Abaco Gold

by Patrick Mansell

  Six

  The Family Outing

  The message from the motel office was that there had been an urgent call from Jenny James. He should call her right away at the Maritime Studies lab at the University. First things first and Max jumped into the shower to wash off a day of salt spray, sun screen and bait.

  Jenny could not control her excitement. The coins had a great deal of meaning. She was gushing to share the news. “I have been in the lab, on the phone to Spain, and in the library for a day and a half. I called Elana Pons in Seville and got her started on the research. I told her about the peculiar markings on the coins and she got right to work.”

  “Hold on,” said Max. “You’re going way too fast. What markings? What did you find that got you so wound up? One thing at a time.”

  “Sorry, Max. I’m just so excited. There’s so much to tell. The coins could be very important. I cleaned them up, examined them, photographed them and did some research. I faxed the enhanced photos to Elana and she spent ten hours researching them in the archives. She was very excited when she called me back. It seems that a certain galleon, long thought to have sunk at Gorda Cay, had a manifest that cross checks to your coins.”

  “That’s very interesting. What did she say?”

  “There was a galleon named San Pedro that went down in the Bahamas.” said Jenny. “Aside from other possible artifacts of great archaeological interest, the ship was carrying three hundred million in gold, silver and precious stones from South America.”

  Max was stunned. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say three hundred million?”

  “That’s what I said. Look Max, I can’t even wait to follow up on this. I’m booked on a flight arriving at four tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be at your place in time for dinner. How about getting me a room where you’re staying.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” said Max. “I’ve got a few arrangements of my own to work on until you get here. Lisa will be glad to see you. She could use some female companionship.”

  Jenny laughed. “I’m anxious to see the family, too. Meanwhile I have a million things to do to get ready. I’m waiting for the fax of the manifest from Elana and working on a commitment from the University.”

  “What kind of commitment?” asked Max. “I think you should take a leave of absence for a month or so. You’ll know by then if this is worth pursuing.”

  “The University has a lot of resources we can use like equipment, a research library, possibly grant money, eager students to help do the excavation, if we need.”

  “What do you think they will want in exchange for their help?”

  “They want to be the University of record with certain publishing rights. It might be a worthwhile trade off.”

  Max took a serious tone. “Jenny, listen to me. I think you should extract yourself from any discussions with those people for the time being. If there is something to this report from Seville, the University of Miami will still be interested in the project later. In fact, they’ll be even more interested and more generous with their support when you have something concrete to show them. Trust me on this.”

  “Sure, Max. Whatever you say. I just need to tell Professor Waites I’m taking a few days of leave. He’ll OK it. And then when we find out what we have, we can decide how we want the University involved.”

  “That sounds better. Bring me the research papers and we’ll take a quick trip over to Nassau. I think we can get the cooperation we need there, if we approach this the right way.”

  “Lead the way, Max. Whatever you say.”

  “See you tomorrow, Jenny. Have a safe trip.”

  Max left the room and joined Lisa and Gaffer in the marina. The charter fleet was returning from a day of fishing and Gaffer was keeping a mental score of who was catching and who was not. Doc Strauss’ boat, Accupleasure, had three wahoos above sixty pounds and a tuna in the three hundred pound class. It was also flying two marlin flags upside down in the universal sign indicating release. Sea Legs loaded up the dock with a dozen good sized dolphins and Gail B. weighed in at sixty pounds of queen snapper, scombrops and yellow eyes. Max, Gaffer and Lisa moved over by the cleaning tables where one of the mates was cleaning a large king mackerel. At the opposite table was a Rastafarian native cleaning his two trigger fish and three barracudas. It was a typical scene of early evening in the marina at Boat Harbour.

  “All these fish are giving me withdrawal,” said Gaffer. “Can we do some deep dropping tomorrow? I know it’s a long haul up to Ambergris Cay, but the depths there are incredible. I was checking out the bathymetric chart and the contour is all over the place. Not too many people have dropped there and you don’t hear much about it, but I know good bottom when I see it and that place has some very interesting bottom.”

