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Today I’ve got to get the RIB, rigid inflatable boat, pulled out of the water and brought home to clean and repair. Its fairly important in that it serves both as our tender and also our life boat. I’d hoped to replace our current one with a lighter, aluminum based RIB but time ran short. The current, heavy one has damaged our swim step. That too needs some attention. Oh well, it beats playing golf.

Lots still to do on the boat and time is running out. I did get the oil changed today. Each of the two filters takes a full gallon of oil as well as four gallons in the big ole Cummins 300. It’s always nice starting out with fresh oil. We’ll have to swap it out this summer while we’re in Alaska.

I’m not planning on running Ella hard. She’s like me, got a few miles on her and some of the things don’t work as well as they used to. I’ll probably turn the engine at 1500 which should give me about 7 knots. Once a day I’ll kick her up to 1900 to keep things from building up on the cylinder heads. When you get much past 1700 rpm it’s like flushing the toilet with your fuel.

I got the Garmin InReach working and paired with my ipad this morning. Next is to get the map set up, but that will have to wait until this evening. Today I’m swapping out the oil in Ella and putting in new filters. Six gallons of oil….. $$$.

Wednesday Mike the Mechanic is due to arrive to sort the problems with the generator and the funky water system on the front of the engine.

Becky and Laurie have been loading food aboard for the past couple of days and getting things ship shape and Bristol fashion. We still need Sparks to come aboard and fix the AIS system so we know what cruise ship to sort out when they go flying past oblivious to all the small folks. Lord how I love bridge to bridge communications.

You’ll be able to both follow us on the MapShare and also send us texts if you have questions or offer advice. Invitations to meet up are also appreciated. More later.

We’ve got five days to go and lots to do before we head north in the good ship Ella Marie. We still need to have Mike the Mechanic and Steve Sparks the electrictin come aboard to perform their last minute magic. Steve is adding AIS to our navigation system and Mike is dealing with a nasty looking water jacket assembly. If that goes well we should move Ella to Anacortes Friday Morning to take 2 1/2 tons of diesel and a ton of water aboard. Then, weather gods permitting, we’ll head out to Bedwell Harbor to clear customs and then up to Ganges to pick up the food we’re not allowed to bring into the country.

The

Flying Dutchmen

of

Amsterdam

by

Dick Walsh

The Flying Dutchmen

of Amsterdam

Don’t ride the buses

Don’t ride the tram

The Bicycle is

Their weapon of Choice

They don’t ring their bell

They don’t raise their voice

When you’re looking for cars

is when they attack

A bump in the night

you’re flat on your back

A wild giggle

Or maybe a Shriek

You sit on your rear

Not a word to speak

You thought they were stoic

And never a clown

Introduction to Bicycles

Welcome to town

Bill is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. If you look up above at the banner, you’ll see Bill’s name. Click on the name to learn about my friend

Ella is still in Blaine, “on the hard.” She is looking better after time spent crawling around the engine room with a rattle can of paint and a bucket of soap and water. She still needs some external painting, but that will have to wait.

The big thing today is getting my documentation back from the Coast Guard so she is documented again. That may involve a new inspection form the Coast Guard as it had lapsed during the time I’d had my explosion. So, hopefully we can make progress in that direction.

Brian, the office manager is out today at Walsh Marine so I volunteered to answer phones while Norm and the guys work in the yard hauling and launching boats. I’m hoping that Monday morning will see Ella Back in the water and headed to LaConner for further outfitting, but at this point, who knows?

It was a bright Saturday in the spring on Little Diomede. We’d had a message on the radio to expect Lauger Aviation with passengers. Around noon the Cessna 180 landed and the agency types got out and trudged up to the National Guard building. They were going to be on the ground for three or four hours doing business with the village council.

Doug, the pilot, walked over to the school and we invited him up for coffee and fresh cinnamon rolls. We climbed the steep stairwell into our quarters and into our small kitchen. We kept our table next to the window and the view was of our neighbors, the Russians on Big Diomede.

Somewhere after the second cinnamon roll, and fourth cup of coffee, we were feeling rather content and pleased with the world. I think I had made the cinnamon rolls for Becky’s birthday. One of the few things I actually baked from tme to time.

Doug brought up the view of Big Diomede.

I pointed out the lookout shack on the top of the cliff where we were kept under constant surveillance. Some days we could see a guard making the long climb from the former Eskimo village on the north end where the Soviets had made a ramshackle military base.

“Man, I’d love to see the village and a close up of the guard shack.” I said

Now as a teacher, I always told my students that the decisions you make at the spur of the moment were the ones that either got you in trouble or got you shot. Too bad I haven’t always listened to myself.

Doug looked at the two of us and said, “Well hell, its Becky’s birthday, Let’s go flying.”

We look back and said “Heck yeah.”

We did the normal routine of putting on Arctic gear and the three of us went out and got in the Cessna. It wasn’t a very long runway and it had a berm of snow at the end of it. Doug went to the end of the runway and turned the plane into what wind. There he stood on the brakes and ran up the engine. When the wheels started to slip on the ice he released the braked and we went bolting down the short runway. Just before we reached the end of the runway Ralph reached between the seats and pulled up the lever deploying the flaps and we literally popped up into the air over the snow bank.

