But don't take our word for it. Hell, you might have been in Havana when Dos Hermanos hopped the Pilar, or fishing the flats of Christmas Island when we came flying just ten feet over the thatched roofs on our way south.

But those are just stories amigos, everyday the wind brings new faces and places. And maņana, hell, maņana's not a time or place, it's a lifestyle...the pulse of the ocean...the heading on our compass, the faces we remember...

And you might be sitting on that barstool somewhere, spilling your guts to your bartender---because you had to tell someone---when the federales come a knockin' with their pistols drawn, looking for the one who...

well, no dramas.

Just lean back, have a swig of whatever you're drinking, and tell em, "Never happened compadres, stuff like that could never happen, just the whiskey talking..."