Sailor’s Quest
Captain’s Log: Ancient Battle
Oahu and Kauai, Hawaii to
Midway Island, Kure Atoll and Back |
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Captain's Log, land date 100599, 1047 hours
Three days ago, Sherrine and I left Honolulu and sailed a short distance to Waianae on the West coast of Oahu. Rather than go ashore, we spent time snorkeling with sea turtles around the breakwaters. At 0900 hours yesterday morning, we left Waianae under blue skies and made a fast, 70 mile passage across the Kauai channel to Nawiliwili on the island of Kauai. We anchored, went ashore, and caught a taxi driven by Sue who steered us to the town of Lihue and the BBQ Inn for dinner.
After dinner, Sue drove us back to the marina in Nawiliwili and just as we were about to get out of her taxi, she launched into tales of Kauai. She told us of Kahunas who could heal broken bones instantly and how they were forced underground when Christian missionaries began imprisoning anyone practicing Huna (the Hawaiian religion). The Christians arrived in the early eighteen hundreds and they discovered that the Hawaiians on Kauai descended from two different races, the Polynesians and the Menehunes. The Polynesians were tall and arrived in the Hawaiian Islands from the South Pacific sometime after the death of Christ. The Menehunes were about three feet tall, Hobbit-like, and well established on Kauai by the time the Polynesians arrived. The Polynesians and the Menehunes intermarried and Sue explained that some of today's Kahunas trace their knowledge back to their Menehune ancestry.
Neither Sherrine nor I had ever heard of the Menehunes and were a bit skeptical of Sue's stories. She sensed this and backed up the existence of Menehunes by telling us about structures built on Kauai that modern archeologist have dated as being built long before the Polynesians arrived in the Hawaiian Islands. One of these is called the Menehune Fishpond. Sue also told us that a United States Census in the early nineteen hundreds listed a large number of Hawaiians in a valley on Kauai as having Menehune ancestry. When I asked what happened to the Menehune, she told us the following legend.
After the Polynesians arrived on Kauai, they lived happily along side the Menehune for a time. Both races exchanged knowledge and helped one another, even though their lifestyles were quite different. The Polynesians lived in structures they built themselves, whereas the Menehune lived in caves and hollowed-out trees. The Polynesians worked during the day, but the Menehune only worked at night. In fact, if the Menehune couldn't finish a project in one night, they would leave it to be forever undone.
The Menehune far outnumbered the Polynesians in the beginning, but as time passed, more and more Polynesians arrived from the South Pacific and more marriages took place. A Menehune who married a Polynesian usually went to live with that Polynesian, adopting the Polynesian lifestyle.
The Menehune King saw his culture being eroded away. The Polynesians appeared to be limitless in number, continuously arriving from across the ocean. The intermarrying was destroying the Menehune race. Finally, the Menehune King ordered all Menehune to leave Kauai, going back into the Earth to return from where they had originally come.
The Menehune living amongst the Polynesians rebelled. They liked living outside caves and in the open and they liked working during the day in the sunshine. Still, the King ordered ALL Menehune to return into the Earth. The Menehune who refused fled into the forests until the King and the rest of the Menehune were gone.
Sue finished her story by telling us that if we asked the shorter Hawaiians, some would admit to having Menehune ancestry. She also said that some people still see the Menehune in the forest today.
Feeling bewildered by her stories, Sherrine and I thanked her for the taxi ride, left her cab, and returned to DONDI for the night.
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Captain’s Log, land date 120699, 0932 hours
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I was awakened by the compressor in the dehumidifier under my bunk coming on in the middle of last night. Thinking there must be some sort of an electrical problem, I got out of bed and stumbled toward the electrical panel in the galley. I was surprised to see Sherrine bending over in the shadows with the electrical panel doors wide open. Realizing she must be trying to fix the problem, I went into the head to go to the bathroom.
When I finished, the dehumidifier was still running. I peeked out the door through the forward companionway and into the salon. Sherrine was reaching up into the hammock which is over the salon table and holds provisions. Without taking anything out, she turned and walked aft through the galley before disappearing into the aft companionway.
Her actions struck me as strange and I opened the head door wide to investigate. Suddenly, she came out of the galley, across the salon, and into the forward companionway. I stepped back to let her pass. Not only did Sherrine not acknowledge my presence, it didn't look to me like it was her. Startled, I watched her go into her cabin without shutting the door behind.
The dehumidifier was still making a racket. Unable to see clearly, I flipped the galley light switch. Nothing happened. I flicked the salon light switch. No effect. I found a flashlight and lit the electrical panel. Every DC breaker on the electrical panel was turned off and every AC breaker was turned on! Carefully, I restored each breaker to its proper position. Wondering what she could have been doing aft, I searched, but could find nothing amiss. Some will question what I did next. All I can say is I was a bit spooked.
I went into Sherrine's cabin and said, “Who are you?”
In a low voice, she replied, “I don't have a name.”
I froze.
In the morning she was back to her regular, cheerful self. I told her what had happened, but she had no memory of any of it.
Captain’s Log, land date 03182000, 1700 hours
Sherrine and I are now moored in the Ala Wai Boat Harbor near Waikiki. We have been working on DONDI for months with breaks only to try out potential crew and visit with family. The video studio is finished, the solar panels are now functioning, and the wind generator is up. We try to swim every other day to relax and stay in shape. A few days ago, we were snorkeling in a lagoon off of Ala Moana Park near the boat harbor when Sherrine suddenly surfaced and said,.”There's a huge sea turtle stuck in the reef.”
“You're kidding,” I replied. “Where.”
“Right under me, there's a hole in the side of the reef. The turtle is way in the back. All you can see is its rear end.”
The reef where we were snorkeling is, for the most part, totally dead. The water is murky and urban sprawl surrounds us. There are a few small tropical fish attempting to survive, but there certainly shouldn't be any sea turtles in a lagoon in the middle of Honolulu.
I dropped down to take a look. Sure enough, there was a hole and I had to stick my head in it to see the back clearly. Three feet in front of my face mask was the rear half of a massive sea turtle. The turtle was in a vertical position and the front half was obviously wedged up in the reef. It must have got itself up there, looking for food, and couldn't back out. The question was, how long could it hold its breath if it wasn't already dead?
I surfaced and looked at Sherrine. “It's gigantic! What are we going to do.”
“Pull it out of there. It will drown if we don't.”
The thought of reaching my bare hands into the very back of that hole and dragging the turtle backwards gave me the creeps. I didn't have a good feeling about the situation. The turtle shouldn't be there in the first place. At that moment, a Hawaiian man with his son beside him swam by.
“Excuse me! Excuse me.” I said loudly.