  “What is he talking about?” Lisa asked Max.

  Max chuckled. “He checked out a chart that is very descriptive of the contour of the ocean floor. It’s a bathymetric chart. On this particular one he said there are a lot of contour lines close to each other which means the bottom surface goes up and down creating ridges and valleys. More places for fish to live, feed and hide. More fish to catch.”

  “Is that really fishing when you read these charts and drop those heavy leads a quarter mile down with all the hooks and then reel them up with an electric motor?”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” said Max. “A lot of people think it’s too easy, but there really is a lot of technique involved. We’ve been studying charts and collecting GPS coordinates for several years. We’ve also been out-fishing most of the other boats around for a long time. I’d rather fish off the bottom because, at this point in time, the fishery in the deeper ocean is relatively untouched. Less stress on the environment. Plenty of fish to bring home and plenty to share with the locals.”

  “You didn’t answer me,” said Gaffer. “Can we make the run tomorrow? If we are going to, I have to get some gas and make up three new rigs. What do you say?”

  “What do you say?” Max asked Lisa. “Do you have anything for me tomorrow? Do you want to go with us and watch what we do?”

  “You’re always talking about deep dropping. Maybe I’ll go and see what you do. Can I try a drop?”

  “Of course,” said Max. “I think you’ll enjoy it. I also think you’ll be impressed to see what Gaffer can do with the boat and the gear.”

  “Then I’ll go with you,” said Lisa. “I’ll pack a picnic and we’ll make a day of it. I’ll go get started. I have some grocery shopping to do.” And away she walked making mental notes about what she would feed her family on the outing the following day.

  When Lisa was out of earshot, Gaffer said, “I don’t think she knows what she’s getting into. Why didn’t you tell her? She’s gonna hate it.”

  “I can’t tell her she can’t go with us. She’s one of us, she’s your mother. And besides, you don’t know she’ll hate it. She may love it. Either way, we’ll know better after she tries it. You go ahead and gas up the boat. I’m going to look for P.J. Any ideas where he might be?”

  “Most likely wherever Casey is. Try the pool bar or video arcade. He’s usually in one of those places.”

  Max walked away while Gaffer headed toward the boat. Max had his work to do while Gaffer gassed up and Lisa prepared the food. Tomorrow promised to be a great day.

  Typically Max and Gaffer would wake at dawn on a fishing day and be on the water shortly after sunup. But when Lisa and P.J. were joining them, the day moved much slower. This morning P.J. was still sleeping at eight o’clock and Lisa bustled around the kitchen making lunch for an army. Gaffer got impatient waiting for the family and headed to the marina. Max waited and waited for the non-fishers to get the show moving. Finally by quarter to nine Bimini Twist idled out of Boat Harbour loaded with food, drinks, cushions, towels and every other item of comfort that Lisa could find. By now Gaffer was simply disgusted while P.J. napped in the bow and Lisa and Max sat together on the jump seat for the forty minute ride to t
he area offshore of Ambergris Cay. It was beginning to look to Gaffer that, as a fishing trip, this day would be a bust.

  “Gaffer, stop by Skeet’s place on the way out. Let’s see if he and Susan would like to go with us.”

  “Dad, we’ve already got four people in the boat. Four more is more than I can stand. Let’s take them some other time when we’re alone. When we go out with Skeet, I want to be fully alert. He’s got some of the best numbers in the entire Atlantic.” Gaffer was referring to the GPS coordinates that fishermen used to help them navigate. Gaffer and Max spent a great deal of time finding, scrounging and recording good numbers. It was the most important tool in their bag of fishing tricks.

  “All right. Go ahead,” said Max. “We’ll get with Skeet later.”

  The marked spots on the bathymetric chart did not produce as Max and Gaffer had hoped. After sending lines to the bottom at 900 feet, 1,200 feet and 1325 feet, they had caught only two green snappers and an undersized grouper. Gaffer referred to the chart and selected a new area to try. The wind was picking up and white caps began appearing on two to three foot seas.

