Day 3 Picking up the Boat.

We picked up the boat on the third day. Amanda and I rose early to watch the sunrise over the ocean. Later we would be far enough away to see the sunset over the same sea.

Someone had raked the sand and there were strange knife like cuts in the surface. We figured out later they were caused by the round tree leaves rolling in the wind.

We wanted to walk out to the end of the dock but an Australian photographer stopped us "just for 15min" so she could take pictures of a woman in her wedding gown and a man in a tuxedo. We walked up the beach to the next dock to wait for the sun. On our way back we saw her taking pictures as the bride wallowed in the eelgrass filled shallows and the man leered from the nearby mangrove swamp.

Ricky made pancakes and Kim and Brian left early to do their orientation with the charter company. We had several hours to kill before we had to go to the charter company and we spent this time in the gazebo watching the ocean and the crabs ducking in and out of their holes. From where I sat by the concrete bird bath, I could see 6 crabs ranging in color from pastel red to light blue. One crept out of a hole a few feet away and pulled up the grass with his claw. His body shook as he snapped each blade.

I suppose they were all the same species despite the differences in size and color. The large red one by the door of the hut was digging her burrow. She would disappear then reemerge with arms full of sand. After creeping away from the opening she would drop the sand and brush her hands off by slapping them together. It was a human gesture endearing to see on a crab.

We needed to buy a little more food before taking the boat so we locked the bungalo and walked down town. On the way we got turned around in the twisty streets and stumbled into a little booth selling fresh corn tortillas. Down the road they were starting a bike race.

About 15 men on bikes lined up in the street and people stopped along the sidewalk to watch. A few of the bicyclists were dressed in racing gear but most wore their everyday clothes, tattered t-shirts, shorts, and flip flops. A few rode their everyday single speed bikes. The race organizer was a man in a tank top carrying a radio and a roll of toilet paper. He didn't seem to be in a hurry. A man on a motorcycle drove down the street then stopped and looked back, ready to lead the group.

I started recording when it seemed about to start but nothing happened. After a minute I stopped the recording but kept the camera ready for when he began his "On your mark, get set....". I didn't expect him to walk to the sidewalk, drop his arm and say, "Gwan."

And they were off!

We found the caymart and bought some of the fresher looking meat. The food we bought the day before was still lined up on the counter. They'd promised us they would be hiring a taxi to take it to the charter company. We added our new purchases to the pile and they reassured us the taxi was going to arrive at any moment.

We were forbidden from bringing cardboard boxes onto the boat because it's a good hiding place for spiders and insects. So we hoarded our plastic bags and were still in the process of unloading the hotel fridge when the cab arrived to take us to TMM.

The cab took us through the dark part of town, past the airport and to the TMM office sheltered by palm trees where we waited for an hour for our food to be delivered. The woman behind the desk was the daughter of a British serviceman and had moved here after marrying a local. She was very helpful and ready to call dive shops and setup reservations. Ricky and Bojana asked her for help organizing the trip they would be making to Guatemala when we returned.

During the wait we talked about hurricanes and the risk of tidal waves and she told us about how her children are taught in school to respond to tsunami or hurricane warnings. They were told to hold hands, go to the airport (which had the highest concrete towers in the area), and sing songs until the water went away.

We had to call the grocery store several times to see where our food was. They assured us the taxi would be arriving at any moment.

While we waited in the office, someone came and took our bags out to the boat so when it was time to board we just had to walk down a narrow path between buildings and onto the dock where three catamarans were lined up ready to go.

Several locals loaded our boat and checked the equipment. We were taken to the beach side shack and asked to select snorkel gear. When we were told to put the equipment on the trampoline I had to ask what part of the boat that was. While we loaded water and food into the cabin we were bombarded with a continuous stream of advice on how to start the oven, when and how to turn on the various water pumps, how to turn on the cabin lights, how to use the navigation console, how and when to operate the radio, where the various valves were located, and how long to run the diesel engines each night to charge the batteries.

Freddie was our skipper and accompanied us on the first leg of the trip to Cay Caulker. He told us the boat had two 100 gallon non-potable fresh water tanks. There was a forward pump and a rear pump and only one was supposed to be on at a time. The valve for the front tank was under the bench cushion in the cabin (way at the back) and the second valve was behind a panel in the nook outside the bathroom.

In the chaos, one of the tenders asked me to witness water overflowing a hole in the front deck as he filled it with a hose. I didn't know how this was significant but I verified that I had seen it.

We were given exhaustive instructions on using the toilet. First and foremost, we were told to never put toilet paper into the bowl. If we did, it would get clogged and they would have to send a boat out to fix it. Instead we were supposed to throw the used toilet paper away in a trash can under the sink. This trashcan grew dangerously full after 10 days at sea.

