The Voyages of Seadog

By Roger Moore

The author is not a famous author. However, he has a few friends who know his knack for smuggling. They suggested that he should write a book. It has taken many years and notes to accomplish this. This time period is from 1969 to 1972. During this time, he worked for the airlines. There were a lot of slow periods, and he was allowed to take off to continue his sailing days. This book is about the early days of smuggling. President Nixon declared a war on drugs that is continuing today. Marijuana was classified as a number-one drug, the likes of which include heroin and cocaine. After years of incarcerating persons involved with marijuana, our prisons are overflowing. In today’s world, the acceptance of marijuana is not as bad as it was depicted. The states are slowly accepting legal marijuana. If the United States had accepted the fact that marijuana is not so bad, the treasury would be overflowing by now. We hope you enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645313052

Roger Moore

Sir Roger Moore KBE had an extraordinary career that spanned seven decades, from early television to the golden age of Hollywood and on to international superstardom. Dashing, handsome and every inch the archetypal English gentleman, he was unforgettable as The Saint, as Lord Brett Sinclair in The Persuaders and, of course, as James Bond, making seven blockbusting films as arguably the most debonair of the 007s.

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The Voyages of

Seadog

Roger Moore

Copyright © 2019 Roger Moore

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2019

ISBN 978-1-64531-304-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64531-305-2 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

1990

1967

Gulf Star

Striker Sport Fish

Cher

Life Is Good!

Tarus!

#1 Gulfstar Sailboat 36'0"

Left Fort Lauderdale

Through Bahamas

Through Windward Pass to Jamaica

Return just the opposite

#2 Striker Sportfish 42'0"

Left Fort Lauderdale

To Memory Light, Grand Bahama Bank

Return to Miami

#3 Cher Sailboat 42'0"

Trips 1 and 2 to Jamaica

Same Route as Gulfstar

Return to Miami

Trip 3 to Colombia

#4 Tarus Power Yacht 47'0"

Trip 1 left Fort Lauderdale, to Jamaica; same passage as Gulfstar

Trip 2 Return stopped by Coast Guard in Windward Passage—Busted!

1990

Ihave always wanted to write a book about an event in my life. There were times when I thought this was a period that would be of interest to someone or maybe anyone. I think this is the time. First of all, I don’t feel like I’m your everyday person, but then again, maybe I am. This story could be fiction, but I hope you think it is not.

I get out of bed on a slow morning, thinking of the job ahead at the marina. After having breakfast, I feed my dogs. I have two Dobermans; their names are Bear and Roxy. The male is Bear, and the female is Roxy. I give my wife a kiss before I leave, go downstairs, start my truck, and put in my eight hours. I notice the clouds are turning a dark shade of gray with a pink tint and just a hint of red. "Red sky in the morning, sailor be warned," I think; it is a sailor’s omen. I open the gates at the front of my property and head down the dirt road to the old brick road, as it is called in my neighborhood. The birds are everywhere as this is springtime, and now is when my nightmare begins. As I turn left and accelerate down the road, I notice a gray car that is parked maybe a couple of thousand feet in front of me. It starts heading at a high rate of speed toward me, and its driver seems to have a purpose, I sense that the act is not being done in my best interest. Also at the same time, I see in my rearview mirror three more vehicles rushing toward me. The gray car pulls right in front of me and stops. My first impression is a mix of confusion and apprehension. Why are these people in front and behind me?

The answer to my question comes in the form of flashing blue lights. Police? I think. The vehicles behind me also have flashing blue lights. The gray Chevrolet stops, and three people emerge from it with guns that are pointed at me. The first thing I notice other than the guns are the blue jackets that have FBI on them. As the first FBI agent approaches the car, he tells me to roll down my window, and that is exactly what I do. He asks for my name, and I give it to him. The FBI agent informs me that I have to go back to my house, and he says he has a search warrant for it. Being the inquisitive type, I ask them for what is going on. The response is We have a search warrant for your house. You will accompany us back to the house! I start to get back in my truck, and the FBI agent tells me he will drive me back and orders me to sit in the passenger side. I want to protest but don’t because he has a gun and seems to be in charge. As we drive back to my home, he asks, Who else is in the house?

I respond, My wife.

Do you have firearms in the house?

I reply, Yes.

At this point, we are approaching the house, and all four cars pull into my driveway.

Actually, I am getting way ahead of myself. I need to go back twenty-three years to 1967 in order to really start my story on why this is happening to me.

1967

Iam twenty-five years old, and I work for the airlines as a mechanic (a Heliarc welder). I am divorced with two young boys, and I live in a two-story apartment complex of about thirty separate apartment units. It is a nice complex; it is close to my work, has a swimming pool, and has lots of young couples and singles, especially young women. I have nice neighbors and friends. My apartment is a one-bedroom unit since I am single, of course. It is decorated with a waterbed. The bedroom has black walls and black lights, and posters of Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and several others are on the walls. One of my neighbors, Debbie, is an artist, and she painted Day-Glo drawings on the walls. The room also has other things that are normal for a hippie. I hope you get the picture. I guess if you were my age then, this would be easier to understand.

