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When I returned down the trail and continued along, I began to hear wonderful
music: clarinet over a rhythm section softly playing traditional jazz. When a
voice rose it took me a moment to recognize Leon Redbone, whose music I had
first heard with friend Ron in Sioux Falls. The music was so to my mood and
the evening so pleasant, I paused in enjoyment. However, after some minutes I
began to feel I was overstaying my welcome, that I shouldn't be lurking outside
people's houses eavesdropping on their music. So I began to affect interest in
the ridge high above and the gardens nearby, and I made a great show of looking
up and bending down, all the while listening. Presently the door opened and a
voice called, "You like Leon Redbone? Come on in!" And in I went. My host was Bill, an 81-year-old native of Lyttleton, a retired sailor born into a seagoing family. He loved all of Leon Redbone's music and would admit to listening to nothing else. He also enjoyed rum and tonic, which he offered without ice. So it was that an introduction in South Dakota led to another in New Zealand. Bill had gone to sea at an early age and retired after well over fifty years in the merchant marine. He had sailed on tramp steamers and derelict cargo ships during the early years and particularly during WWII, and he spun, nonstop, harrowing tales of hard, dirty work with wretched food and poor living conditions. He told of jumping ship in California, where he met and came to idolize Harry Bridges, the organizer for the Longshoremen's Union. [Harry Bridges was born in Melbourne, Australia, in 1901 and came to the United States as a seaman at the age of 19.--Ed.] My host said that he had worked for a year as a logger in the California lumber camps, until someone "dimmed" him (turned him in) "over a woman." Immigration packed him off on a cargo ship bound for Asia via Vancouver, where he immediately jumped ship and worked for a while. But finally, wanting to go home, he shipped out on a tramp bound for Australia. It was diverted to Africa, then to China, by which time food was short and pay in arrears. There he noticed the interest Chinese workers took in bales of something he couldn't identify. He took a piece ashore and learned it was shark's fin, worth $50 US a bale. They began offloading a few on the night watch, then, to increase the amount, they brought in a mate and the cook. The cook? Yes, you can't keep anything from a cook. When they sailed again, the original 400 bales numbered just 80, but no matter, said the mate, the bills of lading had been lost. Periodically Bill would insist on another round because, "I'll be a long time starin' at the lid." He now lived in Australia part of the year because he found the Lyttleton winters too cold. Apparently the ridge above town blocks the winter sun for much of the day. (Earlier I had taken the "Open House" on a Realtor's sign at face value and walked in. It was a roomy two-bedroom, single bath cottage on a narrow lot with patio and long, unimproved garden to the rear: $45,000 US. How was it heated? It's not heated, I was told, it's insulated. Aha.) I later made some music CD's and dropped them off at Bill's place the day Revelle left for the Southern Ocean. He probably gave them away. | "You like
Leon Redbone? Come on in!"
