August 8, 2012
Portobelo, PANAMA
Piracy is alive and well in the Caribbean. On August 30th, Capt. Cliff Vaughs lost his ship The Amistad to a crew of well-organized pirates. I am posting here his report to the American Embassy.
Acts of violence on boats are, unfortunately, too frequent. From petty theft of dinghies, engines, computers and VHF radio, they have escalated to attacking, raping, wounding and even killing boaters in order steal their goods. In the case of Capt. "Medianoche" Cliff, he lost everything but his life.
Boaters are always at the mercy of bad weather, mechanical failure, loss of power. Any one of these conditions can put the boat in a vulnerable position, ripe for attack. Just a few months ago, off of that very same coast of Honduras, at 0300, during JP's shift, DOMINO's starboard engine shut off. A few seconds later, her port engine shut off. What were the odds of both engines running out of fuel at the same time? Well, it happened. We had been in a rush to make the trip from the Hobbies to Bocas del Toro, preoccupied about our son-in-law Ace who was in a comatose state at UCI trauma center, and we had forgotten to transfer fuel from the main tanks to the day tanks. Forgot on both engines. And, by some improbable fate, both tanks ran out of fuel at the same time. We were totally disabled, sitting ducks in a pirate-infested region. JP went to work while I checked the horizon. Rocking in the 4' swells, JP started the fuel transfer, bled the fuel lines, the fuel filters, and primed and pumped, rigged a bypass to prime the engines faster, while I kept an eye on three boats stopped about a mile away from us. Three lights: fishing boats? Pirates? It took JP about 3 hours to get the starboard engine started and I could not get away fast enough... 7 knots on one engine was barely good enough. Another 2 hours later he had the port engine going and I whooped, DOMINO trotting away at a happy 12 knots, until we got her to a 20-kt gallop! Whatever was out-there, those 3 lights, could have well been pirates and they could have swooped in on us and taken everything. We had gotten complacent with our routine, forgot to fuel up for the night, and we put ourselves at risk. Everybody makes mistakes. We learned from that one. We got lucky and JP is getting better and better at solving problems. Bleeding the fuel system on a rocking ship? Checked!
Now, here is Cliff's story.
" Official Incident Report S/V Amistad piracy off Honduras
Posted by: "Laurie Felker Jones" lauriefelkerjones@gmail.com somanybeaches
Date: Tue Aug 7, 2012 11:56 am ((PDT))
Incident July 30, 2012, Catarasca Lagoon,
Honduras
On July 27, 2012 I was at anchor on Varillas Bank, Honduras. The Fuerza
Naval Honduras boarded my vessel, S/V Amistad ( U.S. Documented 63135) to
examine my documents. I asked for assistance in obtaining a quantity of
transmission fluid (ATF Type A). They had non on board their patrol boat
but agreed to inquire of fishing boats in the area. The following day they
returned to indicate that none of the boats in the area carried the
transmission fluid I required.. They advised me to go to Catarasca Lagoon
where I would find a store to buy the fluid.
I broadcast a “Pawn” advisory concerning my intentions to enter Catarasca
Lagoon. I arrived the evening of 29 July, 2012 and not wanting to try the
entrance in darkness I anchored nearby. That night a squall occurred. High
winds, stormy seas. I was blown off my anchor about five miles westward and
deposited on a shoal bank.
I immediately broadcast a distress signal. “Mayday” giving my name , name
of my vessel and position. I continued broadcasting a distress signal each
fifteen minutes. There was no response although I sighted three
unidentified vessels nearby. Direct calls to the Fuerza Naval Honduras went
unanswered.
A small open boat approached to offer assistance. The outboard he used for
propulsion was insufficient to tow me off the shoal. He left and said he
would contact the nearby authorities. He left aboard my boat a crewmember
who manned the VHF and presumably was in contact with the Fuerza Naval
Honduras or other authority. I could hear the conversation but was unable
to actually translate under the circumstances.
A group of men boarded my vessel and began to disconnect the anchor rode. I
restrained them and ordered them ashore.
