Rasputin22
Rasputin22
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When I was young and got my first blue water passage on a big Hinckley 64 ketch I was thrilled. The boat was privately owned with a full time captain and chef crew. The boat had done its Caribbean winter tour and was bound back to New England via Bermuda and I was asked to join them. Sailing into Bermuda was fascinating to me and we had our first (of many) Dark and Stormies. The next morning and it was time to top off fuel and water tanks and the skipper went to great lengths to show me exactly which fill fitting (and its type) was in the waterways around the deck. He told me to quit rubbernecking at the many fine racing yachts lining up for a start just in front of the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club where we were staying.
He left to go sort things out with the club office and said we would all have to go to the Customs House when he returned to clear in with Immigrations so I was to have all tanks topped off and closed up and the deck hosed down by the time he got back. I was about half way through when I heard the sounds of UBS Switzerland tacking just off of the club docks and I was mesmerized at the sight of such a much admired boat. I heard the water bubble up between my feet as I sat on the bulwark and looked down to see nothing but diesel fuel running down the scuppers! I had but water into the rather small day tank amidships and my daydreaming was the culprit.
After the explicit instructions and cautions from the skipper I knew he would be livid and I simply cleaned up the mess I had made and went below to pack my duffle and was getting off the boat as I was sure that would be my fate when the skipper returned. His wife told me to forget leaving the boat to hitchhike back to the Islands as no one would be heading that way that time of year and besides, we weren't officially cleared in yet. She said that the best I could do was finish filling the rest of the tanks without letting any diesel from my fuckup get in the harbor and gave me a big wad of those oil/diesel absorbing 'diapers'. She said I should keep a sharp eye out for the Skipper returning and that I should meet him at the head our dock and confess to my misdeeds on the spot. That seemed to work but I did get a totally deserved chewing out that my Navy Captain father would have been greatly impressed. The skipper called a disposal mitigation service to meet us at the boat after returning from the Customs and Immigration headquarters just down the street.
Bermuda takes its formalities very seriously and the old Bahamian gent who checked up in was uniformed to the utmost and his paperwork was filled out in the handscript of monk and his accent was so proper compared to the patois I was used to further down in the Antilles. The old fellow was going through the arrival checklist asking each question of the skipper in the most grave and serious manner. As he got to the end he looked at the 'port of embarkation' listed as St Martin and asked, "Since departing St Martin, have there been any deaths on board your vessel?"
The skipper took a deep breath and shot me a look that could kill and answered in an equally serious tone, "No sir... Not yet!!!"
He left to go sort things out with the club office and said we would all have to go to the Customs House when he returned to clear in with Immigrations so I was to have all tanks topped off and closed up and the deck hosed down by the time he got back. I was about half way through when I heard the sounds of UBS Switzerland tacking just off of the club docks and I was mesmerized at the sight of such a much admired boat. I heard the water bubble up between my feet as I sat on the bulwark and looked down to see nothing but diesel fuel running down the scuppers! I had but water into the rather small day tank amidships and my daydreaming was the culprit.
After the explicit instructions and cautions from the skipper I knew he would be livid and I simply cleaned up the mess I had made and went below to pack my duffle and was getting off the boat as I was sure that would be my fate when the skipper returned. His wife told me to forget leaving the boat to hitchhike back to the Islands as no one would be heading that way that time of year and besides, we weren't officially cleared in yet. She said that the best I could do was finish filling the rest of the tanks without letting any diesel from my fuckup get in the harbor and gave me a big wad of those oil/diesel absorbing 'diapers'. She said I should keep a sharp eye out for the Skipper returning and that I should meet him at the head our dock and confess to my misdeeds on the spot. That seemed to work but I did get a totally deserved chewing out that my Navy Captain father would have been greatly impressed. The skipper called a disposal mitigation service to meet us at the boat after returning from the Customs and Immigration headquarters just down the street.
Bermuda takes its formalities very seriously and the old Bahamian gent who checked up in was uniformed to the utmost and his paperwork was filled out in the handscript of monk and his accent was so proper compared to the patois I was used to further down in the Antilles. The old fellow was going through the arrival checklist asking each question of the skipper in the most grave and serious manner. As he got to the end he looked at the 'port of embarkation' listed as St Martin and asked, "Since departing St Martin, have there been any deaths on board your vessel?"
The skipper took a deep breath and shot me a look that could kill and answered in an equally serious tone, "No sir... Not yet!!!"
