Boat Boys of the Caribbean

The Caribbean islands invite anyone who can tell a jib from a halyard to charter a sailboat and explore the claim of each island to being the THE tropical paradise on earth. Although most islands have their charms, this claim is made more frequently than it is achieved. Historically, none of the islands had the wealth in gold and silver of Mexico or Peru. Nevertheless, the colonial powers claiming some of these islands invested a certain amount of infrastructure whose beneficial and not-so-beneficial impact can be seen to this day. Some islands have learned how to extract resources by a modern form of piracy in which baubles with labels like Gucci, Rolex and Philippe Patek are traded with privateers from investment banks, hedge funds and the dot.com survivors for the currencies of the world.

On these well-endowed islands every skipper of a sailboat is left to his or her own skill to bring the boat into harbor and either safely set an anchor or secure the boat to an anchor buoy. If there are other boats nearby, one can count on the studied nonchalance of the neighboring crews to ignore your every and perfect maneuvers. Unless of course you make a particularly colorful or memorable gaff, at which point all available binoculars are turned your way. Those with more dollars than sense can choose to pay the king’s ransom and stern tie to the quay in St. Barts, but unless the balance in your checkbook is represented in scientific notation, that’s not the best parking space for you.

On other islands the legacy of rapacious colonial exploitation can be seen in the surviving smoke stacks of long-abandoned sugar mills, or in native populations too big to be adequately supported by natural resources of the islands. Some of these islands are losers of the climatological sweepstakes. They are, for example, too low in elevation to squeeze sufficient rain from the clouds flying over; or they fail to attract the mega-yachts or Lear jets needed to maintain a boutique-based economy, Sadly most have not featured in the lyrics of a Jimmy Buffet song. These less-featured islands often have a history of slavery and thus, as in the US, have an economically disenfranchised population, which is largely black. On these islands, making a living is a day-to-day challenge of finding any source of dollars, euros, or other currency, and then any source of food that can be had for that little money to keep boy and soul together. These islands are the natural habitat of the Caribbean boat boys (Masculinus caribbeanus).

Boat boys is a collective phrase for the full range of locals that offer to incoming boats any goods or service that the boat boys can find to sell. Some of these services include photographs of your boat under sail, for example, as you enter Britannia Bay on the island of Bequai. Others are somewhat more quotidian, such as the delivery of fresh water or fuel to boats at anchor, or laundry services, including pickup and delivery. Others specialize in food: bread boat boys, fish boat boys or lobster boat boys, often with remarkably big lobsters. Typically, these boat boys have locally built wooden boats, often with sizable outboard motors to zip them from one sales call to another, preferably faster than their competition. If you are uninterested in their wares, a half dozen or more assurances that no sale is in the offing will usually get the point across. They will then turn the discussion to queries of what would you be willing to buy and, once established, they offer to obtain it for you. If negotiations do not proceed favorably, off they go to that shining new sloop or catamaran just entering the bay.

On poorer islands, or at less developed ports on better-endowed islands, the boat boys have less to sell: there are no bakeries on some islands, and the fishing can be hit- or-miss. Instead, the boat boys offer their services in guiding your to an anchorage or a mooring buoy, no matter how much you do not need nor want these services.

Presumably some skippers find this guidance to be a relief in unfamiliar harbors, but others find it a curse, feeling pressure to buy a service that is not needed. But everyone has to find a way of dealing with it, confronting the cognitive dissonance that arises when you are on the deck of a $100,000 boat and trying to convince a boat boy that a fee of $3 is too much for their help. Avoiding eye contact upon entering a harbor is not effective, nor is trying to wave them off. They have seen all these tricks thousands of times, and their ardor for the “sale” may even be enhanced by the challenge these tactics suggest. The boat boys are there to persuade you that you need their services, and since you are their only market, their patience and persistence will exceed yours.

In the harbor known on as Wallilabou on St. Vincent, the process has been organized. The boat boys are licensed to guide you to the mooring buoys, and then help you set a stern anchor, which is required in this and some other anchorages as well. In this harbor, none of the boat boys have motors on their boats, and although the boats have a nice style and are well constructed from local cedar, the oar locks are primitive, consisting of a pair of pegs inserted into the gunwale, with twine lashings holding the crude oars in place. Typically, one licensed boat boy is on duty at a time. Mooring balls have a charge for their use, whereas anchorages do not. Davis, the licensed boat boy of Wallilabou, collected our $20 EC (about $4 US) mooring fee and then wanted $15 EC for his services on top of that. The guidebooks, no matter how recent, always say that the charge should be less than that quoted on the spot to impress the readers of the guidebook of the bargaining prowess of the author. While Davis was helping set the stern anchor, Speedy, a second boat boy, back straining at his oars, rowed to up to us at impressive speed, to offer his pitch.

