When we were anchored and secure, one of the dugouts came alongside to welcome us and explain a few formalities. The Elders of the tribe had come up with a smart way to support the individual islands by charging five US dollars to use the anchorage. Once this exorbitant tariff was paid, we could stay as long as we pleased. Optional upgrades to our rented patch of sandy bottom were fresh fish, lobster, crabs and anything else that the Indians could pull from the depths. Any and all of which were available for one US dollar per creature.

Before the bounty of this little paradise could be enjoyed, we had a substantial issue to resolve. That large window that we had blown out the day before needed to be fixed, and how to repair it was a mystery given our remoteness and lack of resources. In the end, Jiorgos and I spent more time analyzing what to do than actually doing it.

The Plexiglas window was about an inch thick and had to be bent and glued back into position. This would require significant pressure to be applied and maintained until the glue dried. The most substantial piece of movable equipment we had was the outboard engine for the tender. When laid to rest in position, the window barely moved. We were going to have to come up with a more seamanlike solution.

Looking up at the rig, and trying to figure a way to make something designed to pull heavy things up, work in reverse, the answer came to us. Turning blocks were rigged outboard and at the foot of the mast, allowing us to run a line across the window and then to a halyard. Essentially, when the line was pulled up at the mast, it was pulled horizontally across the deck, pressing down on the window itself. To spread the pressure across a broader portion of the glass, we placed a milk crate on a folded towel and ran the line through some of the holes in the sides of the crate. Once all of this was rigged, we cleaned the old glue from the window, blew out any remaining debris from the seam with a dive tank, and pumped in a tube of 5200 marine adhesive. The halyard was tensioned, and the whole system worked just as we planned. A better job could not have been done in a shipyard, and that window never moved or leaked again.

Quite pleased with our efforts, it was time to go exploring. The owner's mother was busy trying to explain to a couple of Indians that she wanted some fresh crabs and we volunteered to go fishing with them. They kindly obliged and we climbed down into the canoe armed with the fanciest masks, fins, and spears that money could buy. Their gear, in contrast, was a mixed bag of items that had been scavenged and repaired many times over. Neither of them had a matching set of fins, and both of their masks looked like they had been left to them by Cousteau's team. We paddled our way out to a site beyond one of the reefs on the leeward side of the island. One of the fishermen tied the long bow line around his waist, and all of us went over the side. Jiorgos and I watched as they made their first descent so as to follow their lead. Down they went, fifty feet to the bottom and stayed there for some time looking through holes in the reef and under rocks, pulling massive crabs out with short sticks and wire loops. Neither of us could reach the depths they were so comfortable working in, and the outing quickly turned into a snorkeling trip for the two gringos.