The Usual Shenanigans

Another good few days.  Sondre showed up, Kenny showed up. A beach party.  Moved to the West Hollandes. Sandra left and Lindsay and Eline showed up.  I’m thankful that we’re done with crew-related movements for a few days.  I’ll finally be able to go somewhere and relax there until I decide to leave.  That’s nice.  Speaking of leaving – I have to haul the boat soon.  So much work coming up.  But, when I’m done I’ll be free to sail longer distances – which I need to do much more of this year. 

Future Kuna Bacon

Beach fires, drinks, and a boat

As far as updates are concerned – here’s what’s been happening:  diving, swimming, sailing, beach fires, fish, eating, drinking.  Then more of the same.  That’s more or less what we’ll be doing until I haul the boat, mid Feb.  To that end – since I don’t enjoy repeating myself, you may not receive a ton of updates until we start heading toward Puerto Lindo to get the boat hauled (at Panamarina).  I’m on vacation until then, and I’ll earn every bit of this vacation in the damned boatyard.

Visits From Friends

Lindsay was on for only three days, it’s still unclear how long Eline will be onboard.   They arrived the same afternoon Sandra left.  Since I wanted to get back to The Swimming Pool for a calming trend – I had everything ready.  And as soon as they were onboard – I fired up the engines and we pulled anchor – heading back North into a 15 knot headwind.  Not fun, but it was only a few miles.

Pulling into The Swimming Pool, I saw on my AIS a vessel that looked very close (see:  on top of) a reef that I anchor next to.  Almost in my spot, but dangerously so.  There was a rally of some sort stopping in, so there were boats anchored everywhere.  The boat in question, we soon saw, was firmly lodged on the reef.  Her entire bow was above water and the whole thing looked no-bueno.  Based upon the lack of panicked radio-chatter I assumed she wasn’t holed. 

We dropped the anchor just thirty meters from her, but in a much safer place, and begin setting up the boat for a few days of chill-time.  The tent-shade thing came out and I rolled down the rear-shade.  Then I dropped the dinghy and headed over to see if I could help with the yacht-reef issue.  After a quick look at the reef and the keel of said yacht – it looked pretty good.  I had a feeling we could, with the help of a few dinghies – get the keel out and free. 

Quick introductions were made, but it soon became clear that there wasn’t much experience onboard – at least in getting boats off reefs.  I’m hardly an expert – but we’ve done it multiple times here (San Blas is a dangerous spot to navigate).  The right move is to decide which way to go (forward or reverse) and then tie multiple dinghies (side-tying is usually best).  Then all the dinghies and the boat itself – use the engines to push together.  Dumping water helps too – it raises the boat in the water a couple of inches. 

We managed to get the keel dislodged – but then the rudder was scraping the coral, which is a delicate situation.  It was clear, though, that the boat would come loose.  And during this time many more dinghies with many unexperienced drivers had arrived to help.  And I was starving and there were two bikin-clad girls making a lunch for me on my boat.  So rather than stay and wade through the chaos of too many dinghies, too many chiefs, and not enough Indians – I returned to NOMAD, ate some cheese and drank some wine.  It was surely the right decision.  Shortly the boat was free, and the damage seemed minimal (if there was any). 

Onward.

We decided to head to BBQ Island with the beach gear.  The beach gear is typically:  a bluetooth speaker, a music playing device, sun-protection, bug spray, a cooler with alcoholic beverages, etc.  The guys on the island were happy to see me (or really, my crew) and welcomed us ashore.  Then it was exploring and volleyball and drinks. 

On our way back to NOMAD that evening, we passed Gris Gris (heya guys!) and had a quick conversation.  There was supposed to be a calming trend over the next couple of days, so we planned on a fish BBQ on the beach.  Naturally, that night, the wind picked up to 20 knots – and there went the next few days of diving outside the reef. 

Meet Lindsay

Coco Banderos

Beach parties and such

My girl

We spent the next couple of days playing and doing light-duty snorkeling in The Swimming Pool.  Then we sailed down to the Western Coco Banderos for a night.  Another beach fire and drinks as we watched the sun go down and turn the sky into fire and then violet and then the moon was full and lit up the ocean around us. 

It was Lindsay’s last night.  The next morning she’d leave on her way back to Panama City and “reality.”

And, again, I would be thankful that my reality is what it is.   So, very, thankful.  

Two things – if you’ve read this far:

1. I have a friend offering charters here in San Blas, and from San Blas to Cuba.  It’s a beautiful boat and a great captain, reach out if you’re interested.