He noticed the interest Chinese workers took in bales of something he couldn't identify. |
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Are Iceberg's Beautiful? January 20 This afternoon icebergs appeared quite unexpectedly. Last time down we first saw ice the size of coffee cans, then of bath tubs, cars, houses... This time there were suddenly icebergs, many and big, with no preamble. They are like giant white lean-tos with scultped, vertcal sides and a slant roof. It was deliciously disquieting. We were at 58-50 south, 172 west, and plans to work at 65 degrees south are now in question. At lunch today we had blithely talked of reaching the Antarctic circle. However, it lies almost 500 nautical miles south of here. The chances now seem slim indeed. Still, icebergs already. We don't know what to make of it. The Antarctic Circle is at 66-33 south. January 20 Currently: 61-37.89S / 170-45.71W / 10.3 Knt / 179.4 Hdg / 4097 Mtr Surface Temp = 1.674 Deg C Life preserver are worthless in this water. We'd be dead in five minutes. The water is now about 35F, yesterday it was still 43F. When working on deck we always wear life preservers, but should we fall overboard the ship couldn't turn around in time to save us. A vest would keep our bones afloat, providing some consolation for the family, I suppose. However, we do have exposure suits, heavy bulky rubber affairs that leave free only a patch about the nose and eyes. They are designed to keep us warm and dry for a while at least. We would don them only to abandon ship. The icebergs have disappeared. We saw so many of such size--up to three miles across--that it is stunning to see no more. Perhaps a big chunk broke off and calved the ones we saw. I notice we are running below cruising speed, so the captain has become cautious. Surely we will see more. It takes the Revelle almost six hours to cover a degree of latitude, thus we should make 63 south by this evening and 65 south by tomorrow morning. Some of us, including the chief scientist, would like to reach the Antarctic Circle at 66-33S. However, the captain tells us the ship is only insured to 65S, and they would have to get a waver to continue south. No problem, we say. We want to become blue noses. The absence of birds is surprising and disappointing. Last time they flocked to the ship by the hundreds. Perhaps we will see them in more fertile waters. Some of the areas we have passed are so devoid of nutrients there are akin to deserts. January 21 [In response to a friend's asking whether icebergs were beautiful as well as a bit scary:] They are gorgeous--white and pristine--and scary because they pose an unthinkable if unlikely hazard. We admire them from a clear distance. They have broken away from the continent to drift, devoid of life, until returning to water as part of a great cycle. They assume succeeding shapes as they melt and tip. Icebergs have holes, columns and spires, saddles, strangely sculpted figures. Those we saw were all upright, but others will have tipped to show green ice at an angle to the surface. Because there are so many types, the uniformity of those yesterday was a surprise. The radar indicated one was three miles across. It looked bigger yet. Now at 62-40S, we have continued south for almost a day without seeing more. It was foggy early on, but by noon it was 35F and sunny as Honolulu. January 22 Early this morning we drove to 65-50 south, then turned around and went back north to above 65 and did a CTD (water test). Then we turned around once more, and have been sailing south again for the last hours. Now: 66-24.70S / 170-23.12W / .9 Knt / 253.3 Hdg / 2837 Mtr We have stopped just 9 miles from the Antarctic Circle, the Holy Grail of science, with clear water ahead. Surely we will make the final push. Visible earlier were dozens of smaller icebergs, dozens and dozens if you counted every chip of ice out there. Green ice was visible on some. One iceberg featured the shape of a reclining mermaid supporting her head on one elbow and contemplating the small pyramid at the other end of the platform. Once on station, the science party again will add a mixture of iron to the water as we steam back and forth. This is an area high in nitrogen and silicate and low iron, the "limiting factor." This should cause to flourish phytoplankton such as "diatoms," microscopic plants with a shell wall made of silica, or glass, that are at the base of the acquatic food chain. Zooplankton, tiny biological counterparts to the phytoplankton, feed (graze) on them and are fed upon in turn. Dr. Richard Barber from Duke University believes we will see the ocean turn green with life. Again, our sister ship the Melville is following two weeks behind us. They will pick up the study once we leave . A couple of the scientists have found a small plant organism they cannot identify. However, they believe it is of the sort that both eats and uses photosynthesis. What? I had never heard of a plant like that. But of course I had, the venus flytrap for instance. It grows in areas poor in nitrogen, for which