Sunday, October 8, 1995 - Bonaire

Poor Roy spent almost the entire day replacing the bilge-pump switch. It was a hot, dirty, miserable job. He had to remove one door and part of the floor. In order to see the switch, he had to practically stand on his head in the bilge. The worst part was his glasses kept slipping down, so he couldn't see. The poor guy was so disgusted he said he was "ready to sell Jofian for a nickel." When I learned of his plight, I gave him an adjustable, elastic glasses strap. That held his glasses in place, and he was able to finish the job in an hour or so. I had paddled to Klein Bonaire in the morning, put on my blue jeans and thick-soled shoes, and plowed through the bushes to the old house we had seen a few days ago. From a distance, it had appeared to be two storeys high, but up close, it was only one storey. It had been sturdily built of stone and brick and cement. The corrugated metal roof had blown off a long time ago. The windows and doors were gone. There were three or four rooms. The kitchen had a fireplace with a nice brick oven. Out back was another structure that had probably been a storehouse. There was even a long stone wall and an enclosure that had probably held goats. Someone had put a great deal of time and effort into building the place. It must have been someone who really valued privacy; he had the whole desolate island to himself. There had to have been some sort of road at one time to bring in all those materials, but there was no vestige of it left, so I had to wade through the bushes again on the way back to the shore. When I got back to the boat, I was surprised to see it was quarter to three and Roy was gone. I ate lunch and was just getting ready to leave again when Roy returned. That was when he told me about the problem he was having with his glasses, and I gave him the strap. Then I paddled up to the desalinization plant and back. Stopped at a small, deserted beach nearby and went for a little swim. There wasn't a sign of a fish, but to my amazement, as soon as I put my snorkel mask on, there were fish all over the place. Hundreds and hundreds of them, all different shapes and sizes and colors. Bright purple and yellow and blue and orange and pink and green. They were beautiful. Others were almost completely colorless; they looked transparent. I was feeling sorry for Roy, having to do all that work and not getting to enjoy his retirement, when all of a sudden he came paddling up! He had finished installing the new switch and was enjoying the hour or so left of the day. We snorkeled together and had a lot of fun. It was fascinating to watch Roy go diving way down. I knew he did it, but actually seeing him was something else. He looked so graceful, like a big fish.