They stopped swimming and began treading water.
“There's a great, big sea turtle stuck in the reef.”
“What's it doing.” the man asked.
“It's not doing anything,” I replied..”It's motionless and its head is stuck way up inside the reef. I think it can't back out.”
“Then pull it out.” The Hawaiian turned and began swimming away with his son following.
I looked at Sherrine. She stared back with a look that said, I already told you to pull it out.
Taking a big breath and shaking off the creepy feeling, I dove. Reaching my arms way back in the hole, I took a hold of both sides of its shell as best I could. The moment I started tugging, I felt life. I kept dragging the turtle down and back. My breath was running out. Pulling and pulling, while trying to swim backwards, I finally got him out of the hole and into the light. There, on the right side of his neck, something was stuck. It was ugly.
My first thought was it might be a chunk of decaying coral. Sherrine was underwater now and, from her expression, I could tell she saw it, too. Suddenly, the turtle began to slowly swim. I was still hanging on and it began dragging me down and down into the gloomy water. I took one last good look. It wasn't a chunk of decaying coral. It was worse. It was some sort of vile growth growing out of the side of the turtle's neck and shoulder. I shuddered and let go.
Bursting to the surface, I gulped air.
“What was that?” Sherrine asked.
“It was some sort of tumor. The turtle must have wedged itself up there inside the reef intentionally. It's probably in so much pain that it got itself in a position it couldn't back out of in order to commit suicide. We need to call somebody and let them know the turtle is in the lagoon.”
We swam to shore and Sherrine got on the cell phone immediately. She called an organization called Save the Sea Turtles, or something like that. The woman who answered told Sherrine that it was illegal to touch a sea turtle and that sea turtles all over the world are showing up with tumors. Research by some scientist in Florida indicates that the tumors may be caused by viruses and these viruses may possibly spread to humans. Her advice was to avoid touching diseased sea turtles at all costs.
I looked at my bare hands and made sure there were no cuts. Viruses! What in the heck is causing viruses to attack sea turtles? And what is causing all the reefs around Hawaii to die?
Sherrine and I have been amongst the Hawaiian Islands for over six months. Most of the reefs we've seen are dead. Locals tell us that in the sixties the reefs were flourishing and gorgeous.
The coral is actually composed of little animals. Reef fish scrape the coral with their mouths to feed, cleaning the coral. The tuna and other large fish come near the reefs to feed off of the smaller fish. We catch and eat the tuna so we can live. At least we're supposed to be catching them. Sherrine and I have sailed hundreds and hundreds of miles, fishing all the way, and have only caught two Mahi-mahi and one little tuna. If you're thinking that we probably don't know how to fish, think again. The sport fishing industry in Hawaii has pretty much been wiped out. We are not going to be able to rely on the ocean for food as we sail around the world like we thought.
Captain’s Log, sea date 06182000, 1900 hours
The sky is clear, the winds light and we are motoring at 8 knots on a course of 296 degrees true bound for Kauai with the ultimate destination of Midway Island, 1149 nautical miles Northwest. On board with me is Sherrine and Dave Scogin, a capable sailor and good friend. At Midway, we are to pick up a Marine biologist by the name of Thomas Lo Basso, taking him and his assistant to Kure Atoll.
Two weeks ago, we heard through the grape vine that a scientist was looking for a sailboat to take him to Kure Atoll to do research. Kure Atoll is the first island in the Hawaiian chain and over 25 million years old. It is rumored to be unbelievably pristine and the home of marine life that exists no where else on the planet.
Sherrine really wanted to go to Kure and got on the phone. She tracked down Steve Goddard of the Hawaii Yacht Connection who was trying to hook the scientist up with a boat. It turns out there was a bit of a catch. Not only did this marine biologist want to go to Kure, he wanted the boat to carry a 200 gallon,1600 pound tank containing his specimens all the way back from the atoll to Oahu. This is a distance of over 1200 miles against the trade winds!!! Sherrine and I hung up the phone with Steve. We both had our own immediate question. I wanted to know if it was possible to safely carry a tank like that on deck. Some quick calculations led me to the belief that the tank would not be safe for a journey of the extent required. Particularly since we are now in hurricane season. Sherrine wanted to know what this tank was supposed to contain. Would we be willing participants in exotic, marine life slave trading?
When I told Sherrine we couldn't carry the tank on deck, her face fell. We have been working so hard for so long on the boat and haven't gone anywhere outside of local Hawaiian waters. I knew we deserved a good adventure, but this?
Long story short, we modified one of our 150 gallon fresh water tanks into a live fish tank. After talking to Thomas Lo Basso on the phone, we learned that he is a marine biologist specializing in nitrifying bacteria and appears to truly understand the ocean life cycles and particularly the reefs. The tank may bring back rare fish that are only found in the Northwestern Hawaiian island chain. Tom did admit that some of the fish will be presented to researchers in other countries. Sherrine and I are gambling that Tom's cause is noble.
This morning, before departing, we re-christened DONDI back to MALIA, her original name. After finishing the refit that has taken over six years, we restored to her the name of her birth. As DONDI, she has treated us well and kept us safe. As MALIA, we ask and hope that she will do the same.
Captain's Log, sea date 06242000, 0700 hours
We are behind schedule. Tom, the biologist, is landing at Midway today and we are still 437 miles away. After leaving Oahu, we sailed WNW and into a wind vacuum. For days we puffed along at under four knots until, finally, the high pressure system north of us gained enough strength to power the trades once again. The wind is now 12 knots and we are sailing on a broad reach at over seven knots. Our course is 288 degrees true and the skies and sea are blue with cotton ball clouds as far as one can see.
A fear is growing within me. I fear that between the sunrise and sunset of my life I will not accomplish anything worthwhile. This demon nips constantly at my heels. As of late, it has caused me to rework the mission of Sailor's Quest over and over again to the point of driving Sherrine and everyone else around me nuts.
When I search inside myself for what I truly believe is worthwhile, I find love and the alleviation of suffering. I see a little girl, sick, with hunger in her eyes. A solder with no legs. A homeless family fleeing from falling bombs. I even see tiny Hawaiian fish, struggling to survive upon a dying reef. Names such as Ghandi, Jacques Cousteau and Mother Theresa come to mind. To live a life such as theirs is something I have not done.
I know what I would do if I could. I would find the keys that lead to Global Peace. I even know what I would do with them if I had them. I would place those golden keys on a table in full view for the world to use. And what if the world chose to let the keys lay, instead of unlocking the door to peace and harmony? That would be okay. We all have the right to lead the life we choose, even globally.
It is with these thoughts that the mission statement was rewritten over and over again with lots of help from those who care.
