The Native Iowan

Asian ring leader released

Mr Zhang has been released with no bail conditions by the High Court last week.

Sikua: Kingpin secretly met with politician 
FRESH reports have emerged into the beche-de-mer saga that top government officials are holding ‘secret’ meetings with Asian kingpin Zhang Tong Zhi.

This paper was informed Mr Zhang has been released with no bail conditions by the High Court last week on Tuesday.

This was also confirmed by a spokesperson from the High Court registry office yesterday.

These fresh allegations have again forced the Opposition in accusing the government of trying to influence the current investigations that try to link Mr Tong Zhi with high profile politicians in the illegal beche-de-mer trade.

Opposition Leader Dr Derek Sikua yesterday released new developments into the saga claiming that his office was informed that a government MP held three separate secret meetings last week with Mr Tong Zhi and another Asian Patrick Chan.

Dr Sikua said the meetings were held at the residence of Mr Chan at King George on Wednesday 4th, Thursday 5th and Friday 6th of April between 9pm and 10 pm; just a day after Mr Tong Zhi was released.

“I understand that Mr Tong Zhi was released by the High Court with no bail conditions. It was unfortunate that the High Court did not consider the AG Chamber’s application not to release him.

“He is staying in the country illegally because his residence and work permit have been cancelled. Therefore he should not be staying anywhere outside of police detention with strict conditions so as not to allow him to be involved in any work or business activity,” the Opposition Leader said.

Attempts to speak with the Attorney General were unsuccessful yesterday.

The Solomon Star understands one of Mr Tong Zhi’s close associate Mr Chan was one of the Asian’s who was deported last month.

Mr Chan was understood to have returned to the country last week.

Dr Sikua in a statement yesterday confirmed Mr Chan was deported on the 3rd of March but returned on the 4th of April through Port Moresby.

Mr Chan was allegedly spotted at Henderson International Airport where Mr Tong Zhi allegedly whisked him away on arrival to his residence at King George.

The Opposition Leader said according to his understanding, Mr Chan holds a Solomon Islands passport but his name has not appeared in the citizenship register, which means he is not a registered Solomon Islands citizen.

“The citizenship commission has already provided a report to police declaring that Mr Chan is not a registered Solomon Islands citizen during its investigations last year and the police have since given its report to the Immigration Department; but his passport was not cancelled,” Dr Sikua said.

“The Director of Immigration has the power to cancel passports, so I question the positions of the Director of Immigration and the Minister for Immigration on this issue.”

Meanwhile, the Opposition Leader also alleged that a high-ranking police officer was also sighted at the Lord Howe settlement last Thursday.

The Opposition Leader alleged this same high-ranking officer has used the official letterhead of the office of the Deputy Commissioner of Police to write a letter to the commandant of the Correctional Services to allow the wife of Mr Tong Zhi to visit her husband in prison.

“This is an abuse of office because the lawyer of Mr Tong Zhi should be writing such letter. This officer was also responsible for giving orders to release Mr Tong Zhi from custody at the Central Police station when he was arrested previously,” he said.

This paper had also made several attempts to talk to Mr Tong Zhi last week but was denied access by correctional services explaining that orders must come from either the director of immigration or the director of fisheries.

“These new developments further confirm that certain high ranking political figures and very senior police officers are involved in the illegal beche-de-mer trade and are actively at play to manipulate police investigation into the matter,” the Opposition Leader said.

Tropical morning sunshine streams though the glass walls of the house. I always leave at least one curtain a bit open as a timekeeper.

Last night, 24 hours off of full moon, the glass wall was filled with silvery moonlight.

“Glass walls?” I hear you ask…

When I designed and built this pad I had a personal idea of what the classic dwelling, on top of a hill, surrounded by ocean should look like. For me you needed lookout room that looked everywhere. You needed a place for a telescope, on all sides.  You needed to be able to live inside or outside, without much notice or difference.

So the long house with big open decks all around and a huge, extended roof with long eaves came into concept.

The desire to have tile floors decided we lay a concrete slab 10 feet off the ground. Such in itself is not difficult. One must only prepare to support the weight of the concrete. So we end up with a multitude of bearing posts with a complex timber flooring system that creates a baffle to support and hold the 6 inches of concrete. (All up about 30 cubes metric of concrete into the floor)

The other foolish desire to have uninterrupted cathedral ceilings decided we find and use uninterrupted 12” x 4’” timber beams over 15 meters long (almost 50 feet) and weighing upwards to 150 kilos or 300 lbs.  In order to procure such we ended up identifying and buying a couple large hardwoods here on Gizo island. My guys spent a couple months cutting then manhandling the beams out of the rain forest. The entire cutting by necessity was done by chainsaw. So we pulled, and winched, and skidded, and drug some 30 of these rough sawn, large, unwieldy monsters out of the bush and into the workshop.  If the timbers weigh 300 lbs dressed they would have been an easy 400 lbs rough.