2. I’m looking for experienced sailing crew to sail longer distances coming up.  This is a paying-crew position – meaning you pay a day-rate to be onboard, and you’ll have duties (just like every other crew member).  Reach out if you’re interested.  You must be 25 or older, have sailing experience, and be very comfortable in the water.  I’m going to be very picky.

The Usual Shenanigans

Back There

Laundry.  I desperately need to do laundry.  The good news is that board shorts never really get too dirty to wear in the water.  It’s the time out of the water that gets you.  I’ve discovered the art of using towels as clothes, though I can’t say that my towels are in much better shape.  This, though, will hardly make me leave my favorite dive spot. 

Onward. 

Back to The Swimming Pool

With Sandra onboard and getting her sea-legs we headed back to The Swimming Pool for a break in the weather.  Kenny (S/V Makai) was on his way up there, and we’ve become great friends so I was getting excited to see him.  I was being lazy, and ended up leaving the kayak in the water and towing it.  About halfway to The Swimming Pool, in the middle of a 6-8 foot beam swell, I noticed the kayak was no longer behind us.  A quick look around and (though it is bright red) – I realized that we would have trouble finding it. 

Aw, shit. 

We made a huge circle, taking into account wind and waves.  No luck.  Then we were back where we’d started a couple of hours before.  Still no kayak.  This was beginning to worry me.  Kayaks aren’t cheap.  At some point Sandra caught sight of the kayak in the binoculars.  A bit of maneuvering and we got along side of it and then got it back onboard.  A piece of the kayak had broken – it was nobody’s fault (except mine for being lazy and not bringing it up onboard).  The buck always stops with the captain.  Now we just needed to get back to The Swimming Pool.  

There.  Finally.

We pulled into The Swimming Pool and anchored in a spot I that I hoped would have good internet reception.  Of course it didn’t.  The updates here, the various boat-parts-searches, the “important” emails, communication with family and friends – would all have to wait.  We were, afterall, in an island paradise.   Internet connection, at least for short periods of time, is a sacrifice I’ll happily make.  

With the anchor down I immediately got my diving gear out.  I was here to chase fish.  As we headed toward the outer reef it looked rough.  Rougher than they were predicting in the weather forecast, surely.  The swells were 6-8 feet and breaking. That’s rough weather in a dinghy.  We did make it across the reef, though, and soon I was back in one of my favorite dive spots.  After all of that effort to get back here I was hoping the Universe would cut me some slack and give me an easy fish or two.  That was not to be.  Hell, it took us 15 minutes to set the anchor in the sloppy seas.  

Sandra had come out with me, but after a bit of diving through the swells she decided to wait it out in the dinghy.  I couldn’t blame her, it wasn’t comfortable diving.  Even for me, having done this more than a couple of times – it wasn’t an easy dive day. 

After a half-hour of being churned and pounded and rolled in the giant washing machine that was my favorite dive spot this day – the giant Dog Snapper, Cubera Snapper, or Black Grouper had evaded me.  Not even a sighting.   

So I kicked and kicked and kicked and eventually found myself in a slightly different area. And there I saw the only two shootable fish that day.  One large and one passable Dog Snapper.  I was out of breath and definitely not relaxed – but I made the dive, grabbed ahold of the bottom, and waited.  And waited.  And waited. 

The smaller of the two fish came and investigated.  The bigger one was keeping it’s distance.  As I waited on the larger fish, I was having a fierce internal debate.  Shooting the small fish would guarantee me ceviche, but since the dinghy was a long ways away – it would be nothing short of a miracle to be able to land his bigger brother also.  But a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.  But I really wanted his big brother.  Really.

After a few seconds of the smaller fish swimming around me I took the shot.  The spear passed through the gill-plate, so he was absolutely stuck.  Before I even made it to the surface, I had the spear back in the gun and was reloading the rubber.  On the surface I took a quick breath and then went back down, the smaller of the two snapper still swimming around on the end of my spear – making it very difficult to a) aim and b) control the speargun.  The good news was that the large Dog Snapper was still within eyesight when I hit the bottom. 

With the smaller snapper still swimming around on the end of my spear I waited on the bottom.  Much to my surprise, his big brother decided to investigate.  He came closer and closer.  But I needed him close to the end of my spear before I could take a shot – I had no way of aiming and the speared snapper was continuing to jerk me around.  About the time I had given up hope, the larger snapper came within range and I pulled the trigger.  Stoned.  He quivered and then, with two Dog Snapper on the spear I returned to the surface. 