“Mon, welcome to paradise. Whatever you need, Speedy is your mon. You need some fruit mon? We have the best fruit in paradise. Speedy is an entrepreneur.”

“Sorry Speedy, but we just provisioned in Blue Lagoon and don’t need anything”

“Ah, Blue Lagoon, you be de sailor mons. Sailor mons need necklace for your ladies”, said Speedy as he disentangled an array of necklaces on the deck of our boat while standing precariously on the seat of his boat. “This necklace, she is the colors of St. Vincent. This necklace, she is the colors of the Caribbean. You like Caribbean colors mon?”

“Sure, I like Caribbean colors, but I don’t have anyone to give a necklace to”, I lied.

“Necklace for you, mon. Sailor mon look good in necklace. Island girls, they like sailor mons with necklace.”

“No thanks, Speedy”

“How ‘bout this necklace, mon? She made of special nut found only on our mountain. See the color, mon? No paint, just natural, mon. No place else on earth you can find these nuts. Only 10 EC, mon.”

Don eventually bought a necklace with St. Vincent colors, perhaps to make Speedy go away, but if so, he underestimated the powers of Speedy’s entreprenureship. Speedy gave Don the special nut necklace, and then opened his business as a tour guide.

“Mon, you see our mountain, mon? She beautiful, mon. This is paradise. Waterfalls, jungle, birds....I can take you, mon!”

“But Speedy, the guide book says there is a trail to the top. I am sure we can find a trail on our own.”

Speedy ran his hand over this lower face as he contemplated briefly how to respond. “Well, the trail, mon,...yes....there is a trail, but from here, mon, you may not make it. Very easy, you can get lost, mon. Some places, you not go mon. I can take you to the top, beautiful.”

The places we should not go were presumably the ganja farms that dot the north end of the island. Much of the surface area of St. Vincent, like much of the Caribbean, is dedicated to crops that keep North Americans in an altered state of consciousness. The beautiful views from the top seemed more theoretical than actual as the top was enclosed in clouds. But our lack of enthusiasm did nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of Speedy’s pitch.”

“Mon, you sailor mons in good shape. I can take you to the top in 90 minute..... two hour. Normally, 100 EC each, but you two, in good shape, 75 EC each. We leave tomorrow morning, 6 am. I have you bock at 10..11...noon, you can go your own way then”.

Something about Speedy’s accounting inspired caution so we pursued this negotiation further. “So Speedy, let’s see if we understand this deal. For a total of 150 EC you will lead the two of us from here to the top of the volcano and back, starting at 6 am tomorrow morning. Is that right?”

“Dat right, mon. Tomorrow 6 am, I meet you here at your boat”.

Him meeting us at our boat to start a hike seemed like a trifle illogical if not a damp way to begin a hike, so I countered, “Could we just take the dingy to shore and meet you on shore?” trusting the seaworthiness of our dingy over the seaworthiness of Speedy’s craft. Inadvertently, I had flushed out the rest of Speedy’s deal.

“Well, mon, we leave from here....its very far. Much mo betta we leave from up da coast. My friend, he pick you up here at 6, we go up da coast where da walk to da mountain is much closer.”

“So, your guide services and your friend’s boat for the two of us is $150 EC? Is that correct?”

“Yea, Mon. but my friend’s boat cost some more. Normally $200 EC each!, But I think he can take $150 EC each for two.” Speedy was truly an entrepreneur, but he was apparently a subcontractor as well. By now we were getting a little smarter in our negotiations and were unafraid to ask how much Speedy’s friend would charge for Speedy, out guide, to accompany us, but we were pretty sure the issue would come up shortly after 6 in the morning. Our less-than-enthusiastic commitment to the negotiation, and possibly the arrival of another sailboat entering the bay, led Speedy to agree to put the discussion on hold and part company with the promise that we would consider his offer upon our return two weeks hence.

The next step down in the caste of boat boys are the nearly boat-less boat boys that we encountered on St. Vincent, St. Lucia, Canouan, and Dominica. These boat boys plied their trade from surfboards, propelled with a paddle crafted out of a wide piece of wood. Some straddle the surfboard, some kneel and some, in possession of more balance than the average boat boy, stand. Rather than carrying a large inventory, these boat boys take your order, negotiating a down payment, and then paddle off to fill the order with an appropriate profit margin for them.