The really stupid and foolish desire to have all the walls made up of glass sliding doors was indeed a really stupid and foolish desire. But it was one I had and spent the time to pursue, in line with the indoor – outdoor living concept. And after having looked at some “BALI” designed houses with accordion or roller doors, I decided to go with clear glass sliding doors.

The dwelling is built with a simple “pole-barn” concept. Main bearing posts run from ground to roof. The basic design is based on a 2-meter center for all posts. The house is 22 x 12 meters. 3 meters all around is open deck space with the 6-meter by 18-meter rectangle that makes up the interior being open and uninterrupted by bearing posts. The house has a large main room, which is kitchen and common room, a bedroom and bath on each side, and lots of open deck space.  All rooms open on all sides onto the deck.

10 circuits of the verandah and you have done half a klick.

Now, the glass sliding doors are cool and do the trick to keep one in touch with the elements but they do let light out, and in. The are a number of reasons why one may wish to keep light either out, or in, and as such I chose to put really thick, daylight blocking curtains up in the bedrooms. These suckers weigh a ton, look great, and if closed properly keep 99% of the light out.  They turn day into night

This is why I always leave at least one curtain a bit open as a timekeeper.

My bed faces the east. I like to keep an east and a south curtain open a bit. I enjoy watching the sunrise from my bed. And I like to be able to see the weather out south of here. Lying in bed and having the ocean as far as the eye can see is nice. I can pretty well gauge a Gizo day from what I see from my bed at daybreak.

This morning is a public holiday, Good Friday.

I have forever been confused by the title of this particular Holy Day. I, as a young child in a parochial school system, was taught the stations of the cross and told that we should do this, think of JC’s suffering, on Good Friday.

This all comes after Lent. 40 days of sacrifice and preparation.  All leads to Easter. And all that candy. Which of course engendered the whole catholic famine/ feast theology I had been raised with. But I had been confused by Good Friday?

Good Friday?

Now, coming from Ash Wednesday, I found Good Friday perplexing to the point of distraction. I could not do the stations of the cross like I was taught because the title assumed my agreement that there was something Good about that particular Friday.

Ash Wednesday was easy to understand. If you were into the whole “festival” of the Holy drama weekend you could actually join the burning the palms that gave the ash which we got marked with.

I was also into the pentecostal candle. The one that supposedly burned for 40 days and 40 nights. The ritual of lighting that big candle was always one of my favorites.

I was always into the spectacle of the ritual.

Though the smell of strong incense had been known to make me puke, I enjoyed the old Latin ceremonies with the stiff vestments, and large accouterments that were old, and heavy.

But Good Friday was always confusing for me.

So we’re preparing for a long, quiet weekend. The weather has come good. A squall and a wetting at least once a day but nothing out of the ordinary… enough sunlight and fine weather to keep everyone happy and occupied all weekend long.

But I remain perplexed about and by Good Friday.

One of the really good, fun, interesting, provoking, and entertaining days in Gizo… For me I am incapable of walking through Gizo and not seeing the past.

I see long, lanky, Bobby King, walking from the old “volunteer house” behind Charlie Panakera’s down the hill to town. Vols like, Rob Hughes, Ian Harris, Kenny Holmes, Dan P, and many others lived there over the years. I recall a birthday party where Lou Graham jumped out of the cake. Good party.

The view over the “anchor islands” group never fails to inspire:

The walk down the hill past where I lived with Pat P, and where a succession of vols, misfits and miscreants like Bob Pete, Alan Freshwater, Drs Fegan, John Hardiker, Pete Hooper, and many others lived. I recall a MP’s go-finis party there where Pat danced on the pedestal table (of course upsetting everything) and, in the morning, there was not a usable cup or glass to have coffee in. Good party.

And down the second hill into town… toward the Mag’s office; I recall a late Friday night, The Fegans had just returned from maternity leave. We’d been to the Gizo club and were a wee bit tipsy… David, Rob H, and I took on the manly task of pushing baby Hanna’s buggy up the hill as we staggered and laughed our way home. Baby Hanna is now a young professional living in London. I do believe a three of us blokes petered out and Jackie had to ensure Hanna was not left on the roadside. Thank gawd for moms! Good party.