All our waste went straight into the water below the boat and so it was common courtesy to warn swimmers when someone was pooping. The toilet outlet pipe went up the wall about 4 feet, made a U bend back down and came out from a small hole on the inner side. To get your waste to make this trip you used a hand operated pump mounted to the side of the bowl and a switch that let you pump seawater or air through the pipe. We were told to pump 15-25 times to make sure the pipes were clear.

To operate the stove we had to have the instrument panel powered, we had to flip a switch on the wall that turned on the propane, and then we had to hold down the burner knob while using a match to warm up the thermocouple. To light the oven, you had to partially disassemble the bottom of the stove and, as Kim learned later when she got a bad burn across one thigh, there was no insulation between the inside of the oven and the metal handle.

They asked Brian to put on snorkel gear and dive below the boat to check for damage. When he surfaced he was asked to sign a statement verifying the condition of the hull. Hitting ground in the shallow waters around Belize was not unusual.

They pulled out several checklists with a record of every item on the boat including every piece of silverware, plate, baking bowl, knife, cup, flashlight, pen, bar of soap, toilet paper, padlock, map, tool chest, engine oil, mop, bucket, broom, towel, and bed sheet. Kim sat and initialed each item as we opened drawers and cupboards.

Do you have a salad bowl? A big bowl? 6 dinner bowls? A cereal bowl? A serving bowl? What's the difference between a big bowl and a salad bowl? I took a quick look and said it looked alright but they insisted on checking every one.

They had to go back to the shack to bring out antifreeze, engine oil, and a bucket and we were told to count and recount the towels to make sure we had 6 big ones and 6 washcloths.

The guys loading the boat laughed at the amount of food we bought. I wasn't sure if this was a comment on how much Americans eat or just a joke. We ran out by the end of the trip.

When we'd finally counted the last soup spoon, filled out the last checklist, and our food was stowed under bulging seats and full cabinets, Freddie drove us away from the dock.

Freddie was a thin man who said he'd been sailing since 1968. He told us he'd stopped drinking scotch at age 50 and he kept up a continuous stream of advice for the short time he was with us, showing us how to work the instruments, what to do if the engine failed, and the knot to use when securing the dingy.

He drove us towards the reef and pointed out the color of the water and what it told us about the depth. The islands were protected by a long reef that lay about a mile off shore and which separated the shallow white sands from the dark open sea. The reef is an underwater ridge often exposed in low tides which acted like a sea wall. Inside the reef the water was calm and outside we could see the dark waves churning and crashing. When the wind was high the reef formed a line of surf.

"Stay out of the ca-ca." he told us. "The brown means it's shallow. And when you anchor only anchor in the sand."

We were told to never turn off the engine without first stopping the motors with a button on the dashboard otherwise you could burn out some diodes in the alternator which keeps the batteries charged. He told us the right motor was situated under our fresh water tank and if you idled that one at night it would heat the water for showering. When the halyard lines rattled against the main mast he showed us how to tie them to keep the noise down.

Three catamarans left TMM that morning and a British couple were on the one that followed us out to Cay Caulker. The skipper on their boat called out on the radio for help. I didn't hear what the problem was but Freddie was bitter. He said, "I know what they're doing wrong. I told them to do it my way and now they're complaining about it. I'm not going to help them."

Freddie spoke a strange mixture of Creole, English, and Spanish. He used some weird figures of speech and I regret not getting more of his dialog on video. For example he would use the expression 'la la' when he meant 'etcetera'. As in, "You can turn on the anchor light here, you can turn the cabin lights there, and the fuses are back here la la."

When we were ready to raise sails we started the motor and turned into the wind. Facing into the wind, the main sail will hang slack on the mast and can be lifted easier. The sail was stowed in a long bag and it was necessary to climb up onto the roof, stepping on the tubes supporting the awning, and unzip this bag. When the sea was rough and the boat was rolling the heavy yard arm will swing into your shins, trying to knock you overboard.

While raising the mainsail, it was important to keep the back of the sail inside a pair of guide ropes. When it was fully up, it would rest against the ropes but coming out of the bag, the end would swing out of this track so one or two people had to stand on either side of the sail and push it into position. The sail felt like thick woven plastic and would burn your hands if you ran your fingers over it too fast.

Two winches on the roof by the steering wheel were used to raise the main sail and the jib. There was a handle in a bag by the steering wheel that could be fitted into the crank. The handle wasn't tied down and I wondered how often people dropped it into the water.

The winch would raise the sail regardless of which way you turned it. One way would raise it fast with low torque and the other would raise it slow with high torque. The pulley at the top of our mast was often twisted and it made it difficult to raise the sail the last few feet. Kim, Bojana, and Amanda took turns at the winch and when they struggled Freddie said they should "Get a couple of those penises over to help."

A simple plastic latch locked the lines down.

