West of the Quator

by Cheryl Bartlam DuBois

  “I’m sure this cute little girl knows how to sail this big boat in theory but can she handle it when things get rough?” questioned Rob to himself. “After all, sailing’s a man’s job. I mean think of all the Captains… Nelson, Rodney, Bligh, Blue Beard, and even Hook. But who the hell’s heard of Captain Alexandra? She can’t be serious… maybe if I just ask her to suggest another Captain. But then, she might be insulted enough to just walk away and then where would I be? Maybe I can give it a try for a few days and see how it goes. She’ll probably screw up and then I’ll have a reason to get rid of her. In the meantime I can be looking around for someone else.”

  Rob may have had questions about the uncertainty of hiring Alex as Captain, but Alex had a few reservations of her own about her desire to work for Rob.

  “Do I really want to put myself through the agony of working with some man who obviously believes that women only belong in their bunk or the galley?” thought Alex, “Even if he is kinda cute. But then again, I’ve always wanted a chance to skipper the Island Fever and here it is dropped right in my lap. Okay Alex, you’ve dealt with worse. You know how to handle this young know-it-all who’s obviously never gotten his hands dirty his entire life. Look at him – a little packing grease on his hands and he doesn’t know what to do. I’d be surprised if those soft manicured hands have ever held a tool of any kind other than a corkscrew. He probably even calls in a handyman to change his light bulbs.”

  Alex just smiled at him as he attempted to remove the foul substance without being too obvious. For Alex, Rob’s response was a familiar one, if not expected since she realized that she did fall into that stereotypical petite physicality which men, by nature, always felt the need to protect rather than respect as an equal in the physical world. And even though the type of response that Rob demonstrated was expected and understood, it stung no less for Alex each time she encountered it. Even if she understood that this ingrained masculine nature wasn’t even a conscious judgment for men. It actually reverted back, as Alex well knew, to the early cave man – who, by force of nature found it necessity to hunt for, feed, and protect, to their death if necessary, the female that was significant in their life. For they were the givers of life, beings to be cherished and protected if their own lineage and very species was to continue onward. So, this seemingly inherent mistrust on the part of men towards Alex’s nautical abilities was expected and understood by Alex as a fact of life, and human nature, if not always accepted.

  The only man that had truly understood and respected Alex’s love for the sea, or Alexandra as she had been named by her father on the day she was born – the same day her mother died – had been her father. She had been raised in Annapolis by her dad who owned a sailing school, and by the age of ten Alex was teaching her own class of seven year olds how to handle a tiny ‘Pram’ sailing dinghy. By the age of thirteen she had already won numerous races single-handedly and was building her first sailboat. By the age of seventeen, her dad bought her a rebuilt 30’ Simpson Calypso trimaran, which she had named the ‘Dandy Prancer’ for the way it pranced around its mooring like a yet to be broken yearling.

  The day Alex turned eighteen she passed the U.S. Coast Guard test for her hundred ton Master Merchant Marine license. Then when her father passed away two days after she’d graduated from high school, she listed their home and business for sale with a friend of the family and sailed south alone, making the long trek down the Intra-coastal Waterway9* to the Florida Keys. There she found another lone sailor hoping to head south to the West Indies, and together, they set out for the Virgin Islands. There Alex earned her living for several years running day charters for a local hotel, and teaching sailing on the weekends to tourist children. Alex, a loner, who had always found good company in her own, and whose only other love was in books and writing, found day charters to be unchallenging at best, if not a painful existence. Playing social director everyday to a group of a dozen new tourists was not exactly what she considered a fulfilling profession.

  Eventually, she headed south to a somewhat unheard of island named St. Christopher – known to the locals as St. Kitts – where Alex went to work at the island boatyard building overgrown catamarans in a tin shed alongside four West Indian men and one other expatriate from California named Michael, who was in charge of running the yard. There, she had also built herself a forty foot catamaran named, Dancer, and had fallen in love for the first time in her life. Later finding out – three years later to be exact to her extreme disenchantment, that Michael was in fact married to a woman in the states and in hiding for some tax related indiscretion, not to mention back alimony and child support. Indeed, Michael was not even his real name. This discovery had come about one day when his wife had unexpectedly shown up at the dockyard dragging their three small children with her. Alex’s broken heart had mended over time but with an impenetrable amount of scar tissue, tainting any immediate future prospect of romantic involvement. The experience had only sent her deeper into her self sufficient world where she needed no one other than herself to make her whole, especially a man.

  The only wonderful thing that had come out of her three years in that dirty, little boatyard in Basseterre harbor, had been her own little dream boat Dancer, and of course, the Island Fever of which she was quite proud. For three years Alex had sweated and toiled over this seventy-five foot beauty, a Clinker lap-strake design made from Douglas Fir and the West Epoxy System.10* Joey had demanded, “Only the best,” as she lovingly worked every single inch of the Island Fever’s topsides to a smooth finish from her bow stems to the tips of her elegantly tapered sterns. Alex had even been the one to christen her the Island Fever by pouring a bottle of Christal over her bows strung with island lies, as she was carried into the water by hundreds of locals who had come together on that special day to launch a grand lady and send her to sea with the island’s love and blessing.

