Spider Legs (2 page)

CHAPTER 3

Ice

T
HE SMALL PLEASURE
boat was dwarfed by the strangely shaped icebergs floating nearby along the Newfoundland coast. In the fractured sides and grottos of these massive chunks of ice were strange rich blues and weathered aquamarines. The ocean surged into the cavernous bellies worn at the icebergs’ waterlines and exploded in steepled and gabled sprays of foam. In this part of Newfoundland icebergs frequently changed shape under the chisels of the swift Labrador Current.

From far away, the small two-masted schooner blended in perfectly with its surroundings and looked like a long thin piece of ice drifting through a chilling white mosaic on the celadon sea. Closer, an observer could easily discern the boat's name engraved in golden letters on a wooden plaque hanging on the back. The sign read: PHANTOM.

The boat's occupants looked at a map of the area which showed that Newfoundland comprised two main areas, the Island of Newfoundland and the Coast of Labrador. The Island of Newfoundland, roughly triangular shaped, was separated from the Canadian mainland by the narrow Strait of Belle Isle on the northwest, the seventy-mile-wide Cabot Strait on the southwest, and the broad Gulf of St. Lawrence on the west.

The early morning rain had stopped, but the deck was still
slippery near the engine hatch where oil had soaked into the wood. Garth James sat in the cockpit of his boat with one bare foot resting on a spoke of the wheel. In his right hand was a cup of coffee. Garth was big, fairly muscular, dark-haired and swarthy, and appeared to be in his early thirties. He wore bold-colored Hawaiian swim shorts and a denim windbreaker. As he gazed across the horizon, the boat rocked gently in the deep swells. An invigorating whiff of pungent sea air filled his nostrils.

Garth turned on the boat's engine and pointed the craft in the direction of a peculiarly shaped iceberg which contained a myriad of exotic wave-cut patterns. At one moment the crevices were filled with green water. The next moment they were throwing white, foaming water back into the ocean. For the few seconds between the inrushing and outrushing of water, the caverns displayed thousands of pieces of pointed ice like sharks’ teeth—white, green, and aquamarine.

Garth's curiosity about the ocean overwhelmed him at times. At 16, he had dived for the first time, donning an old helmet, weights, and compressed air to explore a Maine river bed. While at Yale University studying marine biology, he was introduced to sophisticated scuba gear. Even after his marriage at 21 to Kalinda, and the birth of their child Alan, he kept his attention focused on diving deeper and discovering the way the oceans worked.

Kalinda came up through the hatch and handed him an apple.

“Thanks,” he said. Kalinda stared at the man with her sparkling eyes and then hooked her thumb in her shirt pocket and cocked her hip. He gazed at her and took her hand.

“Like your outfit,” Garth said. Kalinda wore his flannel shirt, and nothing else.

“I better get something on before I freeze to death,” she said, shivering. She was a slim woman, 27 years of age, with honey-colored hair, and eyes the darkest green.

“Why don't I warm you up first,” Garth said as he kissed her on the lips.

“At least the weather's a bit warmer today than yesterday,” she said with a charming smile that involved her eyes as well as her mouth. Like Garth, Kalinda was interested in the sea. Three years before she had been invited to join the National Science Foundation's research vessel
Anton Bruun
for a three-week exploration of the oceans near Madagascar. Together Garth and Kalinda had gone on expeditions to the Juan Fernández islands and the Galapagos Islands. Their parents, ever supportive, took care of their four-year-old during these trips.

“You really must be cold.” He patted the crease of her bottom through the shirt. “Shall I follow you into the cabin?” He drew back enough to stare at Kalinda's nipples, which rose like goose bumps from beneath her inadequate outfit.

“I better put a coat on,” she said, winking.

He placed his fingers under her shirt and felt her naked buttocks. He began to stroke her. She was right: her body was cold, like the anatomy of a statue. It was an interesting experience. “Galatea,” he murmured.

“But I'm no ivory statue,” she said. For Galatea, in mythology, was a beautiful statue later animated by the prayer of her lover.

“That's because I'm bringing you to life,” he said, massaging her projecting flesh.

“Mmmm,” she purred as he followed her to the cabin.

Garth had convinced Kalinda that the ultimate in unusual vacations was the North Atlantic where they could spend some time traveling among the awesome floating mountains, the icebergs. He had explained to Kalinda that the weather was fairly mild near Newfoundland. The presence of the sea moderated the temperature in the winter. The average temperature in January was about 20 degrees Fahrenheit, and 55 degrees F weather was common in the summer. However, only the south coast was ice-free throughout the winter. At first she thought his vacation idea was crazy, but when he showed her some photographs the U.S. Coast Guard supplied of magnificent ice giants plodding through Baffin Bay, she gave into the crazy adventure. They started in Quebec, traveling along the St. Lawrence River in
their schooner, and continued through the Cabot Strait into the Atlantic.

Occasionally they docked along the coast of Newfoundland where weathered bald mountains rose almost from the water. Newfoundlanders affectionately called their Island of Newfoundland “the Rock.” Battered by the Atlantic Ocean at Canada's easternmost point, it sometimes seemed a harsh place—remote and watery. Until the early 19th century, fish merchant monopolies, piracy, and international rivalry fiercely discouraged permanent settlement. Recently, however, Newfoundland had both modern amenities and rural values. In the past decade the government had begun to pursue an economic policy based on forestry, fisheries, and hydroelectric power. The fisheries remained the largest resource-sector employer, providing full-time work to 20,000 fishermen.

They had come to St. John's, checked in with Garth's lovely little sister Lisa, and now were on one of their side jaunts, forging north along the east coast of the island. The wind had been wrong on prior days, and that could make a difference, but this time it was right, and they were going against the current to see the icebergs. They were in no hurry.