“We are sailing around the world, searching for the wisest people on the planet to ask for help in solving the problems threatening the human race.”
“We are sailing around the world, searching for the wisdom that allows us to all learn how to live together peace.”
“Our mission is to sail around the world and share the ideas and insights of others through television, video, and the Internet. In doing so, we hope to help people to find a path of cooperation from which we can all support the harmony and the survival of the human race. In learning the wisdom of others, we also learn to hear the wisdom of our own hearts.”
“We are sailing around the world searching for the truths that lead to world peace.”
Fortunately, we went to sea and, as the sea usually does, it brought my being back into balance. The mission remains unchanged. My apologies to everyone.
The one good thing that came out of this was an awareness of the amount of passion held for the Sailor's Quest mission. I now understand the importance many place on illuminating the truths and beliefs held by people all over the world. Acceptance of diversity is one of the keys to living together in peace. I also realize that the Sailor's Quest mission is much larger than my individual quest for a fulfilled life. The mission needs to provide space for all sailors who come aboard MALIA. The original mission does just that.
Captain's Log, sea date 06262000, 0200 hours
MALIA is coming down off of some serious rocking and rolling. Thirty hours ago, the wind piped up into the high twenties out of the Northeast and it didn't take long for the seas to build. Nothing really big crashed on board, but at times things were a bit scary. Now we are down to around fifteen foot seas going just over seven knots with the wind hovering around eighteen knots. On a course of 313 degrees true, we are only one hundred and thirteen miles from Midway. We should make it before dark this evening.
Captain's Log, land date 06262000, 1922 hours
We are safe and sound on Midway Island! A welcoming party greeted us which included Ron, the fish and wildlife manager. He immediately wanted to see our passports and search the boat.
Once aboard, Ron informed us that he had not been told we were coming until today. He was not happy and said we are required to have a transponder on MALIA that will arrive on next Saturday's airline flight. The transponder will allow the Coast Guard and the fish and wildlife department to track our movements within the Hawaiian Island chain.
We asked about Tom, the biologist, and were told that he and his assistant are on the island, but nowhere to be found at the moment. Ron does not understand what our.”game plan” is and all we could do was schedule a meeting in the morning. Hopefully, we can find Tom and get everything straightened out. Waiting five days for a transponder puts us that much further into hurricane season. For now, we are tied up along side a gigantic, ocean going, ex-military tugboat.
Captain’s Log, land date 06272000, 2012 hours
Midway is swarming with Gooney birds. They don’t get out of the way when vehicles or bicycles approach and seem oblivious to the fact humans even exist. We found Tom and his assistant Tim late last night. They told us that there are 400,000 baby Gooney birds on the island and their actual name is Laysan albatross.
The Laysen are the largest of the albatross and before the 400,000 babies can learn how to fly and escape Midway, 30 percent will be eaten by Tiger sharks circling in the surrounding waters. It seems the Tigers know when the young albatross are going to start learning to fly and come to both Midway and Kure Atoll to feast. They wait just below the surface and pounce when the Gooney’s enter the water for the first time. In my mind, this raises serious questions as to the wisdom of diving in the ocean around Kure Atoll. Particularly since Tiger sharks are man-eating and almost as dangerous as Great Whites. According to Tom, Tigers can swim at 30 knots and frequently enter shallow water.
This morning, Sherrine, Dave, Tom, Tim and I all went to the Fish and Wildlife headquarters to see Ron and others in his department. The meeting got off to a rocky start with fish and wildlife informing us that we did not have permission to be on Midway. Tom countered by claiming that we did. When Ron asked for evidence of this, Tom was unable to produce anything satisfactory.
I didn’t know who to believe. On Midway, fish and wildlife serves as the law and whatever they say, goes. Tom kept protesting, and finally Ron was able to get a copy of Tom’s permit faxed up from Honolulu. It showed that Tom did indeed have permission to collect specimens from Kure Atoll and other Islands in the Hawaiian chain. Tom and Ron talked and before long Ron gave us his blessings and said we could depart without waiting for the transponder. Whew!!!
It turns out that Ron has a pet project he is spearheading that I believe it is truly worthy. On Midway, there are four buildings that were constructed in 1903 for the.”around the world” telegraph cable. These buildings are arranged around an ancient tree. Ron wants to refurbish them and create a campus that universities can use for field studies. He envisions students from all over the world coming to Midway to do research on the surrounding fauna. It’s an excellent opportunity for students to learn what the Earth is like and how it worked before man polluted and killed off so much life.
Captain’s Log, sea date 0628200, 1557 hours
After leaving Midway Island just before noon, we are now bound for Kure Atoll at a speed of 5 knots on a course of 280 degrees true. It feels good to break away from land and be back at sea.
Captain’s Log, sea date 06292000, 1800 hours
The NOAA chart we have for Kure Atoll is horribly inaccurate. There are errors of up to half a mile in an atoll that is only five miles across. With this knowledge, and the fact that the lagoon inside the atoll is full of coral heads, I made the decision last night to anchor outside on the Southwest side of the atoll near the entrance.
Standing at the bow, I found a patch of sand in forty feet of water and dropped the anchor. With Sherrine at the helm, we backed slowly down to set it. Everything was proceeding normally, when suddenly, the anchor snagged on something rigid, the anchor chain drew tight and a swell lifted the bow. Bang! The dog on the windlass snapped and pandemonium broke out. I hollered at Sherrine to pull forward, trying to prevent the windlass from being torn off the bow. Sherrine responded and Dave rushed up to help me.
We got the chain into the anchor stopper and the load off of the windlass. I had Sherrine pull MALIA forward in an effort to unsnag the anchor by tugging in a different direction. The chain drew tight, the anchor refused to budge and another swell lifted the bow. This time the bow roller began to give way as stainless steel groaned and twisted under the load. “Reverse! Reverse!” I yelled. Sherrine dropped the transmission back and throttled up. The chain slackened. With the bow roller damaged, another jerk could rip it clear off of the boat.
I looked at Dave..”There isn’t enough daylight left to dive on the anchor. We are going to have to stay here and hope for the best. If the ocean kicks up during the night, we will buoy the anchor chain and cut it loose, running before the wind. In the morning we can come back and try to retrieve it.”
Dave agreed and together we let out more chain, snubbing it on a cleat with a spring line to take the load off of the bow roller. I went to bed with my fingers crossed.
In the morning, Tom and Tim were already at work when I got up. They had their dive gear out and were preparing to enter the water in an effort to free the anchor. Sharks loomed in the back of my mind as Tom and Tim disappeared below the ocean surface. Anybody bit here would be facing a lengthy wait before getting airlifted to a hospital in Honolulu.
