Tomato Watching - Salomon Islands Atoll, Chagos

Harmonie
Don and Anne Myers
Wed 18 Apr 2012 06:09
5:21.371S  72:12.873E
 
April 1, 2012 - April 18, 2012
 
Or maybe vegetable husbandry is a better term?
That's what we do here in Chagos, look after and care for our vegetables (and fruit).  Every week, we take them all out of the fridge, coo over them, gently lay them on the counter to dry, shake out their special stay-fresh produce bags, replace the wet paper towels in the bags with dry ones, sort them (separating the slightly rotten from the still happy), talk to them, and most importantly, encourage them:
"Don't worry, you've already done three weeks and there's only three more to go!  Hang in there!  We need you!"
 
This week, the remaining avocados simultaneously collapsed and were given a tearful burial at sea.  The green beans and cucumbers persevered for three weeks, then just before expiring, were eaten up (very satisfying).  The oranges are hanging in there by a very thin thread.  The apples and limes are slowly turning a pukey shade of yellow, but seem to be alive and well enough.  The cabbage, carrots, tiny Thai eggplants, potatoes, onions, garlic and radishes continue to brag about their longevity in front of the others.  Their bravado is annoying the tomatoes and the eggs, but thankfully, not enough to cause mass suicide.  Yet.
 
Our next worry is the junk food.  Not that it will go bad, no, no, too many preservatives for that to happen.  Only that we'll eat it all, and then be stuck with five-week old carrots as our only snack.
 
Three and a half weeks into our six week completely self-sufficient marathon, and I've started to dream about restaurants.  And ice cream.  Don claims no such cravings.  I think he's just being nice to the cook.
 
Watching.
It's not just the vegetables we watch, it's everything.  Other boaters, sharks, turtles, crabs, mantas, sea birds, fish, clouds, squalls, surf, reefs, stars.  We sit and watch, and lose track of the date and day of the week.  We do have a clue about the time of day though, if only because we watch the lagoon water as it changes color with the sun, revealing shallow brown coral patches and bright blue sand spits as noon approaches, and then the reverse as the sun fades.  You could almost say the lagoon we are sitting in is like a giant, slightly irregular, clock face.  The ten, tiny palm-tree islands act as numerals, the surrounding reef defines the mostly circular clock face edge, and the boats swinging at anchor form a bizarre set of hour, minute and second hands.  There, see?  We have so much time on our hands, spent watching things, that odd time-related analogies suddenly pop up.
 
Animal Watching.
After entering the lagoon through the reef pass upon arrival, a sea turtle greeted us.  Since then, we've seen several more poking their heads above water until we grab the camera, at which time they decide to make a fast exit and dive below.  On the morning of our second day, we kayaked to one of the larger islands, and found colonies of moving shells scurrying away from our feet when we stepped ashore.  Hermit crabs.  They are everywhere on these islands, lugging around their shell homes with just their front legs sticking out.  Tiny ones dragging around tiny shells, and their older, portly relatives dragging around heftier shell shelters.  Aside from the sea bird calls, the first sound we heard in the interior of the island was dead leaves rustling as hermit crabs marched over them seeking refuge from our big croc-clad feet.  A few steps further into the island interior, and the rustling got louder as the oversized coconut crabs scrambled to get out of our way.  A few of the experienced Chagos boaters (those that have spent many a season here in the past) say there is a healthy population of rats on the islands.  As much as we'd like to believe all that leaf rustling was caused by various species of crab, it's possible rats were scuttling around in there too.
 
