Fiascos in Paradise
The Captain arrived in a frenzied mode - the Saltwater Cowboy had dragged anchor during the storm. A few more feet and it would crash into another boat anchored out – a dive boat – making us quite unpopular in this diver’s paradise.
We rowed out, since the outboard was shot, but couldn’t get the Cowboy’s diesel started because the cranking battery was dead. Captain Chavez described the situation as pretty f*ing critical. He went to find someone to tow us while Jack and I waited, unable to do anything if the boat drifted.
Help did arrive in the form of three Islanders whom the Captain convinced to take out their boat on Sunday. It being Sunday, of course they were drunk, and couldn’t agree on anything. It was like an incomprehensible, bordering-on-violent version of “Whose on First?” Had the situation not been so critical it would have been downright comic. They argued in rapid Islandspeak about every last move, until one guy gave up and threw the rope down dramatically. The drunk captain spun the boat in circles, overshooting every direction. We made it, however, to a secure mooring bal, right before the rain began to pour down again.
Then we could do nothing but sit in a bar and watch a toucan hope from pole to pole.