11-13-2012, 12:07 PM
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Wheelhouse Tales: “Boobs for Ice”
Back in the middle of when boats could spend 90 days out of the country to avoid sales tax, the Coral Hotel/Marina in Ensenada was a happening place. The slips were full, and the hotel was crowded. I used to run boats back and forth all the time, and had a few clients who’s boats I’d run when I was down there. One particular client had me on his boat more often than not, and he loved to fish offshore. Because of the nature of this story I will not give any names here.
I had met a girl that just loved to fish, and hang out with “the boys”. Easy on the eyes and fun as hell, without a single tan line on her entire body. She came along with this client and myself to the offshore grounds for some albacore fishing on this particular day, and we had jig strikes early. As usual I cut the fish between stops, and bagged the fillets for the ice chest. Once the ice chest was full, we began to fill the kill bag to max capacity. It soon became obvious that we were not going to have nearly enough ice.
The guys that fished out of the Coral were a tight group, and with all the time I spent down there I fit in nicely. I figured it would be no problem getting one of our “good buddies” to hand over some ice while we were out there. Boy, was I wrong. The annoyingly busy channel 72 went silent when I made the call. ”This is Jeff on the ____ ____, anyone near the 238 have any ice they can bring us?”………..nothing.
Our lady passenger had an idea. She was about 3 cocktails into the trip and decided that she could convince somebody to help us out. So I gave the tipsy girl the radio mike and could not wait to hear what she had to offer. She put the mike up to her mouth and in a sultry voice said these magic words: ”Boobs for ice? Anyone want to trade my boobs for some ice?” I laughed and figured the radio would blow up, but it didn’t! The radio remained silent.
So she goes back to fishing and I look off in the distance on this flat calm day to see plumes of black smoke off in the distance, at several different headings, all heading straight for us. No less than 5 boats were now racing to see this young ladies boobs, and hopefully give us some ice. Did I mention she was good looking?
The first boat to us wanted payment before he delivered his end of the bargain, so he pulled right up next to us and shut down. I waited for him to watch from the safety of his cockpit, but no, he jumped in the water and began swimming over to our boat! I didn’t even have to look, I already knew the guy, and knew he was fishing alone. He’d left his boat unattended to get a close up of this girls boobs. I imagine there was some empty beer cans on his rig, but at least he he was sober enough to make the swim.
The gentleman sat in our fighting chair and received a full lap dance. I gave the play by play over the VHF, and the other boats in the area were now close enough to see everything. Classic. Needless to say, we ended up with more than enough ice for the day.
Now, many years later, a few of the same guys still fish out of that marina during the summer, and we are all still friends. Last year I ran a yacht down there, and when we got close enough I announced my arrival with a simple broadcast over channel 72. ”Anyone want to trade boobs for ice?” I promptly got the welcome response. ”Hey Jeff! What’s happening man!”
Wheelhouse Tales: “Boobs for Ice”
Back in the middle of when boats could spend 90 days out of the country to avoid sales tax, the Coral Hotel/Marina in Ensenada was a happening place. The slips were full, and the hotel was crowded. I used to run boats back and forth all the time, and had a few clients who’s boats I’d run when I was down there. One particular client had me on his boat more often than not, and he loved to fish offshore. Because of the nature of this story I will not give any names here.
I had met a girl that just loved to fish, and hang out with “the boys”. Easy on the eyes and fun as hell, without a single tan line on her entire body. She came along with this client and myself to the offshore grounds for some albacore fishing on this particular day, and we had jig strikes early. As usual I cut the fish between stops, and bagged the fillets for the ice chest. Once the ice chest was full, we began to fill the kill bag to max capacity. It soon became obvious that we were not going to have nearly enough ice.
The guys that fished out of the Coral were a tight group, and with all the time I spent down there I fit in nicely. I figured it would be no problem getting one of our “good buddies” to hand over some ice while we were out there. Boy, was I wrong. The annoyingly busy channel 72 went silent when I made the call. ”This is Jeff on the ____ ____, anyone near the 238 have any ice they can bring us?”………..nothing.
Our lady passenger had an idea. She was about 3 cocktails into the trip and decided that she could convince somebody to help us out. So I gave the tipsy girl the radio mike and could not wait to hear what she had to offer. She put the mike up to her mouth and in a sultry voice said these magic words: ”Boobs for ice? Anyone want to trade my boobs for some ice?” I laughed and figured the radio would blow up, but it didn’t! The radio remained silent.
So she goes back to fishing and I look off in the distance on this flat calm day to see plumes of black smoke off in the distance, at several different headings, all heading straight for us. No less than 5 boats were now racing to see this young ladies boobs, and hopefully give us some ice. Did I mention she was good looking?
The first boat to us wanted payment before he delivered his end of the bargain, so he pulled right up next to us and shut down. I waited for him to watch from the safety of his cockpit, but no, he jumped in the water and began swimming over to our boat! I didn’t even have to look, I already knew the guy, and knew he was fishing alone. He’d left his boat unattended to get a close up of this girls boobs. I imagine there was some empty beer cans on his rig, but at least he he was sober enough to make the swim.
The gentleman sat in our fighting chair and received a full lap dance. I gave the play by play over the VHF, and the other boats in the area were now close enough to see everything. Classic. Needless to say, we ended up with more than enough ice for the day.
Now, many years later, a few of the same guys still fish out of that marina during the summer, and we are all still friends. Last year I ran a yacht down there, and when we got close enough I announced my arrival with a simple broadcast over channel 72. ”Anyone want to trade boobs for ice?” I promptly got the welcome response. ”Hey Jeff! What’s happening man!”
