Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. (C) Copyright 2002. M.C. All Rights Reserved. All Reproduction for fee or profit forbidden. Copies of my stories can be downloaded from: </files/Authors/MikeC/> Send all comments and suggestions to MikeC@NSpace.net ============= James Part VII. Wandering Afield. Chapter 42 I set the autopilot and had just cracked a beer and settled back for a snooze when Sherri and Sara came back out. "Brenda's got salt all over her! Yuck!" Sherri made a face, then pouted, "And Sara won't play with me anymore!" Sara laughed, "Hard to believe but your girlfriend is even hornier than me!" she hugged her, "But we must wait a bit - you're still healing." Sara sat Sherri on her lap and leaned on me, "This is going to be such a GREAT trip!" Brenda came out of the shower, naked and dripping and shaking her hair. "Watch the water, we're halfway down!" The boat held 8 gallons, or about 40 minutes of fresh water on board for everything - drinking, washing and cooking. "Another good reason not to go in the ocean - the salt is itchy!" she added. "Did you see? She's washed all her sunblock off!" Sherri grinned at Sara, "THIS time I get to put it on her while you hold her down!" "See what I mean?" Sara laughed as they hustled Brenda down, "But take us where we can do more fishing!" she added. Ten minutes later, a thoroughly oiled Brenda led the grinning pair back on deck. They had put on T-shirts but the shadows and dark hints of their breasts underneath made looking away difficult. After I gave them the ogling they were due, I spread the hydrographic map, "This marks a wreck, in eighty feet of water. Wrecks and coral make great fish habitats and we're going to try there. And I'm going to test out the diving disk as well." The 2" round metal planers attached to the line and pulled the lure deeper by diving under motion. I set up the little motor to cut across the current. Sherri watched me, and then asked, "Why are you going half the speed as before?" "Because before, with the current against us, we had to go 10mph just to stay in the same spot. But now I'll cut across the current at about 7 mph to avoid damaging the flying fish and still drift past the wreck slowly." She thought about it, "Makes sense - but then you're too slow now." I looked at her and she continued, "You were going 4000rpm before to get 12 mph. Now you're only going 1800, which is only 5-1/2 mph." We stared at her. "It's very simple," Sherri smiled, "I have what's known as monotonic pitch recognition. I can tell what pitch is based on middle-A, which is 440Hz, so by doubling and approximating, I can judge almost any frequency. I can tell, for instance that the motor's running at around 2 octaves above "A", so that makes it 1800rpm, or thereabouts." With her help we adjusted the little motor, catching a 4-pound snapper almost immediately with the deeper lure, then we turned and angled back over the wreck. The next 2 hours produced 13 fish, eight being ten pounds or more, giving all of us more than enough excitement and exercise. We kept the 2 largest, a 17lb Mahi-mahi and a 22lb Kingfish which almost wretched Sara's shoulder out with its furious darting fight. We stopped when Brenda's steel leader was snapped again, but by then, we were down to our last baitfish, which we released. Despite their soft flesh, which disintegrated too easily, the deadly attraction of the flying fish for game was well proven today. We cleaned up, using water sparingly as I steered for shore. We were all a little tired and nobody relished the idea of another meal on the pitching deck, so we happily accepted Brenda's suggestion of dinner ashore. I had intended for us to stay over at a large city but we started smelling a foul odor. It became worse the nearer we got and soon we could see why. The current had trapped miles of seaweed and garbage and, despite the unrelenting efforts of tugboats and dredgers, was choking the harbor with a rotting smegma. I turned about and steered for cleaner air. It took us almost half an hour before we were rid of the cloying smell but by then we were looking ahead at a beautiful sandy island with a row of low white buildings gleaming in the sun. The map named it Brookhaven. It was a large island connected to the mainland by a causeway at one end, with sandy beaches and meandering waterways in beds of reed. The opposite side was a scraggly cliff protected by a concrete lattice in the surf to fend off the unrelenting waves. On the very top perched a resort and convention center. I steered up a deep, narrow channel and docked at the marina built beside the causeway. I nodded at the attendant as I coasted up. He looked up and his mouth dropped as the girls leaned over the side. "Geez, I'm so sticky and yucky!" Brenda whined, fanning her shirt and we stared at the billowing hints of her nakedness, "Isn't there some place a girl can get cleaned up around here?" She arched her brows at the man. "Er, there's a resort and..." he looked at me, then back at Brenda, "They'll have showers..." He stared at me as I tied us down and stood to regain our land