“Are you warm yet, Galatea?” he inquired.

“Alive, but not warm,” she replied. “Maybe if you heat me from the inside . . .”

There was silence while he did his best. In due course she confessed to having been warmed throughout.

An hour after making love, Garth and Kalinda emerged from the cabin to look at the coast with its charming village ports and then back at the large floating chunks of ice. “Do you think it's such a good idea to get so close to the glacier?” Kalinda asked as she turned her head. The light caught her silky hair turning it into the color of a Hawaiian sunset.

“Nothing to worry about. We'll go slow,” Garth said as he tiptoed his fingers from her calf to her knee. There was usually little
danger when sailing in these seas due to the number of Coast Guard boats in the area. Ever since the steamship
Titanic
collided with an iceberg and sunk, ship lanes near Newfoundland had continued to be patrolled by one or two American Coast Guard boats during the seasons when icebergs were drifting. Several nations helped to defray the cost of this patrol service.

“There must be hundreds of icebergs!” Kalinda said. Some looked like gigantic pyramids, hummocked in places to form the frigid likenesses of yawning lions. Garth turned to Kalinda.

“The location of every iceberg in these waters is radioed to the ships in the neighborhood. We can't get lost even if we wanted to.”

“Let's be careful,” Kalinda said. “I'd hate to collide with an iceberg.”

“You're always such a worrier,” he said, smiling.

“If I didn't worry, I think you'd have killed yourself by now,” she said, perhaps thinking of the time he had nearly crashed the schooner into a coral reef a year ago.

Garth nodded as he edged the two-masted, motor-powered schooner even closer to an iceberg. Even though he realized that eight times as much of the ice was under the water than above, it was hard to fully appreciate that the beautiful blue waves concealed a mass of ice much larger than the behemoth before their eyes. Flashes of sunlight began to reflect off the berg's crystalline surfaces, producing an astonishing collection of scintillating orange and blue colors.

“Magnificent,” Kalinda said as she pointed to the icefields, which glimmered like mercury. “The colors remind me a little of the sparkling crystals on the chandelier in my mother's home.”

“Look at that one,” Garth pointed. “Those kinds of glacial ice are known as ‘dry docks’ because of their deep U-shaped indentations. See the sparkling ponds of water at the bottom of the U?”

“Wouldn't want to get trapped at the bottom. How much do you think it weighs?”

“Probably around two million tons.”

Suddenly the iceberg broke into several huge pieces, as if someone had exploded dynamite in its icy interior. It made a noise like thunder, which could be heard for several miles.

“Grab onto something,” Garth cried. Kalinda ran toward the mast as rings of large waves began to radiate from the berg in all directions. The schooner began to pitch and roll as if it were in a great storm.

“Ahh,” Kalinda cried as cold particles of salt spray splashed and ran down her legs. Part of the berg began to die with a crackling and crumbling. There were such roars of agony that it sounded as if the
Phantom
were under siege by cannons. When the waves subsided Garth decided he better be the first to speak.

“Everything OK?”

“I thought you said this was safe,” she said sarcastically.

“Sorry. The bergs sometimes do that. Didn't realize how powerful the effect could be.” After hours of direct sunlight had melted the surface ice, internal strains in the frozen water were manifest in what Newfoundland fisherman called iceberg “foundering"—the bergs exploded into huge chunks of ice. With a horrifying roar, blocks of ice bigger than a house sometimes broke away from the ice mountain.

But as Garth and Kalinda guided their craft among the icebergs for a few hours, they grew accustomed to the cacophonous sounds and sight—even grew to love them. They learned to navigate the boat among the icebergs with the grace of a downhill skier gliding back and forth between trees.

“Most of these icebergs come from the west coast of Greenland,” Garth said.

“Right, I read about that. They also drift for around three years before reaching their deathbed in the warm Gulf Stream.” Occasionally Kalinda liked to remind Garth about her own knowledge in marine geology, something Garth every now and then seemed to forget when he got into his scientific lecturing mood.

Now the sea was calmer.

“Care for a drink?” Garth asked.

“No thanks.”

“A nap?”

“Maybe later.” Although she might be tired, Kalinda evidently didn't want to miss the wonderful sights all around her.

Garth picked up a newspaper and began to leaf through it. “It says here that there are less codfish in the seas for the fishermen to catch these days, and that the Canadian government is subsidizing the fishermen. Wonder what could cause the sudden decline of fish?”

“Maybe they simply were overfishing the limited local supply.”

Garth turned the pages of the newspaper. A colorful advertisement caught his eye: it was for Martha's Fish Store, which purported to be the largest marine and freshwater aquarium store in Newfoundland. It also claimed to have a tank with over one thousand neon tetra fish. He handed the advertisement to Kalinda.

“Let's take a look at Martha's Fish Store when we get back to the land. No sense in depending on Lisa for all our information.”

“I'd love that.”

As they traveled along the coast, with a few dozen icebergs in sight, the frequent roar of foundering icebergs made an otherwise serene setting more exciting than a roller coaster ride. At times even the noise of their ship's six-cylinder diesel engine couldn't be heard over the thunder of the bergs.

Garth yawned.

“Why don't you let me steer for a while,” Kalinda said. “You take a nap below.”

“Not a bad idea.” Garth got stiffly to his feet, ducked under the boom, and checked a few ropes. Then he went to the hatch. He turned to Kalinda. “Come down if there's any problem.”

Below, in a small, cozy room with a soft bed, a refrigerator, and other amenities, Garth checked a few maps and a compass. Then he examined his new chart drum navigator which enabled him to use traditional paper charts with loran or Global Position Satellite navigations systems.

Garth