New Zealand Update: Oil Spill Taints Start of Holiday Weekend

Nearly two miles (3k) of beach have been opened along the Bay of Plenty, as recovery of the M/V Rena oil spill continues into New Zealand’s Labour Weekend.

Traditionally the start of summer, this year’s holiday will see most of the popular coastline closed due to oil and flotsam from the container ship wreckage. The public are warned not to swim in the vicinity, nor eat seafood or shellfish taken from area waters.

Twelve miles offshore, salvage workers continue to pump oil slowly and methodically from the listing vessel, which became lodged on a shallow reef more than two weeks ago. Cold water temperatures (62F, 17C) have affected the viscosity of the oil, which complicates the procedure.

Less than 20 percent of roughly 1,300 tons of oil has been transferred from Rena to the storage ship Awanuia – however workers expect to continue unabated until it is done.

-more-

Three Writes and a Wrong

Stretched out on the trampoline of our 44-foot cat, listening to the crescendo and decrescendo of the water sloshing past the hull; we’re reaching along at a relaxed 7 knots beneath a warm sky dotted with a flock of lamb-like clouds.

Although the equinox was a full week ago, and today is the last day of September, we have been clinging to summer. But here, beneath a sky foretelling of rain, with temps forecast to dip into the 40s (40s!) we can no longer deny the arrival of Fall. The days are shorter and night chill - and the bay deserted. All but the working boats are tucked away ... save for a lonely sloop beating toward us from the opposite, and Captain Wadey Murphy taking a few lingering tourists on his skipjack for a bay tour.

The infamous Bobbie G (Grieser) and I – along with a smorgasbord of friends and family popping on and off at various ports of call – are enjoying this autumn cruise through the Eastern Shore; we are joined at this juncture by other journalists Susan Colby and Peter Baker , which has earned our trip the moniker “three writes and a wrong” ...

Look for the story next Spring in SAILING.

9-30-11 Cambridge, Md.

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The best ever ...

I didn’t want to come in from the rain. It was soft and sweet and as I climbed up the stone stairs through the grassy sloped lawn to the inn, I slowed my pace to enjoy the evening downpour that enveloped me in the dark.

This has been the most provocative week: stimulating memories of my youth, and piquing new ones; journeying up the majestic (and currently very muddy) Hudson: sailing, exploring, meeting family and friends – old and new, and absolutely delighting in the entire experience.

There is way too much to report on, as I sit at my antique desk in a stately (and – I swear – haunted) mansion overlooking the Hudson at Tivoli, very late at night. An eclectic blend of antiques and curios of all eras, plaster-framed mirrors of gigantic proportions, and neophyte still lifes and portraits punctuate the high walls of the inn – the latter with pasty irregular faces and eyes that follow you eerily around the room.

So I’ve just returned from a side splitting and raucous evening at the Black Swan Pub, where we marched into the kitchen to introduce ourselves to Edwin (Ed-weeen) the Costa Rican, who sold me on a $10 plate of pan fried tilapia, rice, beans, and a green-bean egg-foo-yung-y concoction which I washed down with multiple glasses of the local IPA, called Hurricane Kitty. Our rowdy group, clustered around a table and overflowing to the bar, competed handily in the weekly Trivia Night contest, finishing third, before breaking up and hastening back to the mansion (or boat) in the soft mist.

But now it is pissing rain; I am debating a late-night of writing (I have well overdue assignments) versus slumber, in a four poster bed so high I need to climb up from a chest at the foot of the bed and commando in. Sleep, I believe, will win -- but not before I declare this one of the most awesome trips I’ve ever been on ... remembering however that I said that about the last, and the prior, and the one before that – until I sleepily concede that every trip I go on is ‘the best ever’ and I think that is a damned good way to live my life.

Save the Sharks

In Thailand, a group of divers plans to release sharks into the wild September 3, to help reverse and spotlight the decimation of the species.

It seems ironic, considering “Jaws” mania has only increased over the years. But the fact remains: although a handful of people around the world will die in shark attacks each year; sharks are slaughtered in the millions, by humans ...

