Following our successful wine tasting and importing trip that I wrote about in Part One, I decided that I should follow Parker’s lead, with my own boat, Goelette. I had been planning a down island adventure with one of my best friends, Don. We both enjoyed photography and thought a photo journalist style trip would be a lot of fun. The plan was to hit as many of the islands as possible, shooting photos along the way, and stop at St. Bart’s on the way back and load the boat up with French wine to help cover the costs of the journey.

Now, this was back in the day of film cameras, when you had to wait for weeks after sending your film out for processing to discover that your photos sucked, None of the instant gratification that came along with digital photography. So we both assembled our camera gear, thought long and hard about which film we wanted to use as different films had different advantages in different conditions. We put together a sort-of itinerary which was always subject to change when traveling on a sailboat. Our preparations were complete, the weather looked good, so we set off. 

This was in the days before GPS so navigation was done by measuring the miles you traveled on an estimated course. I had a chart that covered the entire area that we would be sailing. Having more detailed charts would have been better, but navigation charts were expensive and I felt pretty confident in my ability to know where I was at any given moment. 

Our vessel was my home made Block Island Schooner, Goelette (French for schooner) a 32” double ended boat that was known for excellent safety and capacity and less so as a high performance boat. Still, we worked our way through the chain of islands, stopping at Nevis, Monserrat, Antigua,  Guadaloupe, Bequia and Martinique. The differences between the Dutch, French and English islands was obvious in the currency they used, but also in their cuisine, preferred beer and social attitudes evidence by what was worn, or not worn, on the beach. 

Don and I were discreet enough to never pull out a camera on a topless beach, but there were times it was a challenge to not try to capture some of the Caribbean beauty being amply displayed. We tried to follow the rules and stay out of trouble and succeeded for the most part. 

We had been in Martinique for several days and had decided that it was time to head North, towards St. Bart’s and then home. I went to the office of Customs and Immigration, showed them my documents and got the exit visa required to leave. Don and I had the boat just about ready to go, sail covers off, dinghy loaded up. We had sufficient provisions aboard and decided that, just before we left, to smoke a pipeful of weed. We were pretty far out in the anchorage and had smoked there before and didn’t think anything of it until a small powerboat started heading towards us a high speed. They came alongside and informed us that they were French  DEA. I protested that we had already cleared customs and were, in fact, just leaving. They said NO! and clambered aboard. The guy in charge asked who the Captain was and I responded in the affirmative. He told me to come below and for Don to stay in the cockpit, where he was guarded by a guy waving a gun at him. 

“Do you have any drugs aboard Captain?” inquired the leader in a thick French accent. “No” I replied, hoping that the smell of weed had quickly dissipated due to the fresh breeze present in the harbor. He stared at me for a moment and then turned to the starboard side of the boat where there were shelves, lockers and other storage areas. He rifled through the shelves in the head, briefly looking at each bottle of shampoo, and other personal hygiene items. He moved forward to a row of cabinets and started opening them one by one. Finally, I heard him say “Aha!” grabbing at something stowed within the cabinet. He turned to me holding film canisters…”and what do we ‘ave here Captain?” I responded that those were film cannisters, the ones still in boxes weren’t used yet and the others had already been exposed. I asked him politely to just open them briefly, as too much light could ruin the film. He enquired WHY did we have so much film and I explained that we were freelance photo journalists. Satisfied, but disappointed.  with my explanation of the cannisters, he moved along going through every area of the boat until he came face to face with me. I had been standing in front of the salon table where I had hurriedly jammed the pipe and baggie full of weed. “Step aside Monsieur” . I did, holding my breath as he reached back towards the pillow concealing the evidence. My mind was spinning, I had about $3,000 aboard, do I offer him that to ignore what he was about to find??, would that make it worse? I don’t know how he didn’t pick up on my nervousness but, as he reached for the pillow, he backed up stood erect and said “I think that I have seen enough, Captain. You are free to be on your way”,

As he made his way up the companionway to the cockpit, I was able to exchange glances with Don. With that one look, he knew that we had survived the boarding. As the Gendarmes returned to their vessel the bid us a “Bon Voyage”. Don and I sat stunned for a moment, contemplating our narrow escape from French justice. Weed was a big deal back in those days and I imagine that we would have been dealt with harshly. After a few moments of reflection, I said “Let’s get the f**k outta here!” Don was in agreement and minutes later the sails were up, the anchor was up and the little Yammer diesel motor was in gear at full throttle. We sailed Goelette out of the harbor as fast as possible and never shut the motor down until we were safely offshore. Nerves turned to laughter about our narrow escapees we plotted our course to St. Bart’s and our grapey mission.

St. Bart’s was about 250 miles away and we figured we’d get there sometime during the following night. I knew that the harbor was straight forward to enter and was okay with going in and anchoring at whatever time we arrived. Sure enough, we got in with enough time to get some rest, before going ashore the next morning, doing the minimal formalities and heading to the wine wholesaler. Having the advantage of already knowing which wines we wanted made our task simple. We provided our list of choices and our payment and arranged a time to meet at the dock. Don and I maneuvered Goelette, stern to at the loading dock just before the truck arrived. 

My boat, being newly built, was free of cockroaches that many boats were plagued with. I wanted to keep it that way, so doubled bagged and taped each carton of wine as we loaded it into the boat. Eventually, the task was done, and it was easy to see that I had overestimated the amount of room that I had available, Cartons of wine almost completely filled the space below, with only just enough room to crawl atop the cases to a small area forward where one person could sleep. It had stopped being a pleasure cruise. Still, it was a straight shot to home, only about 125 miles, less than 20 hours sailing given the favorable wind and current. 

The trip home was without incident. Goelette, handled the extra weight really well, If anything, it made the ride a little smoother. We got in and dropped anchor in Coral Bay. Don made his way over to his own boat anchored nearby. I slept soundly that night, knowing that the mission had been accomplished. The next day, I moved Goelette as close to the dock as possible to make the task of ferrying the cases of wine a little easier. I don’t recall how many trips I made back and forth with my doubly black garbage bagged boxes of wine in my little 10’ long dinghy. Eventually, they were all loaded on the dock, where I transferred them bit by bit to my work shed using my creaky old Jeep. 

Those missions done, I started to catch up on the mundane tasks of doing my laundry and resupplying my stock of food and other essentials as well as mailing off all of my film to be processed. A few days later, life had resumed it’s normal tempo and some of the wine was beginning to be bought up, when a friend mentioned that Coral Bay was in the news according to the local paper The Daily News.  “SMUGGLERS BECOMING INCREASINGLY BRAZEN” read the headline. The article went on to say that smugglers were seen unloading the bales of marijuana or some other illicit substance in broad daylight in Coral Bay. Dozens of wrapped up bales were spotted by local residents being hauled ashore from an unidentified sailboat. 

WHAT??? I thought, I was here and would have seen that if it had happened. How could that take place??? Then it came to me, my double black garbage bag wrapped cargo, could have been anything. Someone on one of the hillsides around the bay must have observed me shuttling wine ashore and thought it was drugs. They had the thought to call the newspaper but not the Police….and unidentified sailboat? Goelette had been built over the course of 3 years on the shore of Coral Bay. EVERYONE  knew my boat. Still, there were no consequences aside from some joking from the locals who knew what had really happened. 

Happy to have evaded punishment TWICE for my illegal activities, I decided that this would be the end of my smuggling career. Still, I made a few $, have great story to tell and some of that wine graced the galley of Goelette for years to come.