Gularte and I struggled in attempting to do anything but hang on to the sturdy, but very slippery chrome railing. There was nothing else to hold onto as the boat was being continuously beaten all along the port side of its hull by the pounding surf.

“Down,” I yelled up at Gularte, who was somehow remaining on his feet, but unable to maneuver at all without being thrown overboard or onto other parts of the yacht’s equipment strewn and sharp-edged deck.

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