The kick back to the dinghy in the rolling surf with two large and bleeding fish was a long one.  Then I needed to retrieve the anchor.  Then get the engine started and the dinghy away from the breaking waves.  With all of that done, I could catch my breath.  I earned those fish. 

Sandra and dinner

On the way back to the boat, Runner waved me over and I met the fine folks on Paradise.  Both were interested in fish, and I was planning on diving every day I could – so I was happy to give some away.  I cleaned the fish and an hour later delivered it, ziplocked. 

That evening, after an awesome fish dinner, Runner and Paradise came by and gave me some fresh-baked bread.  Once again – among friends and with a fridge full of fresh fish, all was right in the world. 

Back There

Hotel California

Connectivity hasn’t been great.  That’s my excuse.

It’s been a good few days – though I took a couple on the chin.  Things were going too well for me to get through unscathed.  It’s become more about keeping composure when I get hit, than avoiding the punches altogether.  One thing is becoming obvious – how hard it is to put San Blas in the rearview.  You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

The saildrive.  The ****ing saildrive.  I’ve come to hate these things, though I wasn’t a fan of them in the beginning.  The saildrive is a transmission of sorts – it has three gears (forward, neutral, reverse) and transfers the power of the engine to the prop.  I have two and the starboard one chewed through an integral piece called the Sliding Sleeve.  It’s a pretty rare occurrence – but I’m accustomed to unusual failures. 

A common failure would be so bland. 

With the help of Mike on Gilana (thanks dude!) we were able to remove the offending part.  Then the parts-search was on.  Turns out it was about $700 to get the part in the States, never mind the shipping and other BS required to get the part back onboard.  Never mind the labor and the downtime.  I decided, instead, to purchase a complete spare (though used) saildrive for the same price – thereby securing a bunch of other spares as well.

When I arrived back in San Blas, the saildrive was waiting on me (thanks Susan).  It was then up to me to remove the part from the spare saildrive and put it into my starboard saildrive.  Sounds easy, but it was hardly so.  It took about a day of sweating and cursing and bleeding in the engine room in inhuman positions, but I got it back together.  Then I needed to put back together the spare saildrive.  Then I tried it all out.  Reverse was forward and forward was reverse.  I’ve seen this before so I pulled things out and got them put back together correctly. All said and done, it seemed as if my saildrive woes were (at least temporarily) over.

I was free again.  Wow. 

NOMAD

Lots of diving.  Nate’s fish delivery service was back in full swing.  Need fish?  No problem – I was keeping my skills sharp and bringing back quality food for friends.  I put more fish onboard Bad Kitty, Runner, and (later) Paradise.  Steve quit bullshitting about eating SPAM and admitted that there were fish here – probably more to do with said fisherman than the fish (just getting even for all that SPAM talk, Steve).  Though one night Steve caught a Horse-eyed Jack (and told me it was a Blackfin Tuna).  My fridge/freezer was full.  Teena’s days onboard were coming to an end. 

Ol’ Andre

Then Andre showed up. Both of the pics below are dated – but we didn’t take many pictures last time ’round.

Andre (Dani is in there too)

Andre!

Andre has become a close friend.  As close as you can be without being blood.  He runs a backpacker boat from Cartagena to San Blas (and back the other way).  He pulled in next to us and we headed over there.  Then we had lunch with his crew and guests.  He was leaving later that afternoon for Robinson Island and then onto the East Lemmons for a little beach party.  This was as good of a chance as any to test my saildrive repairs and so – we decided to go with Andre.

On the way to Isla Robinson everything was fine.  We were chugging along at a fair pace, under full power.  Of course, when we arrived, things took a turn for the worse.  As I was setting the anchor I put my starboard engine into reverse – and heard a grinding sound. I immediately killed the engine and took a look into the saildrive – there was oil and nothing seemed amiss.  This led me to suspect one of two things:  a small piece of the broken part worked it’s way into the gears/bearings or the bearings had begun to seize.  Not cool.  Major bummer. 

Determined to not let this screw up my day – we continued on as planned.  After the short stop at Robinson Island we headed to the East Lemmons and started the party routine.  There were several captains there with full crews – so the party was in full swing.   

