The Story of Pirate Jones.

          His name was not Jones, I can't remember what his name was and it's probably better that way. I only knew him for an evening but that was enough. I actually really liked the guy even if he came so very close to killing us both. Unlike Pirate Mike (See previous blog entry, "The Story of Pirate Mike") , Pirate Jones was a real pirate. How real you ask? Well, he had an eye patch, He lived on a boat, and he narrowly avoided death at every turn. How much more qualifications does one need?
          Our story begins in Seattle. I was married at the time and my (now ex) wife had an annual weekend long family reunion on Andersen Island located in South Puget Sound. The only way to access the island, like so many other islands in Puget Sound was by ferry. The ferry departed from Steilacoom, traveled a little over three miles to reach it, and stopped running at 8:00 pm on weekends. It was Saturday and Leah, (my ex) wanted to get out there early to see her family. I complained because that evening was the only time during the week the other two members of my newly formed band were able to practice. I called up Darren, my guitarist and he agreed to drive me down to catch the last ferry after practice. Leah left with her sisters after reluctantly agreeing to this plan. Practice went well and afterwards Darren and I got in his car and he drove me towards Steilacoom as promised. We got on the highway and the one factor I forgot to consider in my plan made itself very known; Traffic. I figured for a moment that because it was the weekend there wouldn't be a rush hour but growing up in Seattle I should have known that all hours were rush hour. Seattle has some of the worst traffic congestion in the nation. We inched forward at old-lady-walker pace for about an hour until it cleared up enough to actually shift gears. From there Darren expertly weaved through cars to get to the dock as it was looking like we still might make it. We curved around the final bend and saw that the ferry hadn't left yet, we had made it! Darren dropped me off and I ran down the dock. I got to the gate and it was closed. Just beyond, the ferry was pulling away at that moment. We had not made it, and now Darren was gone. With no cell phone and only $25 cash, I went to the bar. I sat there nursing a beer contemplating my options, which I really didn't have any of besides just sitting there and hoping my luck would change. I watched the sun disappear through the large windows until I could no longer see the shape of the island on the scenic horizon. I had no where to sleep, I was getting hungry, and worst of all Leah was going to be very angry with me as she wasn't too fond of the band practice plan to begin with. I eventually struck up a conversation with the bar tender and explained to him my predicament. He pointed his finger to a man with long grey hair and an eye patch drinking by himself and said that he knew he had a boat. I cautiously approached him and it wasn't long before we were chatting like old friends. He was very drunk and confessed that in addition to alcohol, he was also on a lot of pain meds on account of his bum leg. (Did I mention he had a limp as well? -Yeah Pirate.) It was getting later and the bar was about to close so Jones and his boat became my only ticket. I offered him my remaining $20 to take me to the island which thankfully he promptly agreed upon and we walked together down to the dock where his boat was.
          "There's my boat" he said as he pointed to an aging yaught looking craft. I immediately felt better about everything, this was going to be fun. I boarded the boat which was a mess as it doubled as his home. He began to piss into the water and while doing so lost his balance, hopped a few times on his good leg while traversing sideways down the narrow dock, still pissing the whole time and caught himself inches away from falling in. I knew my last chance to back out was approaching but I didn't know what else I was going to do at this hour and was in the mood for an adventure anyways. Once safely on the boat, Jones moved some trash aside and pulled out a small outboard motor.
         "Yep, there's just enough gas in here to do it." he said after examining it. I laughed nervously and replied, "You're not gonna use that thing to move this boat......are you?" He laughed a hearty pirate holler and said,
          "This boat stays at the dock, where I live. It hasn't moved in 13 years. We taking that boat, it jus got a small hole in it, that's all." He pointed to the dark water next to the boat. I realized then that the man was not just drunk and high, but also hallucinating and thought he had another boat. I didn't know what else to say so I asked quite bluntly,
          "What boat?" Jones replied, "That one thar, I told you it got a small hole in it." I peered over the edge and looked down and sure enough about 8 feet below us among the seaweed rested a small piece of aluminum in the shape of a boat on the sea floor. At that moment it jerked upwards as Jones tugged on a rope it was tied to above water.
          "You gonna give me a hand?" he asked. Not knowing what else to do, I began helping him. Once it was out of the water he quickly attached the outboard motor to the back rim and fired it up. He handed me an empty cool whip container and yelled over the noise, "You bale I'll steer, but don't worry as long as we be movin' it don take in no water." I looked at the boat and saw the reason it was 8 feet below me moments ago. There was a golf ball sized hole near the front and as I was starring at it, was taking in water rapidly.
          "Well start balin!" he shouted as he hopped into the back. I frantically started scooping out the water with my cool whip container so my new friend wouldn't sink. To my surprise, I was able to stay on top of it as long as I kept baling. Pirate Jones began yelling over the sound of the motor again, "When you get in you have to stay in the middle and don't lean to either side or we flip....well, get in!"
          I looked out into the black abyss of the ocean at night and could faintly see a few dim lights that represented Andersen Island about three miles away. I knew that this was the moment, the last moment I would have to make any meaningful choices about my fate for the next half hour or so. I did want an adventure after all. It came down to Pirate Jones' perceived confidence in the whole operation that tipped the scale and I hopped in. The metal skiff wobbled as he had warned me it would and the second I sat down we took off at full speed. True to his word, the boat stopped taking in water once we were on the move. With the wind blowing at my face and the lights of the dock quickly fading I decided I was having fun. In fact I was overjoyed, and for a brief moment felt invincible. Then the small light we had suddenly went out and Pirate Jones shouted,
          "Duck!" I didn't question why and ducked as if a Whale was breaching over the boat and was about to bite my head off. "No, just lower your head so you don't block my light", he continued then put the flashlight he had back into his mouth so he could keep steering and we kept going. Fifteen minutes went by at full speed without incident as I pondered all the possible dangers lurking in the water. Puget Sound is home to the Giant Octopus, the largest breed of Octopus in the world as well as the gathering area for a Super-pod of Orca whales. A Super-pod is what it's called when ten or so Pods of whales join together once a year and frolic by the hundreds for a few months. These are both magnificent creatures but not something I want written on my tomb stone underneath "Died of stupidity". Then Suddenly, the light went out again, only this time the motor shut off as well and the boat came to a halt within half a second leaving us in dead silence and pitch black. Was this it? A mile and a half from the shore in each direction with frigged water temperatures. It wasn't going to be a sea monster that kills me, I was going to drown. The story would be three pages into the news paper, my family would mourn and that was that. I began baling the water out once again and slowly turned around so I wouldn't tip us hoping to see Jones alive and in the boat. He was both and he still had his flashlight in his mouth but was pointing it straight down and fussing with something. "What happened" I asked as calmly as I could while baling frantically.
          Jones removed the flashlight from his mouth and replied, "Oh jus gonna take a break for a bit and smoke". I looked closer and saw that he wasn't fussing with the motor but rolling a joint instead. My instincts turned to survival mode and I decided it was best not to "rock the boat" metaphorically and literally. Any argument out here would compromise my odds of survival greatly so I continued to bale in silence.
          "Nope" was the only thing I said for the remainder of the trip in response to his offer of a drag off his joint. After having his refer he eventually fired up the engine again and we continued our journey. If he hadn't I would not be here to write any of this down. He dropped me off safely at the dock, I made sure he had the cool whip container, we said our goodbyes, and I watched him for about five minutes until I couldn't see the glow of the flashlight anymore. That was the last I ever saw of Pirate Jones.