Puerto Rico
18.14.018N
65.37.582W
The Great Thong Theory and Shoe Search. You may recall from yesterday, Dale’s footwear walked off without him. So today we conducted a less than scientific experiment to see if the remaining flipflop sank or swam to see if we were going to swim or search. While I photographed the trials, Dale tied a string to the surviving twin then kicked it off to see what would happen. We both witnessed the results: it floated like a toy boat bobbing in a bathtub. Guess that means we search.
We lowered the dink, mounted the outboard and African Queen putt, putted to the closest windward shore of the harbor to begin our perimeter search; keeping in mind that we might find Australian footprints of shoenappers instead. Within 20 feet of our starting point, we were poling our way around mangrove roots with the boat hook, with me on the bow, butt in the air leaning way over, peering beneath the bushes as best I could. We found an assortment of buckets, tires, crates and ropes of every imaginable color. We also found several fenders; one really, really big one that I wanted to strap to the boat to keep it from sinking but Dale said I was delusional. It was as big as the dink, so I think he just didn’t want to drag it back against the wind.
When it got deep enough, Dale would switch from the boat hook/pole method of propulsion to rowing backwards (supposedly so he could see where he was going). We frightened a manta ray and saw a couple of good sized fish. Right about the time I started to worry that the Coast Guard guys would see us and chase us away, I saw it. It’s bright yellow Corona letters glistening in the water. It had made its way past the main perimeter and was making its way to an interior cove created by the mangrove trees themselves. We forced the dink through the narrow opening and extended the boat hook to its full length to reach the escapee taking refuge on a small island tree in the middle of the cove.Once retrieved, we turned around and tried to make our way back out against the wind. At this point, I had one oar and Dale had the boat hook. We worked against each other most of the way out but still managed to break free. Once we cleared the majority of the roots, Dale took over the rowing (backwards, of course) and continued our journey towards deeper water by way of the wind forcing us sideways. Somehow we managed to get ourselves into deeper water so that we could lower the outboard and power our way back to the Palace with the fugitive safely tucked beneath a couple of small fenders that somehow found their way into the dink.
Back on board, his flipflops reunited, Dale was a happy camper when he made his way to the showers with his favorite footwear. He keeps telling me how hard it is to find a really comfortable pair of shoes. I wonder what the hospital will think of his new fashion statements: a pony tail, flipflops and lets not forget about that little earring!