The next day was Teena’s departure – after which I would spent a few days alone onboard.  Steve was heading to Shelter Bay.  I had crew coming in on the 19th – but that was 9 days away.   So that evening when a girl asked me if I wanted crew for a few days, I responded positively. I told her that she would be cooking and cleaning – but that we would sail a bit and dive alot.  She was keen, and so plans were made to move her from Andre’s boat to mine in a couple of days.  The crew in question is a 23 year old Austrian girl named Sandra – and to date, she’d been epic.  As a general rule, I don’t bring on people under 25 – but this was spontaneous and turned out to be a good time to break general rules.  Meet Sandra.

Sandra

When Sandra arrived, we spent a day relaxing and cooking and getting ready to get under way the following day.  I wanted to get back to The Swimming Pool for a break in the wind/waves/weather – so I could get to the outer reef and chase Black Grouper.   Of course – the wind was in our face, so I diverted to a Western part of the Coco Banderos, where we dropped the anchor behind Drummer – who would become friends.

Lionfish

That afternoon we went for a quick snorkel and I found a couple of giant lionfish for the beach-fire we would have with Drummer and Soliel (?) that evening.  We made friends that night and all of us were talking about heading to Cuba – wanting to get there before the floodgates opened and officially let Americans in to do what they do best – corrupt culture with the almighty dollar.  All of the reports of Cuba are great – big fish, cheap living, interesting culture.  Cheap rum, good cigars.  Even pretty women.  There seems very little reason to not go (besides the horrible amount of boat work that lies ahead of me). 

Another epic sunset

After we ate garlic/butter lobster and grilled fish, talked sailing and spearfishing – everyone perched on driftwood benches around the fire – I was reminded, again, how lucky I am to be here.  Even if the damn boat would never be completely fixed.  Even if I have to work until I’m one hundred years old.  Even if I’m going broke faster than I ever imagined. 

It’s all good. 

Hotel California

I left off last post as I was boarding a plane from Houston to Panama, with only half of my boat-gear.  On this flight a couple of pretty women took an interest in  me and so we exchanged numbers and names on the plane, much to the surprise of many of the passengers.  Never they mind, this is S.O.P.    

On the flight, I napped for a few minutes and read.  Real sleep continued to evade me, but a nap was progress.  

Joy, Back in Panama

When we landed the girls found me again and cut in the customs line so we could talk.  They seemed fun and adventurous.  To that end, I could think of few reasons to not have them onboard.  It soon became obvious they would visit NOMAD. 

As I walked out of the gates in Panama City, I was greeted by Teena (other crewish) and Roger (our taxi driver).  We went straight to the hotel, dropped my bags, and went in search of a good meal and a good drink.  It was also Dec 31st – meaning we needed a party.  The good news is that the meal, drinks, and party were easy to find.  And find them we did, complete with a ridiculously dangerous fireworks show that you can only get in near-3rd world countries. 

The next morning we were a little hungover.  I’m functional in this state, so I was up and starting to accomplish what I could this fine (New Year’s) day. I needed boat stuff, a ton of groceries, comms, an iPad repair, SIM cards, etc.  Naturally, this was New Years Day,  there wasn’t much we could do (everything was closed) – but we did try.  That evening the girls I met on the plane (Bobbeye and Alexis – hey girls, miss you already) came shopping with us and we arranged to get out to the boat the following day. 

Around 1PM the next day we loaded too much food/drink and too much boat-gear into a 4WD vehicle and took off toward San Blas.  A short stop for food and then we were suddenly unloading all of this into a launcha, the very same launcha that picked me up three weeks ago from NOMAD (this will be important as the story progresses).  We double-checked everything and made sure we all understood what was happening and then we pushed off toward NOMAD. 

Now,  NOMAD was in The Swimming Pool, and the drivers of my launcha knew this and had – just a couple weeks before – picked me up on NOMAD in The Swimming Pool.  So getting back to the boat wasn’t a huge concern of mine – we were going home and we would be there by sunset.   Surely.  

So when the launcha driver stopped in Yansaladup (many miles from The Swimming Pool and NOMAD) and inquired as to where my boat was – I was surprised.  My boat was another 10 miles away – exactly where I’d left it and where this very man picked me up just a few weeks before.  Even if he was stoned, this shouldn’t have happened.  When the driver told me he didn’t have enough fuel to get out to my boat, it was hard to hide my frustration.  We had reached the point that I was doubting his mental faculties.  Now I had myself, three guests, and two months worth of food (some of it needing refrigeration) – and we had no way to get that to my boat, nor anyplace to spend the night until we could regroup.  Light was fading fast, we were cold and wet, and there was no easy solution.  But I had a couple of tricks up my sleeve and I knew more than a couple people around here.

