An Ocean of Sand - V1 (Story) (Patreon)

I'll be doing a serial story in July where I'll be posting one scene each week. In the meantime, for June, I'm sharing something I wrote a few months ago for a submission call that didn't get accepted. This story might be a candidate for some significant reworking later on, hence why I've tagged it as V1, but it will be a while before I did back into it. I had originally wanted this story be whimsical, but I'm not sure I quite got there.

The desert is no place for an otter. The wind constantly tries to blow the sand under the fur, and sources of water are few and far between. Sierra hated it, but after ten years, she'd begrudgingly accepted it as a home. Her mother had moved the family to the area when the Air Force stationed her out here, their last move as a military family. Sierra’s dad, had just shrugged when Sierra protested about the rebasing to the desert.

"Your mom got a promotion," was all her dad had said to Sierra, and that was all he’d ever said to her about it. Sierra’s parents had argued about the move, in private, but in the end, he’d supported the move. Cheryl was a fighter pilot, and Henry had only been a petty officer third class when they’d met. He’d long ago given up his own military career to follow his wife. She’d expected them to move back to California when Mom had retired, but instead they’d stayed, still in the same, dry down

High school had been weird, being one of only three otters in school, but with that came a license at sixteen and the ability to drive. Her family had always taken trips to go tubbing and visit the springs up in the mountains, but now Sierra could go on her own with friends. It was freedom, but it still took an hour to get anywhere good to go swimming. The old pickup her father had given her wasn’t stylish, but it ran well. Her dad had rebuilt the engine himself.

The otter sighed and tossed a stone, watching it sail through the air, falling somewhere on the ground below her. Before her was the flat, featureless sand of the dry lake bed that stretched out toward the distant mountains. If she closed her eyes, Sierra could imagine what it used to look like, thousands of years ago when rain was plentiful in this area, beautiful blue water stretching out between lush shores. It would have been an otter’s paradise, and she’d all of her free time down by the lake.

Back then she could have learned to sail, like she’d always dreamed of. Her father had served in the Navy when he’d met her mother, and he’d always enjoyed telling Sierra about the places and distant oceans he’d seen. She’d always wanted to sail, there was plenty of wind, but there were no lakes large enough here for that. Only the dry land of the lake bed. 

It wasn’t like you could sail on the land, or could you? She idly picked up her phone. On a whim she searched the internet and froze, staring at the results, squinting at it, her blunted claws grasping the phone so hard she scratched the case.

The picture of a vehicle with three wheels and a long mast attached to it stared back at her. She clicked on the video and was mesmerized as a cheetah crawled into the cockpit of the vehicle.

“The Chinese appear to have been the first to have attached sails to wagons…” said the cheetah in the video, “about 1,500 years ago. Much later, the technology was used in Europe by the rich for entertaining and even used in the American west to haul freight.”

Wait, you could attach any sail plan to one of these? She blinked and an idea came to her so sharp, so clear, that she couldn’t just ignore it. Quickly she got up and headed for the truck.

#

Her parents had bought a ranch house when her mother had retired from the Airforce and taken a civilian job as a pilot. It had kept the family in the area, and combined with dad’s garage, provided for a good living. By the time her father came home, she’d already drawn up a rough draft of the design after doing a couple hours of research.

“Sierra?” called her father, coming into the kitchen through the garage. “You parked in your mom’s space.”

“Sorry dad! I’ll move it in a moment. I’m working on something.” She called out from the dining room.

Her father appeared in the dining room, still wearing his work clothes. He paused at the mess of papers on the table. “You working on a new school assignment?”

Sierra looked up from the laptop. “No, it’s something I came up with on my own.”

Her father picked up one of the sheets and glanced at it. “Rigging?”

Sierra looked up at her father and nodded. “Yeah.”

He picked up another sheet and studied it. “Kiddo, why are you still in community college? I keep telling you, you could transfer to a four-year university, out of state even, if you want. Hell, I’ve got some friends still in the Bay Area and they can help with finding you a place to live.”

“When I finish next semester, I’ll apply.”

Henry nodded and put down the sheet and picked up another one. “So, what is this? It looks like a boat on wheels.”

“It’s a landsailer, specifically a wind wagon.”

Her father wiggled his nose and squinted at the diagram. “You want to build this?”

She chuckled nervously. “I know there are contemporary landsailers, but I found video of someone who made one out of wood a couple years ago using a more traditional design. I decided I wanted to make my own.”

Her father pondered for a minute. “The Navy is also an option if you’re that desperate to get out to sea.”

“Dad…”

He shrugged and put the paper down. “Wear a helmet when you try this thing out,” he said reaching over to pick her Sierra’s keys. “I’ll move the truck, but you need to clean this up before dinner. Mom will be home soon.”

#

Jonas gave her a look. “You want to build what?” asked the ferret. Her friend gave her a confused look.

“A wind wagon.”

The ferret blinked at her and looked at the diagram. “It’s looks like you stuck a mast onto a cart to create some weird sail boat.”

“Basically. I need someone to help build it and crew it. Dad said I could use the shop, but he’s going to let me do most of the work myself.”

