Deeper Water
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: None.
Description: High times on the high seas with Jock and Dingo.
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The cruise liner was so large she couldn't berth in Acapulco. Gangways were slung over the side with a crewman posted at the top and bottom of each one for safety. The lifeboats were put into service as shuttles to the resort and passengers happily boarded them to get ashore.
Mingling with the paying customers were crew members who weren't required for duty, mainly catering staff. Among these, Jock and Dingo from the Utility gang, the U gang for short, set off on a mission which would benefit their fellow sailors and make them a good few quid into the bargain.
The trip had been a long one, not arduous as some could be, the highlight being six mini-cruises around the Fijian and Tongan islands. Six fresh sets of passengers, with a plethora of young ladies for the pair to set their caps at and time off aplenty to get well and truly wasted.
Three layovers in Sydney, two in Melbourne and one in Dingo's home town of Brisbane suited the duo to a T.
First and last pubs were visited, then taxi rides further inland to do some mingling with the natives. In Brisbane they got together with Dingo's relatives and friends, drank enough to float them, scored some hash and only just made it back in time for the sailing.
Jock was reluctant to leave Australia, having met up with a rather attractive young lady and being determined to jump ship and settle there. Other U gangers caught wind of his plans and dragged him back to the ship, not wishing him to come about any more trouble than he had already brought upon himself through drinking in the passenger bars while afloat, that and being over friendly with a number of paying guests of the female persuasion.
He wasn't too happy about having his plans thwarted and let them know in no uncertain terms.
So now they were homeward bound, with stops at Los Angeles, San Francisco then round the corner for a day in Acapulco.
It was Dingo's second trip on the vessel, Jock's first. All along, Dingo had been regaling Jock about how some enterprising crew members had hired horses and ridden into the Acapulcan farmlands to score a couple of kilos of grass. Now, Dingo planned to do the same, not for a couple of kilos but for as much as he could carry. Jock was invited along for the ride and didn't hesitate in signing up.
They had hired horses in Fiji to get acquainted with the animals, docile creatures, well trained and with a good sense of direction which was handy. In Acapulco, the horses seemed to be just as tame. They skirted around the more touristy part and soon found themselves in the open countryside, without much of a clue as to who they were going to see.
An hour's ride and they found themselves in the middle of a sort of plantation, field upon field of marijuana as far as the eye could see. They could have helped themselves, would have helped themselves, but for the sudden presence of half a dozen heavily armed, moustachioed gentlemen. They looked like bandidos. Dingo was all at once Gringo, as was Jock.
Showing empty hands and empty holdalls, the deal was struck by way of a series of hand signals. The duo were led to a dilapidated hut full of baled grass, invited to partake of a pipeful each and had their bags packed for them before money changed hands. Handshakes and noises of appreciation followed, another smoke, one for the road, then final adios handshakes. It dawned on Jock they could well have been robbed and killed by the bandidos, they certainly looked capable of such an act. Dingo pointed out it would have been bad for business, so they left it at that.
Stopping at the edge of one large crop for another smoke, they nodded off, only to be rudely awakened by the snorting of their mounts. They only realised the horses had helped themselves to the head high grass when they turned from docile, obedient animals to belligerent, unhelpful brutes.
It was a struggle to get back to the coast, in the end, more trouble than it was worth. A passing taxi made their minds up for them, the horses were left to find their own way home as the two men negotiated a ride to the harbour. Jock stopped the driver at a little market and bought four sombreros to disguise their goods as souvenirs, Dingo expressed his appreciation of this move by breaking out in a fit of the giggles. Jock had no choice but to join in. Infectious laughter and a good smoke always seem to go hand in hand and just to be polite, the driver joined in too.
As luck would have it, they made it back just in time to board the last liberty boat. Dingo cheekily handed his stuffed holdall, with the protruding sombreros, to the officer in charge while he negotiated his way unsteadily onto the lifeboat. Jock brought the laughter to another level when he saw this and followed suit.
Safely aboard, they let the cruise liner reach deeper water before opening up for business. Word had spread like wildfire throughout the vessel. No need to cut prices in an end of season sale. Their stock, apart from their own stash, flew off the shelves. The last leg of the trip would be one to remember.
Swearwords: None.
Description: High times on the high seas with Jock and Dingo.
_____________________________________________________________________
The cruise liner was so large she couldn't berth in Acapulco. Gangways were slung over the side with a crewman posted at the top and bottom of each one for safety. The lifeboats were put into service as shuttles to the resort and passengers happily boarded them to get ashore.
