April 2003 - Ship Logs

April 13, 2003
At sea 0245 Hour

I’m on night watch. I love night watch. It is so quiet and tranquil. I stare into the blackness of the night seeing nothing. Even though there was a bit of moon earlier, the weather has come in to erase it and the fog rolling over the sea will blot out any navigation lights from approaching ships. Up on the boat deck Isabel and John sleep under the stars, the air conditioner having broken down again. So there is only me, the old woman of the sea, with my charts and instruments to bring to safe harbor this ship and her crew. A while ago a “target” appeared on the radar. . . something coming fast off my starboard side. I altered course a bit to port thinking that such a large screen blip deserved a little respect. We were a safe two miles apart when we passed. Two ships in the night. I never saw her. I think songs have been written about such things.

I read John’s log just before I began entering my own report for the day. I think at least two corrections must be made: It is true that last night we gave the party boats a little competition. But it was not “we” who were drinking whiskey . . . only John. And my concern was not that we would disturb the sleeping sail boaters. It was that John would fall into the sea.

About Acapulco: Again I loved it! John pointed out that we were often sitting in a lot of smog. I like to think of it as sea mist. And the village that I remember is still a village . . .. even though the taxi driver claims that there are well over a million people living here. In a village everyone knows everyone. If this is not a village how is it that I have run into all of my new best friends, the sailors? I saw them at the dingy dock, the Acapulco Yacht Club, an Internet Café, and Wal-Mart. This is a village as long as one stays fairly close to shore. Tourists still love it and I leave it with regret.

John talked about the sea birds riding the backs of turtles. Something else was new to us yesterday afternoon. We saw hundreds of sea rays above the surface. Some of them were leaping high out of the water showing off their white bellies. Others were gathered together in a long wide and tight clutch . . . their bodies churning the surface. John said that he thought we might be watching an X Rated tale of the sea. I don’t know. If I was thrilled, what would that mean? I need to buy more books on sea life. Probably I could purchase then in a Porno Shop.

17:46 We are here at Huatulco. Huatulco is our last refuge. It is the jumping off place to traverse the dreaded Gulf of Tehuantepec. It is the place where Seattle Yacht Club friends, Gil and Judy Middleton, threw in their sea anchor and probably told God that they had been very good Christians. What else can you do when you know that God holds all of the cards?

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April 16, 2003 0030
At sea 13.32/90.50

It’s just after midnight. Mary Ann has just gone off watch and I have the favorite ‘midnight to whenever you can wake me up’ watch. We are about 28 miles off the coast of Guatemala and cutting across that big indentation in western central America that we all remember from our geography lessons. The seas are still calm, almost glassy, as we rush along at a breathtaking 10.2 knots at just over 55% power, with the full moon on the water making the night luminous. The DDC engine readouts indicate a total fuel consumption of 16 gph, which would give us about 20 gph including the generator, about right, I think, and pretty good for this speed. I’m not even looking at the sight gauges anymore as they just make me nervous and I have done all the figuring I can to assure myself that our range greatly exceeds the 700 miles of this section of our journey. I’m modestly comfortable with it, but will feel better when I can measure the saddle tanks again.

Speaking of fuel, we took on 650 gallons at Huatulco from a one ton truck with a 2500 litre tank in the back. It was at the new Marina Chahue where we spent the night before last. I had made this arrangement in Acapulco and the truck guy showed up when we called. Had to send Isabel with him to monitor the amount of fuel he put in the tank, but they came back from the local Pemex station after an hour and a half with 2500 liters. I parked the boat up against a concrete bulkhead and tied one mooring line to a lightpost and a second to the back bumper of the truck and we took on all but 40 liters of what he had. Looked a little goofy but it worked so I’m not complaining, but you definitely don’t want to know what the fuel cost.

We’re all a little wary tonight as the other morning on the Amigo net we heard a report from a sailboat, who claimed at that time to be 50 miles south of Huatulco, that he had been stopped and boarded by people purporting to be the Guatemalan navy. The reporter was upset because the boarding vessel came at him from astern at 0300 when he was 28 miles off the coast, in international waters as he believed, shined a light on him and ordered him to ‘heave to’, I believe is the sailor term. According to him, he refused and demanded that the accosting vessel identify itself, the vessel demanded that he stop for inspection, he again refused and said that only pirates came up in the middle of the night without identification. The vessel then pulled up abreast of him where he could see military looking numbers on its bow and he was boarded and inspected without incident. Interesting story. I’m not planning to stop until we reach Costa Rica, which is one reason we are out here in the ocean so far, but apparently not far enough to escape the Guatemala inspection vessels.