legs. "Is your fly undone James?" Sherri whispered in my ear, "He's awfully interested at you!" then to the man, "Can you show us where?" The man started pointing up the hill and his eyes popped as Sherri took a deep breath and leaned over him. "But he's not gay." Sherri informed me. The man flustered over Sherri then he turned back at me. "Er, excuse me..." he dashed inside the office and returned with a boating catalogue. He flipped through it and opened it, "Is that you?" "God, look at the mug!" Sara laughed, "I can't see why they'd want that picture of you in there!" She looked closer, "Of course they must've wanted Celeste and forgot to crop you out!" The man looked at me carefully, then the picture, then Jewel. "Oh, you're from the factory!" he suddenly grinned and shook my hand, "Let me call my boss!" They were busy explaining to Sherri why Amanda was looking somewhat cross-eyed in one picture when a swarthy man came up in an electric cart and started shaking my hand, "Al Jeffray, here! Welcome to Brookhaven! I own the marina and I'm also the mayor of this here sand dune." He shook my hand again, "Ah, it's good of you guys to drop in on a little outfit like ours!" He started looking over Jewel, "Is this the new 26?" "Yes, we're still trying a few mods on her..." I started. "Show me, show me," he was quite beside himself. "We'd be happy to talk more about the boats." I paused, "But right now we'd like a chance to freshen up first." "Of course, of course! Let's get the word out and maybe we can pick your brains over dinner?" "Thank you for your invitation Al - I accept. And I've got something here I'd like to contribute to the meal." I transferred the two fish we had caught. Cars were not allowed on the island; wheeled transportation was either by bus, bicycles or golf carts. We were issued an electric six-seater and Al took us to the resort. "We're a little busy this week so we only have this cottage tonight. It's got two bedrooms and a pullout in the living room." He paused, "Will you be needing the cottage for longer?" At my smile he amended, "Please don't misunderstand! You are our guests - but the cottage is booked for later this week and I'll have to make other arrangements if you need a place for more than tonight!" "Al, you've already been most kind. We will be leaving tomorrow morning." "Right then, make yourself comfortable, dinner in say, an hour and a half?" Al gave us directions and took off. The cabin was large and airy and the bedrooms shared a walk out to a patio with a panoramic view of the ocean. Once or twice we caught glimpses of dolphins and other, less identifiable creatures far out in the sparkling water. We cleaned up and took a drive around the island, using a map provided in the cottage. We drove along narrow roads past low rolling greens, exchanging greetings with the islanders in their low summery houses. A number of depots dotted the island where we could obtain fully charged batteries for the cart in exchange for drained ones. The restaurant was quite full already with the resort guests seated for the early dinner sitting. Al had reserved a table at a corner for us, explaining, "I figure we'll let you enjoy a quiet dinner and we can meet everyone in the meeting room next door after." The kitchen served the mahi-mahi on a large 4 feet long platter. It had been baked whole in banana leaves that removed the skin when they were peeled off. We were served generous portions then the dish was set up in the center of the room so everyone could have a taste. Al gave us a brief run down of his town. The island was oval shaped, 22 miles long by 9 wide, of which about a third was beaches and marshlands. Although fewer than 2000 people live there year round, it could have up to 5000 visitors staying over at any time, drawn there by the beaches, the nature areas and of course the golf courses. Once the private estate of a wealthy industrialist, Brookhaven was bequeathed, upon his death, to 120 long-time employees of his factories. Some 30 families descended from those still live on island. "We've been lucky to have been spared much of the nastier storms in recent years and so we are doing a booming tourist trade. In early Summer, like now, we also attract bird watchers and we've been working with Wildlife America to protect the endangered sea turtle." he pointed to a young brunette in the dining hall, "Janet there organizes the beach Turtle Watches so they and their eggs are protected. We attract a lot of turtle watchers during these two months. "Quite a few residents rent their houses out in the summer to tourists and then THEY go off on their own vacations! Many of them sail to the islands or Central America so boats are very important to us. Then there are those of us who also take a boat to work!" Al gave a sigh of relief when I finished my second Chocolate Mousse, after helping the girls clean up their plates, and stood. He led us to a large room where about 40 people were milling about. Applause greeted us as I introduced ourselves, "First off we're technical and know nothing about sales," I smiled and waited for more