With the two of them working on the bottom, Dave, Sherrine and myself handled MALIA. Shortly after we got the anchor safely back on the bow roller, Tom broke the surface, “Give me a camera! Give me a camera!”
“Are there Tiger sharks down there?” I asked.
“No. No. There’s a pair of Boar fish. I need to document this. Boar fish aren’t supposed to be in water this shallow. Hand me a camera.”
“The underwater housing isn’t ready,” I said. “It needs work. What are Boar fish?”
Tom looked disappointed. “It’s a fish that hasn’t evolved since prehistoric times. We’ll have to come back and film them later.”
Tom and Tim climbed back on board disappointed and we spent the next four hours trying to find a safe anchorage protected from the ocean swell. The bottom all around the West side of the atoll has fissures that run from the atoll out into deeper water. These fissures have beautiful white sand in them, but aren’t wide enough to afford a good bite for the anchor.
Finally, at our wits end, Dave had a brilliant idea.
“Chris, let’s take the stern anchor chain and make a temporary mooring out of it. Tom and Tim can go down, find a big boulder and shackle the chain to it. We’ll put a buoy on it and every night after surveying the reef, we grab the buoy and moor ourselves to it.”
So Tom and Tim jumped in the water and did just that with one little hitch. They had to fend off Galapagos sharks which are territorial and dangerous.
Captain’s Log, sea date 06302000, 0400 hours
A couple of hours ago, I awoke and got up to make sure the computer and all-band radio had grabbed the latest weather fax. They hadn’t. Now we have no weather forecast. Being moored in the open ocean exposes us to the possibility of a strong weather shift out of the Southwest. Wind and swells could snap our homemade mooring and drive us up on the reef. Frantically, I began debugging the system.
Suddenly, Dave was standing right beside me.
“For some reason,” I said, startled that he was out of bed at this hour, “we didn’t get a weather fax.”
“I know why,” he replied.
I looked up to see he was deadly serious. “Did someone mess with this?” I asked. The thought that I didn’t really know Tom or Tim at all flashed through my mind.
He didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Let’s go up on deck.”
Alarmed, I followed him up the companionway ladder. Sitting down beside him, I asked again, “Did someone mess with the weather fax system?”
Dave looked at me intently. “This place is lit up.”
“What?”
“This whole place is lit up. Can you see it?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“You see auras sometimes, right?” he asked back.
“Sometimes,” I responded.
“This whole place is lit up like a gigantic aura. It looks like the aurora borealis, but it’s an ancient energy pouring into this place and we are in mortal danger.”
He started talking really fast about a rift in the Earth’s crust and a battle between good and evil and Kure Atoll was an ancient battleground and we were here for a purpose, but we may never leave. . .
I stopped him. “Dave. Dave! Slow down. What are you seeing?”
Before I continue, let me say that I’ve known Dave for many years. He’s a great cameraman and I’ve worked on high pressure video shoots with him involving large stages and thousands of people. He’s a practical man with common sense and the kind of guy you want in your corner if things are falling apart. Keep in mind, also, that we are sitting on the deck of a small sailboat in one of the most remote areas of the entire planet. So I said:
“Okay. Try and tell me step by step.”
“I was dreaming” he began,.”that eons ago all of us were chasing and battling an evil powered by some sort of a metal like plutonium.”
“Including Tom and Tim?” I asked.
“Yes. We lost the battle and the evil force trapped us together in prison of illusion.”
“Like Maya?”
“Just like Maya. I threw myself into the force of illusion, only to be destroyed. Then I was reborn and I threw myself into the force again. But it destroyed me once more. I was born again and leaped into the illusion again. Over and over, I repeated the process. Faster and faster, until finally the force couldn’t handle the overload of my energy. The illusion split, I broke through the force and cried out Zzzzzzzz. . .
“Suddenly, I was free and standing in a room with everybody on the boat beside me. A teacher dressed like a warrior was sitting in front of us. I looked at him and he handed me a gold coin with the letter Z stamped on the face. Holding this coin in my palm, I used it to counteract the evil force. Illusion disintegrated and I saw everything clearly.”
Getting more than concerned, I asked,.”What did you see?”
“I saw an asteroid like force that hurtled into the planet millions of years ago and punched a hole in the Earth’s crust. Lava spewed forth and created Kure Atoll and then all of the Hawaiian Chain over time.”
Dave paused.
“According to geologists,” I said,.”Kure Atoll used to be at the current latitude and longitude of the big island of Hawaii.”
“That’s right,” he replied. “The Pacific Plate has drifted with Kure Atoll upon it. But Kure Atoll is where the battle started and this is where it still is. The World War II Battle of Midway is part of this ancient war. All of us on the boat have been here before to fight. We have all been trying to come back for a long time. Now we are here on an important mission and the negative force has been trying to stop us. It’s still trying. We’re in grave danger. There’s a window of opportunity until July 4th. If we don’t leave by then, we may never leave.”
I looked at Dave and I could tell he was seriously alarmed. I could also see that he believed everything he was saying. It all sounded like science fiction to me.
“What is our mission?” I asked.
“I don’t know, exactly,” he replied..”It has something to do with what Tom is trying to accomplish. I feel we have all been brought together for this event. Like cogs in a wheel.”
“Dave. At this moment you can see an energy pouring down on us from outer space?”
“I don’t know if it’s coming from outer space. But, yes, it’s coming down like an aurora borealis with most of the energy landing inside the atoll.”
I twisted around on the cockpit seat to look over the reef and into the interior of the atoll. We are moored about a hundred yards from the reef and in the moonlight I could clearly see the lagoon. I couldn’t see any energy pouring in from anywhere. But just because I can’t see it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.
“We can’t go in there.” Dave was looking into the atoll along with me..”If we go inside, we may never get out.”
I looked at him..”Dave, I need to think about this. Let’s not mention any of this to anybody else right now, okay.”
He agreed, we climbed down the companionway ladder and Dave headed off to bed.
Now I’m sitting here thinking about everyone’s safety. Tom said he has been trying to get here for over seven years, delayed again and again by bizarre obstacles. When we arrived at Midway, everything was all screwed up and Ron, the fish and wildlife manager, almost derailed the entire expedition. And then there was the anchoring where we were literally chained to the bottom the first night here at Kure.
The very nature of what we are doing is dangerous. Tom and Tim plan on repetitive deep diving. There are no medical facilities and no one to come to the rescue if something goes wrong. Then again, maybe Dave just had a bad dream and wasn’t quite awake yet. I best sleep on this one.
