I’d had enough work done on cars here in Costa Rica to know that the odds of his car actually being fixed within 24 hours were really, really long. On the other hand, I’d already received permission to disappear for this trip. I thought to myself, “What’s the worst that could happen?” And I went for it.
I began to turn us about, carefully picking the exact time to turn without getting side-swiped by a wave while mindful of the following sea which could quickly pour over the transom. Were it not for all prior evidence to the contrary it actually seemed like I knew what I was doing.
I’m sorry, there’s some folks further down in a tree that really need me. I’ll come back for you in just a minute. Cars don’t float you know.
…to drive around the Gulf of Nicoya in a boat with this name and color scheme. As I, the sole fisherman found out the hard way, machismo is alive and well in the fish community.
We were now in a stalemate of sorts as the roaring boat engine kept the trailer, and the Explorer, from becoming an artificial reef, but Bill, who was now officially freaked, had yet to make a difference with whatever he was doing inside the vehicle.
The elderly woman’s hand right hand clutched my wife’s left knee in a death grip. Her free hand was cupped beneath her mouth, catching most, but not all, of the vomit that was now coming out in regular intervals before tossing it over the gunwale and into the water just in time to make it back for another batch.