The Yachters

These last few months we managed to keep up with the yachters racing in St. Martin and St. Barts. We also managed two trips to Santa Cruz. These destinations make up the Ocean Trader Triangle, I guess. Heading out from St. Martin my pilot friend Tebo (name altered for the sake of anonymity) organized a flight up island to St. Thomas. The flight was a little bumpy. The low altitude view of the Anegada Passage and the islands in the distance made the time pass quickly. As we flew closer to the Virgins the weather up ahead appeared to be changing for the worse.  Without any fanfare or warning, Tebo’s girlfriend (sitting in the back seat) lights up a fat one.  “Fat” barely describes her cigarrete of choice. This thing had a striking resemblence to a Whitnail & I Camberwell Carrot. With the sangfroid of an experienced stoner she explained that the combustibles had been kept in reserve for “the last 10 miles”. Right! Last 10 ten miles my ass! The grimace on Tebo’s face showed his irritation at his  lady’s antics, but being the serious aviator that he is, he remained focused on his flying.


As Tebo disengaged the autopilot I turned around to remind Ms. Take that smoking that stuff makes you stupid, and I am sure there is a law that is being contravened by such behavior while inflight. She ignored me as we flew toward a patch of sky free of darkish looking clouds. Our flight headphones were wired to an iPhone playing Jimi Hendrix and Voodoo Child. Okay, so we’re bouncing around on a slow decent to our terminal approach and the music kind of fits the mood. So now I’m getting into the ride and Hendrix’s torturous guitar licks as we descend toward the island which was partly shrouded with thick rain. My friend Tebo sets up a nice approach, makes dey-dey with the control tower and slides us ever so neatly onto the runway.  It was raining heavily as we taxied the old single engine airplane onto the grass. Maybe this crazy b8%ch might be right. Only the Pope wants to die in bed while dreaming of heaven. Die young, stay pretty! In our case, we are living well past the expiration date stamped on at birth. (All fiction) Images © oceantrader


  1. Mother Mary says:

    You boys ought to know better than flying with a stoned crazy woman. And poor Tebo, Lord only knows what da gyal make him do when cornered. You know how to float he boat and fly he kite at da same time. Lord hav mussy!

  2. A little smoke in the cockpit ain’ gon kil ya Cap! WDF! you practicing to be a friggin Republickan?

  3. James York says:

    You guys for real. Wait ’till the Federalizes get a wind of this blog.

  4. Jorge Morales says:

    ….&%uck the Federalies! Let them cop their own stash!

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