As we pulled into the nearest island chain, I heard the launcha driver trying to figure out his next move on the phone.  He was trying to justify his mistake and patch it up as best he could – but he’d effed up badly.  Very badly.   It was, after all, his only job to know where boats were and to deliver people to them.  Incompetence is so common here, but this was above and beyond. 

As we pulled into Chichime (still many miles from NOMAD), I saw friends on the islands.  A huge wave of relief washed over me as I recognized a good friend and fellow Texan – Steve.  Steve has a beautiful and large and fancy and expensive 44 foot Leopard catamaran.  And we needed something like that to sleep on tonight, since our launcha driver failed us so completely.  Luckily for me, it wasn’t a group of guys I was asking to put onboard Steve’s boat – but a group of beautiful women.  So he said yes and we began the process of unloading the launcha onto Bad Kitty. 

That night we came to the decision that we would all sail together on Steve’s boat (Bad Kitty) to The Swimming Pool.  After all Steve needed some fish and I could (minimally) provide that for him, since he’d been such a gracious host.  Of course, Steve was doubtful about The Swimming Pool providing the kind of fish I said it could – but I know this spot and I know it well.  To that end, I would fill his freezer- providing the weather wasn’t overly strong. 

Underway

The next morning we pulled Bad Kitty’s anchor, stopped by a friend’s yacht to pick up groceries to deliver to another friend in The Swimming Pool – and headed towards NOMAD.  Finally.  The girls began to get seasick, despite a tiny swell and sea-sickness pills.  As we arrived and NOMAD came into view I couldn’t help but do a little dance.  Finally, finally, back home.  FINALLY.  I promised myself to think hard before I left her (NOMAD) again.  

Surprisingly the boat was in good condition.  There was the mold-farm, but that is the nature of leaving a boat locked up in the Caribe.  Batteries were full.  Water was full.  Both of which were important, considering I now had three land-lubbing ladies onboard – afterall, it takes months to develop water and electricity discipline.

Dinghy-grocery moves (and Steve/Bad Kitty)

The rest of the day was spent moving things from Bad Kitty to NOMAD, saying hello to old friends that were in the area, and drinking our celebratory drinks.  More friends showed up – hey Lisa, you still have my pans :)   … Everyone was asking for fish.  But when we headed out to the reef – it was too rough, even for me.  And so we ended up eating spaghetti and making plans for tomorrow’s fishing escapade.  We drank and talked and Lisa stopped by so we could catch up.  She reminded me that it was a year ago that we met – on New Years on an island named Yansaladup.  It’s been a wild year.  

The girls

Good days

The next morning found Bobbeye and Alexis leaving abrutly, in search of a reliable internet connection that proved impossible to provide the night before.  Something about work.  And it was another moment in which I was reminded how good my life really is – to not be controlled by such outside forces.  I was sad to see them go, but such is life.  With the girls gone and hangovers to nurse – the rest of the day was spent resting and cleaning.  That afternoon I got in touch with Kenny who is now in this area (Kenny, can’t wait to see you dude!).  Having good friends around you makes all the difference in the world.  

At some point Steve began telling me (again) how few fish there were in The Swimming Pool.  I told him I would fill his freezer in less than an hour – depending on some amount of luck with weather/fish.  Steve told me that he bet we would be eating SPAM for dinner.  I knew better, and always appreciate a spearfishing challenge.

After all of his chiding – I picked him up in the dinghy that afternoon and we went outside the reef.  The rolling waves were steep and every bit of 8 foot – crashing into the reef with a sound that is exciting to me, but terrifying to others (I soon found out).  Steve was at the edge of his limits – his knuckles were white and when I was laughing, he was tight-lipped as we jumped and crashed through the surf to the outer reef.  It’s always a bit dicey getting outside, but we made it.

As I found the nearest honey-hole and dropped the anchor – Steve decided he would stay in the dinghy.  It was too rough for him.  And, of course, he didn’t think I would find fish.  As I rolled into the water – he said “Just think about SPAM.”  

Three minutes later I put the first of the fish into the dinghy.  No big deal to me, but Steve was a bit surprised. 

Within twenty minutes I’d speared Black Grouper, Dog Snapper, Triggerfish (Teena placed this order), and Yellow Jack.  And I’d seen a Goliath Grouper the size of a Volkswagen Beetle.  Stoked?  Yep.  My first dive back at The Swimming Pool and I’d landed another Black Grouper.  At this point we had fish for a week, and the dinghy was rolling precariously over the steep and near-breaking waves – so I called the trip and we navigated back to our catamarans.  As I jumped into the dinghy with the last fish – Steve said:  “Thank God you’re done, I was sure these waves were going to flip the dinghy.”  

