Update: Pictures included.
I write this from the library of the Veendam as we cruise
off the coast of Mexico, heading toward Puerto Vallarta. There are photos that go with this post, but the wireless on the ship is way too slow to load pictures. There are a few clouds in the sky, but the
sun is shining. I am enjoying it even
more knowing that Oregon is buried in snow!
We left home last Wednesday at 4:15 am and it was 13
degrees. By the time it started to snow
in Hermiston, we were safely basking in the sun in San Diego.
On Friday my brother, Leigh, had arranged for us to go
sailing with his friend Lou, who has a 38-foot sailboat. It had rained overnight in San Diego, but we
left Oceanside Marina in sunshine with a light breeze. We were ready for a day of whale watching. We saw lots of pelicans and a seal or two,
but no whales. About a mile offshore the
spouse spotted something floating on the water.
What was it? After determining
that it wasn’t a bird or a seal, and definitely not a whale, we cruised past it
and saw it was a black plastic package wrapped in twine.
“Marijuana,” Leigh said,
“I bet it’s pot.”
Lou turned the boat around and we circled the package. Someone said, “Let’s go get it.” We were all excited to find out what was in
the package. Then I remembered that
Dexter disposed of all his victims in the ocean. “I hope it’s not body parts,” I said.
Lou maneuvered the boat alongside the package and the spouse
and Leigh used a grappling hook to pull the bundle alongside the boat. It was too heavy for them to pull out of the
water, but in the process of hooking the package they had torn a small hole and
they could see and smell the bricks of marijuana. They used the winch to pull the bundle out of the water.
My brother, Leigh, got on the phone and called the Harbor
Patrol to report our find, and then we noticed a white boat speeding toward
us. The Harbor Patrol was answered by a
machine. We notice that the white boat
was still headed toward us. Leigh called
911 and they asked if we could retrieve the package. Leigh said we could and then the 911 operator
asked if we would bring it in to port. Leigh
told them that it wasn’t really convenient for us to do that since we were on
our way out for the day and asked for them to send a boat out to pick it up.
The white boat was making us nervous. We’ve all watched too much TV. What if it was the drug runners coming to
retrieve their contraband? They would be equipped with AK47’s and could mow us
down. “We’ve got a boat headed right
toward us,” Leigh tells the 911 operator, “Would you send that boat right out?”
We take pictures of the white boat. In the back of my mind I think that when the
Coast Guard recovers my bloodied corpse, they will also find the pictures,
clues to start tracking down my killers…Yeah, way too much TV!
The white boat speeds right by us headed out to sea. We are alone with a hundred pound bundle of
high-grade marijuana hanging from the stern.
“How much do you think it’s worth?” someone asks. None of us is knowledgeable of the current street value of marijuana and our estimate of $35,000. to $40,000., we find out later, is way under value.
A rescue boat from the harbor patrol reaches us and, after
some maneuvering, hauls our bundle onto his boat.
With that excitement over, we begin searching for whales…but
can’t help but look for more pot. We
don’t find either, but every once in a while someone would say something like,
“If we had decided to keep it, how would we have gotten it off the boat?” “How would we have gotten rid of 100 pounds
of marijuana? It’s not like we could
turn our kids into pot vendors.” …although
a few of them would have been willing.
Returning to harbor we see a police vehicle driving along
the beach and then we sail by the Oceanside Police Station as we enter the
harbor. We all agree that if we were
trying to smuggle in the pot, we would be crazy with paranoia at the sight of
so many police. But, by this time, we
had come up with a good plan for removing a large bundle off the boat
unnoticed!
Later that evening we recounted our adventures to younger
family members who all said the same thing, “Why did you call the police? Why didn’t you bring at least some of it
home?” Our conversations continued to
explore “What if…,” especially after we discovered that our bundle was worth
somewhere between $400,000. and $500,000.
But really, to whom would I sell it? I don’t picture myself as the
world’s oldest pot dealer. I’m destined
to live out my golden years living on my pension.