... continued here

Finned sharks lay to waste in Thailand.
Photo courtesy DIVE TRIBE

The fullness of life explodes ...

A wild weekend, marked by several events ...

The Pacific Voyagers had arrived in LA; a majestic fleet of Polynesian sailing canoes – ‘vakas’ – having journeyed all the way from New Zealand! With twin amas 75-feet long and thick wooden spars, they look as powerful as the burnished crews who sail them – tugging at the massive steering paddles, hoisting the blood-red sails.

Thirty miles south Sea Dragon had picked up a mooring can in Newport Harbor. Equally impressive – and nearly as long – she’s a sturdy but elegant modern steel-hulled cutter rigged sloop, designed for round-the-world racing. (In fact: it is a reunion for this yacht and me, as I did the web coverage for the 2000/01 Global Challenge and greeted her and her sister ships into seven ports around the world! A touch of déjà vu embraces me.)

Despite their different appearances and venues however, they come bearing the same environmental message.

Duncan Morrison, skipper of Haunui (the pan-Pacific vaka – 15 island nations are represented among the fleet) tells how they left Auckland and saw very little refuse ... a tiny bit more as they neared the equator ... and then, just north of Hawaii, the deluge began. Every 10 meters – 2,000 miles from shore – there was plastic trash. Refillable lighters and disposable razors. Plastic cups and bags. Bottles. Closer to shore, acidification is destroying the coral reefs. Their bilateral cultural/environmental mission calls on people to unite and halt our careless ways ... before the ocean becomes a lifeless sea of debris.

Aboard Sea Dragon, they do research on this type of debris, and skipper Dale Selvam shows me a kaleidoscope of plastic fragments in a vial. Trolling the five oceans (for Five Gyres/Algalita Foundation) they skim the seemingly pure, crystalline waters of the distant seas ... alas their fine mesh net is cluttered with chunks and particles of the partially degraded plastics which now saturate the waters. Yes: our oceans are plastic chowder.

Despite the apparent differences there are more similarities: both skippers are Kiwis. ‘In New Zealand we’re raised to take care of our home,’ says Dale. Neither was an environmentalist – or ‘tree hugger’ as he calls it – before embarking on their eye-opening expeditions, but having seen what they’ve seen, neither one cannot image returning to existence as it was before.

The people I’m meeting, opportunities I have, and work I’m doing are mind-boggling. Life is moving at such a breakneck pace, I need a helmet. It’s invigorating, compelling, stimulating ... and a bit consuming. Transcribing and researching 'til 1AM, interviewing, shooting, working 24/7 – I am beat.

But I am blessed. What a thrill to be able to make a difference in this world – even if only conveying the good works, challenges and needs of others, while ‘double-dipping’ my way around the world, using my Sailing gigs as a vehicle to drive Ecology.com stories. Last month I was working in Belgium, next month it’s San Francisco, New York and Annapolis. And from there (fingers crossed) the agenda continues at a blistering pace: San Francisco, ‘Statia, Guadalupe Island, Belize, Grenada ...

I adore the people I meet, the stories I hear, the passion in the voice of an individual following his dream or pursuing her mission. Friendships are made, networks are woven. After much talk and a beer, Dale and I discover we have mutual friends in England (Valeria), Peru (Andy) and Uruguay (Alejandro). The world feels small, and with that realization, our problems no longer seem too great to tackle.

Look for stories from me on Sea Dragon / Pangaea Expeditions and the Pacific Voyagers, on Ecology.com and Sailing magazine, soon.

On another note: our favorite bow monkey, Jeff ‘Sneddog’ Sneddon, slipped from this earth this morning, after a long and incredibly valiant fight with cancer.

Jeffrey was a close friend and playmate – he taught me much about working the bow on big boats, including how to yell just as loudly and vociferously BACK at someone who is screaming in your face (with great joy and laughter!). We were friends on and off the water, and later when he met and married Sharie, she became a friend (and a Nauti Chica) too.

