Boat Wave Lite Watch Faces Download

The boAt Newly Launched Wave Call 2 is a feature-packed smartwatch that offers a 1.83" HD display, advanced BT calling, DIY watch face studio, 1000+ watch faces, 700+ active modes, live cricket scores, HR&SPO2 monitoring, and sleep monitoring. With its stylish design and a host of fitness and communication features, this smartwatch is perfect for tech-savvy individuals.

With over 1000 watch faces and 700+ active modes, this smartwatch offers endless customization options. Whether you are a fitness enthusiast or a fashion-forward individual, the Wave Call 2 has something to offer. It even provides live cricket scores, so you can stay updated on your favorite matches without having to check your phone.

Download 🔥 https://urlgoal.com/2y2NqE 🔥

Like most lobstermen, the Maine House Republican leader scrambled to complete his work ahead of the remnants of Hurricane Lee. Rep. Billy Bob Faulkingham was rushing home from sea when a giant wave rose up, seemingly from nowhere, and towered over his boat.

Despite choppy waves of 5 to 8 feet (1.5 to 2 meters) offshore, Faulkingham said, seas were relatively calm. The two were watching waves crashing ashore on an island and just about to head toward harbor when the wave loomed large.

He told me that he had hesistated at the bottom of the companion way steps, still groggy, trying to decide if he should check under the floor boards for incoming water or go on deck and check the rigging. A larger wave surged under the keel and heeled the boat far over to port. He automatically held onto the handhold near the companionway steps, then realized he had to reduce the speed of the boat to slow down any water that might be coming in forward. He hauled himself up onto the deck.

He then lurched onto the cabin top to drop the main sail. He had to be at the mast in the middle of the boat to handle that sail and as he left the cockpit he automatically attached the snap shackle on his tether from his body harness to the jack line, the thick rope that ran down the length of the boat on the cabin top. That way if a wave knocked him off the boat he would still be attached to the jack line and the boat. To go overboard without a harness at night in these seas meant he would die. Simple as that.

Benson grabbed the spot light he kept in a bracket at the top of the companionway steps, switched it on for a moment to make sure it was working, stepped into the cockpit, snapped his tether to the jack line, and move along the deck to the forward part of the boat. Every thirty seconds the boat would roll hard to one side or the other as it wallowed in the swell, the wind still strong and now coming directly from the beam. Occasionally a wave would break over the side, the green water filling the decks almost to the tops of his boots. He moved bent over to the bow, leaned far over the side, and directed the flash light beam to the waterline at the bow.

Benson fell back on the foredeck. He had to find some way to quickly reinforce the bobstay. It was only a matter of time until a wave hit it with such force that it would bring the entire rig down. He certainly could not sail the boat with the bobstay in such condition and if he turned on the auxiliary engine and tried to power to land, the movement of the boat would undoubtedly bury the bowsprit from time to time into the waves. Too dangerous.

A wave came over the side as he sat there, burying him in cold water, shoving him to the end of his tether against the lifelines on the far side of the boat. The cold water came down his coat at the collar, filled his boots. He stood up as the water fell away, his feet squishing in the water filled boots, and used the tether to pull himself to the windward side of the deck and made his way back to the mast. He kept heavy line there hanging on belaying pins, spare line for the many needs of a cruising boat. He pulled two half inch nylon lines from the belaying pin rail, each perhaps fifty feet long and carried them back to the bow. He was panting with the effort of keeping his balance and working on the moving deck.

He had to tie himself to the boat, go over the side, attach the line, then pull himself back on board. He had to do it while waves were rolling the boat through sixty degrees of movement and burying the bow under four feet of water every thirty seconds. With a bum knee and exhausted. And if he could not pull himself back on board, he would be hanging there and eventually pass out from hypothermia and die.

Benson considered his chambers as his sanctum and decorated it accordingly. Oak paneled walls lined with built in bookcases filled with law books. Comfortable Persian carpet on the floor, fine large mahogany desk and four padded leather chairs facing him. The only window in the room was behind him so he could watch faces in the full light. Aside from the computer monitor on his desk, the room resembled a law office from the 19th Century, an antique lamp on the corner of the desk, the blotter fine Italian leather.

