That’s Not the REAL MOON, is it?

During my years living in the Islands, I was involved in a lot of projects, from building my boat, building houses, cabinets and anything else that would keep my wallet from being empty in an expensive living environment. Most of my income came from doing carpentry work, I did boat carpentry, built complex hip roofs, millwork and anything else that high $ custom homes needed. It was usually easier to build everything from scratch in the islands than try to import things like doors and windows. People like me were always in demand so, you could pretty much pick and choose your job as long as you had tools and transportation. 

Construction work in the tropics is fun, but it can be tiring and if that’s all you did, a little boring. Since I was a sailor and had accumulated a pretty sold knowledge of the area as well as lots of hours of sailing time, I decided to get my Coast Guard License. It involved documenting your experience, getting references and taking a long and tedious test. I jumped through all the hoops and after completing the test, I was awarded my Master’s Certificate with a Sailing Endorsement. What this meant was that I was allowed to be in charge of a vessel under 50 tons of displacement, for pay. 

It was a nice change to get paid for doing something fun. I started out doing “check outs” for a charter company in Frenchtown, St. Thomas. What this involved was, if someone wanted to charter a sailboat, but couldn’t convince the company that they had enough experience, they had to hire someone like me, to “check them out” and give the yay or nay on their abilities. In those days, late 70’s and early 80’s, it paid $100 per day plus expenses. i would typically sail with the would be charterers out of the Charlotte Amalie Harbor in St. Thomas headed for St. John. Usually the vessel would be a sailboat between 30 and 40 feet in length. Most times, the people would check out and I’d disembark in Cruz Bay, St. John and send them on their way. 

Eventually, I started to be asked to take out charter boats for people who wanted to sail, but lacked the skill or confidence to do so on their own. I’d take a boat with the charterers and, together with them, plan an itinerary and set off. My pay was $100 per day, plus expenses, plus food and an appropriate tip at the end of the week. Tips could make or break the charter since I’d been tipped from ZERO to $1,000 for doing the same job. With this in mind, I worked hard to be friendly and helpful, being careful in what I said and how I behaved, particularly when there were couples. You learned to not look at bikini clad women below their face, particularly in the presence of their men. My goal was to be ever helpful and never threatening. 

There would be awkward moments, particularly with the amount of drinking that would go on. Drunken guests could be difficult, from corralling them up ashore and getting them back on board in one piece to dodging the occasional amorous wife or girlfriend. Most times, people were well behaved and lots of charters were fun. I’d always be asked to tell “Sailor Stories” and “Do you know Jimmy Buffet?”. My usual route would include narrow passages between the main island and straggling rocks or minor islands or “Cays”. i knew before ever getting near these obstacles, whether the wind was in the right direction to easily sail through them or, if not, I’d have the engine running but not in gear…just in case something hung up or a “crew” member did something wrong. 99% of the time it would go well giving the guests a little “Wow” factor that they were part of. More than once, I’d been asked “Do those rocks go all the way to the bottom?” My answer would depend on the person asking. i was always ready to be humorous, but never at the expense of someone’s dignity. So after a while I had my routine of stories and my diplomatic answers to touchy subjects and was careful to remember to operate the vessel safely and pursue “The Big Tip”.

One charter that I had was a group of people from the deep South and they had the accents to prove it. As endearing as a Southern Drawl can be, it also can give the impression that someone is on the low end of the IQ spectrum. These folks were bright, funny, friendly, but it seemed to take forever for one of the ladies on board to finish a sentence. She was absolutely beautiful, so looking at her while she strung together her thoughts was not a hardship in the slightest. 

A cardinal rule of yacht chartering was that you NEVER sailed at night. Post “Happy Hour” all boats were expected to be lazily swinging from their anchor in a protected anchorage, where they would remain until the sun reappeared. One night, however, the guests were talking about how cool it would be to see the full moon come up out of the ocean without being blocked by one of the numerous islands in our sailing grounds. I explained that I was not permitted under the charter rules from sailing at night. PLEASE! they all begged, it would mean so much to us to see the full moon rise , PLEASE!. The beautiful one, perhaps having sensed my “admiration” of her, scooted next to me in the cockpit…”Ah know y’all kin do this far me….Ah’d be ever so grateful”. I’d like to say that I was just thinking of my tip, but I did find myself wondering how her gratitude might be expressed. 

I knew those waters like the back of my hand and knew there was no risk whatsoever in slipping out of the anchorage and going just far enough offshore to get a good view of the moonrise. Thus convinced, I agreed to give them the moonrise of their lifetimes. The moon rising out of the ocean is unlike seeing a moon rise over land. It starts with a faint glow and, eventually, a small patch of orange appears looking for all the world like the sun coming up. As the moon starts to climb, it gets whiter and REALLY. FREAKIN’. HUGE. and BRIGHT! if you’ve never seen it, it is an experience.

Thankfully, the wind was light and the sea calm, so we motorsailed out with mainsail and motor  out a few miles offshore where we could just begin to see a faint glow to the East. As the moon slowly climbed, in all it’s glory, lighting up the boat with a soft white light, the beautiful object of my admiration looked at me and said “Ah’m confused”. I responded “what are you confused about?” She looked up at the moon and turned her gaze back to me and said “that’s not the REAL moon, is it?” I took few seconds, not fully understanding what she meant and not wanting to laugh, for obvious reasons. I slowly replied “what do you mean, the REAL moon?” She looked back up at huge object in the sky, then back at me and said, “way’ll, ah mean when them Asternots went to the moon, that weren’t where they went, is it?” The group, who had been ooohhing and aahhhing, with drinks in hand, a moment before, went silent. The question was beyond absurd and everyone was waiting for my answer…so was I. How do i possibly respond in a diplomatic way that answers the question without making her look like a total moron. 

I responded “Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to ask that question” (she was) “the moon looks so amazing that it’s hard to believe that it’s the same moon we see almost every night.” I went on about the “Thickness of the atmosphere at sea level” and “Refraction…kind of like what happens when light shines through a prism’ and other pseudo scientific bullshit that I hope no one would call me on. Nobody did, because no one on board really had any idea of why the full moon rising out of the ocean looks like it does. The boat grew quiet as we slowly drifted along admiring the beautiful orb above us. Eventually, I said “We really should get back to the anchorage” no one objected, and in about 15 minutes we were again securely anchored with a fresh round of drinks for everyone (except the always sober Captain). 

The next day was the last day of the cruise. I planned our arrival so that my guests would have adequate time to pack, get ashore, complete any paperwork and depart for the ferry to St. Thomas and the airport. My daily pay came from the charter company, but my tip would usually be presented after I finished getting everyone ashore. Sometimes each guest would give me a little handshake and other times, the leader of the group would hand me an envelope. This time it was the men each giving me a  $20 handshake for a total of $60….a major disappointment, but then little Miss “Real Moon” slipped up to me and said, “Ah’ve got sumpin fur ya…” and she reached into her bra and produced a folded up $100 bill with a note inside with her name, address and phone number”. As cute as she was, I would have preferred another Ben Franklin over her invitation, but her tight and lingering hug helped make up for the financial disappointment. Even better, the story that she gave me to tell hundreds of times since that night was the best tip that I could have asked for.