Jonas scratched the side of his chin. “Interesting. Wood?”

“Mostly. It’s easier to work with for the masts and rigging. Using a gaff rig we can get a lot of sail area and still make it easy to run.”

Jonas pondered for a minute. “Can’t you buy one? I know people make them out of the same material you make ultralight airplanes from. Probably would be faster and more maneuverable since they’re all three wheeled.”

“Yeah, but what’s the fun in that? Plus, all those are single sail creations. They’re not going to give you the experience sailing running a gaff rig will.”

“Fair.” He studied the diagram. “Two sails, one fore, one aft, and the ability to raise and lower them. It’s doable, if not a little insane. Your mom have anything to say about this?”

“She gets it. She fell in love with planes and finds that equivalent enough to swimming, just in the air, so she gets it. Question is, are you in?” asked the otter.

The ferret pondered. “First, why me? Wouldn’t this be something to do with your dad?”

“Remember that time we built homemade squirt guns for physics class?”

“And we got in trouble for bringing weapons to school?”

“Yeah, because we used the word gun, until our physics teacher talked to the cops.”

“Your parents were so pissed. Both at us and the school.”

Sierra laughed. “It’s not like we made a potato cannon. Imagine how much more trouble we’d have been in!”

Jonas chuckled. “Oh god yes. Sure, I’m in.”

#

They built the sail wagon behind Henry’s shop. The frame of the wagon was about the size of Sierra’s pickup truck with a mast mounted in the front. A bowsprit stuck out the front of the wagon, which they rigged the fore sail to. Behind the mast, the gaff rig would hang with a boon at the top and a boon at the bottom hung high enough to give them some space to sit and steer under it. Her father had helped design the steering system, controlled by a tiller, and it had been easy enough to build the base, but rigging the wagon had proven to be a challenge, especially the main sail.

“Okay pull it now,” said Jonas, after checking on how the spar for the top of the gaff rig was hoisting.

Sierra tugged on the two ropes, and the block creaked as the head of the sail lifted at the wrong angle. The spar tryed to pull flush against the mast, when it should have lifted at an angle.

“Damn it! That’s still wrong,” growled Sierra.

Jonas chittered annoyed and checked the book they’d been using to figure this out. “We’re missing something. There’s got be some way to keep the base of this thing going up while the back goes up also.”

Sierra sighed. “Yeah. I think we’ve got something wrong up top. I think we need to change how we’re pulling up the spar,” she said, scratching at the thick fur at the base of her neck. “Let’s take a break, and maybe something will come to us before nightfall.”

Jonas stared at the book, and the sketch of how Sierra had designed the rigging. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to get something to drink,” the otter said, walking back toward the shop and the open garage doors around the front. Jonas nodded and flipped through the book. They’d both been trying to figure out how to rig the mast for the last few days and hadn’t been able to get it right.

In the shop, a pickup was up on the lift, while a small car was on the alignment rack. Sierra waved at the mechanics and stepped into the office where her father was going over paperwork while he was on the phone.

“Hey, I thought the parts guy was going to be here with that water pump already.” Henry paused waiting for a response. “Can you call him and let me know where he is?” There was another pause as the person on the end of the line said something. “Okay, thanks,” he said and hung up the phone.

“Hey dad, can I get some soda from the fridge?”

Her father looked up. “Yeah, sure,” he said, picking up another order form. “How is the wagon going?”

Sierra went and grabbed two sodas, one for herself and one for Jonas. “We’re still stuck on the rigging.”

Her father nodded. “Have you talk to your mother about it?”

“Mom? She’s busy, and why would I talk to her? You’re the handy one.”

“I’m just mechanically minded. Your mother used to actually sail.”

“She did? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah—,” the phone rang. “One moment kiddo.” He picked up on the phone. “Oh, he’s on his way? Great, thanks.” The person on the end said something Sierra couldn’t catch. “Thanks for letting me know. Take care yourself,” and hung up. He picked up one of the orders on his desk.

“You said mom used to sail?”

“Yeah, she did. It’s what really helped ground why this hot shot pilot would be interested in a sailor like me.”

Sierra rolled her eyes.

“What? One of our first dates involved sailing around San Francisco Bay.”

“That must have been lovely.”

Her father smiled. “It was. I get why you want to build the wagon. There’s not enough water around here.”

“Way too much sand around here, dad.”

“I know. It’s my fault we’re still out here, but you are doing well.”

“I thought we came because mom got promoted.”

“Oh we did, but by the time she got out of the Air Force, I was had just bought the business here. We followed her dreams to come out here. We stayed because of my dreams.”

“Could we just move someplace less arid?”

He shrugged. “You’re an adult now. I’m invested in this place, but nothing says you have to stay here.”

Sierra opened her soda and took a sip. “Will mom have time?”

“Oh yeah. Just ask her. She told me she wanted to help you, but this is your project. She doesn’t want to take over.”

“Typical mom.”

“You don’t need to be so harsh on her you know.”

“Have you tried to ever do a project with her?”

Her father put down the order. “Yes. I’m looking at the biggest one we ever under took, which is raising you.” 

