Marathon
( Here I am going to teach elementary school in Marathon. Sometimes it gets a little boring not having a job.)
Most of the money I spent during this trip went to restaurants. After being there a while, I discovered all the best places and those to avoid. Most were good, but there was a guy at the Sombrero Resort Bar named Jim that didn't like people according to their looks. He was so anxious to charge people three dollars for docking their dinghies, a friend said he chased him, running down the dock shouting for him to come back and pay. I tried to avoid him as much as possible. I soon discovered another place to wash clothes and watch TV called Harborside. It's a small dock beside an old warehouse turned harbor, with washing machines, soda machines and a TV room. People would gather there in the evenings and watch TV, play games and visit. Much of the visiting there would also occur on sailboats in the protected anchorage. A common activity is to have kind of dinner parties on the boats in the evenings. It's really nice. There was even a church group that met on Sundays aboard a 35 foot ketch rig painted yellow and anchored near the middle of the anchorage.
From Boot Key, it is easy to go fishing since the Gulf Stream is only about six miles south and marked by the weed line. The weed line is Sargasso weed, a yellowish moss-like weed with little yellow balls mixed in. It's not particularly nutritious, but it makes a good garnish for seafood dishes.
Fish Story
After snuggling into a more comfortable spot one day in the anchorage, I decided to fish from my boat. I had some small fish called Sergeant-Majors caught earlier that morning for bait and a good rod and reel purchased with this in mind long ago. Within minutes of setting the hook in the water, the reel began singing. I discovered many fish in the ocean do not just nibble, they are really aggressive. I grabbed the pole and began fighting the fish, I was surprised how it pulled and when I saw it I understood. It was a shark as long as my leg. It was a nurse shark and I released it back into the water and rebated the hook. Within a couple minutes, it happened again. This time it was a macko shark with teeth that looked like electric hedge trimmers going full speed and a head that looked like a great white, but not nearly as large. This fish was only about two feet long. I just let it flip and wiggle at the top of the water until it got off. I really didn't want that guy in my boat. Next time, I caught a three-foot blacktip shark. I knew from watching TV that this fish was good to eat and I hoisted it up to the rail and managed to keep all my fingers while I cleaned it over the side. At least mostly over the side, it was a messy business. I learned something interesting here. About the only thing inside a shark is a long tube looking stomach, too simple looking to be alive. There were, of course, no bones and you can slice them any way you want. There was so much I had to go around and share it with people on other boats since I had no refrigeration. Once again I fired up the grill and it was good day.
Another fish encounter happened while I was out snorkeling in the lagoon not far from my boat. Swimming in this anchorage seemed safe enough for a beginner like me, so I would often go after lobster and snapper there. One day I was swimming along with my spear gun at the ready when I looked to the right. All I could see were big, silver scales. The fish swimming beside me was much longer than me and must have weighed much more. I was a little shocked and I pointed the spear at him and pulled the trigger. It bounced off him without making a mark. He disappeared immediately with a swish of his massive tail. I think it was a Tarpon, there are lots of them in those waters. I don't know what would have happened if my spear had gone in him. I imagine it would have been a very eventful ride.
Cuba
One day, I was getting tired of sitting around and decided I'd go to Cuba. After reading all about it in the Cruising magazines, I thought it would be a nice place to visit and I had questioned several other sailors passing through who recommended it. Well, in some cases it may be, in others maybe not. I completely forgot about discussing it previously with my friend Chuck, who had told me a horror story that happened to one of his friends and ironically, the same thing would soon happen to me. Anyway, I lifted the anchor, put the dingy on board and headed south. Cuba is only about 90 miles due south and I soon discovered the value of Trade Winds. It was a beautiful sail in the moonlight and with a constant 15 knot wind off the port beam, I made really good time and never had to touch the sails. About midway across, I noticed a ship moving slowly along. They hailed me on channel 16 and I responded. "Ahoy, this is the Senator", they said. I responded and found the mate very nice and asked if he would check his radar for weather in the area. He said there was nothing within 90 miles of us and I thanked him. He said I had an unusually strong radar signature for a sailboat and I explained that I had installed 40 square feet of copper screen in the roof of the cabin to act as an RF ground for the Side Band radio. (radar keys on 90 degree angles, especially metal and there are lots of these in 40 square feet of copper screen wire). We said our ados and neither of us asked the other what we were doing out there. With a boat named the Senator, I didn't want to know what it was doing there or whose money had paid for it. I went into the cabin feeling secure enough with the radar update and went to sleep. When I woke up it was getting light outside. I looked at the GPS and found I was only about 6 miles from Cayo Mono, one of my waypoints for navigation on Cuban soil. If I had not awakened, I would have hit the tiny island - pretty good I thought, from 90 miles away. I tried to hail the Officials but they would not respond, or they were asleep. So, I just followed some channel markers I saw and entered the Bay of Cardenas. I sailed along thinking about the 12 gauge shot gun I had on board. The more I thought about that, the more I really didn't want to have it. So, I threw it overboard along with all the ammunition.
