CaribSeek Books | Heit's Pier: the First Dive | The Adventures of Captain Don by Donal A. Stewart

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Heit's Pier: the First Dive

Cleared customs at main pier in center of town at 1430 hr. Turned into a carnival. Loved it. Set anchor in the roads of the township, just off a small wooden ramp called Heit's Pier. A wonderful place. Township neat, clean. Feelsa like wearing old familiar shoes. A perfect fit. I see to the north the craggy silhouette of small mountains which slope southward to a flat spit of coral-rimmed beach. An abundance of tropicals, all varieties. Looks to be a fantastic underwater island.

From the log of the schooner Valerie Queen 21 May 1962, 19:30 hours

Later that evening, I couldn't help but smile as I recalled our arrival. Our quarantine flag was aloft as we ghosted up to the pier on foresail alone, seventy feet of ocean-going splendor, tons of timber with masts scraping the sky. Percy leaped to the dock and cleated a heavy warp line to brake us to a stop.

Then a wave of people washed onto the pier; it seemed as if the whole of the island was there. The officials made little ceremony about boarding. The beer they brought was cold and their hospitality was genuine. We were the first American ship for more years than they could remember. A small celebration was called for.

Frankly, I was relieved when the party broke up, as it had been a lot of hours since I'd slept. I struck the quarantine flag as we left the dock and sailed up the coast a half mile to anchor just off Heit's Pier.

Our move had been at the invitation of Jules Heitkoning, a holdover from the WW II internment camp, now a civic leader. He felt we should have a landing stage for our shore boat. Heit's Pier was the only one around: twelve feet long and missing several pilings, just enough to provide a little excitement.

The best part of the day for a sailor in port always seemed to be that special time just after dinner. In today's case, dinner was a can of cranberry sauce, weak coffee and maple syrup. The canned goods stored in the bilge, wet and damp, had lost all their labels and created one big grab bag. Only one can tonight since the crew, both of them, were eating ashore.

Percy and local kids at Heit's Pier, 1962

Percy, a 17 year-old champion bicyclist from Aruba, had taken a fancy to my Valerie Queen and the promise of wealth and adventure. I was concerned about Ciro, who had just signed on and was treasure-bent for this island. He was never without a coil of rope carried over his shoulder, bandoleer-style, ever ready to pull up treasure from "the wreck" whose coordinates lay somewhere inside his head.

The knocking, of a block against the tall mast, a call from high in the rig of a chafing line, the groaning of a strained timber deep within the hull - all the wonderful sounds of a good ship. A slight swell had crept around the point giving the ship an easy thwart motion that sent the tall mast gyrating smoothly through the crisp evening air. The low parading cotton-ball clouds had long given way to a clear moonless sky.

The sextant lay in its box. The chronometer lid was secured. My Queen was now at rest, rather than a free hull racing through deep seas. She fetched at her anchor from a haughty cross sea, then once again settled calmly to a comfortable roll. Below, the watch lantern filled the salon with a soft yellow light that gave the interior the warmth of a rosewood womb. I sat at the chart table and reread my log entry.

So peaceful. So quiet. So natural. A forgotten island with barely 4,000 souls. A baby goat bleated from the decks of an inter-island schooner at the main dock. A pack of dogs was making a ruckus over by the dock. It had been a wonderful day.

But the very best part had been our first dive. Using some of our precious air, Percy and I jumped from Heit's Pier, swam under the Queen, and glided over the drop-off which bottomed around 125 feet. The dive had been just a step from shore into the richest of corals. On our return, we were enthralled by an enormous jewfish that had taken station beneath the Queen. Maybe three feet off the bottom, just resting in the ship's shadow, and not the least bit scared.

I wondered to myself just how many more landfalls I would enter into the old book. Well, Don, I thought, you're getting sentimental. But there would come a day when we could go no farther. I was still young, only thirty-seven, healthy, and probably could go on forever. I couldn't say the same for my beloved old ship. She was leaking badly and needed so much work. I closed the salt-stained cover, turned down the lamp and went on deck.

I made forward and nestled myself into a fold of the staysail, sort of a fanny hammock. I laid the Queen's tobacco box on my lap, undid the ties and looked inside. Had I not badly needed a smoke, I wouldn't have touched this stuff with a fork. All butts from days gone by. I selected a Pearoja, a Colombian cigarette, because it was the longest.

As I enjoyed the smoke I heard a rumpus forward. Anchor chain smacking a bobstay, grunting, and a flow of bad words in Papiamentu, the local language. Then a stomping down the deck, heading for the main companionway, plunging down into the ship's salon. Percy, fully clothed but very wet, spilled ocean allover my interior. Ciro's eyes were rolling like loose cargo.

"What happened to our treasure hunter?" I asked.

"That no good... him and his treasure!" Percy glared at me from lowered brows. "One beer. One damn beer!" He gave Ciro a final push and gave me another dirty look. "Do you really believe he knows where to find gold? Huh!"

"Of course I do. Put him below, Perce, then come on back up for a smoke."

When he returned, I handed Percy the "making box" and he looked inside for a reasonable butt with enough tobacco for a couple of drags. It had been a good day. Between the leavings of the customs and police, we had enough tobacco to last several days. I was beginning to hate filters, never even a puff leftover. I now settled for an old Camel about an inch long.

"God, I hate this stuff," Percy said. I only smiled.

"Percy, I have to talk with you ... these are the facts ... we only have 63 cents in the kitty, 18 cans of I don't know what and 23 gallons of maple syrup. Tobacco is just what you've got in that box. But I think this afternoon's dive is one of the best I've ever had.

"Right here in the center of town are some of the best coral gardens in the world. Enough marine tropicals here to fill 50 aquariums. I vote we give it a try. All you got to do is get some fish and I'll go find a diver or two. We'll be in clover if I don't get deported first."

Percy pondered, "Cappy, did you see that jewfish under the boat? Eight, nine feet easy. But we don't take it till I find some buyers."

That fish was so tame I figured I could put two feet of steel in its forehead without him moving a foot. Percy had the same thought. But then we got to talking sailing, and let go of the idea. Oh, but some day! Yeah! Some day that fish would be ours.

I fell asleep dreaming about Ciro's treasure, the most pristine coral reefs and the biggest jewfish I'd ever seen.

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