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Message-ID: <35290asstr$1013991010@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Mike C" <MikeC@NoSpam.NSpace.net>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 17 Feb 2002 13:07:54 PST
Subject: {ASSM} (new) JAMES 42 (mf+ rom)
Date: Sun, 17 Feb 2002 19:10:10 -0500
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(C) Copyright 2002. M.C.
All Rights Reserved.
All Reproduction for fee or profit forbidden.

Copies of my stories can be downloaded from:
<http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MikeC/>

Send all comments and suggestions to MikeC@NSpace.net

  =============

James
Part VII. Wandering Afield.

Chapter 42

I set the autopilot and had just cracked a beer and settled back for a
snooze when Sherri and Sara came back out. "Brenda's got salt all over her!
Yuck!" Sherri made a face, then pouted, "And Sara won't play with me
anymore!"
   Sara laughed, "Hard to believe but your girlfriend is even hornier than
me!" she hugged her, "But we must wait a bit - you're still healing." Sara
sat Sherri on her lap and leaned on me, "This is going to be such a GREAT
trip!"
   Brenda came out of the shower, naked and dripping and shaking her hair.
"Watch the water, we're halfway down!" The boat held 8 gallons, or about 40
minutes of fresh water on board for everything - drinking, washing and
cooking. "Another good reason not to go in the ocean - the salt is itchy!"
she added.
   "Did you see? She's washed all her sunblock off!" Sherri grinned at Sara,
"THIS time I get to put it on her while you hold her down!"
   "See what I mean?" Sara laughed as they hustled Brenda down, "But take us
where we can do more fishing!" she added.
   Ten minutes later, a thoroughly oiled Brenda led the grinning pair back
on deck. They had put on T-shirts but the shadows and dark hints of their
breasts underneath made looking away difficult.
   After I gave them the ogling they were due, I spread the hydrographic
map, "This marks a wreck, in eighty feet of water. Wrecks and coral make
great fish habitats and we're going to try there. And I'm going to test out
the diving disk as well." The 2" round metal planers attached to the line
and pulled the lure deeper by diving under motion.
   I set up the little motor to cut across the current. Sherri watched me,
then asked, "Why are you going half the speed as before?"
   "Because before, with the current against us, we had to go 10mph just to
stay in the same spot. But now I'll cut across the current at about 7 mph to
avoid damaging the flying fish and still drift past the wreck slowly."
   She thought about it, "Makes sense - but then you're too slow now." I
looked at her and she continued, "You were going 4000rpm before to get 12
mph. Now you're only going 1800, which is only 5-1/2 mph." We stared at her.
   "It's very simple," Sherri smiled, "I have what's known as monotonic
pitch recognition. I can tell what pitch is based on middle-A, which is
440Hz, so by doubling and approximating, I can judge almost any frquency. I
can tell, for instance that the motor's running at around 2 octaves above
"A", so that makes it 1800rpm, or thereabouts."
   With her help we adjusted the little motor, catching a 4 pound snapper
almost immediately with the deeper lure, then we turned and angled back over
the wreck.
   The next 2 hours produced 13 fish, eight being ten pounds or more, giving
all of us more than enough excitement and exercise. We kept the 2 largest, a
17lb Mahi-mahi and a 22lb Kingfish which almost wretched Sara's shoulder out
with its furious darting fight. We stopped when Brenda's steel leader was
snapped again, but by then, we were down to our last bait fish, which we
released. Despite their soft flesh which disintegrated too easily, the
deadly attraction of the flying fish for game was well proven today.
   We cleaned up, using the water sparingly and I steered for shore. We were
all a little tired and nobody relished the idea of another meal on the
pitching deck, so we happily accepted Brenda's suggestion of dinner on
shore.
   I had intended for us to stay over at a large city but we started
smelling a foul odor towards shore. It became worse the nearer we got and
soon we could see why. The current had trapped miles of seaweed and garbage
and, despite the unrelenting efforts of tugboats and dredgers, was choking
the harbor with a rotting smegma. I turned about and steered for cleaner
air.
   It took us almost half an hour before we were rid of the cloying smell
but by then we were looking ahead at a beautiful sandy island with a row of
low white buildings gleaming in the sun. The map named it Brookhaven.
   It was a large island connected to the mainland by a causeway at one end,
with sandy beaches and meandering waterways in beds of reed. The opposite
side was a craggly cliff protected by a concrete lattice in the surf to fend
off the unrelenting waves. On the very top perched a resort and convention
center.
   I steered up a deep, narrow channel and docked at the marina built beside
the causeway. I nodded at the attendant as I coasted up.
   He looked up and his mouth dropped as the girls leaned over the side.
   "Geez, I'm so sticky and yucky!" Brenda whined, fanning her shirt and we
stared at the billowing hints of her nakedness, "Isn't there some place a