There was a man fishing near the channel and I asked him," Donde es el Captain de Puerto?" He pointed in the direction I was headed as if he understood my poor Spanish. Little did I know my Spanish would improve relative to my need to communicate shortly. I saw an old cement dock that looked like something from the Spanish - American War and decided to dock there. When I got the boat docked, I walked to another man and asked him the same question and he pointed to a building. I went there, entered the office and sat down in front of an official looking man, smoking a cigar. He was on the phone and I just sat quietly and waited. When he understood I was from America and had just arrived, he looked up at the ceiling and sat back in his chair. Oops. It was clear I had done something wrong. Oh well, I was cheerful and answered all his questions as well as we could communicate. He sent me back to my boat and said to not leave or get off the boat. Next thing I knew, there was about thirty people standing around the boat, soldiers, citizens and sailors. Like they say, people came from miles around. From this I figured they must not get many visitors on this dock. Soon a doctor arrived with two nurses. He asked me several questions about my health and sent the nurses off the boat and asked me how much a policeman makes in America. I didn't have the heart to tell him how much a doctor makes here. The average wage for a Cuban is about $5.00 a month, if they are lucky enough to have a job at all. I gave the officers whatever I thought might help them at the time like fishhooks and soap and things like that. They had never seen plastic bottles. I felt sorry for them in some ways but they seemed to be happy people. I think our peoples could get along fine, it's our governments and the rich people behind them who are to blame for the fighting. After they searched my boat and waited for someone to make a decision, that took about 5 hours, they escorted me to Marina Gaviota. The soldier on my boat said it was "ultimo".
The toilets had no seats, there was no toilet paper and they turned off the lights when you left the restaurant. They said they were saving energy. The food was quite expensive there for tourists and at that time Cubans could not have dollars. They had to spend pesos. Tourists could only spend dollars. Now I understand it is different and everybody can use dollars. It will probably be much less safe for tourists now.
While I was there they landed a Russian helicopter near the Marina. I couldn't help but think it was for my observation. There were many Russian things like buses, planes and boats. What will always be fixed in my memory will be those 50 foot Russian Trawlers with the 50 cal. machine guns on the front. But that comes a little later. There were two Frenchmen walking down the sidewalk to the restaurant one day and I greeted them. When I saw they were French I said, in my best French, "Bonsuair je suie American, - hello, I'm an American. They laughed when they understood and said "Oh, oh, from TEXAS - - - alas, my accent. Then they invited mme to join them and wouldn't let me pay for anything.
The officials said I needed to go into town and get a visa. The Taxi was just like the car I had when I left Houston, a Toyota Corolla. The driver proceeded 90 miles an hour all the way to town dodging people walking and horse drawn carts, but no other cars. I was glad to get out of that car at the Ministry of Immigration. The Minister of Immigration spoke very little English and I spoke very little Spanish. So, he spoke broken English and I answered him in broken Spanish. The thing I remembered most was he said that I could go anywhere. I'm not sure he understood what he was saying. I took the little piece of paper and got back into the Taxi and went back to the marina. On the way I looked at the countryside. It is a very poor place. The towns are quite third world and farm animals roam everywhere. When I got back to the boat I was visited by an interesting fellow named, Leonardo. He was a good looking young man about twenty five. He could speak English, Spanish and Russian fluently. He said he had trained in Russia to fly MIG fighters and he earned $6.00 per month in his job here. He said he did not like the job he had. It was obvious he was some kind of intelligence officer but he never admitted it and I didn't approach the subject. He just kept saying he didn't like his job. I got the general idea. I gave him a book written in English and Spanish and we sat and talked a long time. They kept trying to get me to attend a dance at the marina put on by some African natives. I was afraid to leave my boat for fear they would plant some drugs on it and add it to the collection I could see around me. There were about ten other sailboats, some bearing ragged quarantine flags, tied up in the little marina. They looked like they had been unattended for a while, except the ones the officers take out with prostitutes for short voyages into the Bay of Cardenas. I didn't feel very welcome there and decided to leave the next morning. I bought a box of cigars for a friend named Jerry back in Texas for about the same price they cost in Texas.
