Success

Out at 8 to Nothing Wong.  I pulled along the port side and the four of us boarded.   Marlin is on his way?  Sure enough, he was but a few minutes off.  High tide at 9:30.

Chris is going to be here at 8:30. He is pressed for time.  How could this be?  He has nothing to do, ever.

One inch manilla lines were tied off to the bow of Nothing Wong.  Here he comes.  Chris called me on the phone.  He couldn't see to navigate the shallows as he was heading east into the morning sun.  I grabbed some polaroid sunglasses, took my bearings and set off in my boat to lay a course through the shallows, surveyed the water and headed out.  I called him on the phone. It was terse. "77. Copy?"  "Roger".

I turned on the VHF radio and set it to channel 77.  "Come straight to me."  The big boat bore down on me cautiously, travelling but a few knots.  Just one tack necessary.  I stopped at the turning point. "Straight to here. I'm heading out to the anchor point."  I did so.  The beast came to rest. As he was anchoring I was dispatched to get "Cool Boat Chris" (CBC) from Alejandra's panga, tied off and secured with a stern anchor.  I picked up CBC and shuttled him over to Marita so he could do some line handling, then back to Nuthing Wong to get the tow lines.  One of the boys threw them to one that was on my boat and he started to feed out line.  "Just throw the whole damn thing overboard, else you'll get the ropes tangled in your feet."  Jesus, what do they teach these guys in the Coast Guard Academy? Apparently not much to do with boating.  "Get in back and make sure they don't get near my prop."  Back to Marita.  The lines were tied off.

Marlin boarded my boat to supervise.  The lines slowly tightened, Marita pitched, the water churned. "Put your rudder amidships" I squawked, repeating Marlins order.   Marita straightened out and another pull was attempted. Marlin observed, "He's never tugged before, he should let the slack out and surge."

"Chris, lay back.  Go."  Something Wong moved a couple of inches.  "Off..... go."  A foot. "Off, go."  A few minutes later, she was free.  We hooted and hollered and danced little jigs. Clive broke out into a shit eating grin.   CBC was escorted back to Alejandra's Panga.   The mast and rudder were left to be collected later.  She was pulled at three knots toward her next mooring in Saigon.  I left with my crew to town for a celebratory coffee or two.  My phone rang. "Jim, get us a bottle of rum, we want to celebrate."  "There is one on Nothing Wong."  "I don't want to wait until we get to Saigon."  What time is it? 10:30?  OK, I bought a handle of Abuelo, we boarded my boat and pulled alongside.  Marita came to a rest, we tied off and resumed the journey.  The sound system was cranking, blasting a particularly bad selection of music. The boys consumed rum in moderation.  Others?  Not so much.  By the time we got to Saigon, the captain was wasted.

The boat was pulled into position, Marlin put the anchor and a hundred feet of chain on his cayuco and pulled out to drop anchor.  Crazy Chris, yet another Chris, but this one is very dependable.  You can always rely on him to be an asshole.  He got on his dinghy and came over to tell us to move the boat, it was too close to his.  It was three hundred feet away.  Do you think you own the whole bay, asshole?   After an unduly long time elapsed, accomplishing little, the mainstay of activity aboard Marita we headed back to the south anchorage, leaving nothing Wong and a very happy Clive.

Crazy Chris started calling, "Get the f***ing boat out of here.  I don't want it so close to my boat..." He was screaming so loud that Marita Chris put down his phone and we all listened."  Crazy Chris then started issuing threats.  He was advised in strong terms that he was screwing with the wrong people.

I gassed up and we snorkeled Hospital Point on the way home.  The water was far murkier than I had ever seen it.   While enjoying a late lunch on the deck the dogs took off down the stairs in a barking frenzy.  A bit later up walked Simon, my gardener.  He had just returned from six months of seminary training in David. This place is turning more Catholic than an Irish neighborhood in Boston.  Yup, I have work for you to do.  I pointed to a tree I needed felled.  Then I pointed to a spot of land which had been cleared.  "Tres muchachas, una hora."  He laughed heartily.  It was a pathetic effort for three gringo lads with machetes.  Maybe half an hour for Simon by himself.  We fed him and gave him coffee.  He said he would be by at seven in the morning and paddled back home.