The lowest caste of the boat boys is made up of the truly boat-less and board-less boat boys. These are the masters of low overhead operations. We found one example of the boat-less boat boys in Soufrierre, St. Lucia, which I will get to shortly, but I first need to set the stage. The bay at Soufrierre is about 600 ft. deep almost up to the shore, so anchoring options for sail boats with 150 feet of anchor chain are relatively limited. The mooring balls that Messiah, one of the local boat boys with a boat, will lead you to, for a charge, are actually not legal mooring balls, but rather are floats that the local fishermen tie their small craft to, very near shore. When we tied up to one of these mooring balls, the stern of our sailboat was but a few feet from a teaming shanty town where security wouldn’t have been just a problem, ......it would have been impossible. When an official marine park officer pointed out to us that these moorings were not inspected or even remotely officially safe, being prudent skippers we proceeded southward to another set of mooring buoys off what appeared to be an uninhabited beach. Here one is supposed to drop the anchor off the bow of the boat and tie a line from the stern of the boat to shore, to keep the boats from swinging into each other as the tides change or due to the considerable current along this shore. As you approach this shore and its mooring buoys, a boat-less boat boy swims out to sell his services, offering to take your stern line to shore and to tie it off on something secure. Being annoyed at the business practices of Messiah, we were less than impressed by the “second coming” and declined his services, doubting both the legitimacy and his ability to tie us off securely. We came to regret this decision for the effort spent in securing ourselves was about 50 times more than the cost of engaging his humble services.....assuming he knew how to tie off a line.

Upon returning to Wallilabou Bay two weeks after our first meeting with Speedy, there he was floating in the middle of the bay in his rowboat, waiting to guide us to a buoy.

“Hey, mon. I keep my eyes peeled yesterday and today. I told myself you be coming back and you might need Speedy help you get anchored and go to the volcano.”

“Sorry Speedy, but we don’t have time for the volcano hike as we have to leave early in the morning.”

“That okay, mon, you be back. Speedy knows.

So with Speedy’s help and refusing offers of help from two other boat boys, one on a surf board, we were tied off on the bow to a mooring buoy and with the stern anchored toward shore, on the end of a very warm afternoon.

“Speedy, would you like a cold beer?”

“Oh yea, mon. I been out here all day today and yesterday waiting for you.”

Being the only boat in the harbor, Speedy had time to tell us the story of Speedy, while he balanced standing in his boat.

“Let me esplain it to you like it is, mon. I be here for 28 years, mon, every day. These other boys, they don’t need your business. Speedy needs your business. I got six kids, mon. Let me esplain it to you. Trust me mon. That boy there, John. He’s no good. Used to be in Trinidad where he smoked bad shit, mon. His brain now’s no good. That other one, he’s bad. Crack, mon. He doan work hard, only enough to get high, then he be gone. Trust me, mon. Only Speedy and Davis, who helped you last time, are who you should work with.

“You ask anyone in my village and they know Speedy. From youngest one 2 feet high to all da adult. They tell you ‘bout me. They tell you I look after my kids.

“My wife, she’s gone. She’s from Barbados and she gone back with two kids. Other kids, some gone, some here. Young one’s here”.

All the boat boys so far discussed were at least quasi-legitimate entrepreneurs, selling whatever goods or services could be sold under the circumstances, or in the case of Messiah, selling what was not his to sell, sort of like the guy that sold the Brooklyn Bridge....a thousand times. But Gaston defined the ultimate in boat-less boat boys. In the bay of Canouan, late one November afternoon, we saw a local fellow swimming off the stern of our boat, trying to get our attention. He had a mask and snorkel propped on top of his head, was feathering the water with one hand, and held a broken spear gun above his head in the other.

“Allo, I am Gaston. I am a poor fisherman. Can you help me?” Whether his self- assessment referred to his financial status or fishing prowess was unclear.

“As you see, my spear gun is broken. I need a new elastic, but I cannot afford one because I have to keep my three daughters in college.”

Gaston indeed looked old enough to have three daughters of college age and perhaps granddaughters as well, but there being no college on Canouan, his cover story was less than convincing.

“Can you help me buy a new elastic so I can catch the fish to support my daughters. For $20 EC, I can get a new elastic and I bring you big grouper. When you leave? Tomorrow? I bring you big grouper tomorrow 8 am, before you leave.”

It’s hard to believe how anyone would believe such a story, especially considering that $20 EC was about the price of a six-pack of beer. But it was even harder to understand our gullibility, or our disappointment the next morning at 10 am, having waited for Gaston, before sailing off $20 EC poorer without our grouper.