Once back at the catamarans we cleaned the fish and planned our dinner, which was to be held onboard Bad Kitty.  I actually took a shower, put on clean clothes and even combed my hair.  We brought a bottle of red wine and the dinner ended up resembling a get-together in someone’s $1M condo downtown – but with better views.  Sometimes I feel spoiled.  And sometimes I feel like the most overworked and underpaid captain that has ever existed.  I suppose it all balances out. 

We talked until I’d finished cooking the fish – then we gorged ourselves on one of the best meals I’ve had in months.  At the end of it, as I stretched out on a cushion to listen to the waves break on the reef and the fish jump around the boat.

It wasn’t silent, but it was peaceful.  No car horns. No sirens.  No dogs barking.  No road noise.  No alarms.  No children screaming.  Just the sound of the breaking waves underneath a beautifully starlit sky.  We were quiet for a moment, just enjoying the silence, lost in not-so-deep thought.    

Then Steve verbalized what I was feeling.  He said, “What the f*ck would you do if you had to go to work tomorrow in Austin?”  We laughed hysterically at this.  

And as his words faded into the night, so did the very thought itself, never to be taken seriously. Joy.  Back in Panama.  

Joy, Back in Panama

The Holiday Madness (is finally over)

There is an unalterable fact about the Holiday season in the States:  as the Holidays approach, madness ensues.  Sometimes this stateside madness even reaches out and grabs ahold of people many miles from the States.  Sometimes it even grabs me.

This year was no exception.  Last year my family visited me in San Blas for Christmas, but to think that would happen again would be wishful thinking. Which left two options:  1) go back Stateside (not preferable) or 2) don’t see the family (also not preferable), don’t participate in the madness, and spend Christmas on a deserted, white sand beach cooking freshly caught fish (preferable). 

Of those two options, I chose option 1.  The truth is, I like seeing family.  Which is, besides a boat-part search, the only reason I can see to return stateside.

Leaving NOMAD wasn’t all that easy.  The night before there was a small going-away party.  I needed to leave the boat somewhere safe (and get it there with a single engine).  I needed to go through all of the rigamarole of closing up and turning off the boat for a couple of weeks.  We emptied the fridge and turned it off, shut down all unnecessary electronics, put everything inside, and locked everything up. 

With our going-away party the night before, we were very short on sleep when the launcha arrived to carry us away.  The ride to Carti from The Swimming Pool was a long one.  Because of a minor emergency, I was leaving a little earlier than planned, and we (Ana, Dez, and I) were all in the water-taxi and then all in the same 4-wheel drive vehicle – heading to Panama City. 

At the airport, I said goodbye to my crew and then the usual nonsense started.  One of the security guards balked about the contents of one of my carry-ons.  I was bringing part of my watermaker home to have Spectra re-work it.  He didn’t like the way it looked, and despite it breaking none of the rules about contents of a carry-on;  he decided it warranted further investigation.  He insisted that I get an employee of the airlines to come and look and make a decision.  I raised Hell.  He quickly lost his confidence as I explained the issue to the police – who took notice when I raised my voice.  I could see, across the face of this particular security guard, that he knew he was going to lose this – but he stood firm and so I went off to try to get some underpaid flight worker to make a decision that I already knew would go my way.

Explaining to a Spanish-only airline employee that you have a part of a desalination system in your carry on, and that a security guard with a learning disability is insisting that someone from an airline come and pass judgement on it’s validity as a carry-on item isn’t easy.  But I did it. 

The airline worker kept saying that he didn’t understand what the problem was.  The truth is, neither did I.  But this was the game, and so we played.  After a brief discussion, the airline worker looked disgustedly at the security guard and told the security guard that he needed to let me through, as I was breaking no rules.  The security guard balked at first – but I got the police involved again and he sheepishly helped me re-pack the part and let me through.  Jackass.  This was the beginning of my re-integration, and it was already feeling like it would be a struggle. 

Next up was a flight delay.  Then on the flight there was a screaming infant one row in front of me and a morbidly obese person on my immediate right.   People were coughing all around me.  My larger than life neighbor was already asleep and leaning toward me – a sure sign of me becoming their head-rest and drool pillow for the next few hours.