She looked away, small ears reddening. “I’m not a project,” she mumbled.

“That’s true, but parenting doesn’t just end either. It changes as they grow older, and you grow older. Ask her. She’ll help you.”

“Fine…”

#

Sierra waited as her mother looked over the sail plan lying on the dining room table, trying not to pace back and forth

Her mother cleared her throat. “You know if you asked me sooner…”

“Mom…” said Sierra.

“What? You didn’t ask me…”

“Mom!”

Her mother clicked her tongue. “There’s no shame in asking for help dear.”

“Yes, but dad just helps me? You get into this…” She waved a web paw at her mother, “Lecture mode.”

Cherly sighed, and reached over for a pen. “Do you want me to do this this or not?”

Sierra twisted her hands. “Yes.”

“Is it okay if I mark this copy up?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so to start, the way you are lifting the gaff is wrong. You need to anchor the rope that pulls up the back of the spare twice and not once. You also need to add some block and tackle here” She marked how to redo the ropes on the page. “I’d also use block and tackle on this line to make it easier to pull.” Her mother considered for a moment.

“And?”

“The rest looks pretty good. Not sure how fast it’s going to be, but I’m proud of you, Sierra. It’s pretty ingenious.”

“You really think so?”

Her mother nodded.

“You’re not going to give me the whole ‘I’m wasting my talents and should join the Air Force’ speech are you?”

Her mother clicked her tongue. “Honey, I just want you to do something with yourself. What that happens to be is up to you. I know moving around a lot wasn’t easy on you. It’s part of why we stayed here when I got out,”

“It’s a bit too dry for my taste.”

“Mine too, but Henry is doing well with the shop. That’s just how life works out sometimes.”

“Yeah, I hadn’t realized we were still here because of that.”

Her mother got up and walked over to the tap in the kitchen to get herself some water. “I always wanted to build a house on top of a pool, but it’s just not practical out here. You grew up a little faster than my career advanced so I could get to that, and your father needed to do something. The shop let him take his skills as a mechanic and put them to use.”

“I still hate all the sand and the dry wind.” Sierra said as she picked up the altered plans.

Cheryl chuckled. “I don’t think anyone like the wind, but you’ve found a way to harness it to your advantage.”

“I guess?”

“The desert isn’t going to stop you from learning to sail.”

“That’s true.” she looked over the changes. “I don’t think this is going to take long to do.”

“Oh good. I can’t wait to see it.”

Sierra smiled. “Thanks Mom.

#

Adjusting the rigging had gone well, although some other hiccups came up handling the ropes. Both sails were ready to go when Sierra towed the cart out to the dry lake bed with her truck. The wagon had been given rubber road tires, and it was easy enough to move with the masts detached. Both masts, the spars, and the A frame to mount the mast fit comfortable on top of the wagon. The drive from the shop took about twenty minutes that morning and was uneventful.

Jonas and Sierra went ahead and raised the mast. They then proceeded to rig the cart up with the ropes and spars needed to hoist the sails. Her Mom and Dad came out before they were done, and let them finish setting up. The day was already getting warm by the time the wagon was ready.

“Well, what do you think?” asked Jonas, as they stood looking at the sail wagon sitting on the dry lakebed. A small pennant at the top flapped in the breeze, but everything else was lowered.

“It’s what I designed,” said Sierra. “Now the question is, will it sail?”

“It should,” said her mother.

“It looks ready to go to me,” said her father.

Sierra took a deep breath. “All right, let’s do this,” she said, picking up her helmet and walking over to the cart. Jonas followed. Her parents sat on the back of the tailgate of the truck to watch.

First Sierra and Jonas pointed the cart with the wind to their backs before they climbed up onto the flat bed and took the two low seats built into the wagon under the main sail.

“All right you take the fore sail, and I’ll pull up the main,” said the otter.

“Aye aye, captain.” The ferret replied. “Ready to lift when ready.”

“Hoist the sail!”

Both started pulling in rope as the sails lifted up. Jonas had the foresail up first and it flapped in the breeze. Sierra had to first tie the front part of the sail up against the mast before she could finish lifting the rest. Even before she could finish tying off the back that held the spar in place, the wagon started to move forward.

“Remember to lower the sails if you want to slow down,” called her mother.

The wind caught the main sail, and the spar at the bottom shifted over their heads and the cart jolted forward, picking up speed. Sierra draped her hand over the tiller connected to the back wheels. “It works!” she exclaimed in excitement.

“Holy cow,” chittered Jonas. “It’s got some pep.”

The wagon was already moving in the stiff breeze, bouncing along the lake bed. Sierra shifted the tiler to pick up the wind a bit better and the sails pulled them along. She grinned. “You know, maybe it’s not so bad here.”

“What’s the captain?”

She glanced back to where her parents were, slow fading away as the cart sailed away. They were waving to her. She turned back to look at the open plain of sand running for miles ahead of her. “Just musing to myself. All right, let’s figure out how to tact this thing.”

Jonas picked up the ropes to control the main sail. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

The otter smiled and adjusted the tiller slowly and the sails shifted as the wagon turned. Finally, it was time for her to really learn how to sail.