Keep on Keeping on

Day 11

We sleep out on the mud bank. At low tide, there is almost no water around us. A couple of guys come out to have a look at the boat, and suggest what we can do to get out of the mud. One of them stands on a lobster in the now 1 foot water that our boat sits in, grabs it and throws it on our boat. Lunch is sorted.

The boat is relatively safe, as it is in very soft mud, which won't damage it.

A boat makes its way out to us. On board are 11 people and 2 dogs. They fail in their first attempt to get to us, as it is so shallow, but makes it on the second attempt. The coastguard will not help us, but will come out to do the paperwork and search our boat for cocaine. What they didnt realise is that we snorted most of it last night in a pique of fury, and gave the rest of it away to passing fishermen.

They ask if they can cut the pillow open. We agree. They cut the pillow open. I think it is made of hemp or something. They collect the small pieces of twig and branch. I laugh, you would be hard pressed to get high, even if it was marijuana, with the small pieces they find after raking through the contents of the entire pillow. They take the pieces off for analysis.

I insist someone search the engine room. The guy is surprised. "I didn't know there was an engine room". The engine room is huge.

At night, dad rigs up some anchors on long ropes, and we pull ourselves free as the tide comes in. We ask them to send someone out to help us in this time, because we are f***ing champions, and will not be denied. An army boat driven by hooting teenagers with rifles guides us in, and we take our rightful place on the dock.

Day 10

We roar up the coast at 12kph. The boat requires a lot of work, as it has a tendency to stop. As it gets dark, we approach a place called Caya Coco. We try to enter the harbour, but the coastguard tells us to keep going. We tell him it's dangerous, but he tells us to go to the marina up the road, 12 miles he says, but it is about 22 on our GPS. He sounds like he doesn't want to be bothered with gringos and their goddamn boats.

We carry on up the coast to the marina. We look for the buoy that signals the entrance of the harbour. We call the lady at the marina. She tells us to come towards the bridge. Our depth guage is reading 5 feet. We ask her again where the buoy is. Its there, she tells us, we should be on it. Come towards the bridge she repeats. We ask her if she can see our boat. No she says, but we are ok, just come towards the bridge. We ask her if she can send a boat out. No, she says, she can't. The depth guage reads 0 feet. The boat stops. We are stuck in mud, the water is about 2 feet deep. We need 3 and a half.

We go ashore. The coastguard will not help us, as we are not in immediate danger. They suggest we hire an expensive tug boat from Havana. The lady at the marina seems to be more interested in talking to her boyfriend on the phone, "Te amo, te amo, mi amore, mi amore." The lady tells us that its our fault, and that we should have just anchored out in the harbour if we were worried. I am so angry, but in retrospect, she is right, when you are sailing, you need to rely upon yourself, and not people who give you advice from a windowless converted shipping container which has buildings and trees between itself and the sea.