  “Dad, if we head down wind five miles there’s this site here,” Gaffer pointed to an area where six tightly spaced concentric circles appeared on the chart. One of the outer circles was marked 840 while an inner circle read 880. This indicated a hole in the ocean floor. At that depth a hole was very likely to be the habitat of groupers. Max agreed that is was worth a shot.

  He steered the boat in an easterly direction riding in the trough, taking the waves on the port side. It was an easy reach, no pounding of the bow against the waves, just an up and down roly-poly motion. This bearing would also bring them that much closer to home. The five mile run took only fifteen minutes. Max steered this way and that, reading the bottom on his high powered Furunu depth finder. The hole was there all right, they were sitting right on top of it. Gaffer was changing to 16/0 circle hooks and switching from squid to barracuda strips. Max let Bimini Twist drift and kept a keen eye on the GPS to see how quickly they were moving across the bottom. He failed to notice that Lisa was laying down on the cushions along side P.J. They were both frowning and holding their stomachs. He was alarmed and quickly moved to the bow to see what the problem was.

  “Honey, what’s the matter. Are you sick?”

  Lisa did not answer but quickly got up and leaned over the side and wretched. Hearing and seeing this, P.J. got up and joined his mother in the chumming ritual. When Lisa turned around she looked miserable. The color was drained from her face, her arms and legs had grown weak. She was about to say something when she quickly turned her head over the side and wretched again. P.J. returned to the cushion he had been resting on and groaned. Max had been oblivious to the motion of the boat as he and Gaffer had spent years rocking around in all kinds of seas. They rarely noticed motion when they were deep dropping, regardless of the sea conditions. It made them forget that not everybody could tolerate it.

  “Gaffer, don’t bother baiting those hooks. We need to get out of here into something calmer. Your mother and brother are pretty sick.”

  Gaffer unplugged the electric cable and secured the deep drop rig. Max throttled up and headed for the channel just north of Man-O-War Cay. The wind had picked up to twenty knots out of the southeast. Bimini Twist would have to take four and five foot waves off its port bow. Very rough and very wet. For fifteen minutes they would be given a good tossing. Max opted for the twenty five minute version. It would take longer to get in but it would not be quite so wet and much less violent. “Honey, come back here with me. It’s going to get real wet and bumpy up there. You’ll be more comfortable back here. Gaffer, get the foul weather gear out of the storage locker for anybody who wants it.”

  The whole Carson family huddled around the leaning post in the protection of the center console and windshield. Max accelerated to 3200 RPMs, driving up one wave and down the other. The wind and waves were now directly on the bow. The spacing between the waves was far enough apart that the boat could ride up the front and then down the back. The boat was pounding violently. Each time it climbed over the crest of one of the waves, it came down with a crash, throwing salt water spray fifty feet to each side, straight up in the air and into the boat. Lisa was frightened but she tried not to show it. P.J. and Gaffer felt safe with their father at the helm. Max was confident that everybody would be safe but he was concerned about their fears. He moved as quickly as possible to the safety of the Sea of Abaco.

  After being tossed around by the angry ocean for far too long, Max sighted the markers to Man-O-War Channel. The tide from the bay was moving out and the current was running at four knots. This was going to be a very treacherous approach. As the channel narrowed, the waves built up. As Bimini Twist made it to the top of the waves, Max could see that 200 yards ahead was calm water. But between here and there were rolling, breaking waves, some five feet high and much too close together. It would take all the skill he had to negotiate this without swamping the boat. First things first. Above the roar of the engines and the waves Max called out, “Gaffer, get the life jackets! Everybody put one on and hold on, this is going to be rough.”