Speaking of rats, when in Sri Lanka, we decided to beat the heat and cement dust one evening and hike up to an old colonial style hotel perched atop a headland overlooking the commercial harbor where Harmonie was insecurely moored.  The plan was to have a nice, relaxing dinner surrounded by colonial luxury.  We arrived, and found it to be...quiet, too quiet.  It's never a good sign when a large restaurant area, both inside and out, is deserted - especially at prime dinner-eating time - but, it was one of the few options within walking distance, so we didn't let the echoing emptiness put us off.  All was going as well as could be expected as we chewed our way through a mediocre, overpriced, western-style, four course meal, when movement two tables over caught our eye.  We looked, and it scampered.  We thought it was a dark colored cat.  It was big.  Huge.  As big as our cat Peaches was in her prime.  We looked again, and it looked back, but not with cat eyes.  The tail wasn't right either - it wasn't fluffy.  It was hairless, skinny, long, pointed and colored an odd pinky-orange.  The thing was a rat.  A big-ass rat.  No, a Big-Ass Rat.  The Big Ass Rat moved on as we watched, and once it was out of sight, we decided the best course of action was to carry on.  So we did.  We finished our dinner (and dessert).  I sat with my feet on Don's chair...just in case.  Don did mention the sighting to one of our three waiters, who made a half-hearted search of the open air dining room to no avail.  Afterwards, we walked very carefully in the dark, down the hill, through the cement dust and back to the bouncing blue dock and our waiting boat.  We didn't venture out for dinner again in Sri Lanka after that.
 
Back to the animals.
For a while in this lagoon, we had a nice relationship with a foursome of unicorn fish.  That was when we were sitting in a spot equidistant from six different coral reefs (each as intimidating as the next whenever we swung too close), and before we hauled the anchor up in response to the tsunami warning.  Called unicorn fish because the male has a horn protruding from his forehead and the female has a forehead like Neanderthal Man, we found the footlong three females and one male to be quite social.  They hung around the boat all day and seemed to particularly enjoy the orange peels and cucumber pieces thrown their way every morning and noontime.  Since our return to the lagoon after the tsunami warning excitement, we haven't seen them, but we are anchored in a different spot further away from the reef hazards.  A French boat came in and plopped down their anchor where ours used to be, so hopefully the unicorn fish quartet understand French and don't mind a bit of butter on their vegetables.
 
Our most spectacular visitors so far were the spinner dolphins.  They came in through the reef pass one late afternoon and relentlessly pursued a school of fish along the reef bordering the shore, swimming between us and a Danish boat along the way.  From a distance, it was hard to tell whether it was the poor fish being pursued doing the jumping and flipping, or the dolphins doing a victory dance.  As the fish parade swam closer, we could see both going on - fish flipping out of fear, and dolphins spinning for pure pleasure (or so it seemed to us).  Either way, we were once again treated to the acrobatics of the spinner dolphins, even more impressive this time because the performers flipped and twisted while simultaneously hunting dinner.  When Don fishes, he simply puts the line in the water.  There's no flipping or twisting involved unless it's the caught fish.  I have seen Don do his version of a victory dance though (it's quite subtle as there is little or no movement of feet).  In fact, Don surely did a victory dance the other day when he took his light fishing pole and a few choice lures out in the dinghy to do battle with the lagoon fish.  He came back within an hour positively brimming with pride, brandishing a five pound leopard coral trout.  And rightfully so, we ate half the fish that night for dinner (pan fried with spices, soy, sesame oil and aging-by-the-minute onions and potatoes), and declared it better than any fish we've had before.  High praise indeed, in light of the number of marvelous mahi-mahi we've caught and eaten over the years. 
 
Shark Watching.
Yes, the sharks.  There are lots here.  All the sharks we've seen are black tip reef sharks, which are said to be harmless because they aren't interested in humans.  It's true we've never heard of anyone being attacked by a black tip reef shark, but still.  Reef sharks, unfortunately, look like sharks, and therefore are scary.  I blame Hollywood for this.
 