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April 17, 2003 0100
Off Nicaragua 11.23/87.31

Here we are, still cruising along on the same course and speed off the Nicaraguan coast. The full yellow moon again casts a golden pathway for us to follow like Dorothy on the yellow brick road. More pleasant than the last time we were in Nicaragua when it was decidedly unfriendly as the contra war had just ended and the people seemed very sullen. Lots of bullet holes in walls in the small towns at that time. As I mentioned, we’re not stopping between Mexico and Costa Rica unless an emergency arises. All of our systems seemo be running normally now and I think we have reached the end of our break in period on the yacht MARYANN. I remember that on our last boat, the 48’ Tollycraft, it took about 500 hours to get everything working right then too. Am getting weather regularly from the OCEN software through the single sideband radio now and getting to where I think I know just enough to be dangerous. The wind/wave reports continue to be favorable. We have had excellent wx ever since we left Seattle/Sidney, thank the lord.

Mary Ann caught a dorado today, looked to be about twenty pounds, that was jumping and fighting spectacularly until she hauled it aboard. Since we were stopped in the middle of the ocean we all took a dip in the clear, cool (warm) water after filleting the fish and celebrated the catch. Yesterday’s fish, a little tunny, was not good eating as the meat was deep red, what is referred to as ‘bloody’. The dorado is clean and clear though, and is delicious. Sea birds have decided to take up residence on the boat and are leaving their digested remains all over. Should have brought a slingshot. This is certainly the longest open sea run I have ever taken, but so far, so good.

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Saturday, April 19, 2003 0730
Playa Flamingo, Costa Rica anchorage 10.26/85.47

Crossed the Gulf of Tehuantepec without incident in excellent wx, but took the precaution recommended by the experts and ran close in to shore day and night until we were in safe waters. They say that the wind comes up to force 6 to 8 in a heartbeat here and that if you are very far off shore you can’t get back into the lee created when the northeasterly winds sweep across the Mexican isthmus between the mountains and venturi up over the sand dunes on the beach to create a calm area on shore of a few hundred yards. The hot winds meeting the cool Pacific here create some pandemonium for the unwary who are too far off shore when touched by the breath of God. The winds in the Gulf of Papagallo were much more vigorous, but still did not exceed 15-18 knots and created no problem for us, although I was relieved to be clear of those two dangerous spots in our passage.

Flamingo here in Costa Rica is a pleasant harbor with beaches filled with local families vacationing during the long Semana Santa week. Everyone seems to take Semana Santa week off in the latin countries and they fill the hotels and resorts, so having your own hotel room of sorts isn’t a bad idea. The marina here is a little decrepit and is owned by an American, Jim McKey, who has been very cordial and helpful to us in our efforts to get our cell phones working. There are no spots large enough for us in the marina, and I’m not sure the docks would hold us in a breeze anyway, so we are anchored a little way off the beach in eleven feet of water; that’s right, eleven feet! Fueled up yesterday and observed that I had made a mistake when marking fuel levels on my sight gauges and that my fuel capacity was as I had originally expected. Took on 1816 gallons so it was about 25 gallons per mile and about 25 gallons per hour over this last leg. Pretty good, I think.

The gas station attendants here have the unusual practice of dispensing fuel with lighted cigarettes dangling from their lips or hands. I pointed out to one of the boys that their practice could be dangerous. He looked at me like I was demented, but said nothing and cavalierly tossed his smoldering butt into the oil slicked water. Not sure if it’s a machismo thing or just stupidity. How do you say ‘old fart’ in Spanish? I should note that we have not had any problems with local people or local officials. All are courteous and helpful, curious about us and where we are bound, and unfailingly polite and friendly. Despite this warm reception, we have been taking the precaution of locking up our tenders with a steel cable when we leave one at an unattended spot or in the water tied to the boat at night, but nothing untoward has occurred.

