Fun with the Navy

The stretch from Salinas eastward along Puerto Rico's southern shore was fairly uneventful.  We picked our way along a series of pretty harbors and secluded anchorages, working our way to windward.  Each dawn we motored out to take advantage of the temporarily weakened wind and slightly reduced waves.  We motor-sailed a for few hours against the light breeze, hugging the coast.  As the rising sun caused a rising wind to whip up rising waves, our progress slowed to a crawl and we ducked into the next area of coastal protection to wait for the next dawn lull.  These short legs were more motoring than sailing and quickly became a bit tedious.  We longed some clean sailing.

 

The island of Puerto Rico is approximately rectangular and once we rounded its southeast corner onto a heading north by northeast, we were able to shut the motor off and enjoy some fast and pleasant sailing.  That afternoon we arrived at the mouth of Roosevelt Roads.  We planned to pass our last night in Puerto Rico there before heading into the U.S. Virgin Islands to begin our exploration of the Lesser Antilles.  

 

Roosevelt Roads is one of the finest natural harbors in Puerto Rico and the site of a former United States naval base.  I was sure I'd read somewhere that the base was decommissioned a year or two prior and as such, was now available for transient use by passing cruisers like us.  With no other protected anchorages to choose from before dark, we decided to find out.  

 

 

 

(Cruising into Roosevelt Roads)

 

The harbor itself is large enough to comfortably accommodate a full naval fleet.  But, what is considered protected for a battleship is not necessarily so for a small pleasure craft.  In recognition of this, there was a marina tucked away at the far back of the harbor for use by retired naval personnel and their private vessels.  We hoped Nate's past service in the Marine Corps would allow us to take advantage of the marina's amenities and even speculated that his military ID might allow us to pick up some cheap provisions at the PX nearby.  If not, no problem, we'd anchor outside the marina, still within the larger protection of the harbor.

 

As we entered the mouth of the harbor, pushed along on a light tailwind, not another ship could be seen stirring.  The harbor was empty.  No patrol boats guarded its mouth, no helicopters circled its skies and, no navy gray warships lined its now crumbling concrete piers.  Not even a fishing boat or dinghy broke the silence or cut the waters with their wake.  Through the binoculars we could see the marina across the harbor.  A couple small sailboats on moorings marked its location but, we could discern no signs of life there either.  The place felt abandoned.

 

 

(Sunset in Roosevelt Roads)

 

 

We set our anchor among the moored boats near the marina docks and went merrily about the business of tidying up the boat and readying the dinghy for an adventure ashore.  Close to land now, we could see that there were in fact some people about, old men mostly, puttering around the docks.  

 

I also noticed a shiny, white Dodge Durango parked up near the marina buildings, facing the water.  The late afternoon sun was reflecting off the windshield but, through the glare I could see a small portable blue police light flashing on its dashboard.  Two men leaned against the vehicle, arms folded casually, lost in conversation, one dressed in blue, the other in black.  Theirs was not the demeanor of men on pressing police business and I paid them no more notice.

By the time we were ready to go ashore, the man in blue was gone.  The man in black had moved out to the end of dock closest to us.  He shouted something at us we couldn't make out and motioned in an abrupt, military fashion for us to come over.  Finally sensing that something was amiss, we gathered for a brief and concerned huddle in the cabin.  It was decided that as captain I would go over to see what was up.  Nate, as our military liaison and best excuse for being there, would go too.  Becca and Mark would work on crossword puzzles, trim cuticles, and be ready to cut and run if things went south.  

 

With growing dread, I grabbed the ships documents and Nate and I climbed into the dinghy.  As we drew closer to the dock, the man pointed meaningfully at us and then at the dock under his feet.  He then made the motion for us to slow down.

By this point it was almost evening.  We were the only people visible in the marina.  His was the only dock.  We were moving at less than three miles an hour.  I interpreted his wholly unnecessary and condescending instructions as a childish assertion of authority.  He was giving orders because he could and because he wanted us to know who was in charge.  I felt my temper begin to rise.  

 

We tied up next to him, remaining seated in the dinghy and he stood silently for a few seconds studying us, blocking our exit onto the dock.  He was a lean man about in his 50's, with graying, military hair.  He wore a black polo shirt tucked into black cargo pants with matching black belt and steel toed boots.  The only thing that wasn't black about his ensemble was brown leather underarm holster and the nickel plated sidearm it held.  Looming over us, hands on hips, boots at eye level, he asked what we thought we were doing.

My temper rising a notch higher, I opened my mouth to give the sort reply that probably would have earned a kick to the face.  Nate, perhaps because he was more familiar than I with military rules and the sort of men who enforce them, perhaps sensing my immediate and growing dislike of this man, perhaps grasping the true powerlessness of our situation, spoke up before I could.  He explained our situation and that we were just looking for a safe anchorage for the night and would be gone in the morning.  He apologized profusely and repeatedly for our temerity in entering the harbor without permission.  Most importantly and without being asked, Nate handed the man his military ID.  Still angry about our impolite reception, I asked if we'd done something wrong. 

 

"I'll say you have," the man spat back at me.  "You've broken onto an active naval base."  I opened my mouth to point out some obvious inconsistencies with this statement but, Nate shot me a look equal parts pleading and warning, and I bit my tongue.  

 

"If you'd been a few minutes longer getting over here," the man continued, "I wouldn't just be talking to you.  You'd have been handcuffed and then maced."  I bit down harder on my tongue.   He seemed mean enough to do it.

Nate continued to sprinkle apologies as he reiterated and elaborated on his past service credentials including former rank, unit, and deployment details.  Meanwhile, I sat silently stewing beside him with snarky, sarcastic questions running through my mind.  If this was an active base where was everyone?  If what we'd done was such a big deal, why hadn't we been stopped by a patrol boat on the way in?  Why hadn't anyone made any effort until now to let us know?  If he was such a big deal, why had he had to sit on the dock for half an hour waiting for us to come to him?

The man warmed visibly to the recounting of Nate's active service record and announced that he was going to cut us a break.  Not only would he let us stay but, we could use the marina services free of charge.  He even offered to loan Nate the use of his truck to pick up groceries on account of Nate's being a "warrior".  

 

Nate admitted to me later that he knew right away what sort of man we were dealing with on the dock, even before tying up.  He'd dealt with men like that his entire enlistment in the marines and knew how to handle them.  I thanked Nate for his hard won knowledge and his quick thinking in interrupting me.  Had Nate not been there or had I been allowed to say what I wanted to say, I likely would have spent some time in a military brig.

 

That night, outside the showers, we ran into an elderly navy vet living on his boat in the marina.  He explained things to us.  The base was in the process of decommissioned and was in function if not yet in fact.  That's why there was no one around, no ships in the harbor, no patrol boats to stop us at the mouth.  That's why the only security was one egomaniac in a Durango.  But, yes, technically it was still government property.

That night, guests of the U.S Navy, we cooked a big dinner, drank up the rest of the beer aboard, and had a dance party in the cabin.  The next morning, we left at first light.

 

 

(Becca shows us her moves)

(Mark and Becca get wild while Nate DJs)

(Dancing)

 

(Nose picking)