Where the Hell is Puerto Rico?

I had no idea where Puerto Rico was, yet I had just finished committing myself to delivering a fifty three foot fishing boat from San Juan to St. Petersburg Fla.

It all started like this:

My wife Rose and I were living on a houseboat in St. Petersburg, Florida.  One day Roger, a good friend, liveaboard neighbor and the dockmaster came up to me, smiled devilishly and asked, ”Would you like to deliver a boat from Puerto Rico to this marina?”  I asked him why I would want to do something as stupid as that.  He smiled and said, “Because I already told a man that you would.”   I asked Roger, “Where the hell is Puerto Rico?”

Roger and his wife Fran, along with Rose and me had delivered several boats together from various places in Florida to St. Pete.  We even towed a big houseboat; in rough weather from Tarpon Springs, Florida using Roger’s 46 foot Chris Craft.  I vowed to never do that again because I was delegated to be the babysitter on the towed boat, in case the line broke.  They had to pass Bloody Marys back to me on the tow line, just to keep me warm in the cold weather and to pacify me.

I met the boat owner from Puerto Rico that evening at the local Holiday Inn where he bought my dinner.   We discussed the pay, the trip and when I would leave to fly to Puerto Rico. He waxed lyrical about this boat that he loved, describing it as a 53 foot Hatteras, gorgeous, in excellent shape with two big diesel engines.  I accepted the job and hurried back to my houseboat, where I grabbed the charts to see where Puerto Rico was located.  I couldn’t wait to get my hands on this gem that had given him so much pleasure

A week later I found myself 30,000 feet high, on my way to Puerto Rico.  I was looking down at all the beautiful clear water and the ubiquitous islands and beaches, wondering how I ever let myself get into this crazy situation.  Would I ever be able to find the USA again?  The flight over would take a couple of hours. The trip back would take about 11 days.

At the airport in San Juan I got one of those no brakes, all horn and guts, crazy taxi drivers to take me to the Club Nautico Marina.  After the driver pulled over to where he thought I wanted to go, I told him that he had just passed the marina by 30 yards, but I could walk back.  “Oh no Senor, I will get you there” At that, he backed up on the busy highway causing the other cars to jam on their brakes, honk their horns and squeal their tires.  Pulling into the marina with a big smile he said, “You are here, Senor”

I was excitedly going up and down the docks looking for this “gorgeous” boat or at least someone who spoke English to help me find it.  I finally found someone who spoke English.  That man was Roberto, who said he was the designated mechanic of the boat I was looking for.  I was wondering why this boat needed a full time mechanic and have to admit that I was starting to harbor doubts about this trip..  Roberto took me to the boat.  She was an old 53 foot Hatteras with a 40 foot tuna tower hovering high above and looking as if she had been rode hard and fast..  Roberto showed me around the boat while I tried to act cool.  She was a lot older than the photos I had been shown in the States.  (Obviously taken in her prime.)

On board were two depth sounders, three AM radios, one auto pilot, one RDF and one fresh water making system, none of which worked. The bilge pump didn’t work either.  Roberto reminded me, “Zee horn work real good and so does zee cassette player” This about the cassette player working was obvious because I heard 11 straight days of

 Doc Severinson  playing the trumpet.  (Same tape)

 Almost none of the gauges on the main helm, the flying bridge or the tuna tower registered anything.  A large Boston Whaler was our only lifeboat.  Its engine was inoperable, there was no plug for the drain hole, and the davit which was used to lift it overboard hadn’t worked in years.  There were no oars.

Late in the afternoon a tall, good looking guy appeared at the boat.   It was Captain Pedro.  He was to be the Captain from here to the USA and then I would take over as Captain.  Thank God, now I didn’t have to worry about being lost; only sinking. Captain Pedro had made this trip many times in many types of boats, even a small runabout.  The Captain had a bicycle pump in his hand.  Making an effort at humor, I asked if he were expecting a flat on this trip.  Seriously he said, “No Senor, but zee boat steering does not work too well and it must have some air pumped into the hydraulics every now and then”

That was incredible; now add steering to the defective list. 

Roberto, the mechanic volunteered, “Thees boat ees a peece of junk” To that, Captain Pedro added, “Oh yes, zee portholes are all loose and some are falling out, Captain Baker”

I considered returning to the airport but I was afraid of that damn cab ride.

Then the owner’s son-in-law arrived onboard and made me sign a large insurance policy for the trip.  Well, at least Rose (my wife) might benefit from this fiasco.