April 19, 2003 . . . continued

The time is 1435 and we are just about to pull anchor. This has been a fun place. I could stay a little longer except that it is a little exhausting, the constant problem I’ve had protecting John from the babes. Word spreads fast in a small port like this. The “grande yate” is seen pulling up to the gas dock and within minutes we have a large crowd gathered in a grass area with a walkway that adjoins the dock. Most of these sight seers are young women with their butts only slightly covered by their skimpy bathing suits. I believe that these young women must think that having a well exposed and attractive butt gives them special license to board the boat of a man who is a complete stranger to them. Well, sometimes I guess it does. But not when the complete stranger’s wife in aboard. However, they cannot see Isabel and myself who are in the salon. So they shout brazen requests to John: “Senor! Senor! I would like to come aboard and see your beautiful yacht?” I am sure that John would have been embarrassed to reject a request from any one of them . . . even the ones with bad butts. But the Port Authority, who happened to be on the back deck at the time the requests were made, was not. Without even looking at John he shouted back one word rejections: “No.” But the Port Authority will not always be on board. I must stay alert. I must make my presence known. I must stand guard. John is so helpless in these situations. He is so fortunate to have Isabel and I here with him.

Other than protecting John, I think that the challenging portion of this trip is behind me. The dreaded Gulf of Tuantepec was not at all dreadful. We crossed it in the right season and in a perfect weather window. We have become very comfortable with the operation of the boat and all of the systems are working beautifully. Best of all, this is such a great way to go! We are loving the feel and the layout of the Mary Ann. It is such an easy and comfortable boat to live on and we are continuously discovering new ways to use the spaces. Even though the air conditioner is now doing a perfect job of keeping our interiors cool, we have began turning it off in the late evening and abandoning our staterooms to sleep out on our decks where we can see the moon and the stars and feel the dampness of the sea air. It is too too wonderful. Especially for people like me and John. Having slept on a sleeping porch for most of our married lives, walls sometimes feel very confining. John knows that if he goes for too long a period having to breath the “stale air” of a bedroom—even one that has its doors and windows open to the outside—he will get lung cancer and die. So these open decks have put that fear to rest once again.

We look forward to fishing our way down the coast of Costa Rica until we reach our next port which will be Marina Los Suenos. It is a new marina and is said to be both plush and convenient. We arrive tomorrow morning. I’m always excited to pull into a new location. They are all so different. If variety is the spice of life then our lives are being well seasoned.

Until next time . .. Captain Mary Ann

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Tuesday, April 22, 2003 1501
Marina Los Suenos, Herradura, CR 9.39/84.38

The advertising here says that this is the finest resort hotel marina complex on the west coast of Central America. It is. First class in every respect from the teak plank floating docks with their movable cleats and 100 amp power, both single and three phase, to the five star Marriott hotel and golf tennis resort complex adjacent with its acres of connected pools and abundant staff and considerate service. Why wouldn’t a guy want to hang around here for a while, enjoy the ambiance, and mingle with the hotel guests, every single one of whom is an American (except for a few renegade Canadians). And we aren’t the only ones who like this place as we passed the Barbara Jean, one of the worlds largest yachts at 193 feet, and a thing of beauty, as we entered the harbor and proceeded to our slip. The only knock on this marina, and the same can be said about most of the other marinas in which we have been moored on this trip, is that there is so much surge inside the breakwater that on first glance out the window one might think he was underway. We have seven lines out now, all one inch’ers, and we swing back and forth like a rocking chair, stretching the lines again and again. Golf carts are provided to get us from the marina to the hotel and we have the availability of massages, hair treatments, and those de rigueur for the ladies, fingernail extensions and polishing. I’m not into the finger treatments and don’t have any hair to treat, but I have signed up for a massage. Why sit on the sidelines when you can be in the game, eh?

Some thoughts from Captain Mary Ann

We legally entered the country of Costa Rica at Marina Los Suenos. I am always a little tense about entering a new country. Even if you are just passing through, as we did in Guatemala, El Salvador, and Nicaragua, you are still an alien in the waters of that country. Though it is not too likely, a military patrol boat could always decide that they didn’t like your looks and demand to come aboard. Those are things that I worry about only a little bit because, as I just said, it is not a likely thing to have happen and besides I suspect that foreign powers prefer to board sail boats.

The worry about actually landing and going ashore is that getting a clearance is a long and complicated procedure. It can take days if all of the officials who do the clearing are not available. That is why John and I used an agent to get us into Mexico and into all of the ports that we had to clear after we had entered Mexico. The agent gets the paper work in the mill, but then there is still the boarding to go through. I don’t know why it is that when a uniformed person comes aboard my vessel and asks me questions and starts opening drawers, I instantly begin feeling guilty. But I always do. I tell myself that I have nothing to hide, that there is nothing illegal on this boat. Then I remember the Mexican customs agent confiscating my chickens and my eggs. Anything could be illegal. The agent in this country could get the goods on me for possession of potatoes. Or he might discover that we had brought in some stowaway Mexican bugs and demand that we fumigate the boat. Who knows what we might be guilty of?

