Regatta One - The First Bonaire Regatta | The Adventures of Captain Don by Donal A. Stewart

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Regatta One

Zee Bad was the original name of the Flamingo Beach Club. It was the kind of place that one didn't go to, but rather "wore." I had often been quoted as saying, "It's a frame of mind and not to be mistaken for a hotel." I would guess that in the early days, had Bonaire been a wheel, this is where you'd have put the axle. I loved that place.

I was in there the other day and saw the Gouden Verrader, nailed to the wall in the foyer. The ancient ship's figurehead used to stand sentinel at the head of the bar, watching over all Zee Bad's happenings, both good and bad. I, like many, had quite a crush on her and I wondered if she remembered me.

Standing there in the lobby, I put the question directly to her ear, then waited. I watched for a sliver of a smile, for a nod of recognition, but non came. I backed away from her in utter disappointment. But just as I was turning to leave, I saw, mind you, just from the corner of my eye, I saw her wink at me.

That made me feel great. Nine years we'd been together, long interesting years, and I turned to go back to her. Standing at her side, I put my back against the concrete wall and talked to her softly so as not to disturb the passing guests. Even then, eyebrows climbed, and an occasional step in a stride was missed. But I was with an old friend and I didn't really give a damn what they thought.

We reminisced about old friends. The Aad Machels, the Jimmy Oliemans and many others no longer here who had made the long voyage. The crazy tower workers down at the salt flats, my trusted friend Larry who owned a boat with me. The guys who built the pier, the Zinky Smiths and their bulldozers, and the guys who built the new tourist roads.

I asked her if she recalled Cowboy Royce, and I thought I felt the wall vibrate as if she was going to dislodge herself from her bracket. That made me laugh, and that made a tourist bolt ahead to get out of possible harm's way.

"You remember Cowboy, do you? " and the wall vibrated some more. Paul Maduro stuck his head out of the office door, sensing trouble but I signaled all was well. Only an emotional tremor.

Old Cowboy, what a rascal he was, built short and tempered like a spring. Can't ever recall seeing him without his plastic hat on and wondered if he slept in it.

He would spring up on his toes, give me a cocky Floridian grin and say, "I'll betcha!"

One such time, sitting at this very bar, out of the clear blue he said it. "I'll betcha!"

So I asked him, "What?" After all, I was an innkeeper trying to be polite.

Ebo Domacassé

"Betcha Ebo can whap ya." Now I was surprised. "Whap me? Why in the hell would Ebo want to whap me ?"

"Because I said so! " he yelled. I looked over at the bar top to see how many empty Amstels were in front of him.

Ebo was at the cash register and looked over at me with a hende bai loco expression on his face. I prodded, "Beat me at what?"

He laughed. "Sailing of course."

Well now, I thought, that's an idea. Ebo's boat the Vilia is a super boat but mine, the Sislin, had a history. Hmmmm! Jimmy Oliemans was fast on the uptake. Though he didn't take sides, being a banker, he sure did a great piece of organizing with the wager.

"Well I'll betcha 10 cases of Amstel," Cowboy crowed. I had to think about that for a moment. I looked over at Ebo again who smiled that wonderful smile of his and shrugged his shoulders.

Sislin,
from a painting owned by Larry Thielgard

"Okay, you're on," and a cheer went up at the bar that had now become packed. The loyalties of friends, family and neighbors were being split at that moment. There was no question that Ebo and the Vilia were the favored team. It made me feel unwanted until Larry Thielgard came in and heard of the bet. "Ten more cases in favor of the Sislin.." Naturally, as half-owner of the boat, Larry was somewhat biased. By midnight, the bets were complete: 27 cases of beer were now the prize.

More important things had to be done. Secret sails made. Ballast trimmed and checked. Crew lists prepared. Shrouds tightened. Bottoms scrubbed. And most important, the designing of the flags.

By day two, enthusiasm was running high, and the date was set for the coming Sunday, September the 8th. I was happy to see that more Bonaireans began to have confidence in their old Captain Don. Surely he knew all there was about sailing because his schooner was so big. Yet on the other hand, some shyly said, "Ebo knows the waters." I should have paid more attention to that.

It seemed that all was in readiness, except for one small detail: the rules! There was no question that we were to circle Klein Bonaire. But in which direction, and how to start and where to finish?

"The rules!" I kept screaming. "What are the rules?"

The bar went quiet, and the Gouden Verrader waited. All of us looked at Cowboy and waited some more. Then he sprang off the bar stool, landing on his toes and hollered, "There are no rules!'

I looked at Ebo, who registered nothing. Then the both of us looked at Cowboy Royce and broke out laughing

"Let's do it!"

Related website:International Bonaire Regatta

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