Will the new science of
complexity subvert oceans
The Telte it's called. It's miles wide, you see, at the entrance, but later on it is split into two by the Hohenhorn bank; then it gets shallow and very complicated, and ends as a mere tidal driblet with another name. It's just the sort of channel I should like to worry into on a fine day or with an offshore wind. Alone, in thick weather and a heavy sea, it would have been folly to attempt it, except as a desperate resource. But, as I said, I knew at once that Dollmann was proposing to run for it and guide me in …
We soon came to what I knew must be the beginning of the Telte channel. All round you could hear the breakers on the sands, though it was too thick to see them yet. As the water shoaled, the sea of course got shorter and steeper. There was more wind—a whole gale I should say.
I kept dead in the wake of the Medusa, but to my disgust I found she was gaining on me very fast. Of course I had taken for granted, when he said he would lead me in, that he would slow down and keep close to me. He could easily have done so by getting his men up to check the sheets or drop his peak. Instead of that he was busting on for all he was worth. Once, in a rain-squall, I lost sight of him altogether; got him faintly again, but had enough to do with my own tiller not to want to be peering through the scud after a runaway pilot. I was all right so far, but we were fast approaching the worst part of the whole passage, where the Hohenhorn bank blocks the road and the channel divides … I knew perfectly well that what I should soon see would be a wall of surf stretching right across and on both sides. To feel one's way in that sort of weather is impossible. You