The Big Kid from Wyoming Takes on the World: Mike Had Big Coconuts

Other cruisers called me Mike when we talked on our morning ham radio net, the Central American Breakfast Club.

Not that they confused me with Mike Starbuck, the net manager. It was just that the name Mike came readily to the tongue, for reasons that will be apparent later.

Mike Starbuck was a former cruiser who lived ashore in Panama. He had accomplished a rare feat, having succeeded at Step Three of the Cruising Fantasy.

The First Two Steps in the Cruising Fantasy

During Step One people fantasize about escaping their everyday cares and sailing away. They envision anchoring off remote beaches. Palm trees grow at the high water line, the water is warm, small fish swarm in colorful schools, big groupers and langostas can be speared in the coral beds.

Step One can be performed in an easy chair. Tens of thousands—mostly men—succeed at it almost daily for years. They support a dedicated niche in the publishing industry.

A few achieve Step 2 of the Cruising Fantasy. They get a boat, leave everything behind, and go to sea . . . perhaps convincing a reluctant spouse to accompany them.

(An expression among cruisers: "I did the dragging. She took care of the kicking and screaming.")

Living the Cruising Life

The cruising life turns out perfect for some. We had friends who happily sailed around the world, spending 20 leisurely years doing it.

Another couple enjoyed the adventure of sailing offshore. Last time we heard from them they had just completed a passage from Johannesburg, South Africa to St. Johns, Newfoundland—nonstop.

But for many cruisers, those remote, palm-lined beaches start looking pretty much the same after awhile. They discover their everyday cares weren't really left behind, just exchanged for a new set.

Boats move. Constantly. Whether underway or at anchor. That can become tiresome.

People miss having a dog and planting seeds. Their feet itch to put down roots too.

Many crews turn around and head back. A few start examining the shore line speculatively as they pass by.

For them, Step Three has kicked in. It's a whole new fantasy . . . finding an idyllic spot in the tropics and moving ashore.

Their goal may still be a remote beach. But now they imagine themselves looking out at the ocean from a tree shaded house surrounded by exotic flowers.

Mike's Playa Blanca

Mike Starbuck had nailed Step Three.

He'd bought the site of what once had been a tiny village on the Caribbean side of Panama, a few acres surrounding a cove. He called it Playa Blanca (White Beach).

The house looked out on his own beach, a hundred yards from end to end. A shallow pan of water waited at the bottom step so visitors could rinse the sand from their feet as they entered.

The cove beyond was large enough for two or three visiting sail boats to anchor. A broad reef, cut by a channel for boat traffic, protected the cove from heavy seas.

No roads served the area; so the site was secure from unwelcome passersby. The old colonial city of Portobelo was half an hour away by fast outboard.

Mike and Mike

"Don . . . Barbara. Finally we meet in person. I'm Mike. Here, want some avocados?" A huge tree shaded his house and dropped a dozen ripe avocados every day.

Mike and I had been acquainted on the ham radio net since Maruba left Mexico the previous year. The Central American Breakfast Club was his social lifeline to the outside world.

Mike was gregarious and Playa Blanca was isolated. The net provided people to talk with every morning, plus he could encourage cruisers to drop anchor in front of his house when they came his way.

New boats entered the channel often. Some regulars, Maruba included, made repeated visits and stayed for days at a time.

As manager of the ham net Mike had been a familiar personality on the radio for several years. He joined in every day and moderated Saturday mornings. For a time I was the Friday moderator.

My call sign ended with MMI—"Mike Mike India" in radio talk. So when people spoke to me on the net the name Mike had already been refreshed on the tips of their tongues.

Mike's Big Coconuts

Mike was generous with coconuts as well as avocados.

Coconuts were a cash crop in that part of Panama. Boats from Columbia passed up and down the coast buying them, especially from the Kuna Indians of the San Blas Islands. The coconuts ended up in Almond Joys and Mounds bars.

Early on at Playa Blanca Mike decided to grow coconuts. Being a gringo, he searched out the best—that is, the biggest—variety of coconuts to plant. Trees mature quickly in the tropics, so he was soon ready to do business.

The market wasn't interested. When the boat captains landed their cargos in Columbia, The Hershey Company paid them by the coconut. They always filled their hulls with small nuts.