The first time we kayaked to the shore of Bodham Island (one of the larger islands), there were reef sharks patrolling the beach in only a meter or two of water.  Many of them were small, babies maybe, only twelve to sixteen inches long.  Then there were the moms (maybe the dads too?) patrolling near by.  The moms and dads were bigger, three, four, five feet long, and scarier.  After seeing that, I was reluctant to spend a lot of time in the water, but a few days ago, the temperature topped 95, so we decided it was high time we went snorkeling.  We were anchored within easy swimming distance of several reefs, so we put on our gear and ventured out.  The water clarity wasn't fantastic, so the coral and fish didn't come into view until we were within fifteen feet or so.  Doesn't it figure that just as we approached the first bit of interesting coral (and were quite a swim away from our boat), one of the biggest black tip reef sharks we've seen swam into view?  Ok, no problem, we've been in the water with sharks before.  They usually swim right by and pay us no mind.  So we watched as the shark swam by.  Then we watched as the shark turned around and headed straight toward us.  I went into mild panic mode and grabbed Don's hand (standard procedure when scary creatures are seen while snorkeling).  We floated together, facing the shark, waiting to see what it would do.  In those few moments, which of course seemed to drag on endlessly as time moved in slow motion, a calm settled over us (not that Don was ever panicked, but he did later admit to being concerned).  The shark approached until it was a few feet in front of us, then turned away and swam off.  We breathed.  Not five seconds later, a giant manta came into view, its huge maw open, gulping in plankton.  It floated close, I grabbed Don's hand, it dipped below us and drifted by like a stealth bomber with a tail.  It wasn't big for a giant manta, but it was big enough for us - about four feet from wing tip to wing tip.  Giant mantas are definitely not dangerous, but it was the first time we've been in the water with a manta, and it was...startling.  At some point, we'll go snorkeling again, but for now, we're (I'm) still recovering.  Don said he was fully prepared to punch the shark in the nose if it acted aggressive.  That may sound ridiculous, but it is the recommended action when facing a hostile shark.  He would have done it too, but we're both glad it didn't come to that.  Some of the more experienced Chagos boaters would scoff at our reluctance to hop back in the water, but again, reef sharks look like sharks, and therefore are scary [insert 'Jaws' music].
 
Reef Watching.
There is a lot of coral in these waters.  So much so that almost anywhere we put the anchor, we can hear it and the chain grinding on the coral.  It makes a disagreeable grating sound not unlike fingernails on a chalkboard.  This is never a happy sound for a boater because it usually means the holding isn't great, and that the chain will inevitably get wound around coral, making it difficult to retrieve the anchor.  This only tends to happen when trying to pick up the anchor in a hurry.  Like when a squall blows through with enough wind to cause the anchor to drag, and you have about two minutes to do something before your boat bashes into one of the many coral heads lurking directly behind it.  This hasn't happened to us, but the huge catamaran sitting up on the beach in pieces is a nasty reminder that such things can happen here.  We wondered why the Brits who administer this territory were so adamant that we have insurance coverage for wreck removal (which we do).  Now we know.  Apparently the French pop star, who owns the big catamaran that's been splattered all over the beach since last December, doesn't. 
 
However, don't despair!  One boater's loss is another's gain.  The day after our arrival, we kayaked to shore to inspect the wreck.  We had just climbed on the leaning hulk for a closer look when four boaters arrived in a dinghy loaded down with a portable generator and a variety of tools.  A spry looking older Danish man nearly leapt up to where we were standing and announced, "You're competition has arrived!"  It took us a minute to realize he, and the young Danish guy and German couple with him, were there to salvage stuff from the wreck.  Their arrival, which came so quickly after ours, wasn't a coincidence - the Danish leader of the pack was anxious to start his salvage operation before we started ours.  Of course, we were just curious spectators and not serious salvagers, but he didn't know that at the time.  We left them to their work, and over the two plus weeks we've been here, the Danish guy and his crewmate have been over to the wreck many times taking as much of the good stuff (winches, roller furling mechanism, hatch covers, navigation lights, etc.) as possible.  The French pop star owner doesn't seem to be interested, so better the efficient Danish guy does what he can with the wreck leaving less for nature (and the British administration) to deal with.
 