Next morning, I visited the Harbormaster and asked how much I owed and if it was OK if I left. He said it was. I also found my friend, Leonardo and asked him the same thing. He said as far as he knew it was OK. Then, I unhooked my ropes and left the marina. I had a strange feeling they knew something I didn't, anyway, I made good time and by ten o'clock I was over twenty miles north of Cuba. I was just sitting in the boat looking back when I noticed a white wave in the distance that did not disappear like the rest. The wind was about 15 knots off my starboard beam and the waves were about five feet high, perfect sailing weather. Soon I realized a boat was coming behind me. A single scan of the area told me it was not only coming toward me, but it was coming for me. There were no other boats in sight and no other reason to be running at that speed in five-foot seas. They must have been taking a pounding. The first feeling I had was a kind of weakness and a hot sensation on the back of my neck. This was trouble and I had no where to go. I didn't dare use the VHF radio since they were monitoring it. I tried calling the Coast Guard on the International Distress channel of the Side Band Radio. No answer. I called again and again, still no answer. When I looked out again I could see the 50 cal. machine guns mounted on the front of the Russian Trawler bearing down on me. I quickly took down my sail and began lying a-hull in the ocean. The big steel military boat came up fast and pulled along side. One of the occupants had what appeared to be a Kalashnakoff assault rifle in his hands. I thought they were just going to kill me and take the boat. They are so poor and I had about $3,000.00 U.S. currency on board and they knew it. Since they only make about 5 or 6 dollars a month, this would be a life savings to them. I tried to call the Captain on the radio both in Spanish and English but he would not respond. He came out of the cabin and shouted. "What country?" I grabbed an American flag and stuck it into place on the rear of my boat. He said, "I understand." Then he disappeared inside again. When he came back out, he motioned for me to raft up alongside his steel boat. In those five-foot seas my boat would have been smashed to bits. I motioned with my arms indicating we should at least head into the waves. He got mad. He went back inside and had one of the mates dressed in ragged swimsuits come out and repeat the gesture. I then put my boat in gear and headed along side. The decks were heaving some five or six feet opposite each other. When I got to within three feet of his boat the mate came out and motioned me to stand off again. Since we could not stay together safely, I began to circle his boat so that one of us would have some control of his vessel. In a few minutes he came back out and shouted, "Go to Veradera."
This was the place I had just been where Marina Gaviota is located. I motioned in compliance and headed the boat south again. I put in the way-point to Cayo Mono again and set the sails. This time it was not so easy as I had to sail closer to the wind. I motor-sailed all the way. He stood off about fifty yards and watched me most of the way and about four hours later he disappeared. A small fishing boat intercepted me as I approached the way-point programmed in my Global Positioning System. The men on board with assault rifles told me to follow them. They took an out of the way course back to the marina so that I thought we were going to some unknown and secluded spot where they could ransack my boat and kill me or throw me in prison. I had a long, serious talk with the Lord all the way back to Cuba.
Finally, we arrived at the entrance to the marina and another boat came by and asked the one in front if I was under arrest. He said I was. When I arrived back at the slip I had left, a siren wailed and a dozen soldiers assembled around the slip. I took a good look at the sky thinking it might be a long time before I saw it again. They motioned for me to back in again and this time, I did it on the first try. They did not bother to take off their boots this time or ask permission to come aboard. They searched the boat again and I began to think they had indeed placed something illegal on board the first time and this was only a little game to discover it and put me away. When the commanding officer sat down in the cockpit with me I asked him what the problem was. He said, "Dragas", drugs. That didn't help my paranoia at all. Then he asked if I remembered what the Minister of Immigration had told me the first day I came. I told him, yes, "El Minister de Immigration dice que yo puedo voy dondequiere." The Minister of Immigration said I could go anywhere. He shook his head as if he understood and said this is not the first time that has happened. I began to feel a little better with that remark, thinking they may be confused and maybe not know what the other is doing. It's entirely possible that is what happened. I noticed many of the employees are not very good at writing or adding and there's no telling what level of education the military has. You can imagine the chaos.
Suddenly, up came Leonardo and boarded the boat. He began helping us communicate and told them I was not a criminal and I was looking for a place to live. They spoke together for a while and suddenly they announced that I was going to get a reprieve and I could go. I had no idea I had broken the law. I asked them if I could stay the night, since I was tired and perhaps leave in the morning. They said I could. So I went back in the restaurant and bought an expensive lobster dinner and paid for another to be given to Leonardo whenever he should some by. For some reason the prices didn't seem so high this time. During the night a man paced back and forth in front of my boat with a Russian assault rifle on his shoulder.
