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August 2, 2000
Solomons to Australia voyage - Update #15
Lat/Long as of 12.46 hrs local time
12 degs 55. 45’ S
152 degs 21. 27’E
Day 16. Wind ESE 10 knots. Heading 180
The video camera is an integral part of life aboard Moksha, recording daily events and activities. More importantly, it captures the human element – the emotions, the physical and mental challenges. This helps to personalize the experience for a viewer and allow them to imagine what it would be like to be on the boat themselves.
And so….
…. It was a dark and stormy night. The seas were heavy and constantly pouring water through the hatch. I had only been in the sleeping compartment a short while to grab a quick nap before my graveyard pedal shift when I heard Jason removing the pedal unit from it’s well in the middle of the boat. This was the second time in only a few short days. The unit was shot. This time the sprocket on the bottom of the main drive shaft seemed to have sheared. As he popped the propeller shaft casing to take a closer look, lithium grease emulsified by seawater exploded everywhere. Jason just sat for a few minutes contemplating with disbelief the large puddle of grease now sitting in his lap and covering the rest of the inside of the boat. An oil slick the size of Prince unit through William Sound began to spread from bow to stern across the floor. I reached for the video camera. It’s crucial to record things like this as they happen even though its hard to discipline oneself to do so at the time, especially when wrapped in the heat of the moment. We were in heavy seas. It was midnight. Then the camera suddenly quit - I was out of film and the battery was dead. Jason meanwhile, balancing the pedal unit across his legs, displaying infinite patience, has to teach me to right all that’s gone wrong. He patiently describes where the batteries are located, where to install them and once more we begin the process of filming the exchange of pedal units. The cabin is dimly lit, head torches flicker on low battery. We are awash in grease and cold salt water. I’m soaked to the skin, shivering, and perhaps it was just one minute too long looking into the camera’s viewfinder. I toss the camera to Jason, step up to the open hatch and empty the contents of my stomach – Chili Con Carne from the evening meal – into the ocean. He deftly moves in beside me and captures it all on film. I sit down thinking what a nightmare this is, my head in my hands. I hear his voice:
“April, the microphone was switched off. There’s no audio. The whole sequence will be useless without sound We have to re-film some parts for audio.”
My stomach now empty and somewhat settled, I pick the camera back up to begin filming again. At long last he slides the new pedal unit through the floor of the boat and we are back in business once again.
“One more minor request A We need to recreate the audio of you getting sick. It’s a key piece. Do you think you could just go through the motions and make the appropriate noises? Thanks, you’re a real sport”
I smile at him thinly. I know there won’t need to be much acting – I can feel a fresh wave of nausea coming on already. OK, take 2, roll tape! I step up to the hatch, lean over the oar and once again barf into the ocean, fully recorded this time with sound effects. I lay over the oar thinking wryly to myself ‘There can’t be that many people who can barf on command. I must have a special talent!’ The consummate actress: “That’s a wrap” I mutter as I crawl back to the safety of the sleeping compartment. Honestly, the things I do for this expedition….
April
Posted on August 2, 2000 2:36 PM