Monthly Archives: July 2010

Pandora’s Box: A Sailor Puts in Two Cents’ Worth About the Spill

It weighs heavily on all of our minds, but perhaps most especially those of us who live on or near the Gulf.  Some are having flashbacks from Katrina—only this nightmare, unlike a hurricane, has no end in sight, and using the word “recovery” is euphemistic at this point.

The cap has, literally, been knocked off of Pandora’s ubiquitous jar. All the horrors of the world—fear, destruction, ugliness, poverty, greed, deception, and death, in addition to a rainbow sheen and poisonous gas have been unleashed. Even if BP can manage to stop the flow of oil, the damage is done. The earth’s black blood is all over their hands—and ours. While many would like to demonize BP for its risky business practices, the truth of our own greed also stares back at us in the mirror. I am not one to chant Death To America for her “oil dependence,” but I acknowledge the ways in which we are all like Pandora. We open the forbidden jar, we eat the fruit from the tree because we feel we must have more, always more, but we rarely count the cost. BP’s shareholders want a return on their investment, everyone wants to drive their own personal vehicle wherever they desire and fill it with reasonably-priced gasoline, we want the convenience of disposable plastics, and we want to fly all over God’s green earth at a moment’s notice. Perhaps we cannot count the cost ahead of time, but from time to time, we get a foul taste of the consequences of our own pride and greed.

The questions run on without answer: when will the oil stop gushing? What will happen if a hurricane comes and stirs it all up and flings the disaster far and wide? Will the oil enter the Gulf Stream and ruin two coastlines? Will it end up on BP's own doorstep? Will there be anything left of the beautiful reefs we just visited in the Tortugas? Will the fishing industry ever recover? What will happen to all the people whose livelihoods depend upon the Gulf’s waters? Whole states, already teetering on the edge—will they fall into the abyss, never to recover? Will we ever call the Gulf Coast home again?

Of these thoughts I have spent many a night despairing. Foolish the one who reads the news before going to bed—it does not make for a peaceful night’s sleep. After one such night of gloom and doom that left me weepy, my only solace was to pray (what I usually do as a last resort instead of a first response) and so I prayed, sensing the enormity and irreversibility of this man-made disaster.  As is often the case, opening my Bible before going to bed eased my mind (and made me sleepy) and revealed an answer, though not the one I expected.  The first half of Isaiah 9, to which I first opened, addresses the distressed (that would be me and several million others):

Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress. In the past [God] humbled the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future he will honor Galilee of the Gentiles, by the way of the sea, along the Jordan-
 The people walking in darkness
       have seen a great light;
       on those living in the land of the shadow of death
       a light has dawned.

 
The rest of the chapter goes on to talk about God’s future blessings on Israel (you can read it yourself if so inclined), but, as Isaiah often does, he then speaks of the Messiah—“to us a child is born” who will be called “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end.” Furthermore, it is foretold that he will “reign on David's throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever.” That word “forever” puts everything in perspective. It may seem that I take these words out of context—but the promise for God’s chosen people is extended, by His grace, to those who accept his Messiah. And the message of a messiah is always a message of hope.

Our problems often seem insurmountable; this oil spill is no exception. It may have far-reaching and unforeseen consequences. My grandchildren will still be feeling the residual effects of this spill. But is it hopeless? No. When Pandora finally claws her way back to the jar and gets the lid clamped back on, there is yet one thing left inside: hope.

The earth holds her secrets tightly—creatures we have not yet discovered nor categorized, plants that contain pharmaceutical miracle cures, precious stones and useful fuels stored miles below her surface.  We have drilled down beneath even the Deep, tapped into something we don’t fully understand and meddled where perhaps it was better we had left things alone. But if she is anything, the earth is resilient. Life finds a way—even though things shift constantly, and sometimes suddenly, the earth renews itself. It may take time (certainly more time than we mortals have), and the landscape will look drastically different than it did before, but eventually, there will be recovery. The coral reefs that are destroyed will be replaced by something else. Oceans give way to deserts and become oceans again. And let me not neglect to mention the promise that someday, after the cleansing fire, there will be a new heaven and a new earth, and a Garden to replace the first. For those with faith to believe it, this is a comfort indeed.

FAQ: How do you handle sewage?

Very carefully.

A boat cruising in US waters pretty much has to have a holding tank rather than flush the toilets directly overboard.  That’s because the US has laws preventing overboard discharge within 3 miles of the coast.  Never mind that many coastal cities pump their sewage into the ocean as a matter of course (Miami), or regularly have accidents whenever it happens to rain too much (Tampa).  Or that the real pollution problem in our oceans is caused by fertilizer runoff from residences, golf courses, and farmland.  It stinks but that’s the way things are.  