John was fortunate to find an available agent, Ernesto Andrade, who was willing to begin the “cha cha” that would get us into the country. He explained that our clearance was a matter of some difficulty because it was Easter Sunday and the whole country was closed down on Easter Sunday. Still, he said that he would manage. Sometime later I looked down the dock and saw Ernesto leading a company of five other officials. “My God, John,” I shouted. “I think we are under siege! The Government of Costa Rica has sent their entire Department of Immigrations to investigate us. They aren’t going to be too happy about this either. I’m sure that they have been grabbed out of church or away from an Easter egg hunt with their children.” Then I began thinking about potatoes, and chickens, and eggs. Isabel had her own concerns. She immediately rushed down to finish the cleaning of the heads and sinks. When the medicine cabinets were searched for drugs she didn’t want anything out of order. If she was to be judged it would not be for sloppy boat keeping. She didn’t seem even a bit worried about the sea sick patches the doctor gave her “in case she needed them”. Any one of those inspectors could have said to her, “You don’t look seasick to me. Why do you have these patches? But then Isabel doesn’t worry about things like that. Only Mary Ann, the chicken and egg smuggler, does.

The “Gang of Six” came aboard . They all took off their shoes without even asking. We have never before had any agent do us the courtesy of taking off their shoes. These agents all smiled and presented us with very friendly and open faces as one by one they shook hands and introduced themselves. Then they sat down at the dining room table and busied themselves with the stacks of papers they had brought. John was required to sign a few papers. There was no search. Nothing was said about potatoes or chickens. In fact, the only questions that were asked of us were, “How long do you plan to stay in Costa Rica?” and “What ports will you be visiting?” To both questions we answered that we didn’t know. We were given a three month zarpe (visa?} and told that if we wished to extend our stay another three months there would be no problem. Then The Gang of Six said, “Welcome to our country.” They stood, once again shook hands with us telling us that it was a pleasure meeting us, and they left.

Never before have we received a more cordial clearance from immigration officials. It left me thinking about how important first impressions are. John and I are both loving Costa Rica. Isabel too.

Monday, April 28, 2003 0800
Marina Los Suenos 9.38/84.39

We have been at this lovely marina in Herradura now for nine days attempting to get the black water evacuation system working. The pump had been showing signs of malfunction before Flamingo and quit entirely enroute here. As you know, one thing as essential as propulsion and water on these little ventures is a functioning toilet system and, although the toilets are working fine, we are unable to dump the holding tank without the pump and there are no more pump out stations until Cozumel, if there. Mary Ann and I were puzzling over the problem in the engine room upon our arrival here when she noticed that there was an air leak in the compressed air system that drives the black water pump. It wasn’t much of a leak in a small plastic receptacle that collects moisture from the compressed air, but we thought that had to be the problem since diaphragm pumps seldom break down, or so I have been told. So the first thing we tried to do was glue it back together but it couldn’t hold 110 pounds of air pressure and finally cracked big time and so there was no air pressure at all.

I called Palmer Johnson On Call in Florida who claim to deliver anything, anywhere, anytime, the same folks who struck out so badly back in La Paz when I had to fly to Los Angeles to pick up a circulation pump myself. They couldn’t locate an SMC Model NAF 2000C moisture collection bowl anywhere. I asked them if they had called Hell, but they didn’t get the joke. After a couple days they located SMC and faxed down a catalog page from which I selected the part and advised them to ship to Mary Ann via DHL to Los Suenos Marina offices in San Jose. Despite my last intercourse with DHL and the computer that never arrived, people hear swear that DHL is the best carrier from the USA.

So we rented a car and drove up and over the cordillera to the central highlands where San Jose is located. A wonderful cool climate, green with trees and underbrush, but horribly crowded with cars and trucks, all of whom are in a much greater rush than me and who will brave any hazard to speed their arrival. I’m not sure they drive worse than the French, but you will understand the comparison if you have lately tried to drive a car in France where they regularly put little pictures of people, cars, and trucks on their front fenders like WWII fighter pilots advertising their kills.

