8:00 PM local time Easter Sunday, 15th. At anchor in Hiva Oa. Temp 82,
Humidity 85, cloud cover 20%.
"Scottie! Damage Report!"
"Aye, Captain. The light in the head has been fixed and we planed down
the cabinet doors which were sticking. The autopilot turned out to be
just a wee belt, which we expect to have sent in to Papeete."
The Captain, who has provided the ship with spares of just about
everything, including even the guts to the stereo and a second complete
one, is somewhat embarrassed at not having a belt for the autopilot on
board. The manufacturer was consulted on this issue and told the Captain
the belt couldn't be replaced by amateurs and anyway was Kevlar and
would last until the universe had gone through almost an entire cycle of
death and rebirth and had gotten back to where Dobie Gillis had gone off
the air but Gilligan's Island hadn't started yet. The Captain was
persuaded by his assurance, and decided against ordering a spare.
One thing that eight year old boy of the last missive could not have
enjoyed was the pleasure of alcoholic beverages, which is just as well
since he would inevitably lack the self discipline to consume them
responsibly, and in moderation, the way their manufacturers recommend.
This is without doubt the very way the crew of Maverick imbibed them on
Saturday night, last, after doing some very pricey grocery shopping in
town. Easter morning dawned, however, with the boys still in their bunks
and it was quite some while before they summoned the energy to arise and
begin the day's chores. These included doing the laundry at a faucet on
shore where we also took showers, and then hanging it all on the
lifelines and Genoa sheets to dry.
We hitched a ride into town from a Marquesan to look for ice cream, our
Easter celebration, with serious doubts. We were surprised and pleased
to find the same solitary snack bar, run by a French couple, was open
and we each had two orders of mediocre ice cream which was to us very
good indeed. We took a walk outside of town, to the countryside, as it
were, and viewed a landscape which was extravagantly verdant and
psychedelic quite beyond the Captain's powers of description. In many
places palm trees climbed the steep hillsides, which seemed peculiar
though lovely, and we surmised that these must have been planted, as
coconuts don't roll up hill. Later, after inquiring at the gendarmerie
we were directed up a steep incline to a cemetery where we found the
grave of Paul Gauguin, which held fresh flowers, seashells, and other
offerings. We did not locate the grave of Jacques Brel, but it's there
someplace too.
Tomorrow we're going to check our halyards, see about some fuel, and
then sail about ten miles to the island of Tahuata and an anchorage
which, according to Eric Hiscock, is one of the three most beautiful in
the South Pacific. But the crew of Maverick really feels no need at all
to outdo the impression already given by the first one.
PS to Ordinary (formerly Able) Seaman Jim Mead, et al: We have chosen to
use local time because we feel the reader when visualizing the situation
of the Captain can be better aided by information about its being
morning where the Captain is than morning where the Captain is not,
namely Greenwich. Therefore we use UTC aboard for HAM operations and
other marine and weather information, but as this is not in general use
we think it puts an unneeded burden on the reader. For our reports to
you at home we use the local time established by the relevant
authorities wherever we are (by the way, the time zone in the Marquesas
is Z-9:30), but at sea we have decided to use the time zone of our most
recent port, because we don't change time zones rapidly. We may amend
this policy, however, when going east-west on long passages like the
Indian Ocean. Further, the Captain is quite opposed to giving over
complete authority on so grand a subject as Time to a bunch of
politicians and dweebs running atomic robots. For the measurement of
Time is a human creation which the Captain thinks is better left to
actual humans; and here the reader is directed to the works of Earl
Palmer and Al Jackson, or the rhythm section on "Gee Baby" by the Jo and
Ann Trio. In any case, the greater issue you raise with this and other
points is answered by the general policy that, on board ship, without
exception, IT IS WHATEVER TIME THE CAPTAIN SAYS IT IS. If he says it's
11:00 AM when it's evident that the stars are out, and says the day is
only 17 hours long, the proper response for a sailor of your rank is
limited to "Yes Sir." We have had high hopes for you, Mead, but in
service in Maverick's Navy there are certain lines the prudent seaman
will not cross, and surely we won't have to point this out to you again.
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