girl can get cleaned up around here?" She arched her brows at the man.
   "Er, there's a resort and..." he looked at me, then back at Brenda,
"They'll have showers..." He stared at me as I tied us down and stood to
regain out land legs.
   "Is you fly undone James?" Sherri whispered in my ear, "He's awfully
interested at you!" then to the man, "Can you show us where?" The man
started pointing up the hill and his eyes popped as Sherri took a deep
breath and leaned over him.
   "But he's not gay." Sherri informed me.
   The man flustered over Sherri then he turned back at me. "Er, excuse
me..." he dashed inside the office and returned with a boating catalogue. He
flipped through it and opened it, "Is that you?"
   "God, look at the mug!" Sara laughed, "I can't see why they'd want that
picture of you in there!" She looked closer, "Of course they must've wanted
Celeste and forgot to crop you out!"
   The man looked at me carefully, then the picture, then Jewel. "Oh, you're
from the factory!" he suddenly grinned and shook my hand, "Let me call my
boss!"
   They were busy explaining to Sherri why Amanda was looking somewhat
cross-eyed in one picture when a swarthy man came up in an electric cart and
started shaking my hand, "Al Jeffray, here! Welcome to Brookhaven! I own the
marina and also the mayor of this here sand dune." he shook my hand again,
"Ah, it's good of you guys to drop in on a little outfit like ours!"
   He started looking over Jewel, "Is this the new 26?"
   "Yes, we're still trying a few mods on her..." I started.
   "Show me, show me," he was quite beside himself.
   "We'd be happy to talk more about the boats." I paused, "But right now
we'd like a chance to freshen up first."
   "Of course, of course! Let's get the word out and maybe we can pick your
brains over dinner?"
   "Thank you for your invitation Al - I accept. And I've got something here
I'd like to contribute to the meal." I transferred the two fish we had
caught.
   Cars were not allowed on the island; wheeled transportation was either by
bus, bicycles or golf carts. We were issued an electric six-seater and Al
took us to the resort.
   "We're a little busy this week so we only have this cottage tonight. It's
got two bedrooms and a pullout in the living room." He paused, "Will you be
needing the cottage for longer?" at my smile he amended, "Please don't
misunderstand! You are our guests - but the cottage is booked for later this
week and I'll have to make other arrangements if you need a place for more
than tonight!"
   "Al, you've already been most kind. We will be leaving tomorrow morning."
   "Right then, make yourself comfortable, dinner in say, an hour and a
half?" Al gave us directions and took off.
   The cabin was large and airy and the bedrooms shared a walk out to a
patio with a panoraminc view of the ocean. Once or twice we caught glimpses
of dolphins and other, less identifiable creatures far out in the sparkling
water.
   We cleaned up and took a drive around the island, using a map provided in
the cottage. We drove along narrow roads past low rolling greens, exchanging
greetings with the islanders in their low summery houses. A number of depots
dotted the island where we could obtain fully charged batteries for the cart
in exchange for drained ones.
   The restaurant was quite full already with the resort guests seated for
the early dinner sitting. Al had reserved a table at a corner for us,
explaining, "I figure we'll let you enjoy a quiet dinner and we can meet
everyone in the meeting room next door after."
   The kitchen served the mahi-mahi on a large 4 feet long platter. It had
been baked whole in banana leaves which removed the skin when they were
peeled off. We were served generous portions then the dish was set up in the
center of the room so everyone can have have a taste.
   Al gave us a brief run down of his town. The island was oval shaped, 22
miles long by 9 wide, of which about a third was beaches and marshlands.
Although fewer than 2000 people live there year round, it could have up to
5000 visitors staying over at any time, drawn there by the beaches, the
nature areas and of course the golf courses.
   Once a private estate to a wealthy industrialist, Brookhaven was
bequeathed, upon his death, to 120 long-time employees of his factories.
Some 30 families descended from those still live on island.
   "We've been lucky to have been spared much of the nastier storms in
recent years and so we are doing a booming tourist trade. In early Summer,
like now, we also attract bird watchers and we've been working with Wildlife
America to protect the endangered sea turtle." he pointed to a young
brunette in the dining hall, "Janet there organises the beach Turtle Watches
so they and their eggs are protected. We attract a lot of turtle watchers
these two months.
   "Quite a few residents rent their houses out in the summer to tourists
and then THEY go off on their own vacations! Many of them us sail to the
islands or Central America so boats are very important to us. Then there are
those of us who also take a boat to work!"
   Al gave a sigh of relief when I finished my second Chocolate Mousse,
after helping the girls clean up their plates and stood. He led us to a
large room where about 40 people were milling about.