  The first set of approaching waves was upon them. Max steered quickly to the right and took the foamy mass on the port bow. He jammed the throttles and the boat was lifted over the wave. The bow rose high in the air but came down safely on the other side. They were no more than twenty five feet from the next wall of foam. Max steered hard left and took this one just opposite the first one. His angle was too oblique and the wave hit their starboard side. Bimini Twist began sliding sideways so Max adjusted by turning to the right and gunning the motors. The boat jumped over the wave and landed without pounding and in good shape to take on the next one. Max had no choice this time. The wave was directly upon them and he was headed straight into it. He slowed down until the white water touched the bow and then goosed the gas. The boat slid right through the wave. It rolled right to left and left to right, but it did not buck and the motion was tolerable.

  This fast moving action was approaching critical intensity. It was exhausting for Max but the adrenaline was kicking in. He was breathing hard and nervousness had overtaken him. His instinct to protect his family was overwhelming and his focus was crystal clear. He barely had time to tell everybody to hold on when it was time to set up for the next wave. The boat was turned port bow to the wave. Max did not like that. He liked the way the boat handled the last wave, straight on, so he turned hard left with full power. Up and over. Again not bad. Only three or four more waves and they would be in the protection of the calmer water.

  Time to set up for the next one. Why not try head on again? It seemed to work best that way. This wave was a swell. It had not broken. Max steered up the front of the wave with full power. Bimini Twist rose at a sixty degree angle. Max’s heart was in his throat. Straight up. Full power moving at six or eight knots with both outboard engines completely under water. At the top of the wave the bow pitched downward and the boat rocketed forward to twenty knots. No time to react. Straight down the back of the wave and nose into the next one. Fast and inevitable, the six foot breaker crashed over the bow of the boat. Green water slid over the bow and gunwales and across the deck. The boat was now a ton heavier and running low in the water. It was sluggish and difficult to maneuver. Max used all his strength to steer to the right. Full power again and smash port quarter into the next breaker. The weight of the boat was now not so easily pushed around and Bimini Twist rode smoothly through the white water and gently down its back.

  The water inside the boat was ankle deep and Max was not certain they would not sink. As long as the motors were running he was going to keep fighting for survival. One more wave, maybe two, and they could start relaxing. The best results had come from the head on approach, so that is what Max did. Like a ramrod with a giant wedge in front, the boat plowed through the wall of foam throwing salt water spray in each direction and over the windshield, and then eme
rged on the other side. Hundreds of gallons of water sloshed around inside the boat. The next two waves were mere three footers that Max took first to the left and then to the right.

  In the calmer water of the Abaco Sea, Max throttled up. “Gaffer, move that ice chest away from the scuppers. Clear the area so the water can run off. Honey, come sit here by me. We’re safe and you can relax.”

  “Then why don’t you slow down and let us rest a minute. I’m exhausted,” said Lisa.

  “I’m going to slow down as soon as this water runs off. The scuppers are pouring water and the bilge pumps are in high gear. Two minutes and we’ll be out of the woods.”

  At fifteen knots Bimini Twist cruised to safety. Things were returning to normal. Gaffer collected the life jackets and Lisa and P.J. returned to the jump seat. Max slowed down to ten knots to take a breather. He was exhausted and his normally tan face was drained of color. “I need a break,” he said. “I really need to shut down for a little while and catch my breath. How about we toss the anchor and just rest. Maybe have a late lunch and a swim. This is the most beautiful water in the world. Let’s enjoy it.”

  Gaffer sprayed down the inside of the boat with the fresh water rinse and then sprayed himself. Everybody took a turn showering and soon they settled down to a quiet meal. After lunch P.J. and Gaffer practiced their flips off the bow, while Max and Lisa sat holding hands on the jump seat. Lisa’s motion sickness had left her and she was feeling happy and safe. Max’s adrenaline rush had left and he was exhausted. Relief overcame him as he lay down for a brief siesta.

  Seven

  Deep Drop

  “Hello, is this Skeet Pincus?”

  “This is Skeet. Who’s this?”

  “This is Gaffer.”

  “Who?”

  “Gaffer, Gaffer Carson. Max Carson’s son.”

  “Oh, Gaffer. Sorry. I couldn’t place you for a minute. How ya doin’? What’s up?”