The Devil's Triangle

The sails ruffled in the breeze as we cruised along. The Sea Breeze was a mid-size catamaran that sailed out of Royal Naval Dockyard in Bermuda. We had booked this trip weeks in advance and were now looking at our Captain, Spike and two boat hands. Paddy and Wilson seemed like nice guys, joking around with the passengers and telling us some stories about Bermuda that only locals would know. Their island accents sounded almost British but they were pleasant to listen to.

We had all rented snorkels and diving fins so as to be able to explore the reefs. The Bermuda water was as blue as it had been in my dreams. You could see all the way to the bottom. Brightly colored fish swam all over the place in schools, that swerved in and out, as if avoiding something.

This trip had been planned for so many years. A week in Bermuda, enjoying the sun, beaches, shopping and food. I knew I would definitely be taking a boat into the water near the Bermuda Triangle out of curiosity. It had always fascinated me that with all the ships, boats, people and personal effects that were lost in the Triangle, there was never any trace of anything. It could never be explained thoroughly except by violent storms and dangerous ocean currents. Some say alien abductions is the answer, some say the Lost City of Atlantis, powerful energy crystals or something highly paranormal is the culprit. There has even been speculation of a parallel universe and time warps.

The sails, blue and white stripes, flapped violently all of a sudden. The wind kicked up and the sea spray became tiny pins piercing your flesh. After ten seconds of torrential rain, we looked like drowned rats and were soaked down to the bone. It’s hard to fathom that when the air temperature is 78 degrees, the cold of the water could make you shiver.

The sky darkened and the crew of the boat threw life vests to everyone who wasn’t already wearing one. “Put these on,” they yelled. They appeared completely panicked and ran about tying things down and looking at the sky. Their radios had stopped working so we were on our own. The sails were brought in so as not to be torn by the now violent wind.

Spike stood before us and said, “We have accidentally sailed off course and into the Devil’s Triangle.”

Looking out, I could no longer see the island of Bermuda. The landscape was completely gone and we were sailing with no apparent control or direction tossed about by the now turbulent water. All seven of us guests on the boat were now huddled together in fear. People who didn’t know each other 45 minutes earlier now relying on each other for comfort and warmth.

The crew looked very spooked. One of the men jumped overboard and swam away in the direction we seemed to have come from.

Spike yelled at Paddy as he swam away.

“You are going the wrong direction. You are headed into the Triangle. Come back. Paddy.”

Spike’s voice was lost in the blast of winds and Paddy never heard him.

We eventually got back to shore, a little wetter and a lot more frightened than when we left. And one person fewer on the boat.

“I don’t know why we continue to sail into the Triangle. Tourists want to see it and perhaps experience something paranormal, but most natives are very hesitant.” Spike was talking to the Coast Guard who had been on this rescue mission many times before, looking for a lost boat or passenger who had disappeared.

And like so many ships and planes before that had been lost to the Bermuda Triangle that left no trace . . .no surface wreckage, no bodies, no anything. . . Paddy, too, would never be seen again.