Of course the town/ market place is a bustle of activity. A riot of colors and sound. The bright orange and green and blue canoes, the yellow bananas, blending with the bright prints of the people. It is still nice to walk by and say “morning” to everyone you pass…

Gizo is well worn. The roads are worse than they ever were. It is more of a dirty little backwater than a quaint old sea port.The years have not been kind to Gizo. The rubbish collection is pretty much nonexistent. Maintenance is an unknown word. But it’s still a great place for a stroll.

As the day ended my few “things to do” were done or adequately procrastinated; and as I prepared to cease all meaningful endeavors, it decided to rain, but not just rain, to bucket down. I’d spent a few hours at the depot cleaning and re-rigging some fishing gear. I am slowly cleaning the tool room up, and my general puttering allows me to wander all over the facility I created but no longer control. I make everyone nervous; they perk up when the “boss” is around.

One group of guys is laying a half-dozen cubes of concrete, all mixed by hand… no mean feat anywhere but an every day occurrence here. They’ll have this job done by end of Saturday.

The standard pipe and tank work with welding and grinding –outside the fence– takes place.  I do enjoy the engineering aspect of running a fuel business… The little fuel biz in Gizo is an interesting place.

So it rains, and I decide to grab my old cabella’s raincoat and wander to the Gizo Hotel.  My raincoat has spent the last many months in a closet at the house. I had dug it out and rolled it into my pack before I came down. Smart me…

So I grab it, give it a little shake, unzip it and stick my left arm down the sleeve.

And something big grabs and bites my thumb…  I knew right away that it was a hairy-legged spider. What I call a “Huntsman”.  I am well aware of what is taking place up the sleeve of the raincoat, but for the 13 seconds I startle everyone as I make incoherent sounds, hop on one leg, shake my left arm and by gratis the black rain coat all over our small office… the big hairy spider drops out and run towards my son, Don. Don promptly screams like a girl and grabs a weapon to kill the creature. I stop him from killing the beast but we both stand back and take stock…

The spider is big: I have sense enough to snap a pict… albiet with a shaking hand…

Don suggests I put my thumb up to gauge the size of the beast. I respond that, after having been bit by it (and it did hurt) I was disinclined to put my thumb anywhere near it. So to prove he is a man, Don the brave, offered his thumb for the much required sizing effect:

To give and idea of it’s size:  The space between the puncture wounds it made is about 1 cm (about 3/8^th of an inch) so make no doubt about it, this is an avid meat-eater that grabs ahold and chews on things of reasonable size.  The wounds on my thumb gives you a reference to the width of its bite.

And it hurt.

So I shook the coat out good. Checked all the pockets, and gingerly donned it for my stroll in the rain to the pub.

And what a better place to end the day than sitting up high in the Gizo Hotel watching the world go by…

Gizo is good…

How good it was…

The island fresh pineapple that was almost too sweet?

Or the just-overripe pawpaw?

Or a couple of the stubby, fat, yellow n’ red bananas…

Though the skies open and the wind and waves howl, I remain content.

In classic island fashion my housekeeper, Lanlyne, stocked the house up with fresh fruit and veggies for the weekend.

She had left a great pawpaw, cucumber and pineapple juice in the fridge. It had a touch of ginger and was magic.

The tub of pawpaw, pineapple, with a few bananas is what is left of lunch for today.

And life is guuuud…

Got into Gizo yesterday with Mendozza.

It looked like a breezy, wetish, but sunny day when we landed. Looks can be deceiving though, and it started raining as we were driving home.

And it has not stopped. All eve, all night… and now, today…

The Alcol sailed to Honiara this morning. I was up early with Paul to see them off. Not the sort of morning you hop out of bed and race outside. It has been bucketing down all morning.

I got back a bit damp and chilled at about 830am. I wasn’t soaked but funny enough; I was rained on enough, below my knees (had a rain coat on) that, in a few minutes my boots were filled. Literally, the rain was so intense it ran down my body, down my legs, and filled my Red Wing work boots to the top, and over flowing. In minutes.

So I get home, I shook-off the cold clothes, put on a warm shirt and a lava-lava and wrapped up in a nice fuzzy blanket on the verandah. I read and dozed for 3 hours. Very nice but, dern, if it aint a tad bit cold for me. Gonna have to put on a pair of warm socks soon.