This trend, thankfully, began changing when I touched down in Houston, Texas.  My Mom was there to pick me up and I collapsed in the passenger seat – wanting nothing but Taco Bell and somewhere to lay my head.  Back at her house I took my first hot shower in months and attempted to sleep.  Sleep, I would learn, wouldn’t come in these next weeks. 

The next day I unpacked, sorted through the corrugated Great Wall of China that the UPS, USPS, and FedEx guys had constructed along the front porch.  This was the result of my Amazon shopping for my boat-toys and replacement parts.  With life slowly starting to take shape here, I packed the minimal into the saddlebags on my motorcycle and that evening I sped toward Austin.  Admitting the speed in which I made it to Austin probably isn’t a great idea, but I will say that it was an exciting ride, despite the traffic the car-drivers endured.  Getting back on a motorcycle, after so long, is a remarkable feeling.  The speed and freedom is addicting. 

On The Move

In Austin, things already broken deteriorated.  But eventually I was back in my groove and day-drinking with friends that should have been working. 

A trip to Houston.  Back to Mom’s.  Back to Austin.  An expensive ticket on the bike.  A music festival.  New friends, old friends.  Drinking and playing.  Never feeling at home.  Sleep a thing of the past.  Everything so superficial.  Everyone taking such pride in uttering the words:  “I’m busy.”  

People were now married or now had kids.  But all was remarkably similar.  If we’re being honest, the people were so similar that I often wondered if I’d ever left.  What, in pray tell, had they done in the last months?  I wondered if it would always be this way.  I had changed, again, immensely.  I could feel it.  The growing impatience with the small-talk of “home”, the lack of interest in people’s job-talk, the tiring of hearing the same bland story over and over.  Even more, now than ever, a man apart.  Everyone else just going with the flow. 

The distance between “normal” and myself ever-widening, those “normal” folks seeming completely stuck.  I’m moving, changing, growing so quickly – sometimes it seems as if they are altogether unmoving, despite running faster and faster on the wheel.  What is it about the Rat Race which is so hard to identify as fruitless, when one is running it?  Or is it a constant state of distraction that enables it?  

No Home

I’ve always been an easy-sleeper. In the military, you so often find yourself at the end of your wits and completely physically exhausted (through lack of sleep, the adrenaline-crash, and extreme physical exertion).  In this state you learn to sleep in any position and in any environment.  But sleep evaded me this time home, despite air conditioning and luxurious beds.  Hot showers, baths, cold drinks, Benadryl, and full stomachs didn’t help.  This added to an ever-deepening feeling of discomfort Stateside. 

Christmas came and went. The family was together and that was what mattered to me, the gifts and the religious muddling could be left for the birds.

I’m a grown human being – and when grown human beings want/need an item, they hardly make a list and hope that Santa delivers it on Christmas.  They visit Amazon and it shows up on their doorstep two days later.  If I see something I want/need on December 24th, I’m buying it, not waiting and hoping someone can read my mind and get exactly the item I want/need.  Please.  Of course, I’m also expected to mind-read and have gifts for everyone else.  I’ve always been a bit curious about this, but especially now. How, after months sailing around the Caribbean, in limited contact with everyone but the people in my anchorage, should I know that you need a new leash for your dog?  I prefer Thanksgiving.   

What Did You Guys Do After I Left?

One morning, shortly after I returned, I made a mistake and watched a bit of news in a hotel lobby while eating a marginal continental breakfast.  It was Donald Trump defending a ban on Islam, as a presidential candidate.  I won’t get into the reasons this is a dumb f*cking idea, but lets just say if and when one has this kind of idea – it would behoove them to keep it to themselves.  Better to be thought a fool, than open one’s mouth and remove all doubt.   It was a stark reminder of how foolish the American public is.  And that is enough to remind me that removing myself from the clutches of those very masses was an intelligent move.  That was my last flirt with news and “real-life”, I decided.  You  can have all of that, I have no use for it.  

Leaving

Suddenly it was time to go and everything was in disarray and half-complete and I was wondering where the time went – despite, earlier, spending hours wishing it would just be over.  Goodbyes.  Farewells.  Tears. Hugs.  That last email. This last Facebook message.  The last phone call.  A couple of very permanent goodbyes.  Some goodbyes I hoped were less permanent. Genuine heartbreak. Shedding anchors. 

More Airport Foolishness

Packing for these trips is stressful. I have too much boat-gear that needs to get to my boat-home, and the airlines are doing a great job of taking up where the rest of society leaves off:  if you don’t fit in their box, you’re going to have a bad time.  This “fitting into the box” makes moving through life much easier, but as everyone tries to fit into the box we remove individuality and everything becomes so vanilla. 

