The 50 hp motor we needed to push our 19-foot Raya was on the fritz. The gear box was shot. Having just arrived to discover the fact, I put on my best no-worries-every-problem-has-a-solution smile and sat with Mike to explore my options—none of them floated any better than my defunct boat, which sat covered in leaf litter, perched on several decaying logs outside the house.
That night I lay awake, twisting scenarios in my head with no resolution. Even Monday’s 5-hour car trip to plead with the marine mechanic proved fruitless and the stress was starting to feel like army ants in my stomach. All I could do was hold tight to my one last hope: Jorge.
Jorge. He’s like a jungle Superman. I am always amazed by his calm, usually silent demeanor and ability to solve any problem with whatever meager supplies are on hand. Within minutes of his return home, he had a plan and I remember thinking, Why was I ever in doubt?
Wednesday found us driving around the pueblo with Jorge congenially asking to borrow items not currently in use. Within an hour he had pieced together a water-worthy ensemble: a boat that would work with the small 15 hp motor at Mike’s and a short trailer to haul it. I couldn’t have been more relieved.
There was however, one itty-bitty problem. The new boat was, well, itty-bitty. A mere 10-feet long. When the weather mounts, how would we possibly survive the swelling waves in this dinky tugboat?
Shame, shame, I thought, Never look a gift boat in the mouth.