After a two hour fright we arrived safely and checked into the Melia Cariari at the outskirts of town, a very fine five star resort hotel complex and next day began trying to locate DHL’ main offices. “La direccion de las officinas principal de DHL,” I asked the young man at the branch DHL office near the airport. “Ah, Si,” he replied, brushing his hand repeatedly over his head and sucking his teeth like an Asian, “it is very difficult. It is in Parva.” He showed us Parva on a map. “OK, fine, what’s the address,” I asked, having run out of Spanish words? “No addresses in Parva,” he said, “it’s near Jakes.” So we set out to find Jakes, reputed to be a large structure where they make children’s snacks. “It’s a very large Costa Rican business,” the DHL man had said, “ you will recognize it.” Well we didn’t recognize it and neither did anyone else in Parva. We asked repeatedly about Jakes and received perplexed smiles accompanying shaking heads until finally Mary Ann observed that Jakes in English is not the same as ‘Hah kehs’ as it is pronounced in Spanish. Presto! ‘Hah kehs’ is right around the corner. We proceeded to pick up our part and next day returned to Herradur sans traffic on Sunday, happy with ourselves and refreshed by the cool climate.

The new part fit perfectly, but restoring the full volume of air pressure didn’t help a bit. “Oh my God,” I thought, “I’m going to have to get that pump out and fix it myself. Mierde!” But, what the hell, I could ‘t get any volunteers so there I am, determined to somehow pull the pump out so I can hit it with a hammer or something, but it wasn’t coming out for me or anybody like me. The only way I could see to get it out was to cut a hole in the floor, which did not strike me as within the boat manufacturer’s plans. We shifted to plan B, find a plumber and let him cut a hole in the floor. I already knew there was a fiberglass kid here at the marina.

Enter Gumercindo Hidalgo L., Gerente de Servicios Electrotechnicos GHL Ltda. Ignoring the fact that plumbing can hardly be described as electro technical, but encouraged by the fact that our man brought his girl friend rather than the usual Latino coterie of helpers and hangers on, he dropped into the aft lazarette and, after testing the air pressure, demanded a tool, thus firmly establishing our relative authority. “Oh, my,” he said in English, “how can I get this pump out without cutting the floor above it?” “My problem exactly” I thought, whereupon he removed four small bolts and lifted the pump up, back, and out. He looked at it. Thought for a second and said, “Piston isn’t working. I think I can get another one Monday. I’ll fix the bomba (more situational Spanish for next time) and bring it back Monday. We all had a beer to celebrate, (I was celebrating not cutting a hole in the floor), except Gumercindo who doesn’t drink, while we listened to Gumercindo expound on pumps and plumbing, all of which Isabel found interesting, or at least she looked as if she found it interesting although she is quite polite. Most of it was over my head. Mary Ann tried to interject a few appropriate phrases from her Spanish lexicon like ‘esta buen tiempo’, and ‘como esta usted’, but they failed to stem the flow from Gumercindo so we all remained attentive to him until he eventually ran down since we were pretty much helpless unless he fixed the pump. As I understand it, the reason Gumercindo stayed so long was because his girl friend had never been on a big boat before and was just enjoying the ambiance. She never said a word during Gummercindo’s soliloquy, but seemed like a very nice person and, I thought, quite appealing. So, today is Monday. Will Gumercindo return with a repaired pump? Probably not. Will we have to import a par or pump from the USA? Probably so. Will we ever get out of Los Suenos? Quien sabe?

Report from Mary Ann: Now Deck Hand, Same day

“Quien sabe?” And the answer is: Only the Gods. It is now 17:39 and our friend; Gumercindo Hidalgo L.—Gerente de Servicios Electrotechnicos—is a No Show. May he rot in hell if, like Carlos, he disappears. He has the top half of our sewage disposal system. We are expecting guests aboard in a few days. We were hoping to show off to our good friends, Lynn and Scott Hannah, the elegance and the ease of cruising on our new motor yacht, Mary Ann. Instead, we may have to request that they keep bucket chamber pots in their stateroom.

But we are forever hopeful that things will work out. We want to believe in Gumercindo. We don ‘t want to have to track him down and kill him. So early this morning we began making preparations for our departure from Los Suenos tomorrow. We had arranged with the “Full Service Marina” to have men on the gas dock for an oil change.

