On Watch
24
Who knows if Sokù or Tessa might follow the sea? All I know is that they dearly love Ga-
nesh, and cherish exploring in the dinghy, cruising, and being pint-size sea gypsies.BY CAP’N FATTY GOODLANDERW
e were anchored
last year in the lee
of Pulau Karas
Besar, in Indonesia, where
we’d spent two glorious days
messing around with boats
and each other. Indonesia is a
very romantic, very mysterious
place. Our three-month cruis-
ing CAIT (sort of a boat visa
or ship’s passport) was about
to expire, and really, my wife,
Carolyn, and I had no plan or
reason to be there; it was just
random chance we’d chosen
this spot to drop the hook.
Carolyn was clearing away
the breakfast dishes from
the cockpit table and I was
fi nishing up my morning cof-
fee as a sad-eyed fi sherman
approached. His open boat
had no engine, so he rowed
against the stif wind. Being
approached by a fi sherman in
Indonesian waters is not unusual, and I
wasn’t the least bit concerned. He had his
young son with him. I fl ashed him a wide
grin. Normally the local fi shermen are
happy and smiley, but not this guy. He was
painfully thin, and he seemed to have the
weight of the world on his shoulders.
I sat up and focused. My Bahasa
Indonesian is poor, his English nonexis-
tent. Did he want to sell us fi sh? Was he
begging for school supplies? (Many locals
can’t af ord pencils or paper.) Or did he
just want a drink of cool water along with
a brief gam?
He was on our starboard side. Hisgnarled hands were huge and suggested
hard physical labor. He was talking to me
intently, with rising volume and sincerity,
but I had no idea what he was saying. The
kid, who looked to be about 2, was stand-
ing beside him, ankle-deep in sloshing
water. The smell of rotting fi sh was almost
overpowering. He hoisted his skinny son
onto our rail cap, where the boy clung on
solemnly outside our lifelines.
Carolyn, always the smarter one,
started making inarticulate warning
sounds in the back of her throat. The fi sh-
erman was now leaning toward me, his
eyes wide, his breathing heavy, his cheekswet. He asked a question. An
important question, I think. A
question that was freaking him
out and making him sad and
terrifi ed.
What the hell was going on?
“No,” Carolyn said softly.
“Oh God, no!”
Now Carolyn was acting
strange, too. The fi sherman
ignored her. His damp eyes
bored into mine. He was nod-
ding his head yes, yes, please
yes. I lifted both my hands,
palms up, in the universal
gesture of puzzlement. He
reached out. We shook hands.
Then his shoulders slumped
and he collapsed onto the
thwart of his boat. Sobbing,
he shoved away, unshipped his
oars, and started to row.
“Goddamn it, Fatty!”
Carolyn yelled. “Do
something!”
My brain was moving slow. Why had he
left his son behind?
Then it dawned on me with a jolt: He
was giving me the boy.
I jumped to my feet. “No!” I shouted,
feeling my gut wrench. The little boy
stood rigid. He stared straight ahead and
didn’t blink. My heart went out to him.
Frantically, I waved his father back along-
side, then lowered the youngster from our
rail back down into the leaky, fi sh-smeared
wooden craft.
You have no choice, I told myself.
You’re too old. Plus, you cannot clear in
with two passengers and out with three.TWO Grand
EXPERIENCES
This year, Singapore was home to three generations of
Goodlanders: Cap’n Fatty, daughter Roma Orion, and grand
sea gypsies Sokù Orion and Tessa Maria.may 2016cruisingworld.comOn Watch
24
CAROLYN GOODLANDER