Carpooling with Carlos, Chapter 1

A shrimp boat idled slowly up Bayou Teche,

the captain navigating the dark waters without the aid of a spotlight. Barely visible, the craft’s running lights were dark, giving the appearance of a wandering ghost ship, without a living soul on board to reach its destination. The moonless night covered the slow path of the boat while the low hum of the diesel engine ensured a nearly silent path through the muddy water.

Peeking through the window of the wheelhouse was the soft glow of a lit cigarette, held tightly between the anxious lips of the Lucky Strike’s captain. At two in the morning, other maritime traffic was non-existent. This suited the captain and crew just fine. For eight days, the 3-man crew of the Lucky Strike had battled rough seas, rain, and everything but sunshine and calm seas. The crew was exhausted and ready to be home. Despite the conditions in the Gulf of Mexico, this was a good trip—below deck the insulated holds were filled to capacity with shrimp, capped with a ceiling of ice that kept the crustaceans safe and cold until they reached port.

Captain Chip Vicari wanted to have his wooden hull boat safely docked behind the Patterson Shrimp Company and the holds emptied of its valuable cargo. More importantly, Captain Chip was ready for his fourth crew member to be off his vessel and far away from the Lucky Strike.

The previous night, Vicari’s crew increased by one when an offshore supply boat pulled alongside the Lucky Strike 100 miles from the Louisiana coast. The dangerous rendezvous in the choppy Gulf waters barely lasted a minute, but felt like forever for the nervous captain. Although he had been expecting the call on the ship’s radio, the dread hung heavily on Vicari’s shoulders. Dread was better than dead, so Vicari knew the albatross around his neck would have to be endured.

As soon as the boats were less than two feet apart, a man, although short in stature, managed to jump safely from one gunwale to the other, the tails of his black slicker suit flapping in the wind behind him. His only luggage was a rucksack, tied tightly and draped over his right shoulder. Despite the dangerous maneuver and darkness surrounding both boats in open water, the shadowy figure moved with ease having no trouble seeing behind his tinted Ray Ban sunglasses. As soon as the new deckhand had transferred from one boat to the other, both vessels separated and as their diesel engines opened to full throttle, the dark water enveloped the boats as each captain steered toward different destinations.

Angling north toward the barrier islands off the coast of South Louisiana, Vicari knew the closer he steered the shrimp boat toward the safety of the islands, the risk to himself, his crew, and his payload increased. Ironically, the land masses that protected those living along the coast from violent storms and hurricanes could be the cause of a tragic shipwreck possibly ending the lives of the men who were married to the sea. Like a seamstress threading a needle before sewing, the difficult job of navigating these shallow bays was all part of a day’s work for the men forever attached to the highs and lows of tides, hardships, and prosperity associated with the life of a shrimper.

Captain Chip Vicari may not have liked his situation, but what was he supposed to do? This was about the family. You didn’t say no to the family.