In retrospect they wanted to assure themselves that I was alone. They
returned later in force, about fifteen men, bound me and began to remove
everything from my boat. The identified “crewman” was with them. The man in
the small boat also.
I went overboard to the beach with the clothes on my back. My two
computers, three GPS units, cellular phone, four hundred dollars in US
money ,ship batteries, 150 gallons diesel fuel, sails, Compass, four
anchors, clothing, three months provisions…the inventory is extensive…gone.
I was told that the naval station was five miles away to the east. The
beach ended at the jungle. I turned back in despair. A torrential rain
began. I could see the “pirate” boat standing a bit offshore. Some of the
men had come from there. The remainder had appeared out of “nowhere”.
As I returned to the scene I watched as load after load was removed from my
boat and disappeared into the jungle. I was quite exhausted. I prevailed on
them not to leave me to perish on this uninhabited beach. A young boy was
chosen to lead me out through the jungle to a “house”. He sympathetic,
handed me a billfold, small, containing a life saving Debit card and
Passport.
Two hours through thick underbrush. Swampland. At times wading through
chest high water we entered a clearing with several houses. I looked around
and saw the contents of my boat strewn on the ground with a long line of
bearers coming through the jungle loaded with more.
The owner of the settlement was the man who had arrived that morning to
query me.
They gave me a glass of water and bade me wait on the raised porch of the
main dwelling. Four hours later I was urged into a small boat for a two
hour journey to Lempira.
On the way to Lempira we stopped at a station of the Fuerza Naval Honduras.
They were conversant with each other. I saw no real possibility of appeal.
Miles away a different world.
One curious aspect though. ..I was walking through the streets when a man
called out “Capitan, Capitan” there’s a phone call for you. The pirates
apparently being friends locally had used my cellular phone to call my
Chief Mate in the States. It was her, tearfully looking for me. She had
been given the number of my captor.
So they are all complicit in this matter.
6 August, 2012
Atlanta, Georgia
Clifford A. Vaughs
Captain
S/V Amistad"![]()
Portobelo, PANAMA
Piracy is alive and well in the Caribbean. On August 30th, Capt. Cliff Vaughs lost his ship The Amistad to a crew of well-organized pirates. I am posting here his report to the American Embassy.
 |
| Portobelo Bay: Four Spanish forts defend the bay against pirate attacks... not always successfully. |
Acts of violence on boats are, unfortunately, too frequent. From petty theft of dinghies, engines, computers and VHF radio, they have escalated to attacking, raping, wounding and even killing boaters in order steal their goods. In the case of Capt. "Medianoche" Cliff, he lost everything but his life.
Boaters are always at the mercy of bad weather, mechanical failure, loss of power. Any one of these conditions can put the boat in a vulnerable position, ripe for attack. Just a few months ago, off of that very same coast of Honduras, at 0300, during JP's shift, DOMINO's starboard engine shut off. A few seconds later, her port engine shut off. What were the odds of both engines running out of fuel at the same time? Well, it happened. We had been in a rush to make the trip from the Hobbies to Bocas del Toro, preoccupied about our son-in-law Ace who was in a comatose state at UCI trauma center, and we had forgotten to transfer fuel from the main tanks to the day tanks. Forgot on both engines. And, by some improbable fate, both tanks ran out of fuel at the same time. We were totally disabled, sitting ducks in a pirate-infested region. JP went to work while I checked the horizon. Rocking in the 4' swells, JP started the fuel transfer, bled the fuel lines, the fuel filters, and primed and pumped, rigged a bypass to prime the engines faster, while I kept an eye on three boats stopped about a mile away from us. Three lights: fishing boats? Pirates? It took JP about 3 hours to get the starboard engine started and I could not get away fast enough... 7 knots on one engine was barely good enough. Another 2 hours later he had the port engine going and I whooped, DOMINO trotting away at a happy 12 knots, until we got her to a 20-kt gallop! Whatever was out-there, those 3 lights, could have well been pirates and they could have swooped in on us and taken everything. We had gotten complacent with our routine, forgot to fuel up for the night, and we put ourselves at risk. Everybody makes mistakes. We learned from that one. We got lucky and JP is getting better and better at solving problems. Bleeding the fuel system on a rocking ship? Checked!
