Acajutla and Corinto

In 1978 0r so I sailed onboard the US flag Del Oro (Delta Lines) from San Francisco and made a number of stops along the West Coast in Central and South America.. I had been sailing since 1970, mostly out of Houston and New York and mostly to India or Europe. This was real liner service. Break bulk freight and less than 12 passengers. A steam ship. Delta was famous for their Brazilian and West African runs out of New Orleans and I had never been privileged enough seniority-wise with the Union to be able to get one of those jobs.. Rumors had it that those mariners had two families, one at each end of the run, which motivated them to tie up the jobs forever.. So be it. I had found the West Coast on another ship and had come back to investigate when I saw this job on the board at the hall in Seattle. I made it back thru E. Oregon to drop off my Grandfather's truck and to the Bay area and got aboard in time to sail.



Our first stop was Guatemala but we only lightered cargo to barges offshore and were on our way. First real port was Acajutla, El Salvador.. I remember that the pier jutted out into the Pacific and the main street was blocks of concrete that were upset from tree roots and such and there were very few cars. We walked far enough to find a beer and went back to the ship relatively intact. My knowledge of politics in those regions was in the blissfully ignorant category. Just as well.



The deck officers on this ship were the first guys that were even remotely close in age to me and the other 20 something deck hands. The Captain was probably 40 and the Mate might have been 30. I'd been to sea with the WW II generation up until then and this was an exciting revelation! These guys talked to us instead of barking commands! They would even put their hands on the same work we were doing! And best of all, they told us what their jobs consisted of as they worked! The Old Man was a really good and somewhat daring ship handler and he would talk to us while he did it! It opened up my mind, heart and soul to the possibilities of a life at sea. one in which I would someday do those things to which I had so far only been a silent witness. An indentured servant who hadn't managed to work off my debt.



We pulled into Corinto, Nicaragua. This port is on a river and at that time there were no tugs. We approached the wooden dock and as I was on the wheel I learned that the thing to do in that case, with a 700' ship, is to let go the offshore (starboard) anchor and continue stemming the river current, moving ahead. At that point you can put some left wheel on the ship and let the anchor chain pay out twds the dock as you move ahead. It is similar to coming alonside a moving vessel as far as rudder work. When we departed the rudder was set to port to lift the stern off the dock and the chain hauled in to bring the bow around. At that point you don't want your anchor to hang up in a snag on the bottom as the ship gathers steam to gain steerage way down river.



Once we were all fast, the Captain called down to us on deck to "go ashore, I'll blow the whistle for you when the cargo's been unloaded". It was a small town and we were more than happy to comply with that order. We made a beeline up the street away from the dock to the first cantina we could find. When we walked in (there were six of us) there were five or six really mad looking girls sitting away from the bar in a tight little group. Two other young women in army uniforms came out of the back room and the bar tender explained that if we wanted girls those two were it for the day. They explained that they were Sandinistas and their dettachment was still fighting in the hills outside of town. They had been sent to town to get some money for "more bullets". Two of the members of the deck department, brothers from Alabama, did not hesitate in seizing this unique opportunity and quickly disappeared into the back room!



The rest of us went back to the little park in town, where we miraculously met two "normal" girls who were eager to talk to us! After some pleasant formalities they asked us to follow them and off we went, right back to the cantina! When they realized they would have to join the crowd and support the Sandinista cause they shrugged and put some money in the juke box and ordered lunch. Pretty soon the whistle blew and we all ran back down the street in the hot Nicaraguan afternoon sun. Steam was gotten up, lines were thrown off and stowed and we sailed with a deck load of bananas! The Capt wouldn't say much about it except that him and the agent had agreed that this was the best way to get this extra cargo to the next port. I don't think Delta Lines knew or cared.



Our next port was Buena Ventura, Colombia.