My uncle, the castaway

On January 1992 my uncle went through what you would call a near death experience. He, along with two daughters and my aunt lived in Puerto La Cruz and, like most residents, owned a boat. The port to which this boat belonged to was on the other side of town and he had to go park it there. So he went. This was at around 6:00PM. That particular day the waves were ridiculous and after the motor inconveniently shut down they started filling the boat with water.

My uncle started fighting the waves, tried to keep them of the boat as long as he could, but lost the battle. The boat was sinking and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Then he grabs all the live vests in the boat, and his glasses. He takes his shoes and ties them together before jumping in the cold water, he says he did this so he can step on the rocks when he gets to the shore.

He looks at the boat sink like the titanic and then a wave tramples him, then another, he can’t breath with the waves coming at him like that so he thinks of a solution. He lies on his back and every time a wave comes he grabs his shoe and covers his nose with it, so he can breathe. So he floats to the shore and is a long time, he never panics nor does he think he is going to die, he occupies his minds other ways. Were he and the kids are going to have dinner, the studies he did on sea currents, the starts (remember, he is still lying on his back). He sees a few boats in the distance probably looking for him, but they’re too far away for him to do anything about it.

At four in the morning the next day, he makes it to shore. He says that he was expecting to faint dramatically such as most castaways do in movies, but he doesn’t.

Eleven hours at sea without a boat. He was very lucky to survive. Very lucky some shack didn’t attack him. Very lucky he wasn’t the skinniest man and that served as a shield for the cold. Very lucky indeed that he lived to tell the tale.