Next morning, about six soldiers and some officials arrived at 8:00 am. They brought rubber stamps and documents which they signed and stamped and had me sign and they said I could go. I backed Frontliner out of the slip and headed for the channel. All the soldiers, now about eight, were lined up along the bulkhead watching. They began looking at one another back and forth as if they did not understand what was happening. I later learned that two other Americans had been shot by the Cubans while I was there, some miles off shore when they did not stop their boats. As I was leaving I counted four Russian Trawlers where before there had only been one. I made my way back to the open sea fully expecting to be accosted again by some other boat-load of fishermen bearing guns. When I got onto a heading that would take me to Florida I focused my effort on making the boat go faster. There was a good 17-knot wind off my starboard bow again and every time the boat dropped below 7 knots I started the engine. I rarely had to do that since Frontliner was an old ocean racer and the last owner put about 5 thousand pounds of glass on the bottom that made her really fast. It took me 18 hours to get to Cuba. It took about 12 hours to get back to Florida. I arrived in American waters ten miles from Florida before dark the same day. All the way back I watched the waves on the horizon behind me. Every wave I saw on that horizon looked like a Russian Trawler. I had a long time to think about that talk with the Lord and those confused soldiers lined up at the marina and how much help I may have had from higher powers. I will never forget the look of that Russian Trawler bearing down on me in a very, very lonely sea.
If there is a single lesson to be learned from cruising, it would be that you cannot depend on anyone but yourself and the Almighty watching over you. You hardly ever see another boat, so if an accident occurs or pirates accost you, you must be prepared. It's like the famous Chief, Ni Chi, who said, " It is a good day to die", meaning He had his heart right with his God.
Arima Arrives Again
When I reached the Keys everything looked better somehow. There was a friendliness that came from everything I looked at. I wore red, white and blue for a week.
I discovered my attitude had changed and I was a much happier person now. One happy day I was riding the Water Taxi in Boot Key Harbor when I saw a familiar boat enter the anchorage. It was Arima! I used the radio on board the Taxi and called, "Arima this is Frontliner over." Lori answered and we switched to channel 69, our old visiting channel and I explained where the shallow places were in the harbor. They invited me to come over when they had anchored and we would catch up on recent history. I had a lot to tell.
Later that evening I came up in my little blue dingy and tied to their boat. It was a grand reunion. We had supper and exchanged stories all evening. They showed me the changes and improvements they had made to Arima while at the dock at St. Petersburg and told of the visits they made to relatives living in Jacksonville. I described the events of my trip to Cuba and Chuck just shook his head and smiled. He had told me not to go, but I had forgotten his warning. I guess it was just washed away by all the hoopla from the Germans, English, French and Canadians I had met in the anchorage. They said it was a fine place to go and vacation. So I went. The only way I'll go back under that Communist Government is kicking and screaming. Later he thought it was funny when a helicopter came over the anchorage to call me and say, "They're coming after you, Ron.
We had many a fine evening sharing supper and new friends in Boot Key Harbor. One evening, after a day of snorkeling in the crystal clear water off the beach, Chuck and I decided to fish off the boat in the anchorage. I had told them of the time just after I arrived when I caught four fish as long as my leg in about 20 minutes. We baited up with some small fish we speared that day and watched the pole. It only took a couple minutes before I felt a nibble. Soon, the pole began to bend steadily down. I jerked hard. Next thing I knew the rod bent and the reel began to sing. The drag was set pretty tight so this was a pretty big fish. I wish someone had taken a picture, it looked like the wide world of sports when the three or four foot fish topped the water and began dancing on top several yards away. It must have been a tarpon, I understand they do that. Unfortunately, it went under again and got tangled in an anchor buoy and got off. We tried again and caught a four-foot nurse shark. We decided to cook it up and see what it tasted like. Whew! Nasty is the only word to describe it. It tastes sweet, rotten and greasy all at the same time. I would have to be awfully hungry to eat one of those again.
Ron The Chef
One day a 30 foot sloop slipped into the anchorage and laid anchor not far away. Before long we had occasion to meet him, I believe he came over to Chuck's boat and gave them some food or something. Anyway, it ended in a regular visit by several of us to his boat nearly every day. He was the best chef and a really nice guy. He had Bose acoustic speakers on his boat and the inside was outfitted like a commercial kitchen. There was a gas refrigerator and a large stainless steel cook stove that took up one whole side of his main cabin. He had a well-stocked liquor cabinet and some wonderful recipes from all over the world. Here is where I learned about Tabuli, a dish made in Lebanon from bulgar wheat with lemon, olive oil, tomatoes, onion, salt, pepper and water that requires no cooking. It's wonderful and I've made lots of it since then and shared it with lots of people. On the down side, little did I know that meeting Ron would be the beginning of the end of my cruising, because it was on a trip with his Sagona that Frontliner became trapped. That comes at the end of this story.
