Aly & John in: “Pirates of the Paria” (a graphic blog episode)

Excerpt from Travelouge April 1st, 2010

We were now somewhere in the middle of the Gulf of Paria. Alyson and I were both uneasy. Neither of us had stopped scanning the horizon since we had entered the “Boca del Serpiente” Channel just before sunrise. The Paria is a small body of water separating the isle of Trinidad from the Venezuelan mainland, and it’s notorious for pirate attacks. Passage through the gulf can only be made through the two separate channels leading in and out of the Paria. Entry from the south via the Mouth of the Serpent and from the north by the Mouth of the Dragon.

“In the mouth of the snake and out the mouth of the dragon.”

A route we would rather have avoided, but weather conditions dictated that we had to sail today…and this was the quickest passage. Sometimes it is hard to decide who to fear more…man or Mother Nature. Hopefully, if all went well we would be passing out of the “Boca del Dragon” Channel in a couple of hours.

The winds had been picking up steadily since day break. A 20 knot breeze out of the southeast kept us on a broad reach making between 6-8 knots. Despite the increasing winds, we carried on under full genoa and main. We were anxious to put the Paria and its rumors of pirates to our stern.

We hadn’t been in the gulf long, but it had already seemed like an eternity. We tried to relax our tensions by joking about swinging over to Trinidad to pick up some rum.

“Maybe some coffee will help to ease our tensions…” Alyson suggested as she made her way below to the galley.

“Shhh! Do you hear that?”

The barely audible buzz of an outboard motor could be heard in the air. I grabbed the binoculars and started scanning the horizon as Alyson scurried back into the cockpit.

“There!” she shouted pointing to off our port bow.

Sure enough, the small silhouette of a pirro boat could be seen thudding over the waves.

“Probably, just a fishing boat” Alyson tried to assure us. Usually, that would be the case. Small fishing boats of locals and islanders was not an uncommon sight. But here… in the infamous Paria…it seemed unlikely.

As they approached closer we got a much better look at them…and unfortunately, they got a much better look at us. They were a swarthy looking group, leering at us with malicious intent as they slowly cruised by. Alyson grabbed my hand. We could spot their automatic weapons lying low in their boat. The sight of two white gringos alone on board sent them into a frenzy. They smiled at such easy victims and shouted taunts at us while waving their machetes in the air.

The rusty outboard of the pirro boat rattled with acceleration. The pirates passed to our stern and began to loop around to our starboard side. Soon we would be boarded, and then…?

We had seconds to act.

I reached to the cockpit locker to grab our handheld VHF radio. Maybe the Trinidadian Coast Guard could get here in time, but it was highly doubtful. As I threw open the lid I was struck by a sour odor. Some of bottles from our stash of beer had busted, and the entire locker was filled with a foul stench of beer, salt water, & gasoline. Then I spotted our one weapon we kept on board…our emergency flare gun. An idea began to quickly develop in my mind.

The pirates were now coming along side. I could hear their sinister voices and the outboard’s rev getting louder. I handed the flare gun to Alyson and took the helm.

“What’s this for?!?” she asked in surprise.

As the pirate vessel came along side, I pulled hard on the tiller. Our little boat “the Jaunt” turned quick on a beam reach ramming the side of the wooden fishing boat. The pirates were pissed. Alyson quickly trimmed in the sails and the Jaunt heeled over dramatically raising our starboard topside. A clever move that shielded us from the pirates momentarily.
The angry pirates fired on the Jaunt putting a few bullet holes in our hull and ripping the main sail before looping around to make another pass on us.

Taking advantage of the situation, I grabbed the gas can and a couple of empty beer bottles from the cockpit locker. “Fill” I told Alyson. The pirates were looping behind us once again. This time making an approach to our port side. The cockpit floor filled with gasoline while Alyson dumped the contents of our gas reserve into the two empty beer bottles.

We were both crouched low in the cockpit now. As we heard the pirates near the boat, I passed her the flare gun. “On my signal, shoot! Got it!”

Just at that moment, one of the pirates peered over into our boat. They were coming aboard. He spotted the flare gun in Alyson’s hands and the makeshift Molotov Cocktails. His eyes widened. He turned to shout something to his comrades in the boat alongside. Before, he could open his mouth I grabbed an oar. With as much force as I could muster I jabbed the oar into his throat, and sent the pirate reeling backwards into the Paria’s waters.

The commotion of a man overboard distracted the pirates. This was the moment. I nodded to Alyson. We both took a deep breath and time seemed to stand still.

“Now!”

We both leaped up from the cockpit floor. I took sight of the pirro and hurled the gasoline-filled beer bottle at the fuel tank of their outboard engine. It shattered into pieces sending glass and gasoline in every direction. The startled pirates looked up to stare at us in disbelief and then…

the small click of the flare gun trigger…