I looked out from the right seat to scan the sky for any real fast looking airplanes. The Russians tended to go hunting with Migs and I wanted none of that.

Doug banked the plane to port and we headed up north of the two islands.

Doug had been a former 737 pilot until he fell in love with a Nome girl. Now he was making a living hauling people and freight around western Alaska.

Doug banked the plane again and drew a bead on the north end of Big Diomede. As we got closer we could see the motley collection of military building and the path leading up to their lookout post. We had been a couple hundred yards west of the island when Doug brought us right over the eastern edge of the island.

We approached their lookout post high on the cliff facing Little Diomede. The Russian guard came out and waved both arms over his head. Doug wagged the wings. Becky and I waved. We all smiled.

What a great day. We finally got to see where the former village had been turned into a hap hazard military post and had a look at the rest of the island. The guard was happy, we were happy and Doug was happy.

Doug continued the airborne circuit and settled down to a full-flaps landing. I doubt we’d been in the air much more than 20 minutes, but it had been a great trip.

The Nome delegation had just finished up so they were soon on their way back home. It had been great to be able to get off the island, even if it was only for a few minutes. I didn’t have a care in the world.

The next week we were back teaching school and minding our own business when Phillip, the school maintenance man came into my classroom. “

‘Hey, Richard… Nome Education wants you on the radio. They even sent a message on KNOM.”

My first thoughts were that one of our relatives, or our parents were sick, injured, or worse. I stuck my head in Becky’s classroom and told her to have a recess. With the kids outside, we crowded into the closet sized office and turned on the radio and liner amplifier to warm up.

Our ability to communicate with Nome was on a day to day basis. There were times when the reception was so bad we were unable to talk for days.  Today the reception was crystal clear. Lucky us.

“Two two Nome Education, this is five six Diomede”

“Five six Diomede, stand by for Mr. Francis.”

“Richard, you there? Over.”

“Nome, roger that, both Becky and I are both here, go ahead.”

“Richard, what in the everlasting hell did you do last Saturday? Over.”

He had a way of pronouncing “the” where the “e” went on forever.

We really didn’t know Dick Francis very well. But even so, it was abundantly clear that he wasn’t pleased.

“Ah…. we just went up with Doug for a better view of the island. Over”

“Richard, and what particular island might that have been. Over.”

This was one of those “opps” moments when you realize that there were forces at work beyond your understanding. I briefly considered telling him it had been Saturday and we weren’t working, but I knew that would go over like lead balloon. The best approach was to fess up and beg mercy if it came to that.

“Well, we had a bit of a peak at Big Diomede. Over”

“Richard, I don’t want any BS here. Did you or did you not violate Russian air space. OVER!”

“It’s hard to judge distances but I suspect we did. Over.”

“Let me share with you what has happened.”

This didn’t sound good, although the guard had seemed friendly enough, waving at us and all.

“The Russian until commander filed a complaint containing the airplane number with the Eastern Military Command. They sent the information to Moscow where is was given to their Foreign Ministry who asked to see an American from the embassy. The embassy passed it along to Washington D.C. and the State Department who called over to the FAA with the number written across the side of the airplane. That was tracked to Lauger Aviation who said they had taken the BIA teachers for a ride.  The BIA in Washington called my office here in Nome and asked me what was going on with our teachers. The only thing that is saving your asses at the moment is you were not the owner of the airplane or the pilot. Over.”

“Roger that Nome. Over”

Remember, this was not a private telephone call. Every teacher from St. Lawrence Island to Point Hope could, and undoubtedly were listening to this unusual call. I knew that Becky and I were going to be in for a lot of ribbing from our cohorts whenever we saw them. We did, however, avoid a letter in our files.

This conversation had reached a delicate point and I figured the less I said the better off I’ll be.

“Five six Diomede. Richard and Rebecca, do not, and I repeat do not tease the Russian bear again. If you do, I’ll be on the next airplane out there. Over”

“Ahhhh, Roger that Nome. We’ll keep ourselves over on this side. Over.”

“And your major at the National Guard wants a summary of what you saw. Oh, and Becky, happy birthday. Two two Nome out.”

So, I sat down at the cranky old typewriter in the armory that night. Using official National Guard forms, I wrote down what we had seen. It was to be sent on to Nome with the next mail plane.

When the mail plane did arrive, it was Doug once again at the controls. He handed out the green and orange mail bags and climbed down out of the 180. He reached back in and got a package that said coffee maker and crunched his way up to the schoolhouse.

We had an impromptu recess and headed up to the kitchen to put on the coffee. Doug followed us up and set the coffee maker on the counter.

“Open her up”

So, I grabbed a knife and slit the tape holding the top down and pulled out a gallon bottle of gin and a tube of Preperation H.

“You’re on your own for mixer,” he said. “I figured you’d be dry by now and you might need a drink after that radio conversation with Nome Education. I also included something for your rear ends after having them kicked so hard”