It soon became 'bug' season in the Middle Keys. That means the Lobsters were in season. We all bought fishing licenses and outfitted ourselves with the traditional weapons of lobster hunting; a short stick and a net. There are a lot of regulations surrounding lobstering in Florida. One obscure law I discovered cost me $210.00. While fishing near a small island off the beach at Marathon, I took a lobster and cleaned it in the water. When I came up from a dive around the back side of the island I noticed a Marine Patrol boat floating near my friends. Anxious to use my expensive fishing license, I approached them. The officer on board asked me if I had anything. I responded I did and exhibited the lobster tail. Shortly, he was writing a ticket and explaining it is illegal to clean fish in the water. I asked him what about people who live on the water. He had no answer. I decided that Florida was like everywhere else in America, as long as fat merchants make the laws, the laws will rarely accommodate reality. The friendliness that surrounded everything after arriving from Cuba began to fade away again.
We hunted those bugs everywhere and had great fun catching supper many times. I confess, after being fined under that unforseeable and obscure law, I took up additional means to catching the little critters. In the end, I think I got my moneys worth. I discovered you can attach a size 7 fish hook to the end of the little stick that helps persuade them out of their holes. And I discovered 'ghost traps'. Those are lobster traps that have lost their buoys or snagged and gotten dragged to a different place by a boat and lost their buoys. It seems traps like these are free game for whoever finds them. I found two or three.
In the open water a lobster can only make three runs. The length of each run is determined by the size of the lobster. If they don't go too far, or if you have on diving gear, you can chase them each time. Then, they cannot run again for some time until they recharge with oxygen, so you can just grab them.
There are many ways to cook lobster. I would often just pop a tail on top of linguini that was cooking and let it be steamed. That was one of my common lunches. Other times, I would put a little Louisiana Seafood Seasoning, that I picked up in Louisiana, into a small amount of water and steam them, which added a nice flavor.
Life in Boot Key was good. There was always something to do like go to the nearby TiKi bar at Sombrero. There you could trade books and buy good Round Rock beer. For lunch they served a good sandwich and other things for a reasonable price. Another bonus is there is no telling who you might see there. One night I was coming from doing something on the other side of the place when I noticed a familiar face. It was a dock neighbor named Billie from Marina Del Sol in Texas. She and Jerry had stopped by on their way back from the Virgin Islands. It was nice to see them again and made the world seem like a smaller place. I later heard they blew out the mainsail of their 41' Morgan on the way back to Galveston. Stuff happens. They are nice people and both teach school. Part of the time they live on their boat and part in their motor home. They sold their house like wise parents of grown children.
Two times in a year I saw someone from Marina Del Sol in Boot Key Harbor. There was a young couple living on a trimaran named Tiffus and Michelle who came from Clear Lake, Texas. At least they were there when I left and now they were here in Marathon. Too bad they were on the other side of the anchorage and we didn't get to spend much time together. There was always someone new coming along.
One day I looked up and two boats were entering the anchorage. One was a large Bayfield and the other was a Morgan 28. I was watching the Morgan named Thursday's Child. The captain was a pretty girl named Linda Taylor with long, dark hair and about 28 years old. She was strong and really well built - healthy looking. She had just returned from Japan teaching them to speak English. She was a diver, a sailor, a teacher and probably lots of other fun things I didn't get to know. I was impressed that she could speak Japanese. The next remarkable thing about this girl was that she was alone on the boat. Not many people single hand. She had sailed to the Keys from St. Petersburg, Florida. I was lucky enough to visit and go bugging with her a couple times before she disappeared. I will always wonder what happened to her but I know she can take care of herself.
There were always new boats entering the anchorage and new people to see and meet. I can't begin to name them all here and it would be too boring to a reader if I did. But it should be noted that the most interesting people I have ever seen were on adventures of some kind. An old and very wise person told me something once that I believe is true. She said, "don't collect things, don't chase money too hard and live every day like there is no tomorrow." It works for me.