Mingling with the paying customers were crew members who weren't required for duty, mainly catering staff. Among these, Jock and Dingo from the Utility gang, the U gang for short, set off on a mission which would benefit their fellow sailors and make them a good few quid into the bargain.
The trip had been a long one, not arduous as some could be, the highlight being six mini-cruises around the Fijian and Tongan islands. Six fresh sets of passengers, with a plethora of young ladies for the pair to set their caps at and time off aplenty to get well and truly wasted.
Three layovers in Sydney, two in Melbourne and one in Dingo's home town of Brisbane suited the duo to a T.
First and last pubs were visited, then taxi rides further inland to do some mingling with the natives. In Brisbane they got together with Dingo's relatives and friends, drank enough to float them, scored some hash and only just made it back in time for the sailing.
Jock was reluctant to leave Australia, having met up with a rather attractive young lady and being determined to jump ship and settle there. Other U gangers caught wind of his plans and dragged him back to the ship, not wishing him to come about any more trouble than he had already brought upon himself through drinking in the passenger bars while afloat, that and being over friendly with a number of paying guests of the female persuasion.
He wasn't too happy about having his plans thwarted and let them know in no uncertain terms.
So now they were homeward bound, with stops at Los Angeles, San Francisco then round the corner for a day in Acapulco.
It was Dingo's second trip on the vessel, Jock's first. All along, Dingo had been regaling Jock about how some enterprising crew members had hired horses and ridden into the Acapulcan farmlands to score a couple of kilos of grass. Now, Dingo planned to do the same, not for a couple of kilos but for as much as he could carry. Jock was invited along for the ride and didn't hesitate in signing up.
They had hired horses in Fiji to get acquainted with the animals, docile creatures, well trained and with a good sense of direction which was handy. In Acapulco, the horses seemed to be just as tame. They skirted around the more touristy part and soon found themselves in the open countryside, without much of a clue as to who they were going to see.
An hour's ride and they found themselves in the middle of a sort of plantation, field upon field of marijuana as far as the eye could see. They could have helped themselves, would have helped themselves, but for the sudden presence of half a dozen heavily armed, moustachioed gentlemen. They looked like bandidos. Dingo was all at once Gringo, as was Jock.
Showing empty hands and empty holdalls, the deal was struck by way of a series of hand signals. The duo were led to a dilapidated hut full of baled grass, invited to partake of a pipeful each and had their bags packed for them before money changed hands. Handshakes and noises of appreciation followed, another smoke, one for the road, then final adios handshakes. It dawned on Jock they could well have been robbed and killed by the bandidos, they certainly looked capable of such an act. Dingo pointed out it would have been bad for business, so they left it at that.
Stopping at the edge of one large crop for another smoke, they nodded off, only to be rudely awakened by the snorting of their mounts. They only realised the horses had helped themselves to the head high grass when they turned from docile, obedient animals to belligerent, unhelpful brutes.
It was a struggle to get back to the coast, in the end, more trouble than it was worth. A passing taxi made their minds up for them, the horses were left to find their own way home as the two men negotiated a ride to the harbour. Jock stopped the driver at a little market and bought four sombreros to disguise their goods as souvenirs, Dingo expressed his appreciation of this move by breaking out in a fit of the giggles. Jock had no choice but to join in. Infectious laughter and a good smoke always seem to go hand in hand and just to be polite, the driver joined in too.
As luck would have it, they made it back just in time to board the last liberty boat. Dingo cheekily handed his stuffed holdall, with the protruding sombreros, to the officer in charge while he negotiated his way unsteadily onto the lifeboat. Jock brought the laughter to another level when he saw this and followed suit.
Safely aboard, they let the cruise liner reach deeper water before opening up for business. Word had spread like wildfire throughout the vessel. No need to cut prices in an end of season sale. Their stock, apart from their own stash, flew off the shelves. The last leg of the trip would be one to remember.
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in his 50s, an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in sunny Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing. He is inspired by the Ayrshire coast and likes what he calls "real music". He also enjoys pool, snooker and is a big fan of rugby league side, Wigan Warriors. He has written several novels and one poetry collection and says that writing gives him "endless pleasure". His two ebooks can be viewed by clicking on the images below.
Angus tells us that all his stories on McStorytellers have been inspired by the titles of songs written by Paul Kelly, who is often described as the poet laureate of Australia.
Angus tells us that all his stories on McStorytellers have been inspired by the titles of songs written by Paul Kelly, who is often described as the poet laureate of Australia.
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