Got the boat

We have been sitting in on the water outside Independence, Belize. We have been unable to fish for lack of a boat and the boat is in Monkey River, 20 miles away. The road is under water. We have been looking for the keys for the Chris Craft. Bryan unlocked it last night and that is the last time anybody saw the keys.

I cooked up some omelettes and Phil cooked up some fry jacks. We finished off a pot of coffee. The next 5 hours were frittered away with not a single memorable activity.

After three days of trying to figure out how to get to Monkey River, a boat owner at the Marina showed up. Bryan knew him and asked if he was heading out to Monkey River. Fortunately, he was. Bryan hopped in the back of this truck and was about to take off, when Phil asked if I wasn't intent on going.

I told them to wait, ran over to the house, got my shoes and my camera and hopped in the truck. We stopped so Bryan could fetch a replacement fuel hose and primer bulb; his has been stolen. We drove down about 10 miles of dirt roads next to flat grass lands and turned down another road when things rapidly become dense jungle. The road was washed over periodically but as we got closer to the sea, the river that ran parallel to the road started becoming one with the road. The water washed out of the dense foliage and across the road with a current. The road was never underneath more than about 18 inches of water, but it was submerged for up to a mile at a stretch.

Finally we reached the end of the road, crossed over a barrier and walked to the water's edge. The sediment laden river spilled forth a creamy chocolate colored muddy water, the sea was mud colored as far as the eye could see.

We grabbed a couple of 5 gallon buckets and walked back to the river. The boat was tied up, stern to shore near half submerged with water nearly up to the gunwale. Twenty minutes of bailing later we untied it, pulled it off the beach, swung it bow to shore against a pier and bailed the water that flowed underneath the glass deck to the stern.

A six inch piece was cut off the hose and attached to the exit end of the primer bulb and the long end was affixed to the other end. The hose was fed into a one gallon bottle through a 1/2 hole in the top. The bulb was primed for a couple of minutes. Bryan took the top off of the 50 horsepower four stroke Honda. In the narrow seat at the stern was a 48" piece of polypropylene rope attached to a stick. This was wound around the pulley mounted atop the engine above the crankcase gear operated by the started motor.

With a single pull the engine started. Bryan warmed it up for a bit and declared us good to go. We walked back to the house, where his stuff was all packed. A tackle box, a bunch of rods, a 120 quart cooler and a battery were all we had to move. We walked parallel to the shore for 150 yards to the other house owned by 24x7 Martha, so named because she is always stoned. Nothing happens very quickly in Belize. She smoked a few cigarettes, surfed a bit more, some local came in and Martha showed the girl how to connect to the internet. Bryan and Martha smoked more cigarettes followed by vapid conversation and more cigarettes.

Finally we headed back to house 1, loaded the gear into the back of her truck and she drove us over to the boat. The gear was put aboard. The boat had no life preservers, no signalling equipment, no paddle, no anchor, no radio, no fire extinguisher; she was not fit to be at sea. It is impossible to shift this engine once it is running because it stalls at idle speed, so I had to plant a pole in the bottom of the river and hold the boat while it was started in forward. Off we went across the river, in hope of buying enough gas to get this thing back to Independence.

We entered a cut upstream and pulled the boat into the reeds. I took a two gallon can and walked up to a house, behind which were at least a dozen 20 gallon cans of gas and bought a couple of gallons of gas for $21 Bz. The homeowner took a 3/4" section of plastic tubing, inserted into the big can, gave a big suck and filled two one gallon water bottles, the contents of which were transferred to my gas can.

Back on the boat we poled out, faced it down stream and took off again. After half an hour the boat started sputtering. A short while later, wide open would push us barely 3 knots. If we made it back this was going to be a long trip. No other boats were to be seen anywhere.

Four and a half hours later we finished our 16 mile trip, pulling into the marina. We pulled the gear off, stashed it in the house. My face was burned as I had failed to grab my hat in my mad dash to get on the truck.

Steve brought over some beans and shrimp. Phil gave Bryan a lift to town, where he bought some spuds and we had the obvious for dinner, courtesy of Phil's cooking. I washed up and we sat around and jawed a while. In the middle of a conversation I said I had to go and dashed off to the house to avail myself of the toilet after which I laid down on the bed feeling less than wonderful. I fell asleep and didn't wake until dawn.