I was fortunate to spend a chunk of Friday night sitting next to Jeff, holding his hand, whispering, “Remember when (giggle giggle) ... ” as I retold ‘oh shit’ sailing tales and reminded him how much he was loved. What an incredible blessing that is, to have the chance to say goodbye to someone you love. I can only say: TAKE IT, when it is offered to you! It was an incredible gift to me; a reminder how sweet life is, and that the honey is not the places we go or the things we accumulate, but the loved ones we share them with.

May God welcome you with loving open arms Jeffrey. (They have amassed one heck of a sailing team up in Heaven, is all I can add ... )

It’s been a while since I blogged – and I shouldn’t even be up writing tonight, having been scolded righteously about burning the candle at both ends. However I cannot but live life at 120% (hey – THAT’s a compromise!!) so I promise more is to come, as the fullness of life explodes in front of me. XOXO

Hitting the top of the fun meter

OWAC* always puts on a great conference - one day of meetings, seminars, workshops; a mini-trade show; and lots of networking with peers from all walks of life and media. From agri-tourism in the Central Valley, to a Jeep tour of the Kalahari, we have an amazing breadth of talent and subject matter ... but before long it always reverts to the old guys weaving their fish tales ...

On the second day we are hosted (generously, and very genuinely too - in Lake County) with 'activities' and later I'll get into the absolute thrill of soaring over Mount St. Helena, bouncing through the vineyards, and sailing across Clear Lake (I think I whacked the top of the 'Fun Meter' Monday). But Tuesday morning found us (the sky clear but I, a bit foggy) gathered for breakfast at the Lakeport Yacht Club, saying our farewells and passing out business cards. This has been a successful and exciting event for me (a little fattening too!): Lake County is gorgeous and I have tons of fodder for new stories (including one I already pitched and got okayed on the drive back!).

Soon I was on the road again; weaving along the lakefront, past orchards and vineyards, and the bucolic scene of a mare resting contently with her foal, beneath a tree. Melissa had suggested a more scenic route south (raising the 'scenic' bar from about an eight or nine, to a ten) and I turned off on the appropriate road, leaving the valleys and hills behind. Climbing through the pines on sun-dappled roads that were so winding, I'd describe them more as 'interminable switchbacks sewn end-to-end' - I spent the rest of the morning enjoying the sunshine and crisp air.

Eventually the route dropped into Napa Valley. The land lost its untamed beauty and became more manicured - even contrived - but this too was easy on the eyes. Mother Nature can dish out some hellacious weather, but by contrast I also find nature to be the most comforting of sights too.

I followed my directions to Napa and my dear friend Molly's house. Greeted by Molly - looking like a beautiful, luscious peach, in her sixth month of pregnancy; and Franklin - a most handsome, young but tall boxer, who doesn't so much wag his tale as gyrate his whole rear end; we spent some delightful (and well overdue) time catching up.

And then (who is surprised here?) I worked on the book until the wee hours HOWEVER
it
is
done!!!

TADA! (More on "David Gallup: California's Channel Islands" another time.)

Heading back to Seal Beach now by way of the Golden Gate Bridge and further south Rte 101, through Paso Robles and my old stomping grounds. Weather clear and gorgeous; anticipating another glorious ride home.

* Outdoor Writers Association of California

Clearlake. Clearly.

What a gorgeous place!

After the bland expanse of Highway 5, I delightedly took the turn to Route 20. I am definitely a road-less-traveled/scenic-route kind of girl, and eased onto the country road; a winding lane skirting Cortina Ridge and cutting through Grizzly Canyon - where bright yellow signs warned of elk crossings. Off the beaten path indeed.

The smooth green hills fell steeply to the roadway and the uneven lakeshore, which was spotted with small towns reminiscent of another time: where gaggles of little girls clutched flowers - or in one case a puppy, while young boys furiously peddled bicycles while gripping fishing poles ... past blooming lupine, poppies, buckwheat, and massive bushes dripping with dollops of candy-sweet lilacs; or emerald valleys where livestock (sheep, horses, cattle) grazed in the perfect 70-degree afternoon.

For now however, I'm locked inside the conference hall (encouraged though to write & shoot & post, as we are in fact Outdoor Writers Assoc. of California) adjacent a calliopean smoke-filled casino. What a contrast to the beatific, bucolic atmosphere outside.