it traps flies. Otherwise it uses photosynthesis like any other plant. Today the bridge spotted a couple of whales, and twice they have reported seeing a lone penguin. The water temperature is about 31F . January 23 Well, we did it: We crossed the Circle briefly last night. We are now 'blue noses.' Alas, the captain didn't think we would get this far south and so neglected to bring the certificates. You'll just have to take my word for it. We have now pulled back a few miles to our work site of the next days. 66-24.69S 169-33.12W .6 Knt 263.6 Hdg Water and air temperatures are just below 32F. It is wonderfully sunny in splendid contrast to our trip in 1998 when we met fog much of the time. Let's hope it holds. I count 14 icebergs within a few miles including some very large ones. Those facing the sun are a brilliant white. For the most they look like the top of a mesa, with sheer sides and a flat or slightly slanted top. However, the closest, at about two miles, is sculpted in the shape of an elongated S on its side. Now I hope to catch sight of a penguin. Jan 23, 2002 [From Chief Scientist's Statement:] ...We have been at sea for two weeks now. The first patch was formed near 56 S, 170 W in waters with less than 1 uM Si. There was a rapid biological response to iron addition in the Northern Patch. Phytoplankton doubled in three days. After a second addition of iron to the patch, we departed to form the Southern Patch, leaving the patch unattended except for instrumented, drifting buoys. Melville has now arrived at the Northern Patch. It has confirmed the presence of iron enriched water by detecting elevated concentrations of the inert tracer SF6 that we added with the iron. They are continuing the biological sampling on the 10th day after the first iron addition. We are now at 66 30' S, 170 W doing the initial survey for the second iron addition. Conditions are a little complicated because the spring bloom does not appear to have occurred this year south of the Polar Front. However, we are narrowing in on an experimental site and expect to begin iron addition tomorrow. Ken Johnson Chief Scientist | Life preservers are worthless in this water. We want to become blue noses. The radar indicated one [iceberg] was three miles across. Well, we did it. We crossed the Circle. |
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A Splendid
Storm January 24 Too Good to Last The servers obstinately refused to crash last night, so I actually got to sleep through. Previously I had been called out at 1 a.m. and again at 4 a.m. Thus I awoke refreshed to find my cabin sporting a new look: everything loose was strewn about, everything on the deck had walked across the way. We were in the trough, taking large waves from the side (athwartship, in ship's parlance). Wind speeds are up to 22 meters per second, which is roughly twice that in knots. The barometric pressure has dropped. Notice the latitude, 66' 33" is the circle, so we are just three nautical miles north of it. So you can confidently report the seas are up at 172E on the Antarctic Circle. Whoa! As I write this we take a grand clout that has my chair sliding back and me flailing for balance. At breakfast a scientist said he was in the shower when he heard a big noise and thought everything on his dresser had hit the deck. Instead he found the roll had thrown the top drawer open, his things had slid into it, and the draw had closed again. The room was tidier than before. The current profile, which measures ocean currents beneath the ship, is normally reliable. We check it regularly, collect the data and give it little further thought. But this time it is needed, and it failed. After many attempts to restart it, much checking of the communications cable, much study of the manual for troubleshooting procedures--all of which proved inconclusive--we decided it was a hardware problem, and we needed to swap some boards. With heavy heart I started to remove the cables only to find a loose power cord. With it firmly seated the instrument ran just fine again. The day had begun with the server crashing, the current profiler down, and me in despair of getting anything up again. Instead I slept well and awoke to a splendid storm. January 25 The thrill is gone The day began as it has unfolded: with whooshes, whomps and lurches. The view from the bridge of huge waves torn by 40 knot winds was compelling, but by midmorning we had had enough, and at 7 p.m. we now are sick of it. Imagine how tiring it is continually to brace yourself and lean this way and that in response to the pitching and rolling. I am now so sleepy I can hardly keep my eyes open. After dinner someone put on one of the "Adams Family" movies, and the lounge filled. Most of the science has come to a halt, and no one is working outside. I've turned off the multibeam, which won't function in seas this high. But data stream in from various sensors and receivers, and mail traffic is heavy. There is work for me still. A word about the Arctic Circle at 66'33" north and the Antarctic Circle at 66'33" south is