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CubaPirate · 26-10-2020, 11:20

The sun is fascist, kill Bill part 2.
I thought about what to do. If he came at me with the knife, he was either going swimming, or getting duct taped. I could just kill him and say he must have fallen in while I was sleeping. Its 2000 feet deep out there, and a spare anchor wrapped around his body would send him to the deep. No body, no crime, and nobody could prove otherwise. The ocean is vast and deep, and dead men tell no tales.
How did I get here, contemplating such things?
Well, last winter, having passed the Chesapeake bay, just into North Carolina on the intercostal waterway, a boat called me on the radio, after asking for permission to pass me. It quickly became evident the captain knew little of boating, as he took the wrong side of the channel markers each time. Finally he took the wrong turn away from the waterway, and headed for the ocean. I figured I would see him again, when he figured out his mistake. The next day, the fog set up thick as I have ever seen. I could barely see beyond my bow. I got as far out of the channel as I could starboard, as depth would allow, and dropped my hook to await the fog to clear. Workboats use this passage, and if one came, by the time I saw them, we might collide. From out of the fog, came his boat again, this time nearly hitting me from behind, even though I was hugging the shore out of the channel. He passes me on my starboard side, in skinny water as I was already in shallow water with maybe a foot under my keel. He went just a bit more ahead, and dropped anchor in the middle of the channel. This being a dangerous thing to do, I reached him by radio, and advised he move out of the way. We chatted a bit, and he asked if he could follow me, when the fog lifted. So we continued on , me taking the lead. For the next months, we made our way down the coast, each having to stop for a few weeks for repairs, and waiting for the other. I came to know Bill, and learned his story. Him, 65 years old, retired from a career as a head chef on cruise ships, now with a home in Costa Rica, had always dreamed of having a boat, and sailing the seas back home. This was his first boat, and did not know how to sail, or even raise his sails, was now on a trip from the Chesapeake to costa Rica, solo. I figured I could teach him what I could, to help him along. He, being a great cook, often made us dinner. I avoided many invitations, as I like my own space, and my own cooking. But day after day, we would raise anchor, and make if 40 or more miles south before dark, and anchor again. His politics were hard right, and he loved Mr trump so much, and any who did not were just jealous he claimed, and liked the term "dirty arab" and thought himself well informed from fox News and rush Limbaugh he listened to each day. Facts be damned. I did not hold this against him, as stupid can't be cured, and I wanted him to have the skills to complete his journey. We made our way south, stopping in towns along the way for fuel and supplies. We skipped by Georgia on the ocean, where I showed him how to raise and use his sails and winches. The intercostal there winds along, and the weather finally getting warmer being that far south, made Ocean travel easier, and saved many miles. We entered Florida by the ocean, having passed Georgia by sea. We went outside, and inside through Florida, stopping in Miami to see a friend, and finally made it to the Keys. It took me all winter to make it this far, from nearly the Canadian border in Vermont. The virus struck about this time, and we anchored for two months in the keys. All along he kept trying to get me to sail to costa rica with him. All along I declined, for my own reasons. At the last moment, I agreed, put my boat into storage, and boarded his vessel for the journey.
The first hour, he started complaining, first about my shoulder bag bag in the cockpit when I was steering the boat. I like to lean against it, and it had all my things in it. I like it handy. He then plotted a course, with no regard for shipping lanes or obstacles, and demanded we stick to it. The wind was dead against us, and he hated tacking as one must to sail upwind. "You and your tacking" he complained, having never tacked. We each took 4 hour turns at the tiller, making little progress, and even less during his turn, not knowing how to sail, and having no experience. Each time he rose for his turn, he only opened his mouth to complain and bitch at me. A few days passed, and I asked him to please not speak to me, if he had nothing nice to say. I was loving the trip, with the exception of him being on it, and took long turns at the helm. I saw whales, and a group of baby dolphins swimming alongside. And let me tell you, a baby dolphin is about the cutest thing you could ever see. One morning, when I took the helm, I see he is following his course, but in shallow water near the bahamas, headed towards many obstacles, such as exposed reefs, islands, sandbars and rocks. He told me to keep this course, of which I told him I would not do, he told me not to adjust the sails, that I would not do either. I'm not getting sailing instruction from one who does not know how to sail, nor sailing the boat into rocks. My chartplotter showed all these obstacles, but his did not, so I spent the next many hours correcting course to safe deep water. When his turn came, he saw i had changed course as I told him I would and was furious. He said "its my boat, ill go that way if I want to." I tried to show him how dangerous his course was, and pointed out how dangerous this was. I explained if we held his course, we would hit rocks and shallows, and maybe sink the boat. He said "I don't care". I tried to show him on the maps why we could not go that way. He did not care, nor listen, as it was from my chartplotter that showed the dangers, his did not. I told him I would not allow him to take us that way. He turned the boat around, to head back around the light house that marked the safe way through, to head down the dangerous way. This is when I took the tiller from his hands. "Is this a mutiny?" He asked. I said call it what you want. His face twisted in anger, powerless to stop me. He tried calling the Cubans for emergency help, he tried contacting passing ships to rescue him. I took away the radio mic. He tried using the handheld I gave him. He then took all the food into his cabin, and guarded it with a knife. (I had the gaff and the boathook, and many other weapons myself, but I did not want to go there, I could squash this guy like a bug) he told me, "you have to sleep sometime." So the next few days 4 or 5 maybe, I stayed at the chose helm, with no food, and only dozing off now and again. I offered him a nug, several times, but he only glared at me, seething, but he also was holding the booze. We were stocked, but only with violence could I get it.. (i had herb though... heh heh) he would not help. I could take the food by force if needed, but I had a few nutritional bars I had dumpsterdove in the keys. I chose hunger over violence.
The boom yoke broke in heavy seas during a storm, rendering the mainsail unusable, but kept going under jib. Then, in another storm, bills knots holding the jib went. The front deck, not a safe place in bad conditions, unlike my boat. I had to let it flap. I fired up the engine, with bill yelling at me to lower the rpms to near idle. I told him to shut the **** up. I went closer to the cuban coast, a plan forming. I calculated our fuel consumption, fuel remaining, and saw we were 10 gallons short to make it to Haiti, both sails ****ed, the lines tangled high on the mast. I could find a place to anchor, go up the mast and fix them, but **** bill. So, I pulled the dinghy along side while underway, loaded my bag, set the auto pilot, and cruised the cuban coast to a spot i saw on the map, where the wind direction would blow me ashore. I hopped in the dinghy, and with compassion, called Bill to take control of his boat. I jumped in his dinghy, and set off for shore. He came to the helm, circled around as if trying to hit me, but in the dark, and big waves could not see me. I could have not called him to the helm, and sent him out to sea while he was sleeping., but why be a dick. He anchored there, I ashore, is how, the Cuban govt greeted us, and I got my story out first. He made an insane navigation decision, horded the food, pulled a knife, rather than ****ing him up, "escaped" to Cuba. Its all true. They quarantined him on his boat, and would not let him leave in it. He flew back on the same plane I did, and he walked past me in the same hotel I was in, and , said eat **** and die. I replied "enjoy your meal, with a big smile, at the boarding gate flying out, he turned from the front seating area, he saw i was to be on the same plane, andt glared at me, and I blew him a kiss. The cubans asked me about his paperwork, I said I assumed he had it, and said, ask me about it. So, they might have siezed his boat, for not being documented. I dont know, but I sure as hell had nothing to do with it. I, kept my honor through everything. I was not going to let him lead us to disaster.