A Thief in Luperon Harbor: Is Past Prologue?

​By PETER SWANSON
Luperon Harbor in the Dominican Republic has a swimmer, at least I think so. Others think thieves are coming to the anchored cruising boats in native craft. That’s possible too. It’s also possible that the perpetrator is another cruiser, not a Dominican. In the most recent case, reported this week, a cruiser posted on Facebook that a large amount of cash had been stolen from his boat while he was ashore.

First of all, Luperon is a generally secure place for cruisers to visit. Truly. And it's one of the region's truly great hurricane holes. It’s just that every once in a while someone decides to hit the boats for valuables. Sooner or later he or they will be caught or decide to quit while ahead. As neighborhood-watch measures go into effect and the Navy and police get involved, something will happen to make the robberies stop.

Over the decades I’ve spent three years cumulative anchored in Luperon, and I base my supposition that the thief is a swimmer because twice in the past it was a swimmer, and we knew it was a swimmer because we saw the swimmer swimming.

One swimmer case is actually a funny story about Dominican justice, which I’ve always wanted to write about. But first:

A boat that was broken into earlier this season—before the break-in that prompted this article—is owned by a retired American law enforcement officer and security expert, who recently arrived in the harbor from the Bahamas.  He says it had to be someone coming off a boat because:

1. There was very little water on their boat left by the thief, and a swimmer would have left more.
2. Their boat was 600 feet from shore and that’s too far for a swimmer. And enough distance to make it difficult to observe a small boat.
   
   

My take:

1. I don’t know the physics of drying time for water shed from a guy wearing, let’s say, only a pair of cotton briefs. Point to the retired trooper. However…
2. Someone in a boat would have been very easy to observe. Luperon Harbor is surrounded by high bluffs, so you never know who is watching. Plus there’s a lot of cruiser dinghy traffic in the harbor, so you never know who would see a suspicious “cayuco” dropping someone at an anchored boat whose owners are clearly away because their dinghy is gone.
3. Almost all cayucos are used by local fishermen, so assuming a boat was used suggests that a local fisherman was involved, which I do not recall ever having been the case up to and through my various tenures in the harbor.
4. If the cayuco in question was not local, the fishermen would immediately notice something was amiss—a fact any non-local, native thieves would beware.
5. Generally speaking, nothing of any importance stays secret in a small Dominican village, so if a boat were used, it would likely be observed and word would quickly spread. Whereas a lone-wolf swimmer would have a better chance of remaining anonymous, particularly if he were not from Luperon to begin with.
6. Dominicans don’t like thieves, particularly if they are bringing harm to the local economy, so if a boat were used, it would suggest a certain amount of tolerance for the thieves by the local population. I do not believe for one minute that Luperon’s people would tolerate thieves preying on the harbor. We are talking the possibility of frontier justice.
7. If a boat were used, the thieves would likely have taken more than cash and jewelry. Small electronic devices such as tablets are in great demand in the D.R., and they are concealable. A swimmer would not be able get these things to shore without ruining them. (The law enforcement guy maintains that any thieves would be too smart to steal anything as identifiable as someone’s iPad.)
8. Dominicans are damned athletic people. Even the scrawny members of my catamaran crew in Puerto Plata were seriously strong guys. A 600-foot swim? Not a big deal.
   
   

And how do I know that? Because back in 1999, we had an extremely athletic guy raiding our boats in the harbor. He was hoisting himself up the slab sides of some pretty big vessels with ease, and he struck at every corner of the bay. He was bold. When he was seen, the alarms would sound, VHF would squelch and cruisers jumped into their inflatables to give chase. He’d always swim to the mangroves before anyone could reach him.

Finally, we decided that we had to go over he heads of local Naval authorities who seemed powerless to stop this veritable Tarzan of the campo, so we asked for a meeting with the regional Navy boss in Puerto Plata, and it was granted. Bruce van Sant, my good friend and famous cruising guide author, led the delegation.

Speaking pretty good Spanish, Van Sant harangued the captain in his inimitable style, reminding him of the damage that would happen to the Luperon economy if cruisers stayed away, and why was it that the mighty Dominican Navy could not stop one man in a speedo? The officer listened politely with gritted teeth and, after we left, made a call to Santo Domingo.

Authorities in the Capital soon dispatched a couple of military intelligence officers to Luperon, and they almost immediately made an arrest, taking away a man who made his living gathering crabs among the mangrove roots. The thieving stopped, and all was right in the harbor. The arrested man had a criminal record; he had once been caught stealing a transistor radio (remember those?).

We cruisers all patted ourselves on the back, and the harbor returned to normal.

A week or so later, I was talking to one of my favorite shopkeepers. “Wasn’t it good,” I asked, “that the police arrested the harbor thief?” Her look told me she didn’t agree. “What’s the matter, the thief was caught, right?”

“No the thief was not caught,” she said, explaining that the crabber was intellectually disabled. “Besides, Eduardo never learned to swim. He cannot swim!” It took my breath away; we had been celebrating the incarceration of a poor and clearly innocent man.

Still the real thief got the message and quit pilfering. His absence from the harbor was further “proof” that the security service guys had the right man. The real thief or someone else like him returned at some point later on and conducted a few swimming raids. Once he (we assumed it was the same guy) actually tried burglarizing a boat in the marina. Freddy, now known locally as Repuestos Freddy because of his marine store, chased the thief through the mangroves with a locked and loaded pistol, but the man got away, never to be caught either.

So, back to today: Whether I’m correct based on history and a modicum of local knowledge or the new guy with the long police resume is correct, one thing is for certain: This too shall pass. Do not miss a chance to visit Luperon because of a momentary distortion of the space-time continuum. And for God’s sake, a boat is full of great hiding places, can you please not keep your cash and jewels in a drawer?
 
 
 

A cayuco is a typical Dominican workboat.

Before moving to Puerto Plata a few years ago, cruising guide author Bruce Van Sant lived in a home overlooking Luperon Harbor with his wife Rosa.