He decided to anchor out that Friday night, alone, at Angel Island, a large island in the center of San Francisco Bay, only four miles from his Yacht Club. It still surprised him how few boats would anchor out on the typical weekend, perhaps a dozen boats in the entire seventy mile long Bay, and usually he was the only vessel anchored at Point Blunt, one of the fine anchoring grounds on the eastern side of the island. From there he could see the lights of the City but would be utterly isolated, alone and watching the fog slowly dim the lights.

One does not really drop anchor. Instead, one hooks the anchor in, its curved prow burying itself in the sand or mud. One must be moving backwards slowly to effectively hook the anchor in and once the anchor was hanging down, ready to let go, he rushed back to the cockpit over the still pitching deck, changed gears into reverse at minimum speed. Once the boat began slow rearward movement, he rushed to the foredeck again, released the anchor, and watched as it slid into twenty five feet of water. He let seventy feet of chain run. He pushed the metal toggle that stopped the chain from running out, saw the chain tighten as the anchor dug into the mud, then raced back to the cockpit, put the gears into neutral and then turned off the engine. He was anchored.

Suddenly, no sound of the motor. He sat in the cockpit, savoring the moment, the boat rocking gently, the lights of the City almost hidden by the thick fog that was now racing past the Golden Gate. Behind the Island where he anchored, in the wind shadow, the cold wind had not yet replaced the warm air of the afternoon and he was comfortable as he sat and watched the fog begin to fill the bay. He would make his dinner soon in the galley below with its propane gimbaled stove and oven but he wanted to sit and do nothing for a while, just watching the sky darken.

He stared back at Glory for a long moment and without his concentration on his course the next following sea hit the side of his stern and Ariel swerved around completely out of control, falling down the side of the large swell, the main sail boom swinging wildly across the deck to the low side starboard side in an uncontrolled gybe. The boat was then heeled sixty degrees, almost on its side as it slide sideways down the wave, coming to a splashing crash at the bottom of the trough, white water pouring onto Benson as he lost his hold on the wheel and began to slide across the cockpit to the low side.

He swore loudly trying to regain his balance but with the mainsail now on the low side and the fore sail back winded on the other, the boat was pinned down on its starboard side. Then the next wave hit, lifted the boat high and pushed its stern around and the boat was swept back over onto its port side. The main sail swung back to its original position which was now the new low side of the boat, the boat now pinned down on its port side. Benson again lost his hold in the tilting cockpit and fell down to the port side of the cockpit, hitting the cockpit wall hard, the wind knocked out of him. He fell back flat on his back. He was stunned a little. He felt the boat begin to rise to the next wave and grunting, pulled himself up and grabbed the wheel, trying to turn the boat to bring its stern back dead onto the oncoming wave.

He failed, the main on the wrong side of the boat for that maneuver would not give him enough power in these seas to quickly turn the stern and the boat was again hit on its beam, heeling far over, cockpit filling with water, the tip of the boom actually in the water. But this time Benson was braced and stayed at the wheel. The moment the wave passed he quickly moved to the winch that controlled the main sail and used it to grind in the main sheet, the rope that controlled how far out the main was set. He ignored the next wave which again pushed the boat far over on its side, filling the cockpit, while he ground the main fully in, tight in the middle of the boat.

He had made some coffee on his propane stove below, pouring it into a thermos which he put near him in the cockpit. The soft sound of the boat cutting through the waves, the slight purring of the autohelm motor as it adjusted his course, the wind moving the fog to the West, towards the land, invisible now. All sounds he loved.

By the time the two boats were motoring there was twelve miles between them. Still in thick fog, Benson watched the radar screen as the huge scallop in the coast, Monterey Bay, approached, curious to see if Glory would angle towards the city of Monterey at the southern end of the large bay or keep well out to sea to continue on towards Point Sur. Whether or not she angled in towards the city, he knew he was going to Monterey. This chase was over for him. He either boarded her in Monterey or gave it up.

The boy pointed to the northern part of the Marina and continued to run the card. Benson stood there, watching the small boats leaving the Marina on this hazy Sunday afternoon, hearing the laughter of children and the buzz of voices. He signed the slip, noting automatically how expensive diesel had become, and walked back to the helm. ff782bc1db