Captain’s Log addendum, 0520 hours
I fell asleep wondering about Dave’s ancient battle. Suddenly, a voice inside me said,.”Be prepared and have back ups for backups. Treat Sherrine with absolute gentleness. Keep Sherrine out of the water. Your mission is to assist Tom with his mission.” I jerked wide awake.
Some may think I’m foolish. But I don’t see any point in pushing things. Especially when it comes to the Big Blue. I have decided to leave Kure Atoll before July 4th.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07012000, 2216 hours
I have been filling dive tanks virtually non-stop for two days while trying to discourage Sherrine from diving. Tom and Tim have been going down again and again in 95 feet of water, surveying and collecting specimens. Dave has been diving with them in order to film, but having a rough time of it due to the depth and heavy currents. Sharks are about and I’m getting nervous. Several times, one of the divers got swept away and had trouble making it back to MALIA. We are working in the open ocean, exposed to the Northeast Trades and swell.
An hour ago Sherrine announced to me that she is diving tomorrow, regardless. After sailing over 1200 miles to get here, I respect her desire to dive so badly in a pristine environment. But . . . it is her time of the month and Tim has privately told me that blood is blood to sharks.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07022000, 2030 hours
After watching some of the underwater footage Dave shot, I have ultimate respect for Tom and Tim. Not only are they good divers, they are gentle with the marine life.
This morning we all reached a compromise concerning Sherrine diving. Tom and Tim would take her down 95 feet to the survey site and protect her. Dave would film and if a dangerous shark approached, the three men would form a fighting triangle around Sherrine in order to surface and get her aboard MALIA. I agreed to stay on MALIA, realizing if the current swept them away, it would be up to me to maneuver her in order to rescue them.
Twenty minutes after they went down, I heard banging and rushed on deck. Dave was struggling on the surface beside MALIA.
My heart jumped into my throat..”What happened!?”
“Help me!” He screamed.
I reached down, grabbed the top of his tank, hoisted him up the ladder and on board. He whipped off his mask and started coughing.
“Are you okay?”
“No. I made an ascent without a decompression stop.”
“What! Why did you do that?”
“I ran out of air. The current knocked me all over the place.”
“Where are your decompression tables?” Frantically, I searched all around the cockpit until I found them. I scanned the numbers and between the two of us, realized he was safe with only one minute to spare.
“What about Sherrine? Where is she?”
“She’s still down there with Tom,” Dave replied.
“What happened to the plan? Where’s Tim?” I asked.
“When I started running out of air, Tim led me back to the anchor chain.”
I couldn’t believe it. They were separated. So much for the fighting triangle.
Minutes passed slowly.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four. . .
After ten minutes of scanning the surface of the ocean, Dave and I saw bubbles. Tom, Tim and Sherrine surfaced together.
Sherrine was excited..”We saw sharks and one of them was a Hammerhead.”
“Did they come after you?” I asked.
“Hey,” Tom interrupted,.”I told you I’d bring her back. What? You didn’t think I would. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you trust me?”
“Did the sharks come after you guys?” I asked, again.
“No. They didn’t even come close,” Tom answered.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07032000, 2200 hours
It doesn’t look like we are going to be able to get away from Kure Atoll before July 4th. Last night I had a dream that there is a vortex inside the Atoll. There have been discussions of taking the dingy and entering the lagoon, but so far no one has taken action. Dave and I haven’t talked much about his experience concerning the Ancient Battle upon Kure Atoll, but I’m nervous and ready to leave this place.
This morning I agreed to go diving with Tom, Tim and Sherrine while Dave stayed aboard. With MALIA still tied to her temporary mooring, we jumped in the water and descended 50 feet. The agreement was to stick together and do a.”tourist” dive because Tom and Tim had seen Galapagos sharks four days ago while building the mooring.
With the underwater camera, I filmed the group swimming through canyons and limestone formations. Sherrine did twists and underwater flips and it all seemed so wonderful and safe. I kept my eyes peeled for sharks, but didn’t see any. At one point, Sherrine stuck her head through a hole in a limestone pillar and I got a great shot.
Then I saw Tom motion to Sherrine. She turned toward me and gave the vertical hand wave signal for sharks. I swung 360 degrees around, seeing nothing. With my air running low, I swam above the three of them, still keeping a sharp eye out.
Upon reaching the mooring chain, I ascended and climbed aboard MALIA. Sherrine was second out of the water and Tom was behind her. Tim stayed in the water until we were safely aboard, watching the sharks which I still hadn’t seen.
Tim was fascinated with the circling sharks. Still in the water, he removed his tank and said,.”Can you see them? Can you see them? They’re under the boat. Here, hand me the camera.”
Dave tied a rope to the camera housing and lowered it to him. We all peered down into the blue sea, straining to see sharks. I began to make out moving shadows, circling slowly beneath Tim.
“Can you see them!?” I cried..”Are you getting shots?”
Tim didn’t reply.
The sharks came into focus. Moments ago we had been diving in the very water the sharks were now hunting through.
I shivered and turned to Tom. “What kind are they?”
“Grey sharks. If we feed them, we can get a better look.”
Sherrine got a chunk of fish and threw it off the bow. Within moments, a feeding frenzy erupted. Tom took another chunk of fish, tied it to a line and tossed it in the water. The fury continued with more and more sharks banging the fish.
Tim twisted to the right and the left, trying to keep an eye on them while still operating the camera. Suddenly, one of the sharks broke and came right at him. He used the camera housing to fend it off
“Tim! That’s enough,” Sherrine yelled..”Get out of the water!”
Tim ignored her until a bigger shark came at him, dodged the camera housing and thrashed right over his shoulder.
“Tim! Get out of the water, now!” screamed Sherrine.
He let go of the camera and clambered aboard.
“We're you scared?” I asked him.
“No. No. I was excited.”
Captain’s Log, sea date 07042000, 1520 hours
We have survived Kure Atoll and Dave’s “Ancient Battle.” At 1315 hours we removed the temporary mooring and departed under power with Tom’s cargo of rare specimens. Strangely enough, Dave never talked to me again about his bizarre visions of energy pouring down into the atoll.
Tim started fishing right after we left the mooring and hooked a large Amber Jack. Before he could get it to the surface, a shark took a massive bite right out of the Jack’s side. Scary!
Moments ago, Dave, being the responsible sailor he is, checked the fuel. Almost a half of a tank is gone, much more than I had expected. We need that fuel to outrun possible hurricanes. I got on the radio and received permission from the Harbor master at Midway to refuel. So now, we are looking forward to a fun Fourth of July ashore.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07042000, 2130 hours
A stunning turn of events has occurred. Seven miles from Midway, my shower was interrupted by Sherrine hollering in that the Harbor master had just called on the radio. He said, if we stopped for fuel, Fish and Wildlife were demanding we wait there until Sunday for a transponder. That is a delay of five days!
