We four had grown up together in Miami, went to school together and were all American born Spanish speaking Cubans. Catching fish was not important. Roberto, Tomas, Juan, and I— Geraldo—used fishing as an excuse to relax with a few beers. If we caught anything, we considered it a bonus, because it was the camaraderie that counted. I will never forget that day, because what happened just after high noon was about to change our lives forever. We’d gone through half our beer supply when off in the distance I spotted something floating in the water, and the current was bringing it toward my Robalo, equipped with a single Johnson 235 horsepower outboard engine. The thing in the water was white, but I couldn’t make out any details with my bare eyes. I got out the cheap catalog binoculars I kept on the boat just for such a find. “It’s a cooler,” I said. We all just watched as the tide, waves and wind did the work of bringing the cooler right to the boat.
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