Страница 91 из 96
The PT-109 is an open-air affair attached to a two-story home that operates as a lodge for divers. Da
In general, Gizo is unspoiled by the trappings of capitalism. As a tourist spot, it would have probably dropped off the map save for a few important items. The first is the water — it is a wonderland of undersea beauty. Corals of all types, fish of so many colors that you’d need a prism to duplicate the beauty, temperatures that are perfect.
The second is the people — the Solomon Islanders are some of the friendliest you could ever encounter. Eternally patient, always smiling, they make you feel welcome. With the economy on the skids, the locals make their way as best they can, but times are tough right now. I can only hope it improves soon. The island has a lot going for it.
Gizo Island and these people would be our home for the next two weeks.
Dirk and I had decided that our best course of action was to see if we could first locate the wreckage that had been reported by Reg Evans on the reef off Nauru Island. Our vessel for the search would be one of Da
The setup was as far removed from the extravagant search boats you see on the Discovery Cha
Once clear of the dock, we would lower the gradiometer probe into the water and allow it to calibrate itself, a process that usually took a half hour or so. For weight on the probe itself, we used a rock attached to a thin line designed to break away if we struck the bottom — something that happened at least a dozen times — and to keep the cable clear of the propellers, we propped it off the side, using an old oar that stuck from the starboard side.
It was all jury-rigged, but it seemed to do the job.
Once the gradiometer was calibrated, we would pull it back in, then set out for the search area. That usually required a half hour or so in transit. Once on-site we would begin to drag, using the GPS to make straight lines. Then we would drive back and forth, seeking a target. Around noon we would pull over to the closest island and climb off the boat. After a quick bite to eat and a few moments spent watering the palm trees, we’d climb back in the boat and start another line. Afternoons usually brought rain — since we were basically out in the open, we’d try to shelter the gradiometer as best we could. If the rain was prolonged or heavy, we’d head back to Gizo and wait it out.
By the end of every day, we were exhausted. The constant noise from the outboard motor a few feet from our heads, the rocking of the small boat, and the relentless humidity took their toll. After returning to Gizo, usually around 5 P.M., we’d walk the half-mile back to the hotel, take a quick shower, and change clothes. Then, if it was Monday, Wednesday, or Friday, we could read the Solomon Islands paper, which was six to eight pages in length and chock-full of interesting misspellings. A typical headline read “Pregnant Snake Found Under House,” with a picture of the finders holding it in their hands. The paper was a constant source of amusement.
Di
A few divers showed up the two weeks we were in town. Five or six Australians arrived on the plane with us and stayed a few days. They had come to dive the wreck of the Japanese transport Toa Maru, a pristine wreck still full of cargo that draws people to Gizo.
Then, a few days after we arrived, more tourists showed up. We’d asked Da
A few days a week, Da
“Da
“Yes,” said the man.
Dirk was approaching.
“What city?”
“Phoenix area,” said one of the two women.
“Small world,” I said. “Dirk’s from there.”
“Actually, Paradise Valley,” the other woman said, with a trace of haughtiness.
Dirk nodded. Paradise Valley is a tony area where Clive, the late Erma Bombeck, and rocker Alice Cooper reside, along with a host of other celebrities. So do some smart people who bought their homes years ago.
“Where in Paradise?” Dirk asked.
“Do you know the area?”
“Yeah,” Dirk said, with perfect timing, “I live there.”
It turns out they were neighbors and lived only a few miles away. Halfway around the world in the middle of nowhere, and we meet someone from Dirk’s hometown. The trio turned out to be a gas. Ted and Sally Guenther were husband and wife. Ted’s sister, Chris, was along for the ride. The three were taking a month off from the Arizona summer heat and were traveling through the South Pacific, diving up a storm. For most of the rest of our time in Gizo, they would be our di
Near the end of the trip, we also met an Australian couple, Catherine and George Ziedan, whom we would see again in Australia on our way home. Nicer people are hard to find. Upon hearing we were stopping in Surfer’s Paradise, they located us at our hotel, then came and picked us up and drove us to their home in the hills above town for an old-fashioned Australian barbecue. The steaks were a size that would shame a Texan, and the shrimp were the size of sausages. I would return to Australia just to visit George, Catherine, and their two teenage children, Georgie and Toby. George is a character straight from a gonzo novel. He attacks life with a zest I’ve rarely seen. He designed and built the beautiful house where his family resides — clearing the brush with a tractor, digging the ponds with a backhoe, and rigging a cable affair from the house down the steep hill to the pond where you can drop into the water.