The Rescuers

Mike's picture of the one that got away

Our hosts are a peculiar pair. The one is from up Nort... that's right, Nort. If I had to guess I would say he would have to be from North Dakota, Minnisota, or maybe some part of Wisconsin. But I don't have to guess. He looks like a walking team advertisement for the Minnisota Vikings. From head to toe, literally. An old worn out hat with the Viking logo, and some newer flip-flops with the same logo on the sides and top. His t-shirt and shorts are no exception. If none of these things would have had any team logo, the socks he was wearing were a dead giveaway.

"You guys okay? Not hurt or nothing, are you?" The Viking asks us as he helps us one by one on board the trawler. "That was one doozy of a crash it was." He nods toward Naomi as I give a few wraps of her bow line over one of the trawler's stearn cleats. "That's one sturdy plane you got there."

"Yeah, just that cruise control that gets faulty after lunch."
"Like you haven't fallen asleep before." Lou tries to defend himself, "And don't say you haven't cuz that's bullshit and you know it."

"Let's all just settle down."
This is the other guy. He looks like he is wound kind of tight. First off he isn't dressed for a day of fishing in the Sea of Cortez. The other guy is... except for the socks. But this guy is in a flannel shirt, buttoned up to the next to the top button. Khaki pants and some kind of desert boots or something. Topped off with a ballcap that very well could be starched.
"Where did you come from?" Lou starts... still pissed that he dumped Naomi in the drink, "a Cabella's catalog?"
"Hey, fellas, if you want you can get back in your plane and wait for someone else to hassle. How does that sound." Ballcap tells us.
I put my hands up and then point Lou's way, "You'll have to excuse my friend here. He is trying to help me get to the states for a family emergency and I am afraid we are all kind of tired."
Ballcap gives a tisk and then looks back at the plane, "You got her tied off good?"
"Yeah, that'll hold her."

We make our way slowly up the coast. Ballcap's name, as it turns out, is Andy... U.S. Airforce retired. It all comes out as one line, like he is reporting for duty. I half expect him to spit out his service number. He seems a little stiff at first, but turns out to be a pretty nice guy as we find out. His buddy is Mike, from where else but Minnisota. Both of them work together out of Arizona, Tempe I think he tells us. Aviation guys, but back office stuff... not on the planes, not any more anyway.

The five us us don't say much for a short while. Andy seems a little pissed at Lou's comment and clams up for a while, leaving a tension in the air. That doesn't seem to bode well with his buddy.
"So... what are ya doin' in the states again?" He scoots to the edge of his deck chair and pulls his hat down a little closer to his eyes.
"I have bit of a family emergency. Got a message that was three days old, kind of a matter of life or death."
"No kiddin'... that's terrible." He looks Andy's way, "Isn't that a terrible, Andy. Life or death. Geez."
Andy brings the throttles up in response to the report to get us there a little faster. "Where are you boys heading?"
"Modoc county up in Northern California." I tell him, watching the shoreline at the different docks and scattered marina's I expect him to guide his boat toward.
"Never heard of it." Andy says, tisks, and then steers away from shore a bit.
"So... where are you two headed?" Our hostage speaks, taking a swallow from the bottle of water that Mike handed him when we boarded.
"Rocky Point." Andy reports, giving a look over his shoulder at Naomi as he increases his throttles.

“Never heard of it.” Lou says, a few seconds too late to matter. It was kind of the “last word”, and thankfully it was the last of his bad mood.

We motor up toward Rocky Point, a place near the North end of the Sea of Cortez, south of Arizona. I had heard of it before, so had Lou for that matter. It was a long way from where we started.

“What brought you so far south?” I ask, wiping the sweat off my brow.
“We were on a Dorado. It was fighting us for hours. Then when she got up to the side of the boat we lost her. That and our gaff hook.” Mike tells us, sucking on a tall can of Mexican beer. He sees me eyeing it and hands me one. "I got a helluva picture on my digital, though. I'll show you later."

I open the beer and take a couple of swallows. It hits the spot.
“Hard to find talls down here in these foreign countries, eh?”
I nod. Lou reaches out his hand and gives it a shake.
“Oh, sorry friend. I don’t know where the ole’ manners went.” He pulls one out for Lou and then turns to Andy, “Andy, you want a brew?”
Andy looks at his watch, then taps a gas gauge, then his watch again. He turns and holds a hand out, which is filled with a cold one.
Justin, who finished his water a while back, is a little parched. “You don’t have any wine coolers in there, do you?”
Mike looks at me, then Lou… who rolls his eyes.
“No, little fella, not a one. Alls we got in this here cooler is beer and ice. And the last of the water which I gave you a while back. This here is a fishin’ cooler. I don’t think you are allowed to put wine coolers in a fishin’ cooler.”