With a towel wrapped around my waist, I went to the nav. station and found the crew with long faces. I contacted Midway Control on the radio and asked to speak to Ron, the fish and wildlife manager. As I waited, I just couldn’t believe that Ron would tell me we don’t need a transponder, then change his mind and suddenly say we do.
Ron came on the radio and I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was pissed. I requested permission to refuel and he confirmed that we would have to wait until Sunday for a transponder if we stopped. I asked him why. He said that he had signed a clearance for us to go to Honolulu upon departing Midway, and instead we went to Kure Atoll.
“Ron,” I replied,.”you knew we were going to Kure Atoll.”
“I signed a clearance for you to go to Honolulu.”
This caught me off guard. Everybody we talked to on Midway knew MALIA was headed for Kure Atoll to do research. During our meeting with Ron, Tom had discussed in depth why he was going to Kure Atoll to survey the reefs. Ron had seen Tom’s permit to collect specimens and Dave had videotaped the entire encounter!
“Ron, did you honestly think we were going straight to Honolulu after we left Midway?
“The clearance I signed was for Honolulu. You told me you were returning to Honolulu by going North.”
“That’s true.” Stunned, I added,.”I’m shocked at the level of miscommunication. I feel terrible.”
I let go of the mic’s button. No reply.
I turned to Tom,.”Your fish won’t survive the wait, will they?”
“No,” Tom stated.
I pushed the button on the mic. “Ron, we need fuel. If we have to wait at Midway until Sunday, the fish Tom collected will probably die.”
“If you come here, you will have to wait for a transponder.”
I didn’t know what to do. Finally, I said,.”Okay. Well, have a good Fourth of July.”
“You, too,” he replied.
I hung up the mic.
“Ron knew we were going to Kure Atoll,” Tom said, angrily. “We even have the meeting with him on videotape. Does the clearance he signed say Honolulu on it?”
“Yes, it does,” I told him. “But I thought that was because Honolulu is our final destination.”
Sherrine cut in, “It is our final destination. And Ron knew we were going to Kure Atoll.”
“Who knows why Ron changed his mind about the transponder,” I said. “But if we go to Midway for fuel, Tom’s specimens will die. Let’s head North, away from possible hurricanes. Everybody needs to reduce water consumption and turn off lights when they’re not using them in order to conserve fuel. MALIA can sail, so that’s what we are going to do.”
Tonight, I’m going to bed with the knowledge that I have committed to sail against the trade winds for over fifteen hundred miles without the luxury of an iron sail to back us up.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07052000, 0800 hours
The wind is light and out of the East by Southeast, the very direction we should be going. Instead, we are on a close starboard tack of 47 degrees true, moving under three knots. We are less than 50 miles from Midway and Tom asked me again this morning how long it will take to get to Oahu. I repeated my estimate of fifteen days or less.
This time, he said, “That’s too long. The specimens will never make it.”
“All we can do is work with the wind and the sea,” I told him. “If you and Tim want to learn how to sail well enough to stand your own watch, then you guys can help us get to Oahu faster.”
They both agreed to learn, but Tom has absolutely no sailing experience whatsoever. Tim has only been aboard a sailboat three times in his life. Sherrine, Dave and I are going to try to turn these two into competent sailors. This should be interesting.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07092000, 0457 hours
We are on a course of 47 degrees true, going just over six knots. MALIA’s remaining fuel is down to just under 7/16 of a tank and the genset is currently running to charge the batteries once again. According to my calculations, we should have barely enough fuel to make water and keep the batteries charged before reaching Oahu. If we have to, we can start washing with saltwater.
Tom and Tim are learning to sail, but aren’t ready to stand their own watch yet. The sailing has been tough. The passage started out devoid of any decent wind with all of us struggling to beat to the Northeast in search of a fair breeze. Once we sailed past 30 degrees latitude North, we got smacked all over the place by squalls and almost ran right into a stack of thunder heads. We tacked to the South for a day, then two hours ago I tacked back in an attempt to pinch to the East as much as possible.
Every day Tom checks his specimens and every day I ask him, “Are they all right?” So far the answer has been yes. I know we are fighting the clock and I will feel absolutely terrible if his fish begin to die.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07122000, 0142 hours
Under a growing moon, we are going 5.2 knots on a course of 138 degrees true. The wind is at 19 knots and 45 degrees off our port bow. It is still 558 miles to Oahu. So far, we have been unable to steer a course straight to the island. This means we will have to tack to the Northeast at least once more, before turning Southeast again to make a landfall.
Yesterday, Tom and Tim began standing their own watch together. The acceleration at which they are both learning to sail is truly astonishing. We are even having philosophical differences concerning the overall direction we should be tacking in order to get back to Oahu as fast as possible.
Today, after a lengthy conversation with Tom, I’m finally beginning to understand what his efforts are all about. Tom works to, “crack the code” of rare species of fish from all over the planet. Cracking the code involves learning how to keep a particular species alive in captivity and figuring out how to get it to reproduce. Before man can domesticate any animal, he must first. “crack the code.”
Tom is on the front line. He studies the fish in the wild for clues to their life cycles and behaviors, collects them, then figures out how to actually keep the fish alive long enough to get them into a lab. In the lab, other marine biologists take Tom’s research and attempt to stimulate reproduction in captivity.
It turns out that this process is a heck of a lot more complicated then it sounds. One of the species that Tom collected at Kure Atoll is the Masked Angel Fish. This particular species is the most primitive of the angel fish line. Their life cycles revolve around harems. There is one male and five to six females in a harem. If something happens to the male, the dominant female morphs sex and actually turns into a male! Tom has two Masked angels aboard MALIA right now that are in the middle off this metamorphosis.
Tom’s strategy regarding the masked angels revolves around gathering juveniles and sub-adults in an attempt to create new harems in captivity. He hopes that the juveniles will adapt easily, because it is known that the adults don’t.
Around the world, people depend upon wild fish as a major source of food. Population pressures are causing over fishing and dying reefs aren’t helping things, either. One of the practical applications of Tom’s work is aquiculture. Fish can be raised as a direct food source in captivity or released in the wild to try and repair the damage man has inflicted upon nature.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07132000, 0436 hours
An hour and a half ago, I was awakened by Sherrine.
“Can you help me tack?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” I tried to open my eyes, but they were glued shut.
She closed the stateroom door.
Reaching up, I grabbed the bookcase above to drag myself upright. I stumbled out through the door, still trying to get my eyes to work. MALIA was bucking like a horse and the wind was howling.