in order. The number is too specific to be arbitrary, so what is its significance? At the summer solstice, for the north June 21, everything within the Arctic Circle is in continuous sunlight, while within the Antarctic Circle there is in continuous shadow, though not necessarily darkness: There is nonetheless twilight. On December 21 it is just the opposite. I'll have to get the times for sunrise and sunset at this latitude and date, but when I was called out at 4 a.m. the sun was well into the sky. The antenna for this mail system is mounted below the bridge, so I was concerned we might go too far south to see the satellite in geosynchronous orbit at the equator. However, it is still at an elevation of 15 degrees, so we could go quite a ways farther south and still see it. I only converted to the Pacific Ocean Region satellite when the Atlantic Ocean Region West was at an elevation of 4 degrees. January 25 Again Calm Well, that wasn't so bad. The ocean is again calm, though my room shows the effects. Everything formerly on an upper level has sought a place at the lowest. Thus, from knee-level up everything is free and neat as a pin. The floor, however, is littered with books, papers, data tapes, computer cables. But I didn't do it! And I hear my mother's voice: "No, and you didn't clean it up, either." People are working on deck again. In this weather they wear mustang suits--bright-orange insulated overalls--and the ever-present life vests. Some are college students who one day have never changed a light bulb and the next are at sea deploying scientific equipment over the side. It is quite a thing to see the experienced students, men and women, setting up at the start of the cruise. They see their familiar equipment aboard, either by crane or by lugging it, set it up, lash it down, test it. They grab a drill as easily as testing equipment. And within a day the labs will be transformed into a maze of electronic and chemical equipment, tanks, bottles, computers. Of course, preceding all this is the division of space according to a master plan, preferably agreed upon beforehand. If not, those on last get last pick, unless they have clout. Then the lesser, already set up, must give way with as much good grace as they can muster. Periodically chemists and biologists collect ocean water at various depths. For this they send down a CTD with a "rosette" of tubes to capture water at desired depths. They are doing one right now. However, it is not just a matter of collecting the water, there is again apportionment. For this they meet early on to work out a water budget. Each puts in a request for CTD water; if requests don't exceed the amount available there is harmony, if not, they have to work out the amount each will get. On some cruises all the interested parties are present to make certain no one draws off too much. Then the order of the draw becomes important, because no one wants to have to take what is left, which might not be their share. But generally there is much good grace, and if there is a common thread running through the cruises it is how pleasant people are. Jan 27 Our ship has no rudder! We are near icebergs in freezing waters without a rudder. The wheel on the bridge doesn't respond. What will happen to us? Well, not much, really. The Roger Revelle has never had a rudder aft or a wheel on the bridge. Instead it employs what are called Z-drives: diesel engines turn generators which power two electric motors each driving a shaft. Each horzontal shaft engages via bevel gears a vertical shaft, at the bottom of which a second set of bevel gears turn a horizontal shaft holding the propeller, or thruster. The thruster can be turned around the vertical shaft to point in any direction, like an outboard motor. The Z comes from the horizontal to vertical to horizontal configuration. 
In the process the rotational speed is reduced 2.5 times with each set of gears, so if the motor turns at 500 RPM the thruster turns at 100 RPM. With the addition of a (retractable) forward thruster, the ship can move laterally or aftwards, in any direction, in fact. Thus, no tug ever touches the Revelle, though sometimes we are forced to take one, and it might buzz around selfimportantly. Many large cargo ships and tankers, too, now have a forward thruster to enable them to dock and depart more easily. Z-drive propulsion is inefficient for straight ahead sailing: our cruising speed is only 13 knots. However, it is important to follow exact lines when surveying and to maintain absolute position when on station. For these, the Z-drives coupled to the global positioning system (GPS) are ideal. When locked on a position the Revelle stays right there. Sometimes I look out and wonder how we will ever get anythwere, so slowly do we move. But after some days and nights without pause we arrive at our destination--finally. Never mind that it takes us the better part of two days to cover what a jet does in an hour. January 28 Wildlife The ceiling is low, the sky and sea gray, the waters calm. There are no icebergs to the