DOWN ISLAND - PART FIVE

I want to aspologize for the long delay between postings. I have finally caught up with my self having sailed through some of life's squalls. Ames

10/15/92 Lat. N 10 38.8’  W 61 32.5' Trinidad

A LONG TRIP JUST TO GO TO THE ZOO

My friends talked me into coming here three weeks ago. They were having a great time. Trinidad is only an overnight sail from Grenada, so we decided to come.

A lot of the cruisers are staying at the Trinidad Yacht Club, which offers real docks. They rent air conditioners, hire people to work on their boats, play bridge every afternoon, and walk a block for pizza or groceries. It seems too American for my tastes. We could not afford, nor was there room, for us to dock at the club. The anchorage is open and very rough when the wind blows, and it blows every afternoon.

You have to pay to land your dingy. For some it was heaven, especially for the women, but I had gone cruising to see different cultures, not find "Little America."

However, Trinidad has a great zoo. Well, maybe the zoo does not match up with the zoos in the States, but the lion cage is extraordinary. It was a little threatening to see them so close. To help people feel safe there was a plaque:

"This glass is made of bullet-proof glass. The lions cannot break
through: see the demonstration above."

Above this sign was a square of glass that had been shot at with a rifle. The glass was still OK, except for the starring effect of the impact of the bullet.

"All right," I thought. "That seems safe enough."

I went back to the glass and noticed some scratches on the inside where the lions had attempted to get out. The scratches looked deep, but it was hard tell from the outside. I stood there for a moment savoring the danger. Then a lion roared. I quickly withdrew to visit some of the other animals.

We're leaving tomorrow. I'm glad I saw the zoo, but . . .


San Juan, Puerto Rico
02/15/93 Lat. N 18 27.8'  W 66 07.0' San Juan, Puerto Rico

I Thought I Left It Here!

We had been in Puerto Rico for about two months while I worked to build up our cruising kitty. For a while we thought we would have to stop cruising and sell the boat, as we had experienced some major financial setbacks in the U.S. This job, which was to last for six months, would help us pull out of the slump if Uncle Sam didn't take it all for taxes.

We picked up a mooring at a marina at the eastern end of San Juan Harbor. Normally we would have anchored, but we knew we would be leaving the boat alone a lot and felt more secure on a mooring. The dock was close to $400 a month, and we couldn't afford that and be able to take care of our other obligations. The mooring was inexpensive though.

It was a good place to be moored. Within walking distance was a grocery store and it was just a short dingy or bus ride to Old San Juan. I took a bus to work, but it took almost two hours one way. I got to know something of the people that way.

Every morning at 0600 I would row the hard dingy (Judy got the inflatable with engine) to the marina and head for work.

On this particular day, Judy was in Michigan visiting our daughter, who was ill, so I was batching it. As the sun was going down I got into my dingy to row out to the boat. As I came around the end of the pier I looked around for Butterfly.

I always enjoyed this first sight of the boat after a long day at work. It reminded me what I was working for. She would be sitting at the mooring, her image rippling in the small waves of the harbor, the setting sun's rosy glow reflecting on her masts. It was beauty and serenity combined.

My heart always skipped a beat as I rounded the pier.

This time my heart stopped beating completely.

Butterfly was not hanging onto the mooring. There was no reflection on the water, no sunlight on the masts.

There was no Butterfly at all.

Trying not to panic, I rowed faster to the spot where she should have been.

“I know I left her here,” I said, rather stupidly. “Perhaps she dragged the mooring in the afternoon wind.”

I looked down the bay, but didn't spot her. I rowed through the other boats anchored there.
There were people on one of them, but I couldn't bring myself to ask them:

“Have you seen my boat? I've lost it.” How could anyone lose a fifty-foot boat? No, I'd look around some more.

Could it be stolen? Maybe, but where is the mooring buoy? No one would steal the buoy. They would leave it behind. So it wasn't stolen and it hadn't drifted down the bay.

I rowed back to where I had left it that morning.

Maybe she sank and took the buoy down with her? I looked into the water to see if I could see her on the bottom. “Impossible, stupid,” I scolded myself. “The water here is only 25 feet deep. Your masts would be sticking out of the water.”

“Where are you?” I asked myself again, while the dingy drifted over the empty space usually occupied by Butterfly's reflection.

There was only one more place to look. I rowed along the marina's docks, and with great relief, spotted her tied up in a slip. It was a great relief, but I was curious . . . and angry. Who moved my boat?

I climbed on board but could find nothing wrong. Why had they moved her here? Where was the mooring buoy? I asked around the dock, but no one could tell me anything.

The marina was locked up tight for the night. The next morning I delayed going to work until the manager arrived.

“Why did you move my boat into a slip?”

"We decided we wanted to pull the mooring and service it,” came the calm reply.

“But why didn't you tell me? I about had a heart attack last night.”

“Well, we didn't think about it and we weren't sure where you were.”

“My work address and phone number is on the contract form. I can't afford slip fees. When are you going to put the buoy back?”

“In a few weeks, maybe a month. Meanwhile, I'll tell you what. You can have the slip at the mooring price. Will that be OK with you?”

“Well, OK,” I replied. In fact, it would be a great deal for us.

“Oh uh, how long will you be here?” he asked as an after thought.

“Until June,” I replied.

“Oh,” manager said, his face screwed up in thought. “That's almost five months from now.”

“Yeah, that's about right.”

Each month thereafter he would ask me, “When are you planning to leave?” They still hadn't replaced that mooring when we pulled out, five months later.