The great Galapagos diesel war of 2014

So in my last post I described the process by which you purchase fuel. Now, on to the delivery. They are supposed to have a 1000 liter (250 gal) opaque tank on a water taxi. Marked and graduated to you can see how much fuel is being dispensed. Well, in reality, not so much. They show up with mountains of black jerry cans. 20-gallon size. Now these would weigh 160 pounds. If they were full. Which they were not. So they pump in 9 jerry cans and call it quits. No mass? Nope, no mass. Manana. Si, Si, manana. So I figure they come back manana with the rest of my fuel. Since they pumped about 90 gallons of the 180 that I need and paid for. And when I say pump I mean a little electric pump with a little Ecuadorian guy huffing away on one end of it to start priming the pump each time they switch over from one can to the next. That guy has got to have some brain damage. So they get to nueve cans and call it quits. Which would have been titties if the cans each had 20 gallons in them. But that’s just not how it goes here. This is the most screwed up refueling system/process I have ever been involved with.

So, I call in to rally control to let them know that I got ½ my fuel and they said they would be back tomorrow. The whole thing is about a day behind by now. One day into the process. One day behind. Gives you some idea of the process. Sound kind of like the barnacle exodus? I sat on the boat all day waiting for the fuel up. Now I get to sit all day again waiting for the fill up. So, I am second on the list for the next day but instead I get a visit from our “agent”. I will call him that but sometimes I call my proctologist that also. Same kind of feeling. So he comes on board and tells me that they did in fact deliver the 180 gallons. And that started the debate. I have ample, if circumstantial, evidence that they did not deliver the full amount. But it comes down to my word vs. them. Here is my evidence. Oh, and I am not alone. I was the fourth or fifth boat to get fueled and we all have our version of getting shorted on fuel.

Back to the evidence. Skip this if you get bored easy. Because it is boring.

My main tank is a big 150-gallon rectangular box. One inch in depth equals ten gallons of fuel. Easy. I open the inspection hatch and measure down to the fuel level. I need three inches fuel. 30 gallons. I did that math in my head. Impressed? In my secondary fuel bladder, which is completely empty, I need 150 gallons. What could go wrong? So filling the main tank from their jury rig set up they go through one, then two, then three 20-gallon jerry cans. To fill 30 gallons. Hmmmm. Me thinks something is amiss here. Maybe that huffing guy is getting more fuel in him than I thought. He should be a friggin fireball! Bob is giving me the count on the jugs as they empty them and set them aside. At this point I don’t care because I don’t care if it takes 9 or 18 or 40 jugs to get me filled up. Just get me the 180 gallons I paid $1100 for. So when they are done my fuel bladder is ½ full. The main tank is all the way full. I figure I got 90 of the 180 that I paid for. And they state that they have completed the delivery. Our “agent” says we will “get it worked out”. So I went to the “screw you in Galapagos” translator on Google and found that “we will get it worked out” means….  “We will wait till your zarpa (visa) is up and you have to leave (march 2) and then we will have a big party with all the money we F’ed you out of. Come back soon.“ Just kidding. I made up the part about “come back soon”. It doesn’t say that. The rest might be true though. So this will be interesting to see develop.

However, one boat did catch them with their hand in the diesel jar. I yelled over to a boat called Alpharatz and warned them about the goings on. Kept it off the radio. To figure out some way to measure or meter what they are getting delivered. And just in time. They were up next. They emptied an onboard 20-gallon jerry can into some 5-gallon cans and unbeknownst to the fueling boat filled it first. Out of sight of the fuel boat. When they finished the first 20-gallon can they had actually delivered 15 gallons. They pulled the jerry can up on deck and called them on it. So this should get interesting. Someone is skimming 25% of the fuel. 50% in my case. Their evidence is better than mine. And there is a lot of money involved here. They’re working on F’ing me out of $550 and I am in about the middle of the pack for fuel requirements. This is easily in the thousands of dollars.

But I still do really like the place. It just has some rather jagged edges sometimes.

So, time out on the diesel screwing and all. More on that will follow I’m sure. You do meet some interesting characters on this tour. Here are a couple.