On a Friday night, two of my old school chums knock on my door. I haven’t seen them in years and am quite surprised to see them. I ask them what they have been doing and for the reason for the surprise visit. I invite them in and open up the fridge to get us all a beer. Well, it seems they just returned from Mexico in Michael’s Corvette. They somehow smuggled ninety-five pounds of marijuana in the spare tire of the car. They want to know if I knew anyone who could help sell the pot. First of all, I did not do drugs of any kind at this point. Second, I knew only two people who actually smoked pot—my artist friend and a hippie buddy at work. I say I would check it out. They decide to spend the weekend with me, and we party. As I said, I had never done drugs before. The next day is Saturday, and we are just hanging out at the apartment when Debbie comes by. She is drinking beer and watching TV with my buddies when Michael decided to ask Debbie if she smoked pot. He receives a positive answer, and they start rolling up and smoking joints while watching TV. It does not smell bad at all; it is a kind of sweet aroma. I am asked to at least try it. Boy, was I in for a surprise! We were watching cartoons, and I could not stop laughing; it started to actually hurt. Everything was funny; it was my first experience with pot and certainly was not my last.

For the next couple of weeks, I help them sell some of the stash. It is not a very good experience. I have a lot of trouble while chasing down the deadbeats. I make about $900, but I don’t think the trouble is worth it. Anyway my two friends leave happy and say they will stay in touch and get back with me. After they leave, I roll myself a joint and have a beer. I go to work the next day and resume my regular schedule.

Gulf Star

Months later, I get a call from them. We have a proposition for you, and we are coming down to discuss it. Will you be available?

I ask, When are you coming?

We will be there this weekend.

Sure enough, they come and knock on my door. There are also three other guys from Ohio with them. These three guys are racing sailors and have been racing for years. I am introduced to Jerry, the Hulk, and Frank. After the introductions and a few beers, Michael asks me if I would be interested in making $10,000 in a month. Wow! I exclaim. It really tickles my interest. What do I have to do in order to make that much money?

They want me to be their engineer and keep the mechanical parts of their boat running. Boat? I ask.

Yes, Michael says. We are going to go to Jamaica and bring back some ganja, also known as marijuana.

This proposition is starting to sound very interesting. I tell them I would think about it and let them know my answer in a couple of days.

I had to think about my job, my kids, and what would happen if I got arrested—serious stuff! Back then, the penalty for smuggling—and that’s what it was—wasn’t as serious as it is today.

I talk to my boss the next day and ask about a leave of absence. It isn’t a problem because there is an austerity program at work; he says I could take off. I would not receive a paycheck but retain my seniority, flight benefits (since I worked at the airlines), and my health insurance. I had saved enough to be able to take off for about two months and could pay my child-support duty, rent, etc.

I call my buddies and say, When are we leaving? I am ready to go.

First of all, I am considered a boater. I had boats with my dad, friends, etc., and was familiar with being on lakes, canals, and Biscayne Bay. However, I had zero experience with sailboats and never crossed the Gulf Stream. I had no real blue-water experience at all. And now I am getting ready to sail almost two thousand miles to a remote island in order to sail back with a load of marijuana. It was exciting and also a little scary.

Michael calls me and tells me to meet them in a marina at Fort Lauderdale the following week; they want to check out the sailboat they are going to rent and set up a schedule for our vacation. I ask my boss for the leave of absence and take care of other personal things.

The following week, I meet them and the three sailors at the marina. They have chartered a thirty-four-foot Gulfstar sailboat. They have rented the boat for a month in the Bahamas, starting the following week. While inspecting the vessel’s engine room, I realize it is not a gasoline engine but a diesel one. Oh! I don’t know a thing about a diesel engine, I think. I explain this to the crew, but they do not understand it. I tell them, I have never worked on a diesel engine. I have worked on a lot of gasoline engines. They are two different kinds of animals.

Michael says, Not to worry. We will just go out and buy a diesel-engine book that will tell you how to repair and do maintenance.

Okay!

I thought I could just read the manual as I did the repairs, which I ended up doing on more than one occasion. With the manual, I was able to figure out what spares would be needed for the trip.

That evening, we start making the list for the provisions for the boat. We are going to need food for a month even though we would be stopping at ports. We need spares such as engine parts, tools, the repair kits for the things that are going to break, and lots of booze. The following two days, we shop and shop and shop. We then stow and organize all our supplies. We are ready to leave the next day.

It’s early in the morning, and my girlfriend has dropped me off at the marina. I have my tools, clothes, diving gear, foul-weather gear, and engine manual in hand. I’m ready to go! You have no idea how scared I was. But I am a tough cookie and almost willing to do almost anything to make $10,000—as long as no one gets hurt, of course!

After disconnecting the shore-power and dock lines, we leave the dock under engine power. We follow the channel out to the entrance of Fort Lauderdale. After going through the inlet and setting the sails, we set our course for the Bimini island chain in the Bahamas. It is roughly fifty miles away from