Number Eleven in the Mystery Skipper series

It is a funny old world and whatever ocean you sail in, doing so, in a large yacht seems to reinforce that impression. In the many years I have been in command of yachts working for the rich and famous, I have come across many funny stories and one day, when I retire, I will write them all down, who knows they may even get published!

I remember once arriving in a North African port aboard a yacht of some 46 metres and being told to berth alongside the yacht Perfectshun, which I could see was lying port side to the old wharf. In the more fancy ports of the world, large yachts get a berth all to themselves but clearly here, we were to save dock space and huddle up close together. My crew, and that of the soon to be adjacent boat, fussed with the fenders to save our respective paint jobs but the old Dutch Captain, of my soon to be neighbour, clearly was looking agitated. He kept calling across to me and, concentrating as I was on the manoeuvre, I tried to ignore him. His boat at over 55 metres was clearly bigger than ours, so we were unlikely to cause him a concern and I knew we were only going to be in harbour a day or so and would therefore hardly impede his passage so I wondered, what his concerns might be. As he shouted I began to realise that it was our size that mattered most to him because he kept repeating the figure 35 metres but it was only when we were fully alongside and made fast, that I found out he was instructing me to declare the length of my yacht to the port authorities as 35 metres, it seemed that in this harbour where dockage was charged by the metre, he had already declared that Perfectshun was 45 metres and he was worried that if I went in and declared our true length, he would have some explaining to do.

Dealing with officials in foreign countries can often provide a smile but often it is best not to show how amusing you think they are whilst still standing in their offices. I remember once clearing in with customs and immigration having entered a port in a country that was formally part of the British Empire. I was handed five separate sheets each bearing the same information on different coloured paper together with four sheets of rather tired looking carbon paper and was told to complete and then sign the form. Interleafing the carbon, I set about the task of copying the crew and passenger details onto the form from the sheet I had already produced as computer print out. Sadly not all countries allow a Captain to produce a pre printed crew list but seem perfectly happy for him to copy the information from it onto their own forms. Once I had completed the task I handed them over the counter and the official hand stamped and countersigned each sheet with great ceremony and placed each copy into a separate box. “What happens to each of those forms?” I asked. We keep the white ones for three months and the pink ones for six months I was told. What happens to the green blue and yellow forms I asked They go to head office. What happens then I asked the green ones are kept for three months and the yellow ones are kept for six months and the blue ones go to the central records office. I was intrigued by this stage and could not help myself, what happens to blue ones I asked? They keep them for three months they told me. I was a little frightened to ask what happened to the forms after three months. I was told with a certain amount of pride that the system had been devised by British colonialists before independence in the 1960’s was declared and that his government had wisely decided to carry on the process. That’s progress for you!

In another port I was refused entry because I was not in procession of a de ratting certificate, in order to get the required piece of paper I first had to stand in line for several hours at the port health and quarantine office and present the ships papers. Having stood in another line and paid my fee I was then told to return to the yacht and wait for the port doctor to arrive where, until he had issued the certificate the passengers and crew had to remain on board. Eventually wearing a splendid white uniform and sporting an armful of gold braid, he turned up and as he walked up the gangway he spotted our ships cat. Why did you not say you had a cat on board he inquired? “You did not ask!” I said, “but why does it matter?”
“With a cat you in an excempt category and do not need a de-ratting certificate,” he said.

Not every American citizen holds a valid passport, yet many are still permitted to travel to the island countries of the Eastern Caribbean providing they take with them a valid form of identification. Life as a Charter Captain cruising these waters is made a little more when guests exercise this privilege because there is nothing more that a customs officer likes more than to find a brand new and unmarked page in a passport and there, in the middle of the virgin page, place the huge indentation of the rubber stamp with his country crest emblazoned upon it, whereupon he rather flamboyantly signs it, and adds with a flourish, a date stamp with that particular days date and a further rubber stamp bearing the date by which the transient must vacate his country’s beaches. So what do they do to the citizen who produce a valid US driver’s license? Answer is nothing, but it is great fun to suggest to the passengers that they cut a corner off each visit and see them sweat when you get to St Vincent the fifth island in the chain!

Passing through canals and taking pilots requires a certain amount of experience. Many pilots and government officials think that because you are the Captain of a multi million pound yacht that you have an unlimited budget and rub their hands with glee when they board to either inspect the yacht or guide her through the cutting. I know of one Captain who thinks he has got away lightly if a canal transit costs him less than a box of Marlborough cigarettes, which at 50 cartons to the box, equates to 10,000 cigarettes. Given that many of these officials ask for a present, I was particularly amused by one Captain who, having pre-thought the process through before he left Europe, gave out tins of sardines to everyone who asked for a gift. “Sardines in Portugal,” he remarked, “are particularly cheap!” I also now of one captain who gift wraps stainless steel nuts and bolts inside a small and expensive looking velvet bag normally used by jewellers to wrap purchases.

The problem is that in many countries it is the custom for a visitor to bring a gift when he visits the home of another person, in other countries it is the person who is visited who feels so honoured that he gives the guest a present. What might be seen as bribery and corruption, by one side, is in fact not seen in the same light by the other party.

I remember being alongside a dockside in North Africa and whilst trying to dispose of some empty paint tins was asked by a local if he could have them in exchange for some pineapples. Thinking that any trade was worth getting rid of paint tins I did not want I hastily agreed and handed them over before returning to the yacht to await the delivery of my pineapples. I became worried on where I might store them all and had to tell the fellow that after five trucks had delivered their entire consignments into my storerooms that enough was enough and that my paint tins could hardly have been of such value. He however was clearly delighted with the deal and it was only when I learned from an angry Russian Officer that several consignments of pineapples had disappeared off the cargo manifest of his ship loading ahead of us that I realised why the purchaser of the tins had been so happy with the trade.

It is a fact that in many countries, officials board a yacht with empty stomachs and brief cases in a similar state and leave only when both are full to bursting, and it is the fool hardy Captain who does not play the game. You will of course recognise the yachts of those who do not play by the rules, they are the ones still inside the quarantine anchorages flying the yellow Q flag long after your own yacht has cleared in and your guests are ashore enjoying themselves.

I remember arriving in one African country where customs officers boarded the yacht and were particularly taken with the contents of my chefs galley. Now she was a particularly fine and accomplished baker of breads and pastries and held in stock a wide variety of different flours. One in particular was very white in colour and fine in consistency and given it was not used a great deal was kept by the chef only in mall quantities. Quite how she used potato flour for bread making I am not sure but it was confiscated by customs and I was carted off to the local police station whilst the product was sent away for analysis. One day later the results having come in from Paris by facsimile I was allowed to return to my yacht a free man who had been cleared of the suspicion of having imported cocaine.