applause to fade, "And we have to limit this talk to the 26' open cabin cruiser, the 20' runabout and the 22' cuddy cabin." I described the improvements we have made on the Jewel, then Sara gave a run down of the innovations we had developed for the original Gyro, then she began talking about the 22' Cuddy Cabin. "Is that the Monster Cuddy?" Asked a voice from the audience. Sara smiled, "If you mean the Magnum 455 with the DX I/O, then yes." "How close are you to production? We heard you're having serious problems with the power?" I stepped in, "We're in research so we can't speak for production or marketing, but we are seeing very strong indications on our test unit that speeds in the low to mid-70's are realistic." I had to wait for silence again, "We are having the test model prepped for testing as we speak, so we will know in a matter of weeks." Cuddy cabins are the SUV's of boating and typically suffers from poor acceleration and performance. Gyro 2 was a venture in a 'fat' cuddy - by designing in a higher cabin, not only was there room for a unique mid-cabin for two, there was also the clearance for the more powerful Magnum engine as well. It would be an industry first if we could realize the speed promised. Brenda and Sara began talking about plane points and optimizing performance and I went back to sit with Sherri. She was talking with a young girl whom Al introduced as his daughter. "Lucy is very keen on boats - she's been sailing since she was born." "And Lucy's been telling us about her turtle!" Sherri smiled. "Well," Lucy hesitated, "It's not really MY turtle, but it was named after my mother, and her name is also Lucy." "And what kind of a turtle is it?" Sherri prompted. "Lucy is a Loggerhead sea-turtle and, about ten years ago, she started coming here to lay eggs. You can tell it's her because she has a bump on her big head, like she's wearing a little cap!" Lucy smiled. Al continued, "My wife's family was one of the original Brookhaven residents and we had just married and bought our own place here when Lucy first appeared. The turtle has a barnacle attached to her head, so she's very easy to recognize. Sea turtles always return to the beach they were born to lay their eggs, so we were quite worried when she did not appear for a couple of years. Then last year she reappeared with a badly cut up carapace from a ship's propeller, it must've been a close call because it took her two years to heal." "And she came up to beach two nights ago," Lucy said, "But something spooked her and she turned back without laying any eggs, so we've been watching for her every night!" She took Sherri's hand, "Do you want to come with us?" "Of course!" Sherri smiled. The question period was winding down and Al became busy with people interested in placing orders. I collected the girls from their fans and we followed Lucy to join the Wildlife Guide who was giving her talk just outside. "The Loggerhead and the Kemp Ridley are the only sub-tropical sea-turtles left. In fact, the Kemp is virtually extinct, the only colony lives off Mexico, with fewer than 300 adults. Here, we've been seeing fewer and fewer loggerheads each year. Twelve years ago, we had fifteen to twenty females beaching here, last year was six, we're hoping for eight or nine this year - that would show that our conservation is working. "The problem is that sea turtles take thirty years to reach maturity - so what we're seeing are the results of over-killing done thirty years ago. As it is, with just the weather and their natural predators, less than 1 in 1000 hatchlings survive their first year. Given that each adult lays only 300 eggs per year, it follows that it is no easy task to replenish their numbers. "A few years ago, there was a plan to raise turtles in captivity for a year before releasing them into the wild, so that they have a better chance of survival. But it was a plan that had some major flaws in it. One was that the birth imprint was not as strong, so some released turtles actually forgot where they were supposed to go lay their eggs. Then a potentially disastrous oversight surfaced when they discovered that because they were released in a different environment there is a chance they will never find a mate of their own species." Janet sighed, "So even our best laid plans fail miserably at times!" After a pause she continued, "As if they don't have enough problems, sea turtles are still hunted by many cultures for food and souvenirs. But their greatest danger is from the fishing boats, some 50 thousand sea turtles drown each year when they get trapped in fishnets. "Four years ago, a West-coast leatherback female was tagged with a satellite transponder on her shell and was tracked at a steady 300 miles a week as she swam towards Asia. Then just outside Tokyo Japan, the signal faded and stopped. She had been caught in a shrimp net and had died when she could not reach the surface to breath. "We believe that that poor, brave lady had been swimming the 9000 miles there and back each year for 40 or more years..." Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, "Isn't that something?" After a deep breath she continued, "So it's very important we give them every chance to lay their eggs. Lucy the turtle," She smiled at OUR Lucy, "Came out 2 nights ago but was startled by someone trying to take a flash photograph of her, so we're hoping she will try again tonight. So please, leave your cameras and flashlights behind, unless you have the red-shielded ones. Stay behind me at all times and DO NOT try to touch or go near a turtle. They have a hard beak for a mouth that can snap fingers off!" In single file we followed down the dunes to a platform built on the sand. Groups of children with adult volunteers were scattered around to keep intruders out and to watch for turtles. Janet pointed into the dark, "This is where Lucy came out last time and we'll be VERY close to the site she started digging last time. Remember, they panic very easily so no sudden noises or movements!" The night was warm with just the sound of the surf as we waited breathlessly for our visitor. The beach lamps had been turned off but there was enough light from the moon to see by. "Most turtles will come out as soon it gets to high tide - so they have time to make it back to the ocean before the sun comes out." Janet continued in a low voice, "She will dig a deep hole, as deep as her flippers will reach first, then she'll lay around 120 eggs, each smaller than a golf ball. They will do this at most one more time this season before swimming away to their feeding grounds for a year." She paused and pointed, whispering, "There's something swimming in..." We could just make out a bobbing object 50 feet out. Then it vanished in the waves and the froth. "Quiet now!" Janet hissed as we breathed our amazement as the lumbering female pulled herself up the beach. "It's Lucy!" she could not hide her own excitement. It was huge - fully four feet across and heavy. Out of her element she pulled herself awkwardly through the sticky sand, leaving a herringbone shaped furrow behind her. A movement in the low shrubs caused her to stop and watch cautiously. Turtle eggs are a delicacy few animals could resist and there are obviously a few already anxiously waiting for the feasting. "Come-on, come-on!" Someone behind us started chanting. With an angry growl Janet whirled around and shone her torch in his face as he squeaked to silence. We all breathed a sigh as Lucy resumed her trek towards a spot about 30 feet from us, her need to spawn perhaps overriding her usual wariness. She stopped 10 feet from the edge of the vegetation and started burrowing, with flailing motions of her head at first, until she could fit her back flippers in, throwing dirt wildly to the sides. So intent was she in her task that she no longer looked about her. We could now see a large gouge in her shell, opened by a large round blade. It yawned open and we could see a lattice of tissue that had grown over the wound. An inch or two deeper and she probably would not have recovered. In 20 minutes, grunting and gasping with effort, Lucy decided the hole was deep enough and dipped her hind into the hole. More movements along the shrubbery showed where drooling appetites were waiting. Finally, with a hiss and a shake of her ponderous head, Lucy began sweeping sand over her brood until the hole was covered. Without a backward glance, she heaved her exhausted body back towards the water, where she will feed and rest until she can beach for a second batch of eggs. Two raccoons were already scouting in the spot before Lucy was fully in the waves. Her quick backward glance was full of a mother's anguish, but Lucy continued until she disappeared into the foam. The animals were gibbering with greed as they neared the cache when two uniformed rangers approached and shoo'd them away. Janet led us to them after carefully checking for other females who may be waiting to spawn. The men had donned gloves and were transferring the clutch of eggs into a wooden crate, cushioning each layer with sand from the hole. "Turtle eggs appear to be sensitized to the sand they are laid in," Janet explained, "And so this improves their chances of hatching." We watched the men drive off. "There's another sad tale there too, for a period of time, about 80% of the hatchlings from our incubators turned out to be male. It was found out later that we needed to fluctuate the temperature naturally to even out the ratio. Now we aim for a 65% female population because they are frequently caught and killed while beaching. "The eggs will be incubated for 60 days and half will be re-deposited back here but the rest will go to another beach, hopefully away from too many seagulls and other waiting predators." Since there where no signs of more beaching, we bid Al and his daughter goodnight and drove back in the golf cart. We leaned on the rail of the patio and looked seaward. "Good luck, Lucy. Good luck, sea turtles." ============= (C) Copyright 2002. M.C. All Rights Reserved. All Reproduction for fee or profit forbidden. Copies of my stories can be downloaded from: </files/Authors/MikeC/> Send all comments and suggestions to MikeC@NSpace.net