Letters
Life is Good, Even Without an Icemaker It was the worst year of my whole life. They say your
bread doesn’t always fall on the buttered side – B.S. Five out of six times for me was enough. Scraping dog hair, dust bunnies, or mouse turds off the toast would have been a treat for me in 1990. That was the year the kaca-de-torra hit the rotating electronic devise. It all came flying right at me. A business partner left and stole some of our best accounts, the landlord jacked our rent 150%, our best and biggest customer went “tango uniform” declaring Chapter 11, a law suit we could not lose turned wrong at the last minute, and my wife said, “No, I not going on that damn boat with you.” That’s five, the only good thing was that I kept the “damn boat.” Well, it actually turned out to be the best year of my
life.
With a worn out pick-up, part Ford, Chevy, and Dodge, the boat, the dog and I headed south to San Carlos, Mexico. The creditors and the wife could have the rest. There was $4 large in my shoes and a couple more hidden in the boat’s bilge.
In those days the border crossing was a friendly half- VISIT
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hour delay. The officers, who looked past almost anything, were friendly, and were hoping for a tip, not so much a bribe. I was disappointed, I had studied up on the proper method of bribing an official, “Is there some special fee I should pay? Could I just pay the fine now – to you or leave it here in the desk?” I was in Mexico seven months and never got to bribe anyone.
When I got to San Carlos I did not have all the paper work for the boat and I should have offered a “special fee” to get out of the harbor, but I was too stupid to know what was happening and I just “dumbed down” the poor official until he stamped my papers and said, “Adios.” Being my first real “blue water” venture, I was scared to death looking at that great expanse of big water. That’s why it took me 10 days to step the mast, and after several excuses to double check this or that, I had to get gone and cast off – crap or get off the pot – or I’d be here forever. San Carlos to Santa Rosalia, requires you leave late day
and sail through the night with full knowledge that there are islands and shrimp boats out there, all equipped with ‘Mexican lights’.
Arriving in Santa Rosalia with caffeine jitters, I felt on top of the world. I shouted to no one but the dog, “I did it.” “I conquered the Sea of Cortez.” In retrospect, it was no big deal, 80 miles in three-foot seas and a gale of 15-20 knots from almost due north.
Resting, making friends, taking care of the dog, and getting too much advice about were to go, what to watch- out for, who to look up and who to stay clear of, I left Santa Rosalia.
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