So we hike off about an hour to a beach that is supposed to be really cool. And I use the word cool loosely. Because its hotter than all FFF on this hike. I mean you could fry an egg on the bill of my cap. So we get there and its rather disappointing. Poor visibility, surfs up, rip tides are running. So down to the next beach we go. About another ½ mile. Having heard rumors of sharks and stingrays and awesome snorkeling. Nope. Brackish green water and horse flys. The M’Fkers who can bite right through a tee shirt. So we hit the water to cool down if nothing else, and this woman starts talking it up with Bob. And by woman I mean kind of like a manatee in a one piece. Facemask on, smashing her face. Snorkel dangling. Talks non-stop. Be gals I don’t have a picture to post here. Her husband floats nearby in a giant life vest. He hasn’t gotten a word in edgewise is 40 years I guarantee. She goes on bla bla bla. From New York, bla bla bla, your from?, bla bla bla…  I am getting my fins on and plotting my escape. Her attention still on Bob. I think I am safe. She says, what? You came here on a sailboat? Do you know Mike from Vivo? Not kidding. Thought some one was pulling a joke or something. She says, we are looking for Mike from Vivo. We know his wife. I am in WTF mode!! How the heck does she know Dawn? Turns out they were coming through Quito (sp?) in Ecuador at the same time that Dawn was on her way out. They were at the same B&B one night. So now she is my favorite Aunt and wants to know everything about everything. Except she never shuts up to let an answer float in. Its like she is on speed and a case of coke at the same time. Other than my mother I have never heard someone who can talk so much. Love ya Mom but you know its true! You two would be a pair. I think we could actually solve the worlds energy needs if we could harness the two of you. I toyed with the idea of punching myself in the nose either to knock myself out or to spew blood so I had to get out of the water. Sharks, you know. Did neither. I am a coward. After a few minutes, or hours, hard to tell, I thanked her for being kind to Dawn and snorkeled off. She followed. I am like a horsefly and chick magnet let me tell you. I circled back trying to get her re-hitched with Bob but it didn’t work. The end.

So another one. I am in the frettatoria, which is kind of a small general hardware store. They sell everything but food. Only they don’t really have anything much to sell. But what they do have is so random and miscellaneous that is is kind of surreal. But it’s all on display nicely. Very sparse. Lots of them in town. 500 sq ft home depots. Up and down the streets. But they do have some Rappela fishing lures. Exactly the same description as one of the boats was using and were getting all kinds of tuna. So I ask to see one. It’s a bit dusty but that cleans right off. Who knows how long its been there. While I am looking it over a fellow from behind me says it’s a “berry good one and will catch mucho fish”. Oh, OK, thanks. They had three. I bought two of them. And the gentleman behind me introduces himself. Miguel. And says he is selling his book. He was rather slight in stature but very well dressed. Hard to put an age on him but maybe 50-70. Pressed, white, gaucho style shirt. Dress pants. Polished shoes. Nice satchel. Not the norm around here. He is Galapagos AARP GQ. Thought I hooked into a Jehovah witness and was going the get to know Jesus better. But he is actually selling his book. He and 6 other fishermen were adrift in the pacific for 77 days. The engine died north of here and off they went. No radio. No EPIRB. I just started the book. Which is written as a Captains log. I assume they all made it but I don’t know. Maybe he ate all, or most of  them, and I just made friends with Hannibal Galapagos. But, will keep you posted. Ten bucks for the book and he autographed it for me. And asked me again what my name was. Should have told him Fred that time. And he made sure that I noted his email address from the copyright page. He expects to hear from me. He did ask my name a couple more times. Which one might find odd. Since my name is also Miguel. Might have been a clue there I missed. Some one left the gate at the home open? Got an escapee here? Nice fellow though.

So that’s a feel good story right? Here’s a twist. Then, after all that, he shows me a photo album of cigarette butts. Mounds of them. Yes, cigarette butts. What I infer is that he is on a kick to get smoking banned in the Galapagos and they make frigging sand castle like sculptures in town squares out of butts that they pick up. He has pictures. Mountains of butts that look like sea lions or mermaids. Then he has a Tee shirt he pulls out of his satchel and wants me to buy that says something about cigarettes and death and fines and WTF. No thanks on that one my new friend. But oy. Got a new story to tell. Wonder what will come of it if I send him and email?

Fuel war still ongoing. Supposedly they will come Friday to get me the rest of what I paid for. Ricardo shook on it. Yeah right. Count your fingers. I think I am heading out for a 3000-mile passage 80 gallons short. Might have to learn how to sail this thing.

One more new crew comes in today. Kyle. A friend of Ryans from St Thomas.

And one more ARC member bit it. A German fellow. Had a fall and broke some ribs. He is heading home. Probably could have made it on a cat but for a 3000 mile passage on a mono it would have been bad. Nice fellow, too.

Only a couple more days here. And I am itching to get back on passage. Been on anchor long enough. If it were not so restricted here we would have moved on days ago to some other anchorage. Like we are accustomed too.

All for now

Take care

M