Solomons Headwinds

I dive into the cool water, surface and swim over to Freddy. "Somebody's coming," I whisper. 

She gets up and skips over the river rocks to our nest of clothes. She picks up her bright orange wrap-around and ties it on. Then she tosses me a bathing suit and, still in the pool, I slip into it.

Several minutes go by. 

Who's coming? 

What do they want? 

I thought we were the only ones around. 

English Harbor has no village and there isn't one for miles along this desolate coast of New Ireland. 

There was no other boat in the harbor this morning. 

I begin to get nervous. I find a rounded, heavy river rock and pick it up. Something, anyway. I set it carefully next to my hand, underwater. "If there's any trouble, dive in and stay in the center of the deep water."

Seconds later a man appears, walking quickly, resolutely up the rocks. He is black, looks tough, and has a nasty looking machete in his hand. He sees us, stops, and says in good clear English. "Oh. There you are. I saw your boat and wondered what happened to you. Everything OK?"

I nod. Freddy nods.

"Well, that's splendid. Have a pleasant swim." He turns, and strolls smoothly down the jagged rocks the way he came. I blink and resume breathing with a sigh. Freddy shucks her orange cloth and leaps on me.

The silence in the evening is awesome. I love it here in English Harbor and could stay another day, another week. 

But I keep feeling we must get going, as if we were on a schedule. But we are not on a schedule. We don't have to get going. I lay in the bunk next to Freddy, feeling like an actor on a stage. 

An unseen director hovers in the wings constantly telling me to keep moving. In the morning, I know we'll be gone.

That's clear enough. I start the engine and Freddy and I slither up on deck, keeping low to avoid making a silhouette against the night horizon. As quietly as possible I crank up the anchor. Click clank, click clank, click clank. I hate this goddamned windlass. 

A rock whizzes past my head and splooshes in the dark sea. The anchor comes free of the bottom at last and we move off, away from shore. The pass through the reef is unlit and unmarked but wide and straight. We sail through it at midnight with our hearts in our throats. When we reach deep water we turn south, bound for Kieta, the main port of the Bougainville Copper Mine. We plan to stop just long enough to clear customs and head for the Solomons.

Over tea, Keith mentions he is a marine biologist working for the copper mine, making sure there are no adverse environmental problems from the mining activities. 

I refrain from asking him if the rock throwing party the night before might be an adverse environmental impact. He has, in the car, already told me of the labor and racial problems here which developed as a result of the mine. He does not think of social problems as an environmental impact.

"That is a coincidence, I'm also a marine biologist and my specialty is environmental impact of industrial activities on marine environments."

"Oh? What's your last name?" He asks.

"Richard Chesher," His expression is wonderfully gratifying. The eyes get big and round, the mouth falls open, and he says,

"Not THE Richard Chesher! The one who did the work on the crown of thorns starfish in Guam?"

Well, I don't mind saying such a reaction is both unexpected and flattering. I do my best to look modest and say, "Sure, that's me."

It's a short ego-trip, however, as his amazement is not the dubious honor of meeting me, but a truly astounding coincidence. 

"You're not going to believe this," he begins "I don't believe this. This is unbelievable!"

I smile, prepared to not believe this, whatever it is.

"Who do you think is flying in here this afternoon?" I shrug and he laughs and gleefully says, "Bob Endean!"

"Yeah? No kidding? That is a coincidence. Bob Endean," I explain to Freddy, "is an old friend of mine. He's the scientist who did the work on the crown of thorns starfish on the Great Barrier Reef. We worked together when I was chief scientist for the Department of Interior study on the crown of thorns in the North Pacific back in 1969."

"But this is amazing, I don't believe it!" Keith still does not believe it, "I stop and say hi to a guy quite by accident and he turns out to be Richard Chesher who sails into Kieta in Papua New Guinea - of all places - on the same day Bob Endean is arriving from Australia and I'm assigned to pick up Dr. Endean this afternoon and must be the only one on the island who knows about Dr. Endean's trip and probably the only person in PNG who would know you and Bob are friends!"

"Listen, I'll pick up Bob and bring him by tomorrow with my skiff. I'll tell Bob I just want to stop off for a moment to say hi to a friend before going diving. OK? Right? Boy, am I going to surprise him. He won't believe this."

I paddle him ashore and he goes off mumbling about the impossible odds of the event. The last thing I hear him say as he opens his car door is "I don't believe this." 

I wonder again about fate destiny - synchronicity or coincidence. Call it what you want but I can't help feel these wild coincidences are the hands of the Moirae weaving a pattern of threads around my life.

Finally, we arrive at the Three Sisters...