We arrived at the fuel dock. John welcomed the oil changers and pointed them toward the cans of oil and the fuel filters that he had set out for their convenience. The oil changers looked at him with askance. “Fuel filters? What are these for? We don’t do fuel filters.” John, Isabel, and I are all thinking the same thing: Are we supposed to run our brand new clean oil through dirty filters? Isabel and I take our thinking a step further. We are praying that the mechanics can be convinced to change out the filters. We know that John is sick of being a mechanic and an engineer. He only wants to be a Captain. He wants to sit out on the stern deck with a glass of wine in his hand. He wants to flip through the chart book and muse: Where will I next take my ship? Which port shall I grace with my presence? And what pleasures will await me at my chosen stop?” That’s what captains do. That is what captains think about. Captains do not get their hands dirty.

John continued his negotiations with the oil changer men. They finally agreed that they could do the job but the fee for this extra work would be high. “It is a messy job,” they explained, “and it takes a lot of time. Normally we don’t have the time to bother with filters, but for you we will make the time.” John was happy until he realized that they did not know how to change oil filters . . . that he would have to hang around and show them how it was done. That meant that he would again have to get his hands dirty. Isabel and I did not want to be around when the fall out from dirty hands began so we silently slipped away and took the rental car to Jaco, the same little town where we had found Gumercindo. At Jaco we stocked up on provisions. Then we returned the rental car just like we wouldn’t be needing it anymore because tomorrow we know we will have our disposal pump back and we will be leaving this place. The rental car man returned us to the boat. The oil changers were gone. John had dirty hands.

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Tuesday April 29, 2003 1530
At sea

Gumercindo returned to our boat this morning. He had the sewer pump with him. He put it in. It works.

John has been attempting to reach our daughter, Shawn, on the satellite phone. She has a new dog. John is requesting that the dog be named Gumercindo.

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Wednesday, April 30, 2003 0800
South of Quepos, CR 09.14/84.06

We departed Los Suenos around noon and ambled south at a gentlemanly 9.5 knots, accompanied by a beeping, flashing from the starboard DDEC electronic display, warning me that it sensed low coolant pressure. This warning was with us when we arrived at Herradura nine days ago and I had called Valley Detroit Diesel in San Diego to discuss the issue. They advised some testing measures that I had already done and we mutually concluded that it was most likely a faulty sensor. Now, however, the engine room warning lights are calling for a shut down of the starboard engine, while the DDEC display is still telling me to check the engine. Having no choice, I have decided that the DDEC display is correct and we continue on our way. I can’t believe that the coolant pressure is low when there is so much pressure I can’t remove the cap without losing coolant, even with a four-day cold engine. Must be the sensor.

Last night was a night from hell! I picked this reasonably sheltered and deserted little bay south of Quepos for an anchorage under 50’ cliffs sheltering from the north wind and in 45 feet of water. I had hoped to sneak back into a corner of the bay to stay more out of the southwest swell, but chickened out when I saw little breakers popping up in the otherwise smooth area of water that I had selected so we were somewhat exposed. Well we had 4-6’ swells all night, things flying around the cabin, glasses shattering as they hit the floor, doors flying open, it was an unqualified disaster as an anchorage, which explains why I happen to be writing so early in the day as we hauled ourselves out of there at first light. When you have to make decisions based on charts that look like your six-year-old grandchild drew them you occasionally screw up, which I did. Isabel slept on the floor, I moved back out on the aft deck although the cushions were soaked from the rain.

We took considerably more security precaution last night as our anchorage was deserted and dark and we were only 200 yards off the base of the cliffs. Costa Rica, at least in Golfito where we are now headed, has the distinction of being the best place to have your dinghy stolen. Fortunately CR does not have a reputation for murdering tourists, not since those two Mercer Island tourists seven or eight years ago were killed, but we were cautious and it seemed to me that the back deck was the right place to be last night, wet or not. We have some defensive tools available, not the least of which is a new 10 gauge cannon that Vern Castle insisted we would need, although we only have blanks as ammunition. I’m sure we’ll be promptly arrested the first time we cut loose with it, but that would be better than being assaulted or killed. Mary Ann has a switch by her bed that can turn on the exterior passageway overhead lights and the small radar has a ‘guard’ feature that sounds a warning audible in the master stateroom when something enters the zone it is set to monitor. The theory, of course, is that the intruder enters the zone, Mary Ann awakens and flips on the outside lights, intruder sees we are awake and abandons his nefarious enterprise. Should work fine for most intruders, but there is a problem when you are close to shore as we were last night and the beach is within the minimum guard alarm zone so we can’t use the radar. Well, didn’t need it last night anyway.

The seas are calm, water temperature is 84 degrees, no vessels in sight, and we are fifteen miles off shore. Mary Ann and Isabel are trolling for Dorado, or something.