True Pirates, Part I
July 2023
By David Roper
It was in a dark, decrepit bar by the New Bedford waterfront where I found him. He was half slumped on the last stool by the swinging door to the kitchen. “He’s over there. That one,” the bartender said, lifting and pointing his chin towards Mark Wolfe. This was in late October in the 1970s. I was a fairly green boat delivery skipper who had landed a delivery job from Rhode Island to St. Thomas, taking a 42’ sloop to join a fledgling charter fleet in Charlotte Amalie for the winter. But there were two problems: I didn’t have enough crew and I didn’t trust my celestial navigation skills (it was pre-GPS days). I moved warily towards the identified man, past six empty stools. “Hey, Cap,” I said in as friendly a voice as I dared in such a somber place. He looked up. Cocked his head. “You Mark Wolfe?” I asked.
“Depends on who’s asking.”
“Well, I’m Dave Roper and I’m doing a delivery to Saint Thomas in a couple of days, and I need crew. I was wondering if you’d be interested. And I also need someone good with a sextant. Someone said that – ”
“What’s it paying?”
My heart sank. “Well, the charter company is only giving crew members the return air ticket back to Providence. They figure there are plenty of folks who, just for the adventure of – ”
“Not interested then.” He took a last pull on his beer.
I was desperate. “Well, I could give you a quarter of my fee. As special compensation, you know, for you as crew and navigator.”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s the boat?”
“Good boat,” I said.
“What’s the boat?”
“C&C Landfall 42.”
He smirked, then laughed. “One of them ‘Landfills’ is what they call them. You shittin’ me? Those things are tubs.”
“Charter boat. It’s going into the charter fleet down there. She’s big, roomy, beamy.”
“Yeah. Designed for charter. Big cockpit. High sided. Big windows. Not what you want out at sea.”
“I know, but it won’t be bad. It’ll be two legs. We’ll be stopping in Bermuda. Should be a fun trip.”
“Why?”
“Why a fun trip?”
“No, why stop in Bermuda.”
“Charter company says the insurance company wants us to stop there for safety’s sake.”
“That makes no sense.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “You’re a coastal guy, aren’t you? No real ocean stuff?”
“Well, to date, I guess that’s true.”
“You know how high Bermuda is above sea level? Only a hundred feet, on average. Unless the seas are calm and sky’s clear, you know how easy that island is to miss?”
“Well, I – ”
“Makes no sense to stop. It’s stupid.”
He hailed the bartender, holding up two fingers. I was encouraged. It seemed one beer was for me and maybe I still had a chance for a navigator.
“I suppose it’s hard to make that landfall – ”
“Hard? Bermuda is nothing but a low, 20-square-mile coral atoll sittin’ on a well-submerged volcano, and surrounded by coral reefs. The worst of these are to the west, north, and northeast. That’s where you’d be coming from. The north reefs extend seven or eight miles offshore and shoot right up from the bottom until it’s too late. By the time your depth finder gets a reading, you’re on the reef and done for.”
I began to realize how unseasoned I really was compared to this veteran. He continued.
“No. I’d say you should just blame the weather for not stopping, then miss Bermuda intentionally, grab the southeast trades, and knock off another 900 miles downhill right to St. Thomas. Hell, you can sail into the Virgins blindfolded and still not get wrecked.”
“So, you’ll consider this?”
He looked me in the eye. “50%.”
I was desperate. I reluctantly agreed.
Mark continued. “And then there’s Artie.”
“Artie?”
“But he’ll go for free. Good sailor, even for a drunk. An old friend. He wants to head south for the winter and will take any free ride on something that floats. But we should also have one more.”
“We do,” I said. “My Mississippi River pilot friend is flying in day after tomorrow.”
“A river pilot on the ocean? You tell him about these big things called seas?”
“He’s never been on the ocean. Or sailed. But he’s the finest kind. He’ll do anything and isn’t afraid of anything.”
“Well, he’ll be on your watch, then. I’ll take Artie.”
I nodded. But I was beginning to sense the locus of control was shifting as to who was in charge, who was the captain.
Mark nodded. “So you’ve filled up your Landfill now, captain. Son of a bitch. Guess we’re going.”
It hadn’t been easy, but I had my crew.
But that turned out to have been the easy part.
I had just signed on two pirates with their own agenda, was soon headed out into the Bermuda Triangle on an untested vessel, and was leaving late in the year in weather that could, well . . .
You’ll find out in the next issue.
David Roper’s upcoming novel, “The Ghosts of Gadus Island,” is scheduled for publication this year. Dave is the author of the three-time bestseller “Watching for Mermaids,” as well as the sequel “Beyond Mermaids” and the novel “Rounding the Bend.” All are available through Amazon.com or roperbooks.com.
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