When being inspected by the Coast Guard usually the first thing they want to see is your Marine Sanitation Device, which is their official term for the commode, to make sure it is properly secured.  In typical government fashion, the laws only apply to the toilets themselves.  It is perfectly legal to go in a bucket and toss it overboard.

We can hold it comfortably for about ten days, which is pretty good for having 6 people aboard, but usually empty the tank on a weekly schedule.  The tank can be pumped out at a shore-side facility such as a marina or fuel dock, or by a special boat that comes to us.  Additionally, most boats also have their own pumps so they can dump overboard when beyond the 3-mile limit.  We do all of the above.  

When offshore, we empty the tank with a macerator pump, which has little blades like a kitchen sink disposal.  The kids particularly enjoy watching our muddy wake while the pump does its business, but it isn’t all fun and games.  The thing is notorious for breaking down and I have had to rebuild it multiple times.  Every aspect of the process related to the tank is fraught with danger.  Poo under pressure is never a good thing and I have witnessed a couple nasty accidents during dockside pumpouts, but have fortunately never experienced one myself.

Outside the US, the holding tanks are usually dispensed with and the goods go straight overboard.  The Caribbean is full of boats doing this and it doesn’t seem to be a problem.  From what I’ve heard, though, you aren’t allowed to flush paper in the Caribbean.  Go figure.

The marine toilet is a bit different from those typically found in a house.  Household toilets operate by gravity, which is not quite as reliable on something that moves the way a boat sometimes does.  You want to deposit that stuff in a safe place where it can’t get back out except on your terms.  Marine toilets operate on principles similar to those on an airplane, but rather than a simple device that empties the bowl in one big vacuum flush at the push of a button, like on a plane, our toilet has handles and levers and must be pumped manually.  It’s definitely a more complicated procedure and most guests require a briefing.  If you’ve been aboard, you’ve probably experienced it for yourself.

There are several different toilets types available for boats.  Our current one was selected because it was the cheapest and most commonly available, but certainly not the best.  It was installed as an expediency after I canned the four toilets that were on the boat when I bought her.

That was over two years ago and six of us have been enjoying it daily for almost a year.  It has proven surprisingly reliable, but when it does have a problem, it immediately goes to the top of the project list.  Usually the problem isn’t discovered until someone has to use it.  In a pinch, we get the bucket out.  Installing a second toilet is somewhere further down the project list and staying there for now.

The biggest challenge to our toilet’s regularity is the kids’ toilet paper use.  Every once in a while, one of the kids will use about half a roll of TP and clog it up.  They have all been amply warned, so when it happens the culprit becomes my special helper for the unclogging.  You can’t just use a plunger the way you would in a house (remember, poo + pressure = bad).  You have to open the hoses until you can find the clog and clear the line.  It’s a messy, messy job.  So far there haven’t been any repeat offenders.

Stranded, Part 2

“This motor has never given us any problem,” said the overconfident captain of our ship.  The next day, I stood in waist-deep water, dinghy full of children, and tried to call him because the darn thing wouldn’t start. The irony, of course, is that he had fiddled with something that morning, but had given her a good test run to make sure everything was fine before the kids and I made our trek to the beach.

About halfway up Sister’s Creek, I sensed the motor wasn’t getting the fuel it needed. My response was to speed up a bit so we didn’t get stranded in the mangroves. If we could get to the beach, it would be something, because on a holiday weekend, there would be someone there who could lend a hand if it came to that.  Well, we made it, the engine dying as I brought the boat into the beach. Jay didn’t answer his cell phone, and I knew the VHF was switched off, so we decided to stay and enjoy the water and sand and sun while we had a few hours, then figure out how to get home. Surely, by then, Jay would get the message I had left and would know what we should do.

This time, when I parked the dinghy, I made sure she wasn’t going to get stuck on the beach. We checked her every half hour and let out a little slack in the rope keeping her comfortably afloat, but secured to the beach. When it was time to go, everyone was loaded in, lifejackets on, hats on, arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times, push the start button and…nothing. I am not the problem-solver of this family. I am the problem-discoverer (and, occasionally, the problem-causer), but that skill is not very helpful when someone doesn’t hear the cell-phone ringing. I tried to trouble-shoot, but I’m not mechanically inclined, so that made things difficult. I tried asking nicely, but the motor doesn’t speak my language. Finally, I decided we could just manually pump fuel into the darn thing. It started. It ran—hallelujah! We drove home as quickly as was advisable.

If Jay had answered my frantic calls, I would not have had the glorious honor of saying that I had figured it out on my own and gotten us home.  Of course, if he had answered my calls, he would have said, “try tightening the hose clamp” and I would have had to admit that I left my multi-tool at home. Guess what’s going straight into the dinghy emergency bag!  But, of course, the same mishap won’t happen next time. It will be something else. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to write a parody called “50 Ways to Strand Your Dinghy.”