Later on, six friends of the owner came on board.  We all had several rum and tonics, along with a lot of jokes and laughter.  Unfortunately for me, most of the conversation was in Spanish.  Things were starting to look up now.  (Obviously the rum)   We did have a few good things going for us. 1. Captain Pedro had made this trip many times.  2. The hull seemed to be sound even though it had been badly holed a few years ago.  3. Roberto had promised me that if nothing else worked, he would install two horns that he personally guaranteed would work.  I reasoned, (rum talking) that the trip would be fine, and even if the boat sank at the worst possible time, we’d be only 150 miles from land,  in water only 36,000 feet deep, with no life boat available, over the Puerto Rican Trench.

Later in the evening I took a walk on the dock toward the land side.  Roberto came running out on the dock and yelled, “Captain Baker, where do you theenk you are going?”  I obediently returned, feeling like a prisoner who had been gang pressed.

Morning came after a rumfit sleep.  We made ready for departure.  The only problem was rounding up the people that were going on the trip i.e.: Captain Pedro and the boat owner’s friend Pedro #2.  Pedro#2 was a hair dresser and a very jovial man.  I took his

attendance as good news because the boat owner would not send a good friend on an ill-fated trip, would he?  Finally, very late, everyone was on board.

At 2:30 PM we unhooked from our slip and honked the horn  in farewell to about two dozen friends standing on the dock to see us off.  I noticed several of them facing us and making the sign of the cross.

We went to San Juan Harbor to check the old compass for accuracy and found it was off 15 to 25 degrees in almost every direction of the compass rose.  I figured that was good because it would mean another day in port to make corrections but Captain Pedro looked up at me smiling and said,  “Thees ees gude enuff, let’s go”

As we ventured out the channel past Morro Castle the winds were 25 mph and the swells were very large.  Pedro# 2 commented, “Thees water is calm and beautiful like thees all the time” I was at the helm on the flying bridge running the boat.  After an hour of twelve foot swells pushing us from behind the steering broke.  The boat just sloshed around in any direction it wished.  I steered the best I could using only the throttles, while yelling for someone to wake the Captain.  Roberto and I then jumped down into the aft hull to find the problem. Captain Pedro labored to hold the helm as steady as he could, while we waded through the slimy, greasy bilge looking for the reason we couldn’t steer.  We found a steering rod bolt broken in two.  Roberto jury rigged some things together with wire and duct tape. (necessary ingredients for this boat) and we continued westward.  After five minutes Captain Pedro asked me to take the wheel again because he was going back to bed.  Roberto went to bed also.  In fact Roberto went to bed three times that day.  That left just me and Pedro# 2 on the bridge.  (That is, whenever he wasn’t sleeping)

We cruised six more hours that day and planned to tie up to a large can buoy just west of the Port of Borinquen at the west end of Puerto Rico.  As I was leaning over the bow trying to make fast our line to the buoy, I heard some Spanish spoken and the boat went in fast reverse with me damn near flying over the bow.  After I recovered Captain Pedro said, “Wee will anchor instead” I wished that I had known some Spanish cuss words at the time.  We went to bed at midnight and got up to haul anchor at 3AM in order to cross the infamous Mona Passage, which has been known to be pretty rough.  The trip wasn’t bad at all.

Doggo” and a cat was “El Catto” etc.  When I used his language, he rolled all over the boat laughing.

About 3 AM I went back to the boat and slept on the deck of the tuna tower, where there was a nice breeze. One hour later Captain Pedro woke me by screaming my name very loud, over and over.  He didn’t know where I was and feared that maybe I had tried to abandon ship again.  We reluctantly left this fun place at 4 AM and headed east around the east end of the Dominican Republic.  The steering broke again after about 5 minutes of running.  More panic, more duct tape and more wire, and then we were on our way.  The scenery was beautiful with sandy beaches, steep hills and palm trees.  We had a rolly polly ride of about 125 miles ahead of us.  The depth of the ocean was so impressive that I decided to make an experiment.  I filled a coke can and sunk it.  I calculated the can would not hit bottom for about three hours. Then Pedro# 2 came up on the bridge and commented, “Hey, did you notice all the nice Mommies in Samana Bay?”

Roberto and Captain Pedro went back to bed.  (Guess who was steering)  I actually enjoyed steering from the bridge, so I had no complaints.  When I had to pee I would call for Pedro# 2 to take the wheel with his one hand, while the other was holding his rum and coke.  We backed into a dock at Puerto Plata at 5 PM.  The apparent friendliness of the island changed demonstrably.  Two tough looking hombres aimed guns at us until we answered several questions, gave them some cash and a bottle of liquor.  While all this politicking was going on, an old man on shore was having a heated discussion with Pedro# 2 in Spanish.  In his arms, the man had a cute little goat, weighing about 20 lbs.  I was waiting to go ashore and pet the goat.  As I got ashore and walked up to them, the old man laid the goat down on the ground and cut his throat.  The heated discussion had been about the price of the goat for our evening meal. This made me mad; I had never eaten goat before and I wasn’t about to begin that evening.  The rest of the guys made fun of me until I relented and took a bite.  It was so good that I almost didn’t leave any for the rest of them.