horizon. But nearby there is much to see. This morning Antarctic petrals were performing there morning abulutions in the water just outside the lab. They fluffed their feathers and splashed to bring water in; they rolled on their backs to groom their breasts; they stuck there heads underwater and blew bubbles. The other day in the gale I felt sorry for the birds until I took a look outside. Icy, forty-knot winds? No problem for them, they were flying about undeterred. All the birds out here fly back and forth but never seem to land and feed. We wonder if it is the behavior of restlessness. Or optimism. This evening I went to the bridge to see some horizon after a day at the monitor. Suddenly a whale broke surface at the bow. Sure, it was a small one, but it looked big to me. It surfaced briefly three or four more times, then headed aft near the surface just off the bridge. It might have been twenty feet long. Although it was only visible for a few seconds, the picture is still very real. While walking the beach in La Jolla I thought of a means to starve whole flocks of seagulls. Take a loaf of white bread with little food value and throw a tiny piece in the air. Instantly the gulls break into a feeding frenzy, battling and squabbling for their share. Slowly continue the feeding until the bread is gone. At that point the gulls have collectively burned far more calories than were in the bread. A few more days of that should reduce the population noticeably. Of course, only my sister dislikes seagulls, and even she couldn't be bothered. January 30 Moving again Earlier this afternoon we finished several hours of adding iron and then did CTD's down to 200 meters. They had to do three of them to acquire the amount of water needed. Soon we will be moving again about the patch of iron enriched water to sample at various sites. We take in water through an opening in the bow, run it through various sensors and send a stream to the hydro lab where is is further analyzed. The chief scientist speculates that the growth from the added iron has trapped more solar energy and thus fractionally increasing water temperature within the patch. This afternoon those on watch on the bridge witnessed an iceberg break in two. Suddenly it caved in at the center, the opposite ends rose, and water shot up. When I saw it later it was still trapping waves and sending up high plumes of water. I hadn't realized the density of the icebergs on the way down. The first mate told me there were once 83 on the radar at one time. The Melville, now on station a few miles to starboard, reported 100 on the screen at once. We will have to wend our way through them again on the way back. Here, however, the icebergs are several miles apart. We see mostly Antarctic petrels, sooty albatrosses and prions, all gloriously acrobatic fliers. January 30 You Can't Get There From Here Charles Christiansen had a question about our distance from the South Pole. Our position at 22:15 GMT on Jan 29--local time 11:15 on Jan 30-- was 66-26.37S 172-04.89W Figuring 60 nautical miles per degree of latitude, the pole lies 90' - ~66'27" or 23'33" south of here. Thus, it is 60 * 23 + 33 or 1413 nautical from here . Figuring 6076 feet per nautical miles, that amounts to 1413 * 1.15 or 1626 statute miles, equal to 1413 * 1.852 or 2616 kilometers. The air temperature is 33 degrees on this equivalent of June 30. The ceiling has dropped, the seas are up, the barometer is down, and a typical summer snowstorm is upon us. If there are icebergs out there we don't see them. God bless the Southern Ocean and Antarctica! February 4 Still Here, Soon Gone This morning the chief scientist said we will break off the survey here in the south later in the day and head back to the northern patch. It was welcome news. They hope to locate the patch by mean of beacons left drifting with it. The drifters might not be working or they might have left the patch, so it isn't certain we will find it. To return we will have to run the spectacular gauntlet of icebergs to the north. As much as we want to reach land again it will be hard to leave them behind. After 31 days at sea we are out of bread, butter, milk and (soon) eggs. Everyone is a bit put out because too little was ordered. But imagine, we have 64 on board, and 64 * 3 meals/day * 40 days equals 7680 meals. That's a lot of food. Still, we expect to be out of salad at this point but not out of milk. This is the first time in my experience that we've been without butter or eggs. The visibility is again low. Yesterday during the fire and boat drill lovely thick flakes of snow fell. There was little wind, and the atmosphere was festive. We came upon in an area of ice shards, as if an iceberg had exploded, and then we were out of it again. In these waters there is always a mate and a seaman on the bridge. The seaman's duty is to scan the water ahead for "bergie bits," smaller, but substantial chunks of ice invisible to the radar but large enough to ding the hull. We passed within half a mile of a pristine iceberg no more than twice our size. It was