Pat P. just rang and was thinking of going to the pub for a beer. I ain’t going out.

The sound of the rain on the roof is hypnotic. The gusting of the wind, the rain, and the pounding of the surf below. All meld into a roar.

I love it when you have a lull. Everything stops for a time. Then you hear it coming. Above the boom and vibration of the surf on the reef. When caught unawares you cock and ear and wonder, “what is that”?

It is the sound of the rain on the ocean. The rain in the trees, the rain on the earth. But it sounds nothing at all like what it is. It sounds like an army marching. Thousands of feet stepping, stomping in time.

You feel the wind first. A gentle gust that moves your hair and makes you think, “It’ll all be fine”.

But that gentle gust, caress, is a lie.

It comes on very slow and soft, then WHAMMO…

The wind and rain hit all at once. A gust that shakes the house and rain that is more of a deluge than a wetting. The skies literally open up. It hits like a sledge. Rocks your equilibrium, destroys your perception and sends your senses into fight-or-flight mode.

In other words, it scares you shitless.

But you recover fast and think it won’t last.

Oh, fool, you. It will last. It will last for days.

In the village, days like these were considered “good sleeping weather”. You couldn’t garden or build or fish. So you slept. And still, today, in these islands people sleep through such weather. Business suffers, anything made of leather rots, and the population takes another jump.

It is down to a reasonable flow right now. A simple rain with a lying wind. It almost makes you believe (or want to believe) that it will all soon end.

My buddy Hans, at San Bis Resort, is supposed to be warming his new house today. Hans is a creative Swiss dude who has been building here at his resort for about 10 years. (Check out the “best resort in the islands” link)

In this time Hans has never had his own house. He has talked of and even built his own pad more than once, but it ends up being part of the resort being let-out to guests. So he has not had his own house, his own place, and sleeps wherever there is a free bed. And sometimes there are no free beds and he sleeps in the Dive Shop.

But now, finally, he has built his own house. And in classic Hans fashion it is a funkadyllic mix of island style with beautifully finished slabs of hard wood, tiled bath, and bitchin sound system, all conceived and executed as only a mad mind can. I commented before that he took a coconut tree that was in the way of the building, and turned it upside down as a feature post. It is cool but makes you scratch your head when you first see it…

We just spoke and the party is off for today. The wind is howling from the south/ sw. He built his pad on the south side of his island, away from the resort. It faces Simbo and beyond. Is indeed a glorious location. He built it with an open front so there is no door. Just this nifty leaf house, completely open on one side, facing south to the reef and ocean and….  sadly for today, the elements. The wind is blowing fair into his place.

So the house-warming party is postponed. And I get to sit up here on the hill, watch the weather, and consider myself lucky… don’t have to go out on the water today and can hole up, under my fuzzy blanket.

Life is indeed good. And there are sunny days on the way…

I think that many of my faithful readers have somewhere along the line heard of Bondi Beach…

I was up at 430, on the road by 5, in Brisbane by 7, on the plane by 8, in Sydney by 11 and, at Bondi having lunch with my buddy, Clive, by 2pm…

Lunch was great, the conversation was grand… traffic from Bondi to the airport was nasty. I made it to my return flight/gate within minutes. Had a long, rainy, bad driver ride, that took twice as long as a normal, from the Brisbane airport to mis-named “Sunshine Coast”. But safe and sound at home now.

With a good pict of famous Bondi Beach…

While the plague raged violently at Marseilles, every link of affection was broken, the father turned from the child, the child from the father; cowardice and ingratitude no longer excited indignation. Misery is at its height when it thus destroys every generous feeling, thus dissolves every tie of humanity! the city became a desert, grass grew in the streets; a funeral met you at every step.

Swedish man found alive after snow buries him in car for two months

Quoted from a short biography of

MAJOR-GENERAL HENRY RONALD DOUGLAS MACIVER

“Here is one story, as told by the scrap-book, of an expedition that failed. That it failed was due to a British Cabinet Minister; for had Lord Derby possessed the imagination of the Soldier of Fortune, his Majesty’s dominions might now be the richer by many thousands of square miles and many thousands of black subjects.

On October 29, 1883, the following appeared in the London Standard: “The New Guinea Exploration and Colonization Company is already chartered, and the first expedition expects to leave before Christmas.” “The prospectus states settlers intending to join the first party must contribute one hundred pounds toward the company. This subscription will include all expenses for passage money. Six months’ provisions will be provided, together with tents and arms for protection. Each subscriber of one hundred pounds is to obtain a certificate entitling him to one thousand acres.”

