Tomato Watching - Salomon Islands Atoll, Chagos
Harmonie
Don and Anne Myers
Wed 18 Apr 2012 06:09
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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
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