   Applause greeted us as I introduced ourselves, "First off we're technical
and know nothing about sales," I smiled and waited for more applause to
fade, "And we have to limit this talk to the 26' open cabin cruiser, the 20'
runabout and the 22' cuddy cabin."
   I described the improvements we have made on the Jewel, then Sara gave a
run down of the innovations we had developed for the original Gyro, then she
began talking about the 22' Cuddy Cabin.
   "Is that the Monster Cuddy?" Said voices from the audience.
   Sara smiled, "If you mean the Magnum 455 with the DX I/O, then yes."
   "How close are you to production? We heard you're having serious problems
with the power?"
   I stepped in, "We're in reseach so we can't speak for production or
marketing, but we are seeing very strong indications on our test unit that
speeds in the low to mid-70's are realistic." I had to wait for silence
again, "We are having the test model prepped for testing as we speak, so we
will know in a matter of weeks."
   Cuddy cabins are the SUVs of boating and typically suffers from poor
acceleration and performance. Gyro 2 was a venture in a 'fat' cuddy - by
designing in a higher cabin, not only was there room for a unique mid-cabin
for two, there was the clearance for the more powerful Magnum engine as
well. It would be an industry first if we could realise the speed promised.
   As Brenda began talking about plane points and optimising performance
with Sara, I went back to sit with Sherri. She was talking with a young girl
whom Al introduced as his daughter. "Lucy is very keen on boats - she's been
sailing since she was born."
   "And Lucy's been telling us about her turtle!" Sherri smiled.
   "Well," Lucy hesitated, "It's not really MY turtle, but it was named
after my mother, and her name is also Lucy."
   "And what kind of a turtle is it?" Sherri prompted.
   "Lucy is a Loggerhead sea-turtle and, about ten years ago, she started
coming here to lay eggs. You can tell it's her because she has a bump on her
big head, like she's wearing a little cap!" Lucy smiled.
   Al continued, "My wife's family was one of the original Brookhaven
residents and we had just married and bought our own place here when Lucy
first appeared. The turtle has a barnacle attached on her head, so she's
very easy to recognise. Sea turtles always return to the beach they were
born to lay their eggs, so we were quite worried when she did not appear for
a couple of years. Then last year she reappeared with a badly cut up
carapace from a ship's propeller, it must've been a close call because it
took her two years to heal."
   "And she came up to beach two nights ago," Lucy said, "But something
spooked her and she turned back without laying any eggs, so we've been
watching for her every night!" She took Sherri's hand, "Do you want to come
with us?"
   "Of course!" Sherri smiled.
   The question period was winding down and Al became busy with people
interested in placing orders. I collected the girls from their fans and we
followed Lucy to join the Wildlife Guide who was giving her talk just
outside.
   "The Loggerhead and the Kemp Ridley are the only sub-tropical sea-turtles
left. In fact, the Kemp is virtually extinct, with one colony livng off
Mexico, with fewer than 300 adults. Here, we've been seeing fewer and fewer
loggerheads each year. Twelve years ago, we had fifteen to twenty females
beaching here, last year was six, we're hoping for eight or nine this year -
that would show that our conservation is working.
   "The problem is that sea turtles take thirty years to reach maturity - so
what we're seeing are the results of overkilling thirty years ago. As it is,
with just the weather and their natural predators, fewer than 1 in 1000
hatchlings survive their first year. Given that each adult lays only 300
eggs per year, it follows that it is no easy task to replenish their
numbers.
   "A few years ago, there was a plan to raise turtles in captivity for a
year before releasing them into the wild, so that they have a better chance
of survival. But it was a plan that had some major flaws in it. One was that
the birth imprint was not as strong, so some released turtles actually
forgot where they were supposed to go lay their eggs. Then a potentially
disastrous oversight surfaced when they discovered that because they were
released in a differnt environment there is a chance they will never find a
mate of their own species." Janet sighed, "So even our best laid plans fail
miserably at times!"
   After a pause she continued, "As if they don't have enough problems, sea
turtles are still hunted by many cultures for food and souvenirs. But their
greatest danger is from the fishing boats, some 50 thousand sea turtles
drown each year when they get trapped in fish nets.
   "Four years ago, they tagged a leatherback female from the West Coast
with a satellite transponder on her shell and they tracked it as it swam
steadily at 300 miles a week towards Asia. Then just outside Tokyo Japan,
the signal faded and stopped. She had been caught in a shrimpers net and had
died when she could not reach the surface to breath.
   "We believe that that poor, brave lady had been swimming the 9000 miles
there and back each year for 40 or more years..." Her voice dropped to a
husky whisper, "Isn't that something?"