The view of the colonization scheme taken by the Times of London, of the same date, is less complaisant. “The latest commercial sensation is a proposed company for the seizure of New Guinea. Certain adventurous gentlemen are looking out for one hundred others who have money and a taste for buccaneering. When the company has been completed, its share-holders are to place themselves under military regulations, sail in a body for New Guinea, and without asking anybody’s leave, seize upon the island and at once, in some unspecified way, proceed to realize large profits. If the idea does not suggest comparisons with the large designs of Sir Francis Drake, it is at least not unworthy of Captain Kidd.”

When we remember the manner in which some of the colonies of Great Britain were acquired, the Times seems almost squeamish.

In a Melbourne paper, June, 1884, is the following paragraph:

“Toward the latter part of 1883 the Government of Queensland planted the flag of Great Britain on the shores of New Guinea. When the news reached England it created a sensation. The Earl of Derby, Secretary for the Colonies, refused, however, to sanction the annexation of New Guinea, and in so doing acted contrary to the sincere wish of every right-thinking Anglo-Saxon under the Southern Cross.

“While the subsequent correspondence between the Home and Queensland governments was going on, Brigadier-General H. R. MacIver originated and organized the New Guinea Exploration and Colonization Company in London, with a view to establishing settlements on the island. The company, presided over by General Beresford of the British Army, and having an eminently representative and influential board of directors, had a capital of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, and placed the supreme command of the expedition in the hands of General MacIver. Notwithstanding the character of the gentlemen composing the board of directors, and the truly peaceful nature of the expedition, his Lordship informed General MacIver that in the event of the latter’s attempting to land on New Guinea, instructions would be sent to the officer in command of her Majesty’s fleet in the Western Pacific to fire upon the company’s vessel. This meant that the expedition would be dealt with as a filibustering one.”

In Judy, September 21, 1887, appears:

“We all recollect the treatment received by Brigadier-General MacI. in the action he took with respect to the annexation of New Guinea. The General, who is a sort of Pizarro, with a dash of D’Artagnan, was treated in a most scurvy manner by Lord Derby. Had MacIver not been thwarted in his enterprise, the whole of New Guinea would now have been under the British flag, and we should not be cheek-by-jowl with the Germans, as we are in too many places.”

Society, September 3, 1887, says:

“The New Guinea expedition proved abortive, owing to the blundering shortsightedness of the then Government, for which Lord Derby was chiefly responsible, but what little foothold we possess in New Guinea, is certainly due to General MacIver’s gallant effort.”

Copy of statement made by J. Rintoul Mitchell, June 2, 1887:

“About the latter end of the year 1883, when I was editor-in-chief of the Englishman in Calcutta, I was told by Captain de Deaux, assistant secretary in the Foreign Office of the Indian Government, that he had received a telegram from Lord Derby to the effect that if General MacIver ventured to land upon the coast of New Guinea it would become the duty of Lord Ripon, Viceroy, to use the naval forces at his command for the purpose of deporting General MacI. Sir Aucland Calvin can certify to this, as it was discussed in the Viceregal Council.”

Just after our Civil War MacIver was interested in another expedition which also failed. Its members called themselves the Knights of Arabia, and their object was to colonize an island much nearer to our shores than New Guinea. MacIver, saying that his oath prevented, would never tell me which island this was, but the reader can choose from among Cuba, Haiti, and the Hawaiian group. To have taken Cuba, the “colonizers” would have had to fight not only Spain, but the Cubans themselves, on whose side they were soon fighting in the Ten Years’ War; so Cuba may be eliminated. And as the expedition was to sail from the Atlantic side, and not from San Francisco, the island would appear to be the Black Republic. From the records of the times it would seem that the greater number of the Knights of Arabia were veterans of the Confederate army, and there is no question but that they intended to subjugate the blacks of Haiti and form a republic for white men in which slavery would be recognized. As one of the leaders of this filibustering expedition, MacIver was arrested by General Phil Sheridan and for a short time cast into jail.”

Last day in Gizo. Has been grand on all fronts…

One might find a least developed country experience to be confusing at best. While walking down the hill today I was ruminating on the amount of refuse I was walking over and around. It was noticeable. And I was forming a negative opinion.

Then I turned a little corner and heard the voices…

A group of little kids, I mean babies, the oldest 4 or 5 yrs old. I counted 5. An older girl was under the tree a ways away (playing with a cell phone) as the babies sang.