  Joey had commissioned the yard to build the Island Fever six and a half years before Rob had hired Alex as her new skipper, so Alex understood Joey and his habits all too well. As far as Joey went, he was another one of those gentlemen sailors who had an undisclosed source of a very lucrative income, which no one ever questioned, but for which Alex suspected its source. However, she had chosen to keep her suspicions to herself, since she assumed that Rob, having invested so much money with Joey, must know the true means of his livelihood and all too comfortable lifestyle. Oblivious to these minor details of a lack of obvious employment, Rob hadn’t even gotten around to questioning this issue in his own mind, let alone questioning Alex about it. In fact, Alex was beginning to assume that Rob was as likely as not, equally involved in some illicit activity and that the stock market was nothing other than a ruse and a new spin on the usual trust fund baby story – an appropriate cover for his early prosperity.

  So, Alex just went about her business simply ignoring Rob’s insecurities about her abilities. She knew full well that once he had seen her sail the Island Fever, he would feel secure in the knowledge that she was more than capable of handling and protecting his new investment, and, even feel that the lives of his passengers, and for that matter his own, could be entrusted in her hands. So, she was slightly optimistic on that account. But regardless of Rob’s opinion of her, Alex diligently performed her duties and then some, since she still felt a rather fond attachment to the Island Fever as if it were a child to which she had given birth. Again, another concept that Rob could never grasp.

  1*HOBIE CAT – A small, fast, mass produced sailing beach catamaran – sixteen to eighteen feet in length. This popular beachable toy, which was designed by a man named Hobie Alter in the seventies, has inspired a plethora of copy-cats over the years.

  2*ISLAND FEVER — A dis-ease which eventually affects most non-West Indians – some sooner than others – attempting an extended stay in the Caribbean islands. After a while, the small-ness of the island takes its effect on you and you begin to go a little crazy, since you know everyone you see on a first name
basis, and everyone on the island knows every move you make.

  3*ARAWAK INDIANS — The second known, inhabitants of the Eastern Caribbean from 2000 years ago – the first being the stone-age Chiboneys. The Arawaks were talented artists, peaceful farmers and fishermen comprised of numerous tribes that all spoke Arawak and originated in South America.

  4**CARIB INDIANS — A band of warring tribes from South America who invaded the Eastern Caribbean somewhere around 1200 AD – killing the men and taking the women as slaves. It is said that the Caribs were cannibals or caribals which is where the name Carib was derived. However, today there is speculation that since Columbus was given approval by the church to kill cannibals, rather than trying to redeem them since they were believed to be without souls, then quite possibly these natives were deemed as such by the Spanish to rid those desirable islands of its violent inhabitants. Although the Spanish did a pretty thorough job of killing off the Caribs, numerous tribes still exist today on several islands in the Lesser Antilles.

  5*PORT — The port or red light side – the left side when facing the bow of the craft while standing onboard, and the starboard of course being the only side left or remaining we should say –the right side or side which carries a green running light at night. Of course, the easiest means by which to remember which side is which is by the association between the actual drink and the color red, supposing of course you remember which color goes where.

  6**JIB — Being one of the smaller of the many choices of varying sized headsails which is triangular in shape and comes in three sizes, the storm jib, the heavy weather jib, and a working jib. The size of the headsail required on any given day is usually dependent on the wind velocity and direction the boat is headed in relation to the wind. In other words, the bigger the wind the shorter the sail. Other headsail options increasing in size from the jib would consist of the genoa, the drifter, and lastly the largest, the spinnaker, which is sometimes used with a strange additional sail called the blooper.

  7***WINCH — A geared device mounted on the deck or spar (mast or boom) of a boat which is used to haul a line in that couldn’t be handled by manpower alone. The line is wrapped around the winch and the winch is then cranked in with the use of a removable handle.

  8*MODERN STAYSAIL SCHOONER RIG — Any boat with two masts of equal height, carrying five sails, from the headsail, to the baby staysail, to the upside-down angel (only in very light weather – or a fisherman in heavier winds), then comes the main staysail (its driving sail), and finally the main (providing primarily stability and direction instead of drive). However complicated it may sound, it’s a rig designed to be handled with ease due to the fact that the wind force is spread out over numerous smaller sails instead of two much larger ones, as with a sloop, a cutter, a yawl, or a ketch, whose sails are much more difficult to lower in the case of an emergency.

  9*INTRA-COASTAL WATERWAY — A system of waterways connecting bays, harbors, and rivers by man-made ditches all the way from Florida north to Canada, except at one place in New York where you must go offshore to get back to the waterway. It is often referred to as ‘The Ditch.’

  10*WEST EPOXY SYSTEM — The top of the line two-part resin which is designed for use in wooden boat building to seal, glue together, and waterproof the wood.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Survival

  “Everything comes to him who hustles while he waits.”

