Hub - How Nelson the Chief Officer Got the Nickname

How Nelson the Chief Officer Got the Nickname “Mapache” (Raccoon)

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. This story is entirely fictional and meant only to entertain.

An old captain friend ropes me into cooking for a crew delivering a boat to Southern California via the Panama Canal, departing from St. Thomas, USVI. Now, this wasn’t your average professional team; this crew had all the sophistication of a drunken frat house reunion, featuring guys who acted more like they’d escaped a sailor-themed fraternity than passed a job interview. And guess who the chief mate was? A guy named Nelson—yes, like the legendary British admiral. But let’s just say the only thing our Nelson had in common with the great naval hero was the name. This guy was a disaster on two legs, and over time, he would become the muse for many of my future tales of woe and wonder.

So here I am, the “wise elder” among the crew, trying to focus on the crossing prep while the rest of them are more interested in getting hammered and chasing spring-break romance than preparing for any sort of responsible journey. Now, if you’re experienced like me, you know not to go on a booze-fueled bender the night before a crossing. This is the time to ensure things are in order, double-check supplies, and make sure the crew isn’t too wrecked to set sail. But try telling that to a bunch of college-age kids on a tropical island filled with, let’s say, ample “distractions.” So instead of lecturing, I pointed out the places not to go.

Naturally, they all flock to the very dive I advised against—a local bar where drunk tourists are tolerated about as well as a hurricane, but where the college girls flock like moths to a flame, hunting for an “exotic island experience.” And, of course, our dear Nelson heads straight for a bombshell dancing alone, clearly hoping he’s found his ticket to paradise. Except, of course, he’s picked the one girl who happens to be dating the local version of Tony Montana. Cue the drama: as Nelson starts his “charismatic” approach, this island kingpin spots him, storms over, and delivers a Mike Tyson–level punch straight to Nelson’s face. By the time they scraped him off the floor and hauled him to the ER, he was barely recognizable and nearly down an eye.

Naturally, the next day’s departure was off, and our captain was not thrilled. Nelson hobbled back around noon, sporting what looked like a Halloween mask, with both eyes blackened to raccoon-level intensity. As a crew, we all felt for him. But I couldn’t help but remind them—had they listened to me about avoiding certain ahem hotspots the night before a crossing, Nelson might’ve been able to see out of both eyes and saved us the drama. But hey, who am I kidding? Drunk college girls and local beefcake bars are kryptonite to sailors.

Two days later, we finally set sail for the Panama Canal. After a much-needed stop for fuel and provisions, the captain laid down the law: nobody, and I mean nobody, was allowed to leave the boat. By this point, Nelson had healed enough to at least grin about it, and the whole raccoon-eye episode had turned into a running joke among the crew. Sailors, if anything, are kings of dark humor, and so Nelson—now sporting an uncanny resemblance to a raccoon—earned his new nickname: Mapache.