Cojo Anchorage is a little sheltered cove tucked under Point Conception, the roughest spot on the California coast, a refuge for northbound boats to wait out the weather, a place for beleaguered southbound sailors to catch their breath and sleep for the night before heading down to Santa Barbara. The cove is protected from the swell, a favorite, though hard-to-access surf spot, and at the moment, there's a sailboat awash on the beach.

The Keelhauler works offshore at Cojo, on a ship that patrols the area for oil spills, occasionally rescuing a boat whose engines have quit, or whose owners are exhausted from fighting the incessant waves rolling down the coast. He calls with reports of rescued boats, passing traffic, or occasionally a friend who stops at the anchorage on the way to somewhere else. His ship is anchored alone at Cojo most of the time, monitoring radio traffic from Coast Guard stations as far away as San Diego, and from visiting boats requesting weather reports from Morro Bay, further up the coast. Passing boats that anchor for a night or two are the ship's only neighbors, and the Keelhauler takes an interest in them, recognizing boats he knows from our harbor, and assessing the condition and make of unfamiliar vessels.

At 5:00 this morning, a tiny sailboat moored in the anchorage hailed a harbormaster up the coast, reporting his sail plan--the wind was too great to make the journey, and the skipper had decided to turn back for Santa Barbara. The boat went out at sunrise, left the safe waters of Coho and headed off-shore for the trip down. It sailed out toward the horizon, remaining in sight, to a distance of about a mile offshore. Soon, the ship's crew noticed that the sailboat was "acting squirrelly," as the Keelhauler put it: moving slowly, mainsail up, and traveling in wide circles. The captain decided to fire up the engine and investigate. When they got close, they saw that the main was blown out, shredded, and that the engine was in gear. The crew could see no one on board, and unable to board the little boat, they blew their horn to attract attention, but got no response.

The captain of the ship alerted the Coast Guard and began to search the area for anyone floating in the water. The sailboat was small--25 feet--but equipped with jacklines, lines a sailor can attach himself to with a clip connected to a harness, to prevent going overboard. There were lifelines and other cruising equipment--it seemed likely that the skipper would have worn a life jacket. The crew of the ship patrolled the water for several hours, long past the time someone might survive the cold water at Conception, but found not a trace.

The Coast Guard arrived in a helicopter and dropped a swimmer into the water near the sailboat, but it was moving too fast for the swimmer to board it. The ship's crew watched as the little sailboat made its way to shore and foundered on the sand.

When the Keelhauler called, he sounded a little shaken. It is sobering to realize that a fellow sailor has gone missing, to realize that though the little boat was in plain sight throughout the whole incident, no one saw what happened. It is possible that the skipper went below and had an accident. Perhaps he is still on board, but injured or unconscious. It is more likely that he went overboard, and in the split second it takes for a wave to crest and retreat, disappeared forever.

When the skipper of the boat changed his sail plan, he contacted a family member to meet him at Santa Barbara. I imagine someone is waiting for him. I hope that he is still aboard the boat, and that homecoming is still possible. It is terrible to look at the sea and think of the grave. It is terrible to look at sunlight on the water and think of each flicker in terms of the amount of time in which a man might disappear.

Star of the day. . .Sterling Hayden