"Why is the rum always gone?"

-Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Mans Chest

On Friday afternoon I bailed early to go help Sean deliver Sand Shaker from the yard. The wind was about 10-12 knots and it looked like it might be fun to raise sail on that big old platform and see what it could do. I wasn’t sure about the running gear though….

At Southpoint, and the engine would not start. It is a 25 horse outboard, and Sean pulled and pulled the starter rope with not even a cough or sputter. The thing just sat there silent, mocking us. Telling us “yea, I know ya’ll wanna make the 1700 swing bridge opening, but I’m gonna drag my feet”…..

Finally after an emergency spark plug transplant, the old engine fired up, and we started to back the trimiran up (try that sometime), and out into the side channel. We reached the swing bridge around 1745, and so instead of trying to do circles in the middle of the channel (another almost impossible feat for Sand Shaker), Sean threw out the hook, and we sat there until the swing bridge opened up on the hour…..I busied myself with rigging up the headsail, and barely noticed that it was open.

Out into the Laguna Madre, we hoisted up the little jib on the ancient wire halyard. I got the thing jammed in the winch several times before getting it up to the top of the stay.

I tightened the sheet, and the big old platform leapt forward under the tiny jib alone. WOW what a difference compared to a monohulled boat, but….I sure don’t trust their heeling moment.

Everything in life is a trade off, including the choice of boat to sail. We trade speed for stability, comfort for speed. Do we go fast or do we slow down on the journey, bathed in comfort and stability? Do we enjoy the ride regardless? Is it possible to do both?

We were speeding along about 6 or 7 knots on a broad reach all the way to the entrance markers for the fingers. Dousing the sail, we motored in without incident, past Anchor Marina and down to Sean’s slip at the end of Tarpon street….

Saturday night we went to the Bongodogs with Rene and Amy, who were down for Amy’s birthday, and of course Sean and Chris (his runnin’ buddy), who had met a couple of wrinklenecks over at the Wahoo Saloon, and said they’d be along a bit later.

Getting to Wanna Wanna about 2200, we sat down at a table with the commander and Kim, who had proceeded us there. Surveying the commanders condition, I knew I had some catching up to do.

Sean and Chris soon showed up, and it was a true sailors convention.  Sean owns Sea Pearl, a 32 Choy-Lee and of course, Sand Shaker, his buddy Chris is the owner of a Columbia 32 ( I don't know her name), the commander has Ciclon (and Renaissance), and rounding it all up, Olivia’s master. And so as the evening progressed, and the music and liquor flowed the tropical night became more filled with exploits, and hopes, dreams and plans of bigger aventuras to come.

Closing down the ‘dogs (yea, we went to the ‘dogs....again) at around midnight, the evening deteriorated into a fine haze of camaraderie, chaos and hilarity. Kim drove us back to Olivia, and we crawled below in the ocean scented cool of the late night, not to awaken until mid morning Sunday.

In the afternoon, I ran into an old friend from my surfing days, Jim Barker. The last time I saw him, he and his wife had sold their condo on SPI and were heading down to Punta Mita Mexico to buy a place on the beach so that they could surf and pass the languorous days well below the Tropic of Cancer. Jim was in his early 70’s then, and as fit as a horse. In fact, I’d often see him far out, past the third break, surfing alone. Other times I’d see him on the beach and we’d chat for hours sometimes, about this place, life and the sea. A retired coach, and genuine patriot of the valley, he is another true hero of mine.

Yesterday we spied him in a sit-down wheel chair at Wally-Martinez (Wal Mart), being pushed by his wife. I thought I recognized him, but wasn’t quite sure.

Outside we saw him struggle, a bit shakily from the chair and walk over to his car. I hurried over and said “Hey Jim?”….He seemed genuinely happy to see me, and said “Hi Jim….how’ve you been?.” I asked him the same, and he explained that they are now splitting their time between Mexico and here. They again have a condo on the Island that they’re leasing, while Jim gets chemo over in McAllen. I asked if it was responding, and he answered somewhat wistfully “Well, it comes and goes”.

Jim was still wearing a surfing shirt, shorts and flip flops and his countenance exuded the lifestyle so many only dream about.

I pondered a facet of the great universal conundrum; “is this the fitting end to a mans days?” You get it all figured out,,,,got the master plan, got it under control. You struggle and toil, finally cutting the mooring lines, only to be reeled back in by something beyond your control.

An overwhelming sense of sadness, futility and funk overtook me. I prayed for my friend. I prayed for myself.

I looked out over the open ocean and suddenly realized that I don’t really know a thing.

But one thing I do know; I can always make more money. But I can’t make any more time.