Now, here is Cliff's story.
" Official Incident Report S/V Amistad piracy off Honduras
Posted by: "Laurie Felker Jones" lauriefelkerjones@gmail.com somanybeaches
Date: Tue Aug 7, 2012 11:56 am ((PDT))
Incident July 30, 2012, Catarasca Lagoon,
Honduras
On July 27, 2012 I was at anchor on Varillas Bank, Honduras. The Fuerza
Naval Honduras boarded my vessel, S/V Amistad ( U.S. Documented 63135) to
examine my documents. I asked for assistance in obtaining a quantity of
transmission fluid (ATF Type A). They had non on board their patrol boat
but agreed to inquire of fishing boats in the area. The following day they
returned to indicate that none of the boats in the area carried the
transmission fluid I required.. They advised me to go to Catarasca Lagoon
where I would find a store to buy the fluid.
I broadcast a “Pawn” advisory concerning my intentions to enter Catarasca
Lagoon. I arrived the evening of 29 July, 2012 and not wanting to try the
entrance in darkness I anchored nearby. That night a squall occurred. High
winds, stormy seas. I was blown off my anchor about five miles westward and
deposited on a shoal bank.
I immediately broadcast a distress signal. “Mayday” giving my name , name
of my vessel and position. I continued broadcasting a distress signal each
fifteen minutes. There was no response although I sighted three
unidentified vessels nearby. Direct calls to the Fuerza Naval Honduras went
unanswered.
A small open boat approached to offer assistance. The outboard he used for
propulsion was insufficient to tow me off the shoal. He left and said he
would contact the nearby authorities. He left aboard my boat a crewmember
who manned the VHF and presumably was in contact with the Fuerza Naval
Honduras or other authority. I could hear the conversation but was unable
to actually translate under the circumstances.
A group of men boarded my vessel and began to disconnect the anchor rode. I
restrained them and ordered them ashore.
In retrospect they wanted to assure themselves that I was alone. They
returned later in force, about fifteen men, bound me and began to remove
everything from my boat. The identified “crewman” was with them. The man in
the small boat also.
I went overboard to the beach with the clothes on my back. My two
computers, three GPS units, cellular phone, four hundred dollars in US
money ,ship batteries, 150 gallons diesel fuel, sails, Compass, four
anchors, clothing, three months provisions…the inventory is extensive…gone.
I was told that the naval station was five miles away to the east. The
beach ended at the jungle. I turned back in despair. A torrential rain
began. I could see the “pirate” boat standing a bit offshore. Some of the
men had come from there. The remainder had appeared out of “nowhere”.
As I returned to the scene I watched as load after load was removed from my
boat and disappeared into the jungle. I was quite exhausted. I prevailed on
them not to leave me to perish on this uninhabited beach. A young boy was
chosen to lead me out through the jungle to a “house”. He sympathetic,
handed me a billfold, small, containing a life saving Debit card and
Passport.
Two hours through thick underbrush. Swampland. At times wading through
chest high water we entered a clearing with several houses. I looked around
and saw the contents of my boat strewn on the ground with a long line of
bearers coming through the jungle loaded with more.
The owner of the settlement was the man who had arrived that morning to
query me.
They gave me a glass of water and bade me wait on the raised porch of the
main dwelling. Four hours later I was urged into a small boat for a two
hour journey to Lempira.
On the way to Lempira we stopped at a station of the Fuerza Naval Honduras.
They were conversant with each other. I saw no real possibility of appeal.
Miles away a different world.
One curious aspect though. ..I was walking through the streets when a man
called out “Capitan, Capitan” there’s a phone call for you. The pirates
apparently being friends locally had used my cellular phone to call my
Chief Mate in the States. It was her, tearfully looking for me. She had
been given the number of my captor.
So they are all complicit in this matter.
6 August, 2012
Atlanta, Georgia
Clifford A. Vaughs
Captain
S/V Amistad"