Sherrine was at the nav. station looking at the radar. “There are squalls all around us and the wind changed direction. I can’t break out.”
I looked at the screen through my one eye that was now working. The radar showed blotches surrounding us. Some of them were so bright, they could be islands. Without taking my eye from the screen, I asked,.”Is there any lightening?”
“Yes.”
“Bolts?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. We’ve got to got out of this.” I blinked and blinked and blinked, until finally I could see through both eyes. Seconds count when you are hundreds of miles from land and facing the prospect of a lightening bolt blowing you out of the water.
Tension was laced through Sherrine’s voice. “I was trying to avoid the squalls when the wind shifted and sucked me right in.”
“Where did they come from?” I asked.
“They were in front of us.”
“Let’s tack now!” I pulled my harness over my head and followed her on deck.
By the time I got oriented, Sherrine was already on the foredeck removing the staysail’s preventer. The wind screamed, rain pounded and Sherrine got soaked.
We came about as lightening split the clouds over our heads. I braced for thunder, but it never came. Weird.
Going below, I checked the radar to assess the impact of our new direction and speed.
Tim was awake and looking over my shoulder. “It’s a squall line.”
As he spoke, I saw it, too. A string of squalls, all in a line, stretching all the way across the radar screen. I have heard of this before, but never actually seen one in person. The radar’s range was set at 24 miles, which means that the line was at least 48 miles long. There was no way Sherrine could have gotten around this. It looked to me like she punched right through the front of the line and almost made it out of the rear before the wind shifted, blowing her back in. Now the wind was off our starboard bow, trying to shove us in again.
I left the nav. station and climbed up the companionway ladder.
“Sherrine, we’ve got to start pinching up and getting away. Try and keep the wind 45 degrees off the bow.”
With her steering using the autopilot and me honing the trim of the sails, MALIA picked up speed and began to point into the wind. Lightening flashed through the clouds as some strikes reached the ocean’s surface on our port side. Every time I grabbed metal, I shivered at the thought of a bolt hitting MALIA.
I went below to the radar. Minutes passed. I wasn’t sure we were clearing the squall line. Sherrine came down the ladder and watched, too. Tim felt the line was moving to the North, with us clawing to the Northeast. Soon, it became apparent he was right. We weren’t out of danger, but would be before long.
I turned to Sherrine. “Why don’t you go to bed?”
“Okay,” she replied.
A few minutes later, I thought I heard something and looked toward the galley. Sherrine was there.
Do you want a piece of cheese?”
“Sure.”
A few seconds later she handed me homemade bread she baked yesterday with a chunk of cheese. I went on deck and caught a glimpse of twinkling stars breaking through the clouds off our starboard beam. Sherrine sure is wonderful.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07132000, 1232 hours
The rarest fish Tom had aboard MALIA died today. It was a Stregiel in the grouper family. Tom is depressed and feels that a contributing cause of death was a kidney infection. I feel bad, too, but I must say I have never met anyone who took their fish so seriously before.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07152000, 0254 hours
The last weather fax I was able to receive shows a tropical depression building 900 miles Southeast of us. It is just starting to spin and move our direction. We are sailing toward it at 6.7 knots through occasional squalls on a course of 164 degrees true. Unfortunately, Oahu is still 250 miles away.
My watch is over and I’m going to bed wondering how much energy this tropical depression contains.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07162000, 0350 hours
With a full moon glittering across a gentle sea, we are sailing on a course of 169 degrees true going 6 knots. The wind is out of the East by Southeast at 18 knots and the stars are shining.
When Sherrine awoke me for my watch, I was sleeping like a baby. I must have spent at least four hours awake in bed before the cradle rocking of the boat finally made the stress of responsibility fade away.
Normally, Tom has other people from around the world collect and ship specimens to him that will be used to.”crack the code.” But, when a particular species is rare or hard to collect, Tom goes out in person to handle it. In the course of his work, he has traveled all over the world to dive on various reefs. I have asked Tom over and over, What is killing off the reefs? As I somewhat expected, there isn’t just one answer. Some of the die offs are definitely caused by the conscious hand of man.
In the Philippines, it is estimated that seventy-five percent of the reefs are dead. To put in perspective how lush the reefs in the Philippines used to be, the Philippines is still the leading exporter of tropical fish worldwide. Tom has observed first hand the damage from the following practices:
A fifty-five-gallon barrel of cyanide is placed on the back of a boat. The boat drives around in a circle over the reef while the cyanide is poured into the sea. After a few minutes, the fish float to the surface poisoned, and the.”fisherman” fish them out of the water. The fish that die are sold for food, and in some cases, the fish that survive are sold into the tropical aquarium market. Tom has actually bought fish that was cyanide laced, only to discover it when they died a couple of weeks later.
Fishermen throw sticks of dynamite into the water around the reefs. The explosions cause stunned and dead fish to float to the surface. I have heard that half of the fish killed actually sink and are lost. It is a fast method of fishing, though.
Divers swim amongst the reefs carrying squeeze bottles of chlorine bleach. When a particular area is found that is rich in the desired fish, the chlorine is squirted into the water. The fish are immediately stunned and can be scooped up. That area of the reef dies shortly thereafter and becomes known as.”bleached.” There are lots of variations on the.”squeeze bottle” technique with chemicals such as those used in photo developing.
According to Tim, many of the reefs around Hawaii have been bleached. In the Philippines, he was diving when a.”fisherman” dropped dynamite in the water about a mile away. It felt like it was right next to him.
Tom said that in many third world countries, reefs are suffering from these horrendous practices. Why in the world would people use harvesting methods that kill the very reefs that are the life blood of the fish that these people need to survive? In my mind, these.”fishermen” must be able to see this small circle of life. We have been at sea now for twelve days, discussing the subject in depth.
Picture a small, third world, coastal village untouched by Western Man. Every morning the fishermen get up and go down to the sea to cast their nets or lines. At the end of the day, the fishermen take their catch back to the village to feed their families. Of course, some of the fish are sold to acquire other items needed to survive.
Life is good.
One day, Western Man shows up in a big boat off the coast. He comes ashore in a smaller boat powered by an amazing outboard motor. Around his neck is a camera. On his wrist is a watch. And his clothes are gorgeous compared to the simple hand woven cloth that the third world fisherman is wearing.
Suddenly, the third world fisherman feels very poor. He wants these beautiful things and asks the Western Man how to get them.
The Western Man says,.”Do you have any money?”
“No,” replies the third world man,.”but I have fish.”
“How much fish do you have?” asks the Western Man.
The third world man shows him and the Western Man says that is not enough. When the third world man finally understands how much fish he needs, he realizes that using nets or lines will never get him enough. Now, the third world man feels really poor.