When the sail was up we shut off the engines and turned down wind to let out the jib (the triangular sail at the front of the boat). The man at the helm could see which way the wind was blowing by looking up at the sail or by watching a dial on the console. The jib came out sideways, billowing in the wind and had to be tightened up with the other winch.

When both sails were set, we turned back beside the wind, shut off the motors, and sailed the rest of the way to Cay Caulker.

We sat on the trampoline in the shadow of the mainsail. The trampoline was a vinyl net stretched between the two forward arms of the catamaran. It was held tight by cotton ropes (which seemed dangerously worn in a few places), and sat only a few feet above the water. When under sail, the water rushed by beneath occasionally splashing up cold against your butt.

Freddie told us stories as the water rushed by below.

He told us someone had been shot in San Pedro the night before and his son in law (who owned a gun) had been accused. Someone in the plaza tried to rob a man by putting his finger against his back as though it were the barrel of a gun. The father of the man being robbed saw this and shot the mugger point blank.

He pointed out a speed boat skipping on the water some distance away and said that was the murderer's boat. "It's probably his son driving him back home." he said before talking about how they should put a bounty on his head. Later when we were discussing this strange vigilantism, Kim said Simon at the charter company was talking about 'disappearing' someone who was running an illegal competing charter.

I kept my binoculars around my neck and was looking through them when we approached a patch of dark seaweed. The shape swam away as we approached and Freddie jumped saying, "That's a big shark!". It was ten feet long and as brown as seaweed. It was a nurse shark and was unfortunately the only shark we saw on the entire trip.

When we reached Cay Caulker Freddie pointed out a patch of white sand visible below the surface and we went through the complicated process of dropping anchor. The water was only 6' deep but we ran out about 150' of chain. He squatted over the spool, watching the pile of links run out. When he was satisfied with the length, he had me stop the motor and he fastened a zip tie to the chain so we would know how much to run out next time.

After running out the chain we hooked it to a V-shaped rope stretched between the inner hulls of the catamaran and let it out further until the rope held all the weight.

Then the boat was put into full reverse and we watched the seaweed on the bottom move by as the chain was stretched. When the bottom stopped moving the anchor was set. I learned that every foot of chain laying on the sandy bottom was as good as an anchor holding 10 pounds of boat.

Freddie told us only fools dive their anchor (by which he meant diving down to make sure the anchor was fixed to the bottom) and as we reversed the engines and watched the bottom he kept repeating "Drive it in and set it!" I still don't know what that meant but apparently Brian did ok.

Then Freddie looked at his wristwatch and announced he was late to catch the shuttle back to San Pedro and we went through the process of dropping the dingy. Amanda, Bojana, and Brian joined him for the trip to shore but first he went to the other charter boat anchored behind us to see what they wanted. Simon had left his sandals on our boat and wanted them back.

When they tried to leave the little 8hp engine on the dingy wouldn't start. They drifted out to sea, pushed by the wind as he yanked on the starter cord. I watched through binoculars as he took the top off the motor to see what was wrong. Eventually they were rescued by a dingy sent from the other catamaran and towed to shore.

I heard the rest of the story later. When they reached the dock, Freddie marched them up and down the streets looking for the island mechanic. He said, "I think it's down here." as they followed through the prickly grass and dog shit. When he figured the mechanic was nearby, he started shouting, "Mechanic! Mechanic!" until a man came out and they had a hurried discussion in Spanish and Creole. Then he turned and said, "This is the mechanic, he will fix your boat. Pay him and the company will reimburse you.". Then he ran off to catch the ferry back to San Pedro.

Amanda and Bojana hung out at the docks while the mechanic reset the emergency stop button (the cable hung down broken and unattached) and cleared the flooded engine. Then he gave Brian a ride back to the dock on his jet ski and they drove it back.

We were anchored in the lee of Cay Caulker along with about ten other boats. Smoke from a wood fire and the factories on the island billowed out over the water and loud dance music blared from the bar on the north end. The masts of a sunken tug and sailboat leaned out of the water near shore.

We put on snorkel equipment and swam through the muddy water around the boat. Amanda saw a dead jellyfish floating in the water and poked it. Her face began to itch and her lips swelled up as the decomposing body released a cloud of stingers.

That evening I tried to bathe with a bar of rose soap but it wouldn't dissolve in the sea water. It felt like a bar of wax.

We played cards against humanity before bed. Amanda and I slept in the front left arm of the catamaran. Ricky and Bojana slept in the rear left and Kim and Brian slept in the rear right. The bathroom occupied the front right. The bed was a thin mattress that narrowed near the end covered by a single thin sheet. The space was oppressively hot but we had a small window on the inside of the hull only a few feet above the water line. I kept it open when I slept and the cool sticky air blew over our feet.

Dance music thumped late into the night.