From a distance, he appeared smallish and frail. But up close, I could
see that he was lean and wiry. His taut skin was like leather, caused
by years spent under the blazing sun. He was a little stooped over,
perhaps from bending to enter the salon of his little yacht, Wind Gift.
Its wooden hull appeared to be less than thirty feet long; I doubt that
he could stand up straight inside.
Gunter and I first met Buck as we were leaving Barillas Marina in El
Salvador for Guatemala. Four yachts navigated the winding six-mile stretch
of river at the same time, following two men in a panga from the marina
who would lead us past the shoals at the river’s mouth and out
to sea. Wind Gift followed behind the stern of Pacific Bliss, her sails
full, her little outboard engine chugging along. I turned to snap a
photo. From the river’s mouth, three yachts headed north for Guatemala.
Makoko and Pacific Bliss soon left Wind Gift far behind, until her sails
were just a faint white speck against the deep blue sea.
The day after we arrived in the steamy, industrial navy yard of Puerto
Quetzal, we hired a car and driver and headed for the cooler highlands
with our friends from our buddy boat Makoko. We returned three days
later to find little Wind Gift anchored snugly in the harbor next to
our larger yachts. The next day, we were invited to sundowners and a
light dinner on Makoko. We planned to share our waypoints to Puerto
Madero, our port of entry into Mexico. I asked our hostess, Claudie,
whether we could invite Buck as well, since Wind Gift was the only other
cruising yacht in the harbor. She consented, and that afternoon, on
our way back from a provisioning run, we dinghied over to Wind Gift.
“I don’t usually like to leave my boat after dark,”
said Buck in response to our invitation.
“But it’s only a stone’s throw away,” said
Gunter. “You will be able to see Wind Gift from the cockpit of
Makoko. We’ll pick you up about 5:30.” Buck agreed to the
plan—a little reluctantly, I thought.
Later, we stopped to pick him up, tethered Petit Bliss to the high
transom of Makoko, and climbed into their 53’ Amel Super Maramu
ketch. The cockpit table had been put in place, and Buck was asked to
walk on the seats to sit in the corner, at the backside of the table
next to the mizzen mast. I sat next to him and the others squeezed around
the table. Claudie, wonderfully dressed in an attractive full-length
sheath, her hair and make-up perfect, asked Buck in English, with her
cute French accent, what he would like to drink.
“Just water,” Buck replied.
“With gas or without?” She asked, setting out a tray of
cheeses, pates and crackers.
“Just plain water,” he replied.
“Ice or no ice?” She was bringing out the French red and
the perfectly chilled white.
“No ice, just a glass of water.”
“Can’t she understand me?” he whispered to me, his
frustration building.
“Would you like a little lime in it?”
Overwhelmed, Buck stood on the cockpit seat and looked back toward
Wind Gift, lazily sloshing in the waves behind.
“I don’t know why people can’t understand me. Don’t
I talk plain English?” he remarked. “I’m jumping.
I will swim back to my vessel.”
“What did I do wrong?” Claudie burst out, dismay clouding
her gracious smile.
“No, Buck. Don’t jump!” Gunter shouted as Buck began
to climb up out of the center cockpit on to the stern deck. Obviously
impatient, he hadn’t waited for everyone to stand up and let him
squeeze past them around the crowded table. The close quarters and social
niceties were evidently too much for a simple single-handler.
Gunter rushed to the deck and persuaded Buck to let him take him back
to his boat in Petit Bliss. Had he not stopped him right then, we were
all convinced that Buck would have jumped, clothes and all!
We didn’t encounter Buck again until Pacific Bliss and Wind Gift
were anchored not far from each other in the Huatulco, Mexico.
“There’s Wind Gift!” I exclaimed. “I want to
give Buck the photo of his boat I printed out." We dinghied over
and I held on to the side of his boat. Buck welcomed us as if the incident
on board the French boat had never happened. He thanked me for the photo
of Wind Gift under sail and cheerfully handed Gunter a supply of well-used
and mildewed books.
“Where are you going from here?” Gunter asked.
“I’m leaving Wind Gift here and traveling inland for awhile,”
he said. “I want to see some of Mexico’s interior. I never
have.”
“Where will you keep your boat during the hurricane season? There’s
no shipyard here.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
A mere two days later, Buck had secured a place for Wind Gift “on
the hard” in a young man’s yard--in exchange for giving
him sailing lessons. Although we’ve emailed him, and left messages
via his website: www.windgift.com we never heard from Buck again.
Wind Gift Leaving Barillas Marina Click
for larger version...
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