Guess what happens next? Western Man shows third world man how to fish with dynamite, bleach and cyanide! And Western Man agrees to buy the fish in exchange for dynamite, bleach, cyanide and lots of other gadgets!
So third world man starts fishing using western technology and doesn’t worry about the reefs, because there are lots of reefs.
Time passes and third world man now has a watch, stereo and an outboard motor. Just one problem, though. His family is complaining about the lack of fish on the table lately. All of a sudden, third world man has a big problem. He can’t feed his family any more using nets or lines!
And here comes Western Man again..”Hey, you are killing off all of your reefs using cyanide, dynamite and bleach. You’d better stop or there won’t be any reefs left for the fish.”
Third world man looks at the dying reefs and sees the truth of these words. Then third world man looks at his little girl’s hungry tummy and sees the truth of that. The next morning, he gets up and goes fishing with a stick of dynamite.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07172000, 1520 hours
Good news! The tropical depression is weakening. We should be safe now as far as tropical storms go. Landfall, at Nawiliwili, on the island of Kauai, should occur just after dawn.
Today, Tom enlightened me some more regarding the destruction of reefs. It seems that crowbaring the reefs to catch tropical fish for the aquarium market is popular amongst some fish collectors.
Divers, carrying crowbars and nets, enter the water. They swim down on a search for the particular species they’re after. Upon locating the fish, they set up their nets and begin jamming the crowbars into the coral where the fish are hiding. They smash the coral into rubble and make a huge racket causing the fish to flee for their lives right into the diver’s nets.
Unlike poisoning, the coral sometimes survives and continues to grow.
Captain’s Log, sea date 07182000, 1957 hours
We are bouncing all over the place in mixed seas as we cross the Kauai Channel between Kauai and Oahu. Our course is 116 degrees true at a speed of just under 6 knots. Dark rain clouds pass overhead, sparing us. This morning, Harold, the sole U.S. Customs officer for the island of Kauai, cleared and sent us on our way for the last leg of this journey. After leaving Kure Atoll and sailing against the trade winds for over 1700 miles, we are less than 25 miles from where we started this adventure exactly one month ago.
Our sails are a bit tattered and torn, but everyone is in high spirits. Tom and Tim really stepped up and learned how to sail. Not only did they stand watches together, they covered ground to windward and allowed Sherrine, Dave and I to get sleep on this incredibly difficult passage. I told both Tom and Tim they are now assets when it comes to sailing offshore.
Tom started waving his hands around and said, “When I first came aboard and saw these ropes going every which away, I said to myself, I’ll never learn all of this. Now I know the name of everything and how to use it, but what am I going to do with that? I’ll probably never sail again.”
“Sherrine and I are going to be calling you the next time we need help taking MALIA to an exotic destination,” I said.
“You got to be kidding. What! You think I want to be thrown all around in the air again while trying to sleep? I’ll pass.”
“You never know,” I replied..”You might get back to sleepy Tennessee and start missing the high adventure of the ocean.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, if nothing else, when you’re an old man and someone asks if you ever sailed, you can say, ‘Sail! Are you kidding? I sailed over seventeen hundred miles against the Trades from Midway to the island of Oahu. We clawed every bit of the way with salt in our face, lightening bolts off our beam and the grim reaper on our stern, waiting for one mistake.”
Tom looked down, smiled and said,.”Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
Captain’s Log, land date 07192000, 0328 hours
We got in just before midnight and were met by Kelly, one of Tim’s best friends. Kelly had a truck and all of the materials necessary for off-loading Tom’s specimens. I stayed with Tom as each fish came out of the live tank and went into its shipping container. None were dead. The worst causality is a Masked Angel that has probable kidney failure. Tom thinks the fish must have had problems in the wild before being collected.
As a celebration for a successful mission, Tom told everybody he would take us to a Hawaiian Luau this evening.
Captain’s Log, land date 07202000, 1110 hours
I just finished interviewing Tom on camera one last time. Deforestation is a huge contributor to the death of the planet’s reefs. Deforestation includes the construction of cities, housing developments, farms and industrial areas. It doesn’t matter whether man is tearing up grasslands, underbrush or cutting down trees, the result is the same.
Picture this: A thunderstorm during the night beats down upon a large trailer park in Florida. The rain washes the dust off the cars and spills onto the asphalt driveways. The water flows over the pavement and collects more dirt. It falls through a storm drain and down a pipe to eventually be spewed into the ocean as muddy water.
In the ocean, the silt and dirt spread out like an underwater fog, slowly falling onto the coral like a dark blanket. The sun rises in the morning, but now very little light reaches the coral. Slowly the coral dies.
Tom also said that anytime the ocean’s water quality is reduced in terms of murkiness or chemical pollution, coral dies. The health of every living thing in the ocean is dependent upon good, clean saltwater. I asked him what the average person on the street can do to help.
He said, “Look at what you’re pouring down the sink or into the toilet. Those chemicals are probably going to end up in the ocean, reducing water quality.”
Then I mentioned that people who don’t eat seafood probably won’t care about the reefs.
Tom flared up. “Think about the millions of tons of fish and other seafood that are consumed by the world’s population. If that source of food disappears, it has to be replaced. This will put an enormous strain on our land-based resources. People who eat chicken and beef better care. They’re going to be sharing those food sources with everyone who use to eat seafood.”
Captain’s Log, land date 07292000, 1804 hours
A few minutes ago I received an email from my brother, Roger:
ALERT ALERT ALERT - Hurricane Daniel approaching the islands
I thought it was a joke, until I checked the Internet weather faxes. Hurricane Daniel is less than 700 miles to the East and bearing down on Oahu. Daniel is over 400 miles across, with sustained winds of 75 miles per hour.
Captain’s Log, land date 07302000, 1004 hours
Daniel is now less than 500 miles away and still coming on. It’s forecast to track right over the top of Oahu, including the marina we are staying in.
A few days ago, Sherrine and I watched the Perfect Storm in a movie theater. How bizarre that we are now preparing Malia to be struck by a hurricane.
Archie, the Harbor Master, came by to check on our work. He had a few suggestions, but overall felt we were in good shape. Unfortunately, there is a pleasure ship seeking refuge tied to the end of our floating docks. There are only two pilings holding it, the dock and a couple of large sailboats. The ship’s windage is immense and Sherrine and I feel there is no way these two pilings can support the load if we get hit hard.
Captain’s Log, land date 08012000, 1303 hours
False alarm. Daniel swung to the North just before hitting Oahu. High tides and heavy rains are just minor inconveniences here in the safety of the marina.
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