Just yesterday I finished writing my friends book. It felt so good that I now want to share a chapter with you to see how you like it. It obviously isn’t all about VW’s, it’s a tale about friends, the military, a life well lived and enjoyed and much much more. So here’s a little sample: ……………chapter 3:
………We swapped tales of sailing to Catalina Island, a beloved destination for Southern California boaters, with its picturesque coves and vibrant marine life. The idea of one day sailing farther afield came up, and someone—perhaps Kimbal—floated the dream of flying to the Virgin Islands, chartering a sailboat, and living like the rich and famous for a week. It was the kind of ambitious plan that sailors toss around half-jokingly, but the spark in our eyes suggested we were all secretly serious.
As for me, I was juggling my own preparations. I was tied up on the East Coast, delivering emergency preparedness training for the New Jersey division of my agency. My schedule was packed, but the thought of joining my wife and friends for a sailing adventure kept me grounded amid the long days of work. Patti, bless her, took care of packing for me, sparing me the hassle while I was on the road. When I wrapped up the training in New Jersey, I felt a wave of relief. I distinctly remember peeling off my suit, folding it carefully, and packing it into an Express Mail box to ship back home. It was a symbolic shedding of my professional responsibilities. I also took the necessary steps to secure my firearm, badge, and credentials, registering them for mailing and sending them to our Pasadena headquarters office. With those burdens lifted, I felt unencumbered, ready to embrace the adventure ahead. I boarded a flight to Tortola, my mind already drifting to the turquoise waters and gentle trade winds that awaited us.
And sometimes, just sometimes, the stars align, and dreams become reality. That’s exactly what happened when we made the trip to Tortola in the British Virgin Islands. The planning came together with remarkable ease, each of us taking on a role that played to our strengths. Kimbal, with his knack for logistics, took charge of securing the sailboat charter, researching vessels and coordinating with the charter company. Patti, ever the organizer, handled the airfare, ensuring we had smooth flights to the Caribbean. Patti and Trish flew together from Los Angeles to Puerto Rico, where they spent a day in San Juan before continuing to Tortola. Patti called me one evening, her voice bubbling with excitement as she described the vibrant streets of Old San Juan and the mojitos she and Trish were sipping at a local bar. “I just love Trish,” she said, and I could hear the joy of their rekindled friendship. It was clear the two were making the most of their time together, their shared history in banking and now their shared love for adventure creating an unbreakable bond. Kimbal, meanwhile, was likely busy with his job at Southern California Edison, the region’s power company, tying up loose ends before the trip. I didn’t have details on his schedule, but knowing Kimbal, he was as meticulous about his work as he was about planning our charter. Kimbal flew in from LAX to Saint Thomas and then, from there, he recalls distinctly taking a boat to the island of Tortola.
Roughly 3,430 miles as the crow flies from his home in Lake Forest, California, to where he now stood, the four of us came together. Kimbal was the last to arrive. When we walked over to see our charter boat, a French-flagged vessel called *Serenity*, the charter included a week’s worth of groceries that were already onboard. And then we noticed all the humidity and extreme heat in the air. This was the final week that the company offered charters, as hurricane season was fast approaching. Kimbal had opted for the discounted rates and also chartered a boat with no air conditioning. My wife, Patti, was not happy. I recall us in our tiny onboard cabin, the small 8-inch fans on high, trying to sleep.
The previous day’s mojitos or other island tropical drinks and jerked chicken helped us zone out until, say, about 3:00 a.m. And then I just had to get up and go on deck to take in the evening sky and catch my breath. The perspiration was dripping from my head. It was that hot, muggy, and humid. Then I noticed Trish also coming up on deck. She told me how the heat was almost unbearable in their forward cabin. I agreed. We spoke for a little, both trying to find some relief in the night air.
When we all converged in Tortola, it was as if no time had passed since our days in the 6218th Reception Battalion or our first reunion at our yacht club. The charter sailboat was everything we’d hoped for, and the islands delivered on their promise of paradise. We sailed from one anchorage to another, exploring pristine beaches, snorkeling in coral reefs, and sharing meals under the stars.
The trip was a testament to our friendship, forged in the unlikeliest of places—from an Army Reserve unit in the early ‘90s to a yacht club dinner table—and strengthened by our shared love for the sea.
Looking back, it’s hard to believe how a chance encounter at a Christmas dinner could lead to such a memorable journey, but that’s the magic of life.
Sometimes, the stars do align, and when they do, you might even end up on a charter in the British Virgin Islands. If only we had known more about Jimmy Buffett back then.
End
Trawlercat Chronicles 