Welcome to the Caribbean
True Tales from the Islands
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
On Saturday Stan woke up to small ripples on the surface, a nice wind blowing over the top of the trees and mountains, but everything was secure. The anchor was about 15 feet down and dug into soft sand. They had not moved during the night and the anchor had held them very nicely. Because of the ripples on the surface, he couldn’t see clearly to the bottom, but the fathometer said 15 feet.
Marcy was still sleeping as he dived over the side into the blue waters. The visibility past the surface ripples was great. He could see over a hundred yards in any direction. This was what all the work and labor was for. On the bottom of the lagoon he saw a trolling lure. It looked closer, but he knew that distances were deceiving.
He jackknifed into the water, and headed for the bottom. At about 13 feet he cleared his ears by pinching his nose and blowing. He reached down and picked up the lure. It looked brand new. He carefully held it by the stainless steel leader, as he was afraid of the large double hooks buried in the purple looking octopus. He tugged on the leader and found out that the line led over to the rocks nearby, but it was stuck. Not wanting to push his time on the bottom he dropped the lure and swam to the surface. He kicked over to the rocks and looked around, but the line was transparent in the water. He went back to the lure and went to the bottom to see if he could pick it up again. As he was just off the stern of his boat he felt no danger, he carried no knife, and was of course not using the buddy system as Marcy was still catching up on her sleep.
This time he picked up the lure and gave it a tug and was surprised to feel it come loose from its entanglement. He headed for the surface with his prize in tow. This would be a nice souvenir of their journey. Maybe even a useful one, as it could be towed off the stern. About half way to the surface he felt the line tighten as it tangled again on the bottom. Quicker than he could do anything, his hand slid down almost a foot of the stainless steel leader and he hooked his finger. He was not aware of the pain, but he was aware that the surface was still 7 feet away and he wasn’t going to reach it. His immediate thought was that he hadn’t said good bye to his wife, and that when she woke up, she would find the body easily enough, right off the back of the boat still attached to this fishing line.
At first he tried to use his other hand to pull the hook out of the finger, but already the hook was past the barb into his finger, and it would not come free. Without a knife he couldn’t cut it, and even though he wasn’t yet feeling like he was running out of air he knew that feeling was coming soon enough. Forever etched in his mind was the thought that he had a good idea what a fish felt when it went once too often for the bait. Before he lost all momentum to the surface he did the only thing he knew to do. In a near panic he kicked with his fins and pulled with all that he could. The hook sank even deeper into his finger but fortunately he felt the line come free off the bottom. He swam to the surface with his prize embedded into his finger. As he came up the swim ladder in the back of the boat, Marcy stuck her head over the transom.
“How’s the water?”
“The water is great”
“See anything?”
“Saw lots of things.”
“Think I’ll come in.”
“Well, before you do that, let me come out.” As he hoisted himself up on the boat, he said, “I think swimming is over for now.” as he showed Marcy his finger impaled on the hook.
They got in the dinghy and Marcy rowed him to the shore. Frazer showed up on the beach at this very opportune time. He drove them to the hospital in town. Over the winding roads it took 35 minutes before they reached the hospital. Of course there never is an emergency, and the doctor was not due in for another hour. Actually when the doctor came in it was almost 9:30. The night before had been long. Stitching up some late night revelers who had traded blows and slashes with beer bottles at Carnival.
The doctor numbed his finger, and cut out the hook. It was embedded in such a way they couldn’t push it on through, past the barbs, and cut off the ends. It took four stitches to seal up the wound. Stan had a souvenir that he would have the rest of his life. He had a good idea of how helpless a fish feels, and realized just how close their vacation in paradise had about ended with him facing eternity and wondering about the real place called paradise. Death is a persistent stalker.
Instead of heading back to the boat immediately, Marcy cajoled him into going into town and eating breakfast.
Later that night he was sitting on the boat and thinking about how close to death he had come. Marcy came over and gave him a hug, and he hugged her back and just cried.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
This is a fictional island adventure story, based upon true events, written in an attempt to answer the question, “What is it like to live on the mission field?” As a missionary I have lived or visited the places mentioned. I have experienced these events once or many times.
Stan and Marcy go to the sunlit beaches of Saint Vincent and the Grenadines to pick up a boat and take it to Miami. Upon arrival in tropical paradise they find the boat had leaked and water was knee deep inside. Everything wood rots. The hull is fiberglass. The deck and cabin top are made of wood with fiberglass over the top. The frames and bunks and cabinets are decaying wood. It is going to take a major rebuilding effort. They decide that they can do it, if the owner agrees to pay for the materials.
They learn the phrase “Welcome to the Caribbean” when things don’t go the way they expected. And that is often.
Stan seems to keep one step ahead of death. He is robbed at gunpoint. He falls out of a tree. He never forgets his fight with a Doberman, barehanded no less. Then there is the scary encounter with three watch dogs when he strays into their territory. Driving on the left is not as hard as remembering the steering wheel is on the right.
Launching the boat is not the end of the life threatening events. There is the time he almost drowns, then the boat collision …
About the Author
The author’s life quest began thousands of miles from the ocean, in Elgin, Illinois. This life journey now spans opposite sides of the earth and two oceans. Alan is a graduate of Elgin High School and the US Coast Guard Academy (1969). Alan and Beverly are presently missionaries in Saint Vincent and the Grenadines. They have two grown children, Robert and Sonya.