Those of you who have spent your boating career on the west coast, in particular Albertan immigrants in Victoria, probably have yearned for warmer climates and higher sea water temperature. Heed my warning. Life in the tropics truly is a white man's burden. With this little tale, I hope to convince you not to make the rash decision of moving lock, stock and floating barrel to within 1406 nautical miles of the equator.

Picture this scene. It is summer, not that the temperature is any different in winter. A light trade wind is blowing across the mangrove estuary. The time is noon, with the mercury sliding past the 35 degree mark and humidity high enough to keep sweat running down the chests of four sailors supine under a faded canvas sun shade.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Dunno, mate. She looks nice, alright."

"Yea, nice lines. Bet she'd move. Got the right shape, that's for certain."

"Sure looks like a winner. Why don't we take her out for a spin?"

"I'll think about it. Hey Bob, pass me another beer, will you."

"No way, mate! I got the beer last time. Just because you're the skipper doesn't mean you run things around here. Send Fred."

"Fred. Fred! Get us a beer will you, mate."

A sunburnt arm lifted a straw hat from off sunburnt eyes. "You talkin' to me?"

"Yeah, it's your turn to get the beer."

The straw hat slid back down hiding the peeling face. "Later, it's too hot to move now. Get that little kid over there to fetch the cans."

"Are you lot going to argue about this all day! I'll get the damn beer" A lanky individual raised himself to sitting position, took a couple of deep breaths and stood up.

"Take it easy George, you nearly kicked my good paint brushes into the water, they cost me a fortune, those brushes did. Speaking of which, when are you lazy bunch going to finish the varnishing?" the skipper asked.

"Too hot" George said as he disappeared into the cabin.

"You said that last weekend and the weekend before and the weekend before that. Before long it will be wet season and it'll be impossible to paint."

"Easy, mate. We'll get it done. Here, get this into you, you'll feel a bit better. By the way, you're out of beer. These four cans are the last."

"Next time I'll leave the beer home to stop you lot drinking it" grumbled the skipper.

"Cut it out you two, quit arguing and admire the little beauty over there."

"Yeah, Tim and I were just deciding to have a closer look. Fred, you always wanted one like that, why don't you go over and make an offer."

"Too hot" said Fred.

"Wadda ya mean! Too hot. You're just lazy, go on Fred, make a move."

"Later, I don't want to leave this shade. Tim should go, he hasn't had much luck lately."

"Well Tim, You don't want to miss out on this one. You won't see another like her for a while. Nice lines, mate! Very nice lines. A go-er, a real go-er. Pretty smooth finish, well rounded topsides, stylish. Yep! I'd say you shouldn't miss out on this one. Go on Tim. Make one of your famous offers."

"Looks expensive to me" Tim replied.

"Come on, now. Just because you spent all your money on the last one doesn't mean that this time it will be the same. Nope, I think you can afford it, what with being a lawyer and all that, you must be rolling in dough."

Tim snorted. "Little do you know! Okay, I'll go over later, I'm too comfortable right now to move, besides it's too hot."

"Go for a swim. That'll cool you down."

"Ha! Like hell. If the shark don't get me, the crocodiles will. You first!"

"Never been much of a swimmer myself. I prefer to be three feet above the water than under it."

Fred raised himself onto his elbows, looked around and stated "While you young fools have been arguing about who was going to go over, you've missed your opportunity. She's gone."

"What! Oh no!"

"Never mind that, maybe next weekend you'll get another chance" Fred replied.

"Hey! Come on down to the pub with me, there's no more beer here. Who knows, she might be there."

Tim's eyes lit up " Yeah. Nice body huh, nice bikini too."

As the three young males clambered onto the dock, the skipper shouted "What about the work you promised to do? When are you going to help me finish it?"

"Next weekend, mate".