One day I was relaxing on my boat after running to the Post Office and back. I looked up and saw a local resident named Sarah approaching in her flat, long motor boat, standing as usual. When she arrived, she wanted me to go with her catching Lobster. I did and we had a good time chasing bugs around the rocks underwater and we caught several nice ones. At one point, I was after a really big one that went into a hole in the rocks under water. The hole was big enough for me so, in I went after it. When I was entering the hole I noticed some spongy, reddish looking stuff growing on the rocks near the entrance. I don't remember if I got the lobster, I don' t think I did, but I remember very well brushing my bare chest against the fire coral at the entrance to that hole. It didn't hurt that much when I did it but for the next three months it was like having a non-stop case of poison ivy. My chest would blister everyday and I would scratch.
An older man named, Al, told me about a common remedy he knew and used that helped allot. He said to put ammonia directly on any wound and it would clean it and keep it from becoming infected. That probably kept me from going to the hospital. I bathed in ammonia for three months and I never got close to any more red looking rocks underwater again. Al had an interesting story to tell before this happened. While recovering from a fall of about six feet onto jagged coral near his boat, I noticed him sitting out one day. I sat down and began talking with him about things when I noticed several red places on his knees where the coral had cut to the bone. They were not swollen or discolored, they just looked like red Jell-O in places on his knees. When I asked about it he said he had fallen on the coral the day before. I asked why they were not swollen by now and then he related his knowledge about ammonia. I was amazed. Al was an interesting fellow with his obviously Aztec wife who spoke no English. So when I visited He spoke English, I spoke broken Spanish, and his wife spoke all south american Spanish. He said he had been living in Chile with his wife and children on a balsa wood farm. He told a story which I could have only believed coming from someone like him, intelligent and capable man that he obviously was. He said he owned the balsa wood plantation and was about to sell a million dollars worth of wood, already floating in the river and ready for delivery. But apparently some one else had been eyeing that wood for some time. As he was just about to ship the product down the river, a small army of guerrillas showed up and killed all his employees and some of his children. He said only one daughter, he and his wife escaped. Naturally, they took everything. I felt bad that he was reduced from a man of substance to one living from week to week on his 34 foot sailboat and drinking too much. He worked at various jobs around the small town of Marathon and taught Spanish as a second language part time. It has been my observation through life that the most interesting people are poor in the eyes of the world but rich in intelligence and experience. I further conclude that when it comes time to die, and it surely will, it will not be much of a shock to those who have really lived.
Freedom
There is a kind of freedom to be had while cruising that is better than any feeling I know. There is no phone, no bills and many people don't remember what day it is. It doesn't matter. You live by the weather patterns and by the seasons when cruising. In certain seasons it is time to go south. While at other times north is the best direction to go for the best weather. The most important things to consider day to day are the supply of fresh water and what to do with all the time. There is always some work to do on something, but then, depending on your schedule, it is usually time to play.
One day I met a lady named Jane who had retired from American Airlines. She was in her late sixties and had the spirit of a teenager, What a lovely lady. She had sailed down from upper Florida and did so every year in order to spend the winter in lower latitudes. My group of friends was always changing and I began including her in my visits. One evening we decided to go to the local bridge club and compete in a game of duplicate. We won some silver points and had a wonderful time. Jane was such a gracious lady, we could probably have won first place, but she kept allowing people to re-do their bidding after I let them fall into a trap. But we didn't even take the points we won since it didn't matter to either of us. She was the last new person I met before going on my journey to the Bahamas.
The Bahamas
Another man who retired form teaching school and was now sailing around on his boat had become part of my little group along with Ron the Chef. Ron had been gone for several months and was now back so we were having gourmet meals again on his boat. The three of us debated about going to the Bahamas over meals in the evening. It was a good life. I bought another dingy from some neighbors for $300.00. It was a fine sailing dingy and by far the best I ever had. There was no reason to stay around Florida, since Chuck and Lori had gone south, aiming for Marsh Harbor and Linda had gone north to St. Perersburg. So I decided to go with Ron and the shop teacher (I can't remember his name.)
The time finally seemed right and we went to the store, loaded water and did all the things you do before going on a trip in a sailboat. I painted my dingy, put a few things in the food pantry and cleaned the bottom of Frontliner. She was usually ready to go without much work. Then I put the dingy on top of the cabin for the trip the next morning.