  Thomas Edison

  Up until now, Raymond had been extremely helpful in advising Rob on how to go about daily life in the West Indies. Unfortunately, the three most important lessons about island living that Raymond, Alex, or any other experienced inhabitant of Paradise neglected to teach Rob were ‘The Rules to Survival in the Islands 101.’ Common sense things like Rule Number One – never, ever expect anything to be done when you need it, since the philosophy in the West Indies is based strictly upon the manana (tomorrow is another day) principle. Which also means that the law of cause and effect does not work in the islands – in other words, just cause you need it, doesn’t mean it’s going to get done today, or tomorrow for that matter. The manana principle isn’t even taken literally by the West Indian. To them it just simply means, whenever it comes it comes – all they are sure of is that it will be someday in the future, but definitely not today. The most important thing to remember is to never, ever fight this principle. Since, it’s kinda like ketchup, the more you fight it, the slower it comes.

  The Second Rule to remember when trying to accomplish the simplest task in the islands is to know before hand that whatever it is you need, they won’t have on the island. Which means that you are totally at the mercy of what is known as the ‘Island Purchasing Agent,’ i.e. the person who sits in Miami getting rich ordering the things that those poor bastards can’t buy in the Caribbean. They mark them up three times the original cost then add on special delivery air freight, handling charges, and a three to four week wait. But, by the time it arrives, guys like Rob are so grateful just to have finally gotten what they need, they willingly pay any price.

  Last but not least, the Third, but most important Rule to understand about the West Indies is that their system of running things is uniquely their own. There is no need to attempt to understand the system for it changes daily. What was yesterday’s rule probably doesn’t apply today and so on.

  At this point, Rob still remained totally unaware of any of these great words of wisdom that Raymond could have easily imparted to him – but Raymond was a wise soul. He knew only too well, as I did, that the only way Rob would ever understand was to learn these rules the hard way. And Alex, well Alex was just staying out of it, since she figured that Rob was the boss and she shouldn’t be the one to lecture him.

  It was all very simple, thought Rob. All he needed to charter were a few easily obtainable requirements – a license, an inspection, an agent, and insurance. So, Rob proceeded to the harbor master’s office to obtain these simple, seemingly routine things. What he didn’t expect when he stepped into the little island office on the commercial dock, was to run into Althea, the three hundred pound West Indian official in charge of dispensing licenses for charter. It seemed that the inspector, her husband –the harbor master, was ‘down islan’ on a fishin’ trip and wouldn’t be back until sometime nex’ week; and the license, and his insurance of course, depended upon the inspector’s approval of the ‘seaworthiness’ of Rob’s vessel.

  “So, is there another office on the island that might be able to help me expedite this process,” asked Rob a little irritated by his first taste of inefficient island bureaucracy. “You see it’s kind of urgent that I get this business underway,” pushed Rob a little further. Unknowingly, Rob had made his first and second major island blunder – first by questioning the exclusive authority of the inspector – Althea’s husband, and by suggesting that there might possibly be someone with even the slightest hint of higher authority than the official in charge – Althea’s husband; not to mention the application here of the ketchup theory.

  Althea stood to her full height which towered several inches above Rob’s generous six foot frame, not to mention her girth which was at least three times wider, and removed her glasses to look him straight in the eye, “No one be higher atority tan Mista Brown de o’ffishal harba masta.”

  “I see,” said Rob backing away a step as Althea got a little too close for comfort.

  “In fac’, I tink he be away two week if me memry be righ’.”

  “But,” continued Rob stupidly attempting to question her word once more, “You just said one week.”

  The more anxious Rob got and the more he pushed Althea, the later the projected return date got for the inspector. In the meantime, she suggested, or rather commanded, that he go next door to the marine insurance office, which of course was run by her brother, Nathan. There, Rob learned from Nathan, that charter insurance would only cost him a nominal fee of ten thousand dollars per year to be paid in advance, of course, and that Althea’s brothe
r had the only charter insurance going on the island. Rob choked as he repeated the amount uncertainly to the agent who confirmed with a smile that Rob had indeed heard correctly. And then there was of course Alex and Raymond’s salaries to be paid. It seemed that Rob was in deed in need of some kind of immediate cash flow.

  Now, Rob had to make a decision – go back to Chicago and beg for his job back – or sell his precious BMW in order to try and salvage his questionable investment in the islands. The other issue that Rob had been avoiding was breaking the news of his drunken blunder to his fiancee, Sydney. He had simply left a message that he’d decided to extend his vacation for a few extra days, hoping that word hadn’t reached her about quitting his job, but then, he knew he would have heard about it if she had. He had simply finished the message with an “I love you and I’ll be in touch soon” – or I should say, as soon as Rob got up the nerve to tell her the truth. So, once again Rob stood in line for the better part of an afternoon attempting to place a simple phone call to the states, since accessible, working telephones are a luxury taken for granted by all Americans who travel at some point to the Third World.

  I should correct myself here in referring to the West Indies as the Third World since it does in fact have a First World infrastructure for most modern conveniences such as phones, running water, and electricity. However, that being said, it does fall slightly short of First World standards in that, in the First World those conveniences actually work. As compared to the West Indies, where much of the time they don’t – much like it’s inhabitants. So, for accuracy and clarity sake, these isles are generally deferred to the category of the Second World.