During our short visit the crew and guests, except for me, went to town.  Every place we docked they went to town and returned with more food, (which we didn’t need) and more often than not returned with a present for everyone on board.

Now I understood why it’s called downhill from Puerto Rico to the USA.  The Easterlies would drive 20 foot swells up our stern, and then we would zoom downhill for 200 yards at a time until the next swell came along.

At the West Caicos Islands, north of the Dominican Republic, we went to the house of a friend of Captain Pedro’s to drink and shoot pool, while some locals delivered fuel to our boat in 50 gallon drums.  The people living in the house tried to get Pedro# 2 to stay and live with them as their local hairdresser and wig seller.  He refused but I do think he was considering it because he said out loud to everyone, “Some nice Mommies here, huh?”

The next night we anchored about 30 yards from an uninhabited island, Plano Cay.

because they were all sleeping.  I finally hit the correct angle toward the boat and made it aboard.  I stayed aboard.

We left Plano Cay at 4 AM the next morning, headed for Staniel Cay, in the Exumas.

Because of a giant storm coming in from the northwest, we had to enter the islands a lot further south than we had intended.  We bumped the bottom a couple of times, lightly.

Our normal routine every morning would be for Captain Pedro to start the engines, tell me what course to follow and then go back to bed.  I would follow his directions for the predetermined time.  I would then hand the wheel to Pedro# 2 and go below to wake the Captain.  He would lift his head, not even looking out the window, but only at his watch to note the time and say, “Si, Captain Baker, you will now change course to 325 degree”, roll over and go back to sleep.  He was amazing, he knew where we were going, even in his sleep.  Almost every day we got under way about 2 or 3 AM.  This made for long days because we never got to our destination until late in the day.

As soon as we docked in Staniel Cay, I knew this would be my favorite place of all.

There were few inhabitants and those few hung out at the marina bar just 20 feet from where we docked.   There was no bartender, you went behind the bar, poured your own drinks, kept your own tab and paid up when you left the island. This was great.

 Later that night Pedro#2 made a Radiotelephone call from the bar to his family in Puerto Rico.  Pedro #2 is probably the most animated person I have ever known.  He was so funny on the phone that night that the bar owner woke his kids and brought them out to watch and listen to Pedro# 2.  It was grand entertainment.

We stopped at Nassau where gifts were bought for everyone on board, again.  Then we went west to the small private island of Cat Cay.  You weren’t allowed on the land, just at the dock, to buy fuel.  We crossed the Gulf Stream to Ft. Lauderdale and stayed overnight.  My 20 year old daughter came on board to visit us for the evening.  Pedro#2 kept telling her what a nice Mommie she was.

The next morning the steering broke again and the reverse wasn’t working.  We retaped the steering and as soon as Captain Pedro got it going in reverse, by a lot of cussing and kicking the helm; we headed north to Stuart Inlet, then west across Lake Okeechobee.  After we crossed the lake, for some reason, I insisted that we go through the big gates in front of us and then turn right.  Captain Pedro said, “Oh no, Captain Baker, turn right before zee gates”  I gave Captain Pedro a look that said, “Captain Pedro, we are in the USA now, and I am Captain”  I drove this big monster through the gates and there was nothing in front of me but many, many small fishing boats everywhere, and no place to maneuver.  Captain Pedro just looked at me and said, “OK Captain Baker, now you turn it around?

Thank God for twin engines.

things.  1. He would be bringing his grandchildren aboard one of these days and if any of them asked me to sink this boat, then I would do exactly that.  2.  His friend was to run the boat for as long as he wanted, while we headed north to St. Pete. 3.  I also found out the reason the boat was going to the USA.  It was to be repaired and sold.  I let his friend have the helm, until he was so drunk that he was going south instead of north.

 As I took over the steering the owner came up to me and said, “We will go feeshing now” All I could do, even though I was anxious to get home, was to slow down and let the boat drift, while they feeshed.  After only 10 minutes the owner yelled up at me, “Captain Baker, there are no feesh in thees waters, we will dreenk now”

Captain Pedro always took control of the boat when it was time to dock; he had never let me dock the boat, so I was edgy about how I would put it into the tight slip reserved for us, in front of all my friends and family watching at the marina.  I did a good job, much to my relief, even if I say so myself.  My son Eddie saw the boat coming up the channel and went to get Rose and Mary Diane.  They came aboard and climbed the ladder to the Tuna Tower at Pedro# 2‘s insistence.  He never took his eyes off them, saying, “That’s a couple nice Mommies” I had to agree.

Captain Clarence E Baker