People Watching.
Ah....the best kind of watching.  Our neighborhood has grown since our arrival.  In the beginning, there were just the Danish boat, two German boats and us.  Now we've got a mini-UN gathering going on:  three German boats, one Danish, one Dutch, one English, one French, one Canadian, one Brazilian, one Australian and us.  We celebrated Easter (which, by the way, we wouldn't have remembered to do if one of the German couples hadn't reminded us) on the beach with the Germans, English and Canadians drinking coffee and eating various forms of homemade cake.  A few days later, we attended a beach book swap/happy hour with the full mini-UN compliment.  Last night we drank Brazilian rum and lime drinks on the French boat (French husband, American wife) with the Brazilians.  We've learned a few words of Portuguese, but failed miserably with the proper pronunciation.  We did, however, properly appreciate the Brazilian rum.
 
A German boat arrived the other day that at first we didn't recognize.  However, when we saw Heidi methodically making her way across the sand to the book swap using her two arm brace/canes, we remembered.  In Penang, Malaysia at the marina from hell with no breakwall, I held the marina gate for a man who was pushing his wife up the steep dock ramp in a wheelchair.  He stopped long enough for a rest, and to introduce he and his wife to me.  Because it's so unusual to see a boater in a wheelchair, I asked what happened.  "My wife Heidi, she just had half of one of her legs amputated in the hospital here in Penang."  Harry relayed this information so calmly it was almost like we were talking about the weather.  I don't remember the whole conversation, but I do remember afterwards feeling like the bad experience we had in the marina the night before (a sleepless night dealing with incoming swell, massive surging and broken dock lines) was less than trivial by comparison.  Harry in particular, seemed so upbeat at the time, determined not to let the loss of one of his wife's limbs dampen either of their spirits.  That was in November of 2010.  Imagine our surprise when Harry and Heidi showed up here, the most remote location in the whole of the Indian Ocean.  They sailed from Phuket to the Maldives, then on to Chagos, just the two of them, just like the rest of us.  Heidi has a prosthesis now, and uses it and the two arm braces to walk.  She said her goal is to get rid of one of the arm braces.  When I asked how their trip from Phuket went, they laughed and said they were three days out when they decided to turn around and go back because what wind there was, was against them.  Two days later, on their way back to Phuket, the wind shifted, so they decided to turn around again and head to their original destination, the Maldives.  In the end, it took them almost twice as long to get there as it should have, but they just smiled and shrugged about it.  There was no mention of any difficulty Heidi had with the trip, their only complaint was the wind.
 
And finally, Tooth Watching.
We were chewing some of that good Australian licorice after lunch last week when Don suddenly winced and spit something into his palm.  Oh nooooooo - it was one of his prized gold crowns all gummed up with black licorice.  What were we thinking chewing licorice 500 miles and three days from the nearest dentist?  Don pulled out our giant medical kit (one of the very few times it has come out of its hiding place in the five years we've been doing this), and we dug around for the dental kit.  Inside the dental kit we found a tiny tube of dental cement, cotton swabs, a dental mirror and instructions.  We knew we spent all that money on the Cadillac of medical kits for good reason.  Don prepared himself for surgery, I donned Don's magnifiers and inserted the cotton swab per the instructions.  After much gazing at the forlorn crown and the tooth it belonged to, I figured out which way the thing was supposed to be positioned.  Ok, next, dental cement.  I opened the tube, squeezed, and, and, nothing.  It was a dental cement block.  Five years and extraordinary heat were not kind to our tiny tube of dental cement.  Don suggested cutting off the bottom end of the tube to hopefully find something useable.  Aha!  There was a little bit of non-solidified cement in there.  I prepared the tooth and the crown and then attempted to put my hand in Don's mouth to replace the crown.  Hmmm, how do they do that?  Dentists and hygienists - how do they put their hands in a person's mouth?  Hands don't fit in there.  Fingers don't even fit in there.  I had a willing patient and still had trouble.  After five or six attempts and a few contortions, the crown was put back in place.  Mostly.  It's been a week and everything in Don's mouth is doing as well as can be expected after being subjected to extreme amateur dentistry.
 
And the good news?  Harry that just arrived with wife Heidi?  Harry is a dentist.  We do live a charmed life.
Anne