In harmony, they were singing lotu (church) songs. It was gorgeous. Singing for the joy of singing and all equal and all participating. Babies yet without competitive natures or alterior motive. Innocents. Singing as I tramped down the red clay goat track.

I hollered “morne” and they all made noise less beautiful than the lotu tune. We hollered “helloooo”, morninggggggg”, “howwwdie”, and “bye-bye” back and forth. What ever I hollered they chanted back.

But I was moving quickly. Walking, trucking down the red-clay goat track that passes for a road in this LDC.

Radio “hapi lagoon” plays on my tinnie little radio. I’m listening to the noise and the news. Hard to tell the difference between the static, the white noise and the newz.

Mosquitoes are fierce right now. I am assailed on all fronts. They’ll only be here for a bit at dusk and dawn but, golly-gee, they sure are a nuisance.

The frogs are doing their vibratory chorus. A gecko joins in. The eve is quite still. In a noisy way. Has been sweltering all day and we’ve seen two good tropic down pours. And it still humidiates….

The tropics… 3 meters of rain per annum. I used to get ear infections from sweating too much. I have lived with rot of hoof and loin more than not for 30 years. It took me a long time to learn to live here.

And it is a glorious land. Not to be judged harshly.

A glorious land.

Off and scooting to Liapari this morning. A quick run, in and out, to sort a spare-part problem with the Alcol.

The weather lately has been quite rough. The pacific convergence zone has been sitting heavy on the Solomon’s shoulders. We just had a few days of decent weather. The roads have dried up. And the seas have come good.

The market today was great. Overstocked and very cheap. For the past week or more the weather has kept the market producers on their home islands of Kolombangara, Vela, Ronongga, or Simbo. So the pickings  were slim and high priced.

So, at 10am, I scooted over to Liapari. Kolombangara was cloudless. A rare event and one worth savoring. The seas were deep blue and the reefs were sparkling turquoise. The islands, pieces of jade afloat in the sea of blue.

The clouds were scattered, not gone. All low leveled and hunkering. Gleaming white under the morning sun, but heavy and ponderous.

While at Liapari the winds came up. It’s Nor’Westerly season. The Nor’West wind stirs the sea on the east side of Vela. It funnels down the Vela Gulf. The currents off shore of Liapari turn into a “rip” when they meet the tide and the wind.

I finished my work and hot footed it back to the water. I didnt want to wait too long and end up in big seas. So by 1pm I was back on the water. The mouth of the Laipari passage was running high. The winds and currents and tides almost close the passage but, for old salts like me, you just throttle back and mosey up and over, and down, and around the big waves that are funneling into the passage.

I met a pod of bottle-nose dolphins there, today. I fist saw them as I stood up to throttle back and look around. They were right by my boat. I learned from a Tongan fellow to talk with the mammals of the sea so I said, “gday, whatr you all doing”? Just like that, three of the smaller dolphins teamed up, shot around my boat and in a line from left to right, shot under my bow, came up on a nice wave and the trio surfed a fair distance. All three with big grins on their faces.

And another, obviously showing off, catches a wave. Surfs down alongside my boat. A duo do a couple hops out of the water. More surfing, more smiles. I am talking all the time… “thats nice, good one, great, yippeee, can I play, do it again”…

I saw that most were juveniles. There were a couple large mature, matron looking, dolphins around. They maintained position off to the left, in the mouth of the passage. They didnt appear to be surfing. Just the little ones were having a “whale” of a time, surfing on the big breakers in the mouth of Laipari passage.

All I can say is

Yeee Hawww

This came my way today…

Made me smile:

… one of those highly energized cauldrons in the air; where dark clouds swirl and grumble. Cracks of lighting surround where I sit. A mini-little storm brews overhead. Its what I call a Willis storm.

In conversations Willis and I often discussed energy and energy-use. Willis is a climatologist, and I always wondered how one could create a little mega-volt generator out of a storm in a tea cup.

A big long, low grumble… still vibrating on.

Wheres the crack? That gun-shot sound that raises hairs on the back of the neck.

It is fitting that I watch UFC 144. Henderson vs Edgar. Good fight. The weather is playing hell with reception.

And the storm has not hit. No rain yet. No wind. Today was oppressively hot. Temps now have plummeted. Soon the deluge.

There it is… the rains come. And Edgar better tap out before I lose reception all together…

But, for now, the seething, swirling cauldron of energy grumbles and growls…