perfectly white and unblemished. The waves crashed against the ice sending water high. Icebergs appear to be of compacted snow, but they are probably nearly as dense as ice. I believe I mentioned how the waves undercut the sides to form caves at the waterline. Sometimes caves at opposite sides of a corner join, leaving a pillar of ice to support the block of ice above. When the pillar finally collapses the iceberg will be that much smaller. I read till late and was roused from sleep by heavy waves crashing against the hull. My afternoon nap appears all the more inviting. February 5 Off and Away We have broken off the survey at the southern patch and are headed north on calm seas under a brilliant sun. May conditions remain so. 64-18.25S 171-42.92W 11.6 Knot 6.2 Hdg 2481 Mtr The chief scientist told me the amount of chlorophyl in the southern patch had increased tenfold from the addition of iron. The Melville remained to continue the survey in the southern patch for some days. She was a lovely sight yesterday as we maneuvered nearby to retrieve instruments floated over to us. Water temperature has now risen above 0 centigrade (32F) for the first time in days, and the barometer is up. There are very few icebergs on the horizon, but we should find concentrations ahead. Revelle should be in the northern patch in a couple of days--if we find it: the beacons could have shut down or left the patch. February 9 Three days ago yesterday we passed within a half mile of a huge iceberg, some 450 feet high. Everyone agreed it was easily the most spectacular one the whole cruise. Alas, I was below helping a technician with her computer. Everyone has gone on and on about how impressive it was, and I feel sick about missing it. There is balance, however, because the next day we passed an even bigger one, though about four miles off. Like the pictures of the previous one, this, too, was a giant lean-to: perfectly rectangular base, straight sides, a flat roof sloping uniformly to the opposite side. Its architectural regularity was astonishing. We approached on an angle to the short side, which because of its size we took to be the long one. However, as we came around the true length became apparent: almost half a mile. Though the swells were (and continue to be) moderate, waves were breaking well ahead of the leading face, indicating a broad shelf at or just below the waterline. There was a spot of bright turquoise blue to one side indicating another underwater ice shelf. We were in 5-degree (41F) water by that time, and it was surprising an iceberg that large could maintain such integrity this far north. But the real thrill came when someone noticed movement in the water. A moment later, a couple of porpoises broke surface. Then the mate on watch spotted a herd approaching to starboard, and on they came. Lovely! But they were too big for porpoises, the markings weren't right, they were...orcas! The first I had ever seen. They crossed right under the bow and continued on. Opposite the last iceberg I offered one of Margaret Robinson's caramels to the Southern Ocean and ate the last. She has sent them to me each Christmas and I've taken them with me on my travels. These had been to Amsterdam, Machu Pichu, the Galapagos, and New Zealand. Their time had come.  The celebratory caramel. Now: 54-07.98S 169-09.30W 11.6 Knt 191.1 Hdg 4815 Mtr AirTmp: 8.44C 47F WtrTmp: 7.79C 46F The area where we saw some icebergs on the way down is well behind us. We saw very few, though very large, ones on the way back. Nor did we see many birds. Perhaps they are south of us. As for the experiment, they have reported from the Melville that the waves crashing on the fantail are now green instead of blue, a visual confirmation that the chlorophyl has increased markedly. Here they are adding the last of the iron to the patch; afterward we will break off and head north to Lyttleton, where they have food. February 10, 8 p.m. We have broken off the survey according to plan and are headed in a northwesterly direction back to Lyttleton. We should be there Thursday morning. As is often the case at this point, talk begins in earnest about the first evening in, travel plans, dinners ashore, home. February 13 When we get close, the crew begins counting down: three days and a wake-up, two days and a wake-up... We arrive at the pier at 6 a.m., so we are down to just a wake-up. Mercifully. But that is tomorrow. Tonight I am stuck doing boring end-of-cruise paperwork for which the only satisfaction is seeing the end of it. We have had lovely sailing the last days, which continues to the moment. For the last couple of days we have had trailing seas, and the ship has been steady in spite of the release of water from the antiroll tanks. Two days ago we were still driving into a moderate swell, and it was a joyful experience to stand on the fantail and see the water several feet below and the the next moment, in a dip, see the crest a few feet above. For the last days more albatrosses have tracked us. They sail effortlessly on long, fragile-looking wings angled