Free A Sail of Two Idiots by Renee Petrillo Page B

might be wondering if he was the right man for the job. We grounded 10 minutes out of the harbor, we miscalculated our arrival time to West End, he snoozed when he should have been quizzing us, the sailing techniques he advocated were simplistic, and he wasn’t savvy enough to know to contact the Coast Guard via VHF to alert them to the EPIRB false alarm. We had chosen him because he had catamaran sailing experience; had sailed this route before; was nice, cheap, and available; and we trusted the person who recommended him. If you need a captain, I suggest you hire someone by their credentials. You might even want to take them out for a test-drive.
What Do You Mean You’re Leaving Us?
    We had arrived. Now what? We had hoped to utilize Captain Tim a few more days to allow time to gain more skills, but the weather was turning ugly. Meteorologist Chris Parker and boat VHF chatter warned of a storm system on the way. We wouldn’t be able to do much until the system passed, and who knew how long that would be. Money was tight, and we had to cut the cord sometime, right?
    Right. But in order for Captain Tim to leave, we had to check him in with customs/immigration. As a matter of fact, all of us from
Jacumba
, even Shaka, still had to check in. The drill is that you raise a yellow quarantine flag on your mast, and the captain goes ashore alone and checks in the boat and crew. We did that, but no customs’ officer was on duty. So we hoped they wouldn’t mind if we all went ashore and got a drink. Who knew—we might actually run into the officer there. (In St. Pierre, Martinique, you
do
check in at a bar, so it was possible.) That didn’t happen, but we did enjoy ourselves. Note: Some islands
do
mind if you sneak ashore and will fine you, so be careful.
    The next morning was a Sunday and, with the storm coming, we really needed to get Captain Tim on a plane. We called the customs office and were shocked when someone answered. The officer was there but was on his way out. Noooo! Wait, we’re coming!
    We piled into the dinghy (restarted the motor 10 times) and hustled to the customs office. He had waited—hallelujah! A few nonchalant stamps and a hefty fee for a six-month cruising permit later, we were all legal, even Shaka. Yellow flag down; Bahamas courtesy flag up.
    Now to get Captain Tim home. We booked his flight, put him on the next ferry to nearby Treasure Cay on Great Abaco Island, and waved good-bye. We waved again when the home-bound plane flew overhead, and then Michael and I just stared at each other. What had we just done?
    We were now alone. On a boat. In a foreign country. Or, more exactly, alone, on our own, in a foreign country, on a boat we didn’t know how to sail. Whose idea was this anyway? Oh, yeah, I already wrote that chapter.
Who’s in Charge Here?
    It was becoming clear that I’d be the de facto captain, which suited Michael just fine. Over the following months we discovered who was better at doing what, and this turned out to be the right decision. Michael would freeze like a deer in headlights when unexpected things happened; I had trouble with things requiring muscle, such as getting the clutches (halyard and sheet/line holding devices) open in high winds. I could predict where a storm was going and steer us around it; Michael was like a monkey up the mast. Michael knew how to cook and enjoyed it; I could wash dishes with a drop of water. Michael was patient; I was practical. Michael became mechanically inclined; I further developed my computer/electronics skills. I smelled odors; Michael tracked them down. Michael was better at taking direction, I was better at directing—just like at home! We both just kind of fell into our functions. That said …
    LESSON 2 REPEAT: Don’t ever assume … Don’t assume that the man will be the captain—either on your boat or someone else’s.
    LESSON 26: ROLE-PLAY Everyone has a part to play. Every