that'd be great. When are you coming by?"

"I could be there in about an hour. Would that work?"

"Great. See you then."

Chapter 3

My first stop was at the Coast Guard Base near downtown on Alaskan Way. I gave them a formal account of my adventure. I thanked them for their quick work, and then headed uphill to Harborview Medical Center.

Harborview is one of the brightest jewels in the medical crown of Seattle. It is the only Level I trauma center in the state of Washington, and provides the highest level of comprehensive care for major injuries. It is also one of the highest-volume U.S. trauma centers.

By the time I Ubered over, it was a crisp but sunny winter day. Despite its name, the hospital's view of the harbor seems to shrink every year, as new buildings pop up downtown and occlude more of the sea and sky.

* * *

A nurse directed me to Julie's room. I knocked and said, "Up for a visitor?"

"Just a minute..." I heard some muttered imprecations, followed by a clatter, as something fell to the floor. "Shit!" More muttering, and finally in a resigned tone, "Okay, come on in."

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, I just dropped my fracking hairbrush on the floor."

I spotted it under the bed, bent down and handed it to her.

"Thanks. Now shut your eyes."

I complied, and heard furious brushing sounds for a moment. "All right, you can open them now."

No one looks their best in an institutional blue hospital gown. Even so, it looked pretty darned good on the striking woman before me. The IV in her left arm somehow seemed more of a fashion accessory than a sign of illness.

Her hair now looked slightly less random than when I first walked in, but not much. She seemed to read that in my eyes, and said, "Oh, the hell with it. I'll deal with my hair later." She paused for a moment. "However, I guess you've seen me in worse shape."

I nodded. "Yep. This is a big improvement over the drowned wharf rat look from last night." She frowned and I added, "Not to mention the difference in color."

Her frown deepened, and I could hear the icicles dangling from her next word. "Color?"

"Yeah, you're pink now. Last night? Not so much. Somewhere between a Gollum green and a Smurf blue."

She had moved well on into glare territory by now. Fortunately, her eyes were not lasers, and only a tiny piece of my soul was seared by the flash from her green eyes.

"And your hair? You're really rocking that post-resuscitation chic."

Her eyes seemed to bulge for a moment, and then she broke out laughing. "Jesus! You really need to work on your pick-up lines, bub, because you totally suck. Date much?"

I winced.

"Ha! I'm not surprised. Get any action lately -- other than feeling me up in your boat last night?" She paused, and then said. "Sorry. Cheap shot. You saved my life -- and you risked yours."

I shook my head. "No, I'm sorry. I should have been a bit more sensitive about your appearance. With a bedside manner like mine, it's a good thing I'm a radiologist."

"Mmm..."

I said, "I'm not usually such a conversational goober when I first meet someone. It mostly just happens around beautiful women. My mouth has trouble saying words, and I just start babbling."

She looked surprised. "Beautiful?"

"Yeah, you look great. Even in that craptastic hospital gown, with your hair going in every direction. And just then, when you were dishing it out to me and your eyes sparkled like that... it was breath-taking."

She had a strange look on her face.

I said, "And your body? It's probably great, but I wasn't paying any attention to that last night. All I can remember about it is that it was cold and clammy... and blue..."

I looked away for a moment, cleared my throat, and then added in a hoarse whisper, "...and I was absolutely terrified that you were going to die on me."

Her eyes widened at this, but then she shook her head gently. "You know, maybe I was wrong about you. When you're not saying crazy shit, you've actually got some game."

I squinched my mouth at that. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to hit on you. It's just that..."

She cut me off. "Nope, I don't want to hear it. Let's leave it at beautiful and breath-taking. Okay?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

"Now, let's talk about something else."

"Gladly."

She looked down and fiddled with her blanket for a moment. Glancing back up at me, she said, "Since they warmed me up, my vital signs have all been stable, so they're going to discharge me tomorrow. Can you give me a ride home at ten AM?"

"Uh, sure."

"Great. Now, get your ass out of here. I'm going to take a shower and shampoo the rest of the seaweed out of my hair."

I started to turn to the door, and she said, "Dan. Thank you for saving my life last night. You're my hero."

I nodded. "You're very welcome. See you tomorrow."

I Ubered back to the

Nereid

and made some dinner. Then I did a load of laundry -- including all of the bits of Julie's clothing that were left behind.

I also unfolded her kayak, and rinsed it with fresh water using a deck hose. I dried it off and refolded it into its carrying configuration.

Chapter 4

I rented a car for the day, and loaded Julie's kayak and a bag of her clothes in the back seat.

When I got to the hospital, she looked tons better. Her IV was out, and she was pacing about the room.

"Thanks for coming. I'm ready to get out of this place."

I handed her the clothes. "I washed these. You're really rocking that hospital gown, but I thought you might want to go home in some

couture

a bit more

haute

than that."

"Omigod, yes! Thank you." She took the bag and ducked into her bathroom.

She came back out a few minutes later, looking like a model stepping off the page of an REI catalog.

The nurse came in with a stack of release forms. A few minutes later and we were in the parking garage, getting into my rental.

She spotted the kayak in the back seat, and said, "Oh, you brought my baby! Thank you!"

"You're welcome. I gave it a rinse and hosed off any remaining kelp and orca poop."

She snickered. "Thanks."

I said, "Can I interest you in a bit of non-hospital food for lunch? Otherwise, I'll take you straight home."

She gave me the look that one might get after rescuing a puppy. "Omigosh, yes. I've got absolutely nothing to eat at home."

===

Julie lived in a small apartment near the central neighborhood of Ballard. I took her to one of my favorite Mexican restaurants just off Leary Way. We split an order of Mexican street corn, followed by some tasty chicken mole. For dessert we each had a mug of spicy Mexican cocoa blended with a shot of añejo tequila.

Julie smacked her lips and sighed contentedly. "Ah.... A warrior's drink! This was all pretty great. You may have just saved my life again."

"You're very welcome." I paused. "Say, mind telling me how you ended up in the water in the first place?"

She sighed. "Basically, I bit off more than I could chew. I just bought my kayak a month ago and have only taken it out on Green Lake a few times. That made me somehow think I could paddle all the way round Blake Island in just a few hours."

She shook her head. "Obviously I was way wrong about that, and I didn't even think about the current. By the time I got half-way around the island, it started getting dark and really foggy. Then a big wave hit my boat; it surprised me and I capsized. I pulled myself out of my kayak's spray skirt, held on the boat, and started yelling. I guess that's when you showed up."

"Yeah, I had just tied up to a mooring ball when that same wave hit my boat -- probably the wake of a big ship coming down the Sound. We were only a mile and a half from the southbound shipping lane."

"I guess the take-home lesson for me is to not kayak alone." She thought for a moment. "Do you usually sail alone?"

"Yeah, I single-hand my boat most of the time. However, I'd be a lot safer if I had at least one crew member with me."

She looked at me with a thoughtful expression, and then said, "Would you consider taking me out on your boat sometime?"