Next morning, we were all ready and lined up at the fuel dock just to top off our tanks. We left Marathon at about eleven in the morning. Sailing NE we spent the night near Alligator Key within sight of Key Largo. My roller reefing jammed in the evening and I had to stop and fix it, so we decided to just spend the night there and cross the Gulf Stream the next day. Another problem my boat was falling behind the others. This was something I couldn't understand since I had always found my boat out in front. When we anchored I jumped over the side to look at the bottom and figure out why Frontliner was sailing so slowly. There it was, the bottom was not clean. I had tried to clean it in the water in Boot Key harbor but somehow, within one day, lots of sea things had reattached to the bottom. Or it could be I was too anxious to get out of that shark infested harbor water and just did a poor job, either way, I cleaned it off good this time so when we left no one was able catch me.
That evening we were all tired from the day's sail and anchored within sight and dingy range, but not too close for fear of dragging and colliding in the night. There was no one else around so I took a bottle of soap into the ocean. When I looked up the other two were doing the same thing. After our baths we all met at Ron's boat for a traditional supper and plans for the next day. I was really nervous, but I didn't know why and there was no apparent reason. I wanted to leave about noon the next day so we would arrive at the Bahama Bank when there was some light. The shop teacher wanted to leave earlier so we left about ten. Sure enough, we arrived at the dangerous place called Riding Rock about two hours before daylight. If the wind had been up we might have crashed on the rocks. But the weather was fine and the wind was light and we just went in circles until the sun came up. We decided to anchor there and tried to rest after the long trip across. While there we saw a Bahamian fisherman who suggested we enter at a certain place and anchor so we would have some cover from the swell of the sea. We did and we could have lost all our boats for listening to his advice. His name was captain Brown.
I tried to sleep but I could not. So I decided to go diving and check out the fish in the area. The rules were different here and it was permitted to eat all the conk you wanted. I've never eaten any that I liked. I wanted some of those giant Lobsters I heard so many stories about. I didn't find any but I did get to swim with a hawksbill sea turtle. I saw him swimming past so I swam fast and caught up with him and we went side by side until I got tired of it.
There were lots of fish swimming around and it's such a wonderful place underwater there. There is a freedom that is noticeable in nature in a remote place. I imagine it would also be in other remote places of the world.
A storm came in the night and two of our boats dragged anchor and moved west. I stayed where I was behind my 35lb plow anchor. I will always believe in having more anchor than you really think you need. If you go cruising a time will come when you will wish for more.
When daylight came the front was still blowing strong. We discussed what to do and decided to move away from the rocks where we anchored. I left first and circled for a while. The others said for me to go on and they would catch up. The shop teacher was having trouble raising his anchor. I sailed close to the wind for a few miles and could not see my two friends. So, I stopped, laid anchor and waited. It was about lunch so I jumped into the water and went after some lobster. There was none to be found on the barren little piece of sand bar where I had anchored. Everything was difficult in the high wind conditions so I climbed up the ladder on the back of my boat and called my friends on the radio. They answered and wanted to catch up with me so I waited. In the evening I called them back and they said they were going to anchor just within sight of me about two miles away. So we waited for three days like that, all bouncing in the high waves. Every few hours it was necessary to go out and look at the anchor ropes to see if they were wearing away. To keep this from happening we put a short length of split water hose, held with plastic ties, every place the ropes rubbed. Still, the water hose could come off or slip and the ropes would wear into within minutes. The best thing to use for anchor rode is chain, but that's hard on the hands and requires a special wench. The rope is relatively cheap and can be put onto any of the winches on the sailboat.
Finally, on the fourth day and after the second unreported front was passing, I suggested we go to Cat Key and rest up before continuing. My friends said they would come along behind. So, I left with a good following wind and arrived there before dark. It was treacherous with all the reefs and sandbars to avoid and I wished I had never gone there. I was just finishing supper when I arrived and managed to steer around all the reefs by guessing from the pictures in the cruising guide. As I would soon discover, that was the only record of some of those waters.
I soon discovered a small cove on the NE end of Gun key called Honeymoon Cove. It was protected from the SE wind and calm as could be. That night I slept wonderfully for the first time in a long while. Soon I discovered the honeymoon was shorter that I expected. The place, like the name, is lovely - till the wind changes, then the honeymmoon is over. When the wind swings around to the NE during a front or a storm the honeymoon turns to hell. They ought to call the place, Honeymoon Hell. I did not guess there would be not one, not two, but three consecutive, unreported fronts strike the Bahamas in mid March. But it happened and I was trapped in a really nasty little place at the end of Gun Key. I was not alone this time, there was a retired dentist whose name I do not remember there with me. We both waited too long to leave and we were going to have to try to exit through the reef.