   After a deep breath she continued, "So it's very important we give them
every chance to lay their eggs. Lucy the turtle," She smiled at OUR Lucy,
"Came out 2 nights ago but was startled by someome trying to take a flash
photograph of her, so we're hoping she will try again tonight. So please,
leave your cameras and flashlights behind, unless you have the red-shielded
ones. Stay behind me at all times and DO NOT try to touch or go near a
turtle. They have a hard beak for a mouth that can snap fingers off!"
   In single file we followed down the dunes to a platform built on the
sand. Groups of children with adult volunteers were scattered around to keep
intruders out and to watch for turtles.
   Janet pointed into the dark, "This is where Lucy came out last time and
we'll be VERY close to the site she started digging last time. Remember,
they panic very easily so no sudden noises or movements!"
   The night was warm with just the sound of the surf as we waited
breathlessly for our visitor. The beach lamps had been turned off but there
was enough light from the moon to see by.
   "Most turtles will come out as soon it gets to high tide - so they have
time to make it back to the ocean before the sun comes out." Janet continued
in a low voice, "She will dig a deep hole, as deep as her flippers will
reach first, then she'll lay around 120 eggs, each smaller than a golf ball.
They will do this at most one more time this season before swiming away to
their feeding grounds for a year." She paused and pointed, whispering,
"There's something swimming in..."
   We could just make out a bobbing object 50 feet out. Then it vanished in
the waves and the froth.
   "Quiet now!" Janet hissed as we breathed our amazement as the lumbering
female pulled herself up the beach. "It's Lucy!" she could not hide her own
excitement.
   It was huge - fully four feet across and heavy. Out of her element she
pulled herself awkwardly through the sticky sand, leaving a herringbone
shaped furrow behind her.
   A movement in the low shrubs caused her to stop and watch cautiously.
Turtle eggs are a delicacy few animals could resist and there are obviously
a few already anxiously waiting for the feasting.
   "Come-on, come-on!" Someone behind us started chanting. With an angry
growl Janet whirled around and shone her torch in his face as he squeaked to
silence.
   We all breathed a sigh as Lucy resumed her trek towards a spot about 30
feet from us, her need to spawn perhaps overriding her usual wariness.
   She stopped 10 feet from the edge of the vegatation and started
burrowing, with flailing motions of her head at first, until she could fit
her back flippers in, throwing dirt wildly to the sides. So intent was she
in her task that she no longer looked about her. We could see a large gouge
in her shell, opened by a large round blade. It yawned open and we could see
a lattice of tissue that had grown over the wound. An inch or two deeper and
she probably would not have recovered.
   In 20 minutes, grunting and gasping with effort, Lucy decided the hole
was deep enough and dipped her hind into the hole. More movements along the
shrubbery showed where drooling appetites were waiting.
   Finally, with a hiss and a shake of her ponderous head, Lucy began
sweeping sand over her brood until the hole was covered. Without a backward
glance, she heaved her exhausted body back towards the water, where she will
feed and rest until she can beach for a second batch of eggs.
   Two racoons were already scouting in the spot before Lucy was fully in
the waves. Her quick backward glance was full of a mother's anguish, but
Lucy continued until she disappeared into the foam.
   The animals were gibbering with greed as they neared the cache when two
uniformed rangers approached and shoo'd them away. Janet led us to them
after carefully checking for other females who may be waiting to spawn.
   The men had donned gloves and were transferring the clutch of eggs into a
wooden crate, cushioning each layer with sand from the hole. "Turtle eggs
appear to be sensitized to the sand they are laid in," Janet explained, "And
so this improves their chances of hatching." We watched the men drove off.
"There's another sad tale there too, for a period of time, about 80% of the
hatchlings from our incubators turned out to be male. It was found out later
that we needed to fluctuate the temperature naturally to even out the ratio.
Now we aim for a 65% female population because they are frequently caught
and killed while beaching.
   "The eggs will be incubated for 60 days and half will be re-deposited
back here but the rest will go to another beach, hopefully away from too
many seagulls and other waiting predators."
   Since there where no signs of more beaching, we bid Al and his daughter
goodnight and drove back in the golf cart. We leaned on the rail of the
patio and looked seaward.
   "Good luck, Lucy. Good luck, sea turtles."


  =============

(C) Copyright 2002. M.C.
All Rights Reserved.
All Reproduction for fee or profit forbidden.

Copies of my stories can be downloaded from:
<http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MikeC/>

Send all comments and suggestions to MikeC@NSpace.net

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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