“It requires more thought to give a boat a good name, than it does a child”
Possibly as a result of my Spanish language communicating skills or take charge attitude; recently, I managed to hang out with the ships passengers of the M/V Costa Bonita. She is a large beautiful motor yacht from across the Sea of Cortez – Mazatlan. Mazatlan a most beautiful place known as the Pearl of the Pacific. Miracousely, sometime during the night this ship managed to limp in and tie up at our end tie on Dock F on one running engine. A crew of three, the Captain, mechanic and cook or deckhand and four Mexican nationals.
Somewhere mid Sea of Cortez crossing the diesels sort of gulped their last sip of fuel, then perished from lack of diesel. There she floated and drifted in a not too calm sort of corumel Sea of Cortez weather. Three hours of pure hell is how one passenger described the time soon after their engines quit.
Approximately three hours later someone discovered that the day tank of fuel had run dry. Now, all needed was the turning of a valve, the bleeding of her engines and finally steerage way. Someone had to pay so, they drew straws as to who would be flogged. The obvious choice? They thought about it for a while, then moved on to more adventurous sort of conversation and discussions of the world.
No, obviously not the flogging of the Captain. They needed him to get back home. With the engines now running, though not perfectly, off again they headed, towards La Paz, though not their intended destination.
Death once again now cheated these four arrived ready to do what their now aged and well lived for educated bodies could do. More eating, more drinking and more merry making. Too much good food, women, drink and cigars over the years sort of rounded out their bodies.
Days later, as if it just happened I laughed so hard hearing the same story told umteen times I also felt like I was there. Added to the story by now was also how the good Doctor spilled his cookies repeatedly. He claimed he chummed 100 marlins. The good tequilla now ran back out my nose. Perhaps as a result of the severe hot weather I looked down and all I saw was a shot glass in one hand and a modello blue in the other.
Today, all I can say is, I didn’t know Modello beer made three different types of beers?
The fact that I exited the Western Flyer at the precise time as their mechanic possibly caused a chain reaction in the time continuum of the boat project world or maybeit was the “on with the adventure” contagious attitude of these four heroes.
Me, sweat profusely pouring from a hairless scalp as I was in the middle of installing my water tank lines. Their mechanic covered in grease from head to toe as a result of the part he was now holding – the top end of a double racor secondary filter.
We looked at each others project for a second. Soon, somehow his leaky fuel issue problem became my problem to solve. The mechanic told me all he now needed to get her running was a spare gasket. Before long we were off to find this errant spare part. No, not the mechanic or crew but, the ships owner, doctor, two other rotoundly professionals and me. Why they chose to all venture together I know not but, guys are pack like in many ways, sort of like the movie Hangover.
In this movie three buddies wake up in Las Vegas with no recollection of last nights bachelor party. They make their way around the city (together – pack like) in order to find their friend before his wedding. Now, translate (finding their friend) for finding a missing boat part and you begin to live in my La Paz world. Where every boat project becomes an adventure.
We searched and searched possibly in every boat dealer, parts outfit or wrong place for this part. No, not the gasket that I was told was the missing part but, somehow this missing part now morphed into the entire top fuel filter engine part. Three of the four disagreed as to the correct part the ship’s mechanic had told him was needed. While almost at the end of the line I saw some guys hanging around a boat and decided to solicit their assistance.
Soon we were now following this guys truck around town. Finally, we made it Terry’s shop. This gringo of the diesel mechanic world resembles more a homeless on the streets of LA than a mechanic. His shirt said LUIS but, his name I was told is Terry. His shop if you wish to call it that resembles the outcome of Sanford and Sons Salvage yard were they on crack cocaine back in the 70s when this series was filmed. These two characters made us laugh as they involve themselves in schemes, usually as a way of making extra cash, in order to pay off other debts.
What I presumed was the guard dog stunk so bad the smell alone was enough to make you leave the premises. Soon, I was wanting for more cigar smoke, blowing from one of these four, as a way to overcome my near nirvana experience.
Soon, Terry was tearing at this part, removing this piece, now adding a rubber washer, then voila. No, not voila. The owner now stated the problem was not air injestion but, that it was spraying a fuel like mist out the bottom. Why did you not bring me the entire part Terry demanded! Bowing down to his most mechanical wisdom these four and I quickly loaded ourselves back up in the rental car to retrieve the missing parts so that he could pressure test the system. But, not before another round of shots and Modello beer. The last thing I heard before bedtime was a smooth running diesel engines.
This morning she was gone to parts unknown.