This is when I discovered there are no charts of that place, neither on the British Admiralty or the US Navigation charts. Uncharted waters only fifty miles from Miami, Who could have guessed? They simply left out that section of the chart. That left only one course of action, we had to gather all the information we could from available sources and quickly. The local Yacht Club on Cat Key, owned by the Mafia, referred us to a local captain named James Brown. He gave us some directions and we looked at the water and swam for more information. Finally, I decided to try it first since my boat cost far less than the other one.
I hauled in the anchors and started off in the direction that would get me to deep water sooner. Trouble is, the waves took me sideways faster than I could make headway forward and onto the reef I went. It was like being dropped about three feet onto a concrete deck. I fell down in the cockpit and things went everywhere. The water jugs I had strapped to the table broke loose and spilled some water into the cabin floor. I was sure the bottom was knocked out. I tried to steer with the next wave so maybe she would not hit again. The next wave took the boat clear of the narrow reef and into deeper water. I thought about fire so I quickly turned off the main power switch. Then I went back outside and up front to the anchor. I was drifting away from the island and out of swimming distance, so I dropped the anchor and watched the chain rifle out to the end where it was secured to the anchor base. Then I made a mistake. I let the line out past the end of the chain and tied off the rope so it would be longer, without putting any chafing gear on it.
I can't remember when I called the Coast Guard, but I did. I think it was just after I hit the reef and saw the water in the cabin floor. If you are going to call for help you have to do it while the radio is still above the water and while the battery still works. If you don't sink you can always call back and cancel, but if you wait too long just to be sure, well. They kept calling me on the radio and asking questions. Finally, I told them I was not sinking and everything was OK. I had all I could do at the time and didn't have time to talk to anybody. When I made that call, several other people responded; a fisherman named James Brown and the Dentist in his dingy.
The Dentist came up along side and offered to take me off the boat. At this point, I was really tired of being on board and I accepted his offer. We almost lost the inflatable dingy trying to get back to his boat. The waves were so high, we could not get over them. Several times we would just get to the top of one and be thrown back almost going over backward. Finally, after getting the dingy filled with water and falling out, we used the island as a break and came up down wind. Then we dragged the dingy across a little beach and put it back in the water on the calm inside. We then proceeded to destroy the propeller of the motor by hitting the reef in the shallow water. After replacing the pin and getting everything back in, we made it to his boat.
After sandwiches and a rest, arrangements were made to have Capt. Brown come get my boat and show the Dentist how to get out of the trap.
Shortly, a boat arrived from two miles away, picked me up and led the Dentist out. Soon as I was aboard my boat, I looked at the anchor rope hanging by only one of the three strands. I tried to pull the rope up some but the waves kept me from doing that. When I saw blood dripping from the rope I knew I was pulling as much as I ought to. Then the rope broke and I was drifting. The Captain was able to chase me with his boat and I tossed him a rope to use to tow me to the Marina. When we reached the marina, two miles away, first thing I did was jump over the side and examine the bottom. I was surprised there was very little damage. There was only a small chunk knocked from the keel and a crack around the keel caused when the boat flexed. It was still not leaking. The rudder, the screw and the braces were all not touched. I thought the shaft had been driven into the engine when it failed to start, I forgot about turning off the main switch. If the last owner had not beefed up the bottom Frontliner would be at the bottom of the shallow sea near Gun Key.
Captain Brown wanted two hundred fifty dollars for towing me two miles. I didn't care at the moment, so I traded him my Garman GPS unit and showed him how to use it. I also gave his crew a few nice things and told him he could take whatever he wanted from the boat if he would keep it here and sell it for me. I signed the title to him and asked him to send me half the money. I guess he was pretty honest for not just taking the boat. Later, he charged my friend $1,700.00 for storage and the boat had been stripped of about ten thousand dollars worth of stuff.
I was really tired of being alone and ready to see some people I knew. So, I bought a ticket on the little island hopper that landed there on Cat Key and left for Miami. When I reached the plane, a small twin engine, I noticed the pilot looked just like Suzanne Summers. She was a petite girl with a big smile and she laughed allot. She did not look at all like a pilot. Next, I noticed the runway was really short. In fact, if the wind is not blowing enough they cannot land. She put on the brakes and throttled up the engines till the plane was shaking all over. Then the end of the runway began to approach quickly, too quickly. She didn't rotate the plane off the ground really it just ran off the end of the runway into the air. At Miami International Airport they charged me $600.00 for a one way ticket to Dallas Fort Worth Airport. The ticket man said it is expensive when you want to go right now. I began not feeling so well, specially when I discovered he had sold me a ticket on a flight that left about 10 minutes before I got to the counter. Welcome home.