down at the tip. They skim so close to the ocean it looks like the lower tip might strike the water and send them cartwheeling. Of course it never happens. These are the birds that race ahead of the ship, circle back, make swooping figure eights, come forward again--all without flapping their wings. They make the minute adjustments that enable them to maneuver with absolute precision, which makes them a joy to observe. I've heard no plans for a party tomorrow night, but those things just happen. People will go out to dinner in smaller groups and find each other later, and there will be a communal release of the tensions of the last days. People will swagger and posture a bit even in disbelief of what they have seen and done. Few imagined they would ever experience this. Before I began sailing I would sometimes see ships entering or leaving a harbor, and invariably I would see someone standing impassively at the railing and I would wonder who that person was and where he had been or was going. Now I am that person. And I stand there and wonder who out there is wondering about me. I guess I'm too self-conscious to be a real sailor. Epilogue: Chew and Spew February 15 Still another couple of days of work in Lyttleton. I went into Christchurch last night and ended up in the Irish pub on the square. One of the advantages of an Irish pub is that a person my age feels welcome--depending on the company, of course. In this case I got to talking to a couple of Americans whose answer to terrorism was to "nuke the bastards." Perhaps this is why Europeans believe the US has no touch when it comes to diplomacy. They thought we should start killing twenty to one, that would solve the problem. But Israel is already doing that. OK, 100 to 1, then the friendly Arabs would pressure the bad ones to stop. But there wouldn't be any more friendly Arabs. Wouldn't matter, besides US technology is accurate down to their last fart. Where was it in Yugoslavia, when it couldn't find tanks, let alone farts? Well, the Yugoslavians are sly bastards unlike the stupid ones elsewhere. Some notes from the local paper: • Sexual health workers in Christchurch are giving away chocolate flavored condoms to promote safe sex during New Zealand's first National Condom Week. A new tradition is born. • The New Zealand air force will scrap their Skyhawk fighter jets for budgetary reasons. The Court of Appeals will decide if the Minister of Defense has exceeded his authority. Australia and the Save Our Squadron committee are angry. • "The Kiwis are too nice for their own good," claimed an Australian columnist. He had written sarcastically about New Zealand's huge pride in The Lord of the Rings: "Best picture? Best representation of the Middle Ages, perhaps." When a local station flew him in, he made further assessments: "The biggest problem the producers faced was making Wellington pass for a city after 1300AD." However, their efforts had "advanced the city reluctantly into the 1980's. I saw breakdancing in the streets, which was extraordinary. You just don't see that anymore." He did everything he could to rile the Kiwis, but not even callers on his radio talk show could manage to be rude. • A local vegetable grower is converting a large part of his land to black currants. Most of the production will be exported as concentrate to the pharmaceutical giant Glaxco for the production of Rubena. The grower once produced about twenty different crops, but due to pressure from large growers on the North Island, now produces but five. Another couple of days of work, then I'm off to tour for a bit. February 17 The work held me up another day, but I should be ready to start hiking tomorrow and head down towards Duneeded the next day. It's still cool for summer but not too bad, and I'm hoping for decent weather. I've made reservations in Christchurch for the 24th and 25th, and I fly out the 26th. Yesterday someone dropped off a book from Bill, so I walked up to his house after lunch. His sister, who lives next door, told me he was down the hill at a local pub, the Rat and Roach--a nice contrast to the Cork and Cleaver, Pig and Whistle, and other such cloying names. Sadly they had rejected Bill's suggestion, however, the Chew and Spew. Last year he had returned for a school reunion. Lyttleton could boast many achievers: "Some had risen to the heights of fame and others to the heights of infamy." February 19 My first day off in several months was pleasant but uneventful. I just ran an errand, rode a ferry, had lunch, walked, befriended a couple of dogs, sheared a sheep, returned on the ferry. Copyright © 2002 by Dan Jacobson | Whooshes, Whomps, and Lurches People are working on deck again. What will happen to us? We wonder if it is the behavior of restlessness. Or optimism. It was still trapping waves and sending up high plumes of water. After 31 days at sea we are out of bread, butter, milk and (soon) eggs. We passed within a half mile of a huge iceberg. When we get close, the crew begins counting down: three days and a wake-up, two days and a wake-up... |