Lou stands and then gives the hostage a slap on the back, “That’s right, just beer. Time to be a man and suck it up.”
Mike smiles wide, “Ya, you don’t want to end up like that Nancy we heard about at the gas pumps this morning. Right, Andy?”
The corner of Andy’s mouth turns up in a smile, then he chugs his beer and asks for another.
“Tell them what we heard, Andy.”
Andy cracks the top of his beer and shakes the foam off of his hand.
“The Harbor Master up in Rocky Point was talking this morning about sharks and the like.” He takes a guzzle and then continues.
“I had asked the fella about sharks out here.” Mike interjects.
“Anyway, he tells me and Mike here about something he had heard by way of shortwave chatter about some guy that got his foot bit off by a Mako down in Costa Rica, or Belize I think it was.”
Mike scoots to the edge of his seat, “Ya, but the guy was a Nancy boy, a little light in the shoe leather. Ya know what I mean guys?”

I look at Lou, who raises his brow. I am sure I gave him the same look he gave me. How could these guys hear about Antonelli way up here?

“Get it? A little light in the shoe leather? He only had one foot, that guy. So he is light in the shoe leather.”
Mike laughs hard, and then we laugh at him laughing. There must be some pretty cold and lonely nights up there in Minnesota. Mike keeps laughing until he is crying. Even Andy is laughing.

Justin is the only one not laughing. Lou sees his spot.
“Surely you get it, son? A Nancy boy… just like you.”
The hostage stiffens… he has had enough. He tenses up like he is ready to jump. More courageous than I gave him credit for. I am sitting right next to him and throw an arm across his chest and look him in the eye just as Lou turns away toward Mike. I quickly shake my head and drop my arm. Justin relaxes as Lou turns back. That's all I need, to watch Lou skin our hostage right in front of these two.

It is sunset by the time we reach Rocky Point. Andy guides the boat up to the transient pier and we untie Naomi and secure her to the dock.
“Harbor Master is a guy by the name of Garcia. Nice guy if you treat him with a little respect.” He looks right at Lou when he says it, who looks away. “He can line you up with a mechanic for your plane.”

I look up the at the modest marina and town passed that.
“Is there a hotel around here?”
“Me and Andy are staying in that 35 footer over there on the beach, that first big one there.” Mike points at the Class A motorhome… top of the line diesel pusher.
“Ole Andy here knows how to pick `em, eh?”

Andy heaves the cooler over to Mike, who sets it on the dock. Then grabs another larger white one that was on the fantail.
“You boys want to join us for a fish dinner your more than welcome.” Andy gestures to the white cooler, “There’s enough in there for all of us.”

I open the cooler and see some pretty good sized Dorado and what look like Amberjack.
“We should be buying you guys dinner for giving us a tow.”
“Nope… we eat what we catch.” Andy says, handing out a canvas sack to Mike.
“We will supply the beer and tequila, and anything else you want to have with it. Okay?”
Andy nods, “Now you’re talking.”

We start walking down the dock. I stop and look back at Naomi, then call to Andy. “Things pretty secure out here?”
“If you mean do you have to worry about getting robbed then don’t worry. Garcia has an armed guard, his brother, that walks these docks all night long. Haven’t had a theft in as many years as we have been coming here.”

Andy points us to the local hotel in town, not bad digs for a place like this. Better than some and not as nice as others we have stayed in on our adventure.

Justin heads off with them. I think he plans on asking them to take him over the border. Not a bad idea.

As we make our way back from the hotel we stop and pick up some cold beer and and local tequila at the store in the marina. I talk to Garcia, who lives in the apartment at the back of the marina. He assures me that the plane will be safe and that he has a man in the marina shop that will know what can be done. I don't bother to tell him that I am a mechanic and that I could fix anything that is wrong with her. It is time that I don't have. Time that Mitch doesn't have.

We walk passed the marina and out to a long line of motorhomes, parked side by side along the beach. Some of them have entire yard set ups with hanging lights and fake grass. Fires dot the beach in front of most of the camps. A guitar can be heard over the subtle crashing of the waves.

Not a bad spot to spend the night. After the days events I could use a cold beer/tequila buzz and some fresh fish and conversation. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.