And this evolution of the airlines – once a symbol of freedom, now another source of stress and outrageous regulations and “security” – all pushing conformity.  The feeling of a cattle-herding operation, the whole of which is a near-perfect metaphor for the progression of our society. 

The feeling of being outside-looking-in never stronger, and from where I’m sitting (outside) – it seems more like a dystopian nightmare playing out on the inside.  I’m not fighting to get back inside.  This I promise you. 

Arriving at the airport with too much baggage and trying to make the square peg fit the round hole is part patience and part dealing with people that have below-average intelligence.  Maybe I’m being harsh and it’s just an exercise in futility.  Or maybe, this may be a circle of Hell. 

Part of my baggage included three flexible solar panels that I was planning to mount to my hardtop bimini to increase my solar capabilities onboard.  Upon arriving at the airport, we were almost through the bullshit – when a roving airline worker noted that these panels (which I was trying to check in) were actually three separate boxes that were taped, and roped together.  This was against some protocol.  I explained that if it made them feel better about their lives, I would happily cover these three boxes in a piece of fabric, because, afterall, that was (essentially) what my other checked bag was.  I offered to cover these three separate (but well secured) boxes in whatever material they wanted, and though the airline workers (surprisingly) recognized my sarcasm and the underlying point (what, exactly, constitutes a single “package”) – they would need a manager’s approval. 

As soon as we (Mom and I) saw the manager we knew we were screwed.  My Mom made a comment to that effect immediately.  Picture an unhappy, overweight, past middle-aged female airline worker. Someone resigned to unhappiness, a tangible aura of unhappiness emanating from her.  Got that mental image?  Good.  That is who they sent to ruin my day.  She arrived with a frown on her already unpleasant face, and I only saw it change for a nanosecond when she got the satisfaction of ruining someone else’s day. She was so efficient at this I actually wondered if it were in her job description.  

Rather than being human and waving the bag aboard, she chose to go through every possible reason the package wouldn’t be able to go.  The thing she decided upon was (wait for it…..) an embargo.  There is, as I write, some random embargo.  This embargo restricts packages above 68” in total whatever they measure – from entering Panama.  There is, of course, no notification of this to travelers.  I checked the baggage rules right before I left, and there was no mention of this.  So this airline worker refused to allow my package onto the plane.  When I asked her how we were supposed to know about this embargo, (I shit you not) she replied:  “You know now, don’t you?”  And, as if to try to top that as the shittiest thing an employee of an airline may say to the customer of said airline, she ended our brief and unpleasant encounter by explaining that this embargo “Inconveniences us more than you.”  The ignorance in this statement is and was dumbfounding.  Thanks United Airlines, here’s my middle finger right back atcha.  

And so, the solar panels so carefully chosen and packed (and so necessary to my lifestyle) are in Houston, Texas as I made my way to my boat. 

All of this, in combination with lack of sleep, didn’t help my mood.  In an effort to get over that – I decided to have a crew interview as I was waiting on my plane to board.  The interview went well and reminded me how good my life was soon to be.  The interview reminded me this trip home was coming to an end, and that soon I would be back onboard NOMAD.  Soon, if I could just make it to my boat, all would be right in the universe.

This positive interview reminded me of something else – after all of this insanity, the universe owed me something awesome.  It needed to balance out the scales.  We have an understanding to that effect.  The universe came through in the form of two beautiful women that were just ahead of me in the boarding line.  One turned to me and after an up-and-down look, she asked me why I was going to Panama.  I told her I had a boat there.  She asked why I had a boat there, and I told her it was a good place to have a boat.  And then this beautiful woman told me that neither of them had plans, they loved boats, and they were looking for good beaches.  Of course – I was anchored around some of the best beaches on the planet and had room on my boat. 

So the women were interested and beautiful and available and on my flight.  And as I boarded, I couldn’t help but smile.   Here it was: the universe balancing out the bullshit I’d so recently endured.  My friends in San Blas would be, again, surprised by a bikini-laden NOMAD. 

PS – to those of you I met at home, who read this – you made the trip infinitely better.  Seeing people back home, and reconnecting with people who read what I write is something I enjoy immensely.  So thanks to everyone in Bellville, Houston, and Austin that tolerated me for my brief stint Stateside.  Without you hoodlums, I’d likely have been driven insane :)

The Holiday Madness (is finally over)