The Native Iowan

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…

Evidence confirms the speculation… damn big fish…