White Squall and Greasing the Wheels

About twenty miles North of Trinidad the water turns from a deep green to blue. The green is from the Amazon 900 miles away. A factoid of amazement! After a sail of some seventy miles I guided my beauty into St. George the capital of Granada for fuel. At the entrance stood bombed out buildings from the Reagan invasion as it is refereed to here. The Colonial buildings are all black and grey built from volcanic rock. I followed the buoys into a very shallow lagoon which my charts and guide books assured me I would go a ground. I don't trust them because most of the surveys were done in the nineteenth century and a lot has changed. I was reassured when I spotted a very large brig tucked in the corner of the lagoon where I surmised the fuel dock lay. "Surmise" is the right word as I have been fooled before by the large ship in shallow lagoon before. Let's say if you haven't grounded your boat you probably haven't sailed enough. Eventually it will happen to you. Just ask Dennis Connors. More on running aground and the fire drill that accompanies that disaster later. In any case I saw a man standing on the foredeck of this great ship and bellowed in my best seaman's voice, "Where's the fuel dock!" He frantically began crossing his hand across his throat. Was some sort of pirate skulduggery going on? I bellowed again and this time he put his finger to his lips and shushed me. Not very friendly I thought. I called the St George Yacht club on my vhf and got nothing until a taxi driver answered and guided me into a slip. A slip I might add was ten feet too small for my boat. My new bow sprit pointed ominously over the deck of a new power boat inches from his glass doors. Five dollars later I was standing in front of the customs official to check into the country. This went well until he informed me the fuel dock was closed until four o'clock and I would have to see the official minister of fuel and get a paper before I could buy fuel. You have to love it or you will go insane. When I returned to my boat I found a crowd of Hollywood types huddling. I knew what they were from my work on two films before I decided I needed to get some air. They wanted to shoot on my boat for their movie, White Squall. Sorry, I'm late. After several attempts to change my mind by increasing the price to rent my boat, which by the way I was surely tempted. They left to tell the director the bad news. While I was waiting for the Fuel Minister I drank a couple of beers. I should note my appearance. I wore a raggedy pair of shorts stained with grease and teak sap, a ball cap and ponytail. I hadn't shaved in a week and I couldn't remember the last time I took a hot shower. I was still covered with yard dirt and sawdust from the yard. A man walked up to the boat wearing a big Plantation hat, shorts, flowered shirt and shades. "This your boat?" I initial response was to grab my money clip. "Yeah." "We're shooting a movie over there and I thought it might be a good idea if your boat was in it." "I'm busy and late. Sorry I can't help you." "Where are you going?" "Turkey." He gasped a little looked over the boat from stem to stern. He took off his glasses and I recognized it was Jeff Bridges. "You're the real deal?" Just then my mate wearing a bikini top and a sarong popped out of the companionway with two beers. He took one look at her and nervously lifted his jaw off the dock. "Dude, carry on!" "I will and with alacrity." I tossed him a beer. We sat in the cockpit for the next hour swapping stories about Hollywood and sailing, before I had to go see the Minister of Fuel. I left him talking and drinking with my flattered mate never to see him again, except in the movies.
As it turns out the Minister of Fuel and the customs agent were the same guy. He could have told me! I took a seat in his other office in front of a big desk. On the desk was a little church bank with pictures of the congregation and a little sign reading "Donations Accepted. God Bless!" By the time I had seen the donations sign he was telling me it would be impossible to get fuel today or any other day in the foreseeable future. Now! This is very important information! Don't plead. Don't get angry! Don't curse his piss pot country! Don't bring up Reagan! Just smile and say I'm so sorry I was misinformed. The start stuffing that little church with bills until you hear the pounding of a stamper on your documents! Keep smiling! Wish him well and get out of the office before he realizes you only put ones in the bank!
We left St. George about 7 o'clock passed the outer bouy and turned North for Antigua full of fuel, a freshly painted bottom, dazzeling bright work and a rough looking but sturdy bow sprit. A note when sailing the windward islands stay in the lee of them. In the lee you'll enjoy smooth seas and a steady wind making the experience of sailing euphoric, but once you reach lands end be prepared to reef as the wind is funneled around the island and the seas are angry for a little while until you reach the next island.