Kure Atoll

For the past 5 days, we have lingered at the northernmost coral atoll in the world: Kure.
Bah!-- 'lingered' is far too weak. So, lemme give it to ya straight: we've been working our ass off! Additionally, team morale is so extraordinarily high that we no longer refer to ourselves as separate asses; rather, we are one giant, ballad-belting, high-fiving, debris-obliterating ASS. Honestly, I don't see how ass unification could have been avoided, considering the momentousness of our bonding moments at Kure.

Ah, Day One: slightly hard-up for pictures, as this day was entirely without where-with-all and full of distracted wonder. Regardless, this is Kevin, prior to resuscitation.

Kevin, post resuscitation

This is a certified member of the resident Kure spinner dolphin pod, off the Sette bow. I took 73 pictures of this event.

This past year, a brand-new, unmanned sailboat sank near the middle of the atoll; it is an eerie place. The inside is littered with personal belongings: a carved wooden alligator pinned awkwardly in a high corner, a water-heavy leather boot, an open guitar case but no guitar.

For those who've forgotten their Brit Lit course material, Grendel is the monster in Beowulf. He is a bitter outcast who massacres some Anglo-Saxons while they are partying without him; Beowulf(a mere mortal) comes to kill Grendel-- he does so by ripping Grendel's arm off at the shoulder. Grendel retreats to his home in the marsh and dies alone. Wooooo! Awesome story!

I highly recommend the contemporary novel, Grendel; it tells the story of Beowulf from Grendel's point of view. I am sympathetic to the beastly thing. And to the owner of this sailboat.

Here is the word on the street: the guy who owned and sailed Grendel had made the crossing from Washington to the S. Pacific 25 times; he was 70 this year. No one knows when or where the sailboat suddenly sailed alone.

Commute home, Day Two

The pier at Green Island; it is the only habitable island of the atoll, and several monk seal scientists live here in 4-month stints, much like on Laysan.

This is Green Island. I laugh at that bird.

serious Kodak moment

Day 3: this unfortunate fool of an eel died in our boat after falling from the unbelievably giant net we hauled a day before.

Still Life With Pencil and Kevin's Foot

or
A Meaningful Photo

commute, day 3

A surprise attack by the enemy left us riddled with mayonnaise as we waited to board the Sette.

Fortunately, the mayonnaise that missed my head landed in the water and attracted a few Galapagos sharks. Chumming?-- use mayo.

Day 4: this was our first lift bag operation. The stuff dreams are made of.

Each bag has 100lbs of lift.

help

Kevin

With the sunset came a similarly colored Ahi.

This is Jonothan-- he's the lead fisherman and a lead badass. He had just gotten out of the shower when the Ahi hit the longline. Half of that moisture is adrenaline-rich sweat, though.

I've never seen such an unabashed look of rugged glee as the one on Jonothan's face as he ripped the heart out of this 50lb fish. He tore a bloody portion off between his teeth and then held the remains out to me.

(It was like being in a break dance circle as a mere observer, then being chosen as the next one to dance when you know you have nothing remotely cool to do except for the lawn mower. Which we all know is cool.)

The next thing I knew, an Ahi's heart was beating in my mouth.
A heartbeat on my tongue!
I bit into a heartbeat!
What?!

A few minutes later, another small yellow-fin was caught; it's head was all smashed so Jonothan kept it. I found this triggerfish in the belly.

Day 5, this morning

I got really lucky-- my 5/4 wetsuit came with 4 free fat rolls, one of which is incredibly ill-placed, but endearing, no?

This is either the last Avon to attempt Kure Pass, or an old Coastie helicopter. Rumor says the pilot was looking (too closely) for glass balls on a small sand island nearby.

Sam, mustard

pooping.

Sam, mayo.

Galapagos, outside the atoll

Tonight, for the first time, the sun set over our stern. We are headed southeast, in transit to

Pearl and Hermes Atoll. We will be there in the morning, and working for the next 12 days.

I have heard great things about P+H: there are lots of jacks, lots of net, and lots and lots of momentousness, just floating around waiting to be had...

beginnings, and laysan island

Okay. The voyage began on the 18th of July; I should be back in Honolulu mid August. Until then, I suppose it goes without saying that this blog is my passion, my life-blood, my veritable soul. It is also an homage to Where's Waldo; I do hope you have the stamina to find him.

Oh, and I think you can click on the photos to view them larger-- do it, it's worth it! Plus, it'll be easier to spot Waldo that way.

a motley crew

Our trusty steed, the Oscar Elton Sette

This is the hallway; on any given day, you might find someone walking in here.

The galley is a place of repose.

The heavily-utilized gym sits as far forward and down in the ship as is humanly possible; as such, the rocking motion felt everywhere else on board is exacerbated, which makes for some really exciting elliptical, treadmill, bike and erg training. Anything with moving parts will, at some point, catapult you into the corner.

This is where I learn about humans.

The flybridge is the highest deck on the Sette; it was constructed for marine mammal surveys.


Legend says: at sea, pirate leprechauns regularly maraud, rape, and pillage regular-type leprechauns who guard the gold at the end of the deep-sea rainbows.

We collected over 2 metric tons of debris from Laysan Island; the few researchers who live there (in 4-month stints) make piles of the nets and line they find, then wait for rubbish-people like us to come and get it, like pigs to a trough. Like pigs to a trough. Like pigs to a trough.

lunch break.

What we leave behind-- glass bottles, plastic, and fishing floats litter the entire perimeter of Laysan, with the exception of the beach directly in front of the research tents. There is no project in place to remove this debris.

Derek vs. The Sette

This patch of palms is reported to have a bloody history; I must solicit details from the ship's crew.

One of these graves is filled by a Japanese fisherman; the other, a guano miner. I don't know how they died, but I suspect it had something to do with entanglement in marine debris.





Dubious.

These Laysan Finch chicks weren't big on the whole sit-up-straight thing and are quite possibly inbred or in some other way suffering from developmental impairment.

You can't see it in the photo, but I am hastily gobbling this bird's eggs.

Mom, the jug is a present for you. It might be Carlo Rossi.





Not only was this monk seal wrapped in plastic, but that dark cloud was following him everywhere.

Max

There are some excellent skipping corals at Laysan; this is within my first minute on-shore, and I thought I was going to cry. Don't think I've ever felt such a, I don't know, strange spirituality. It kinda bubbled up inside me. Chicken skin, Dr. Dra.

and... we're off to Kure Atoll; today we transit, and tomorrow morning we begin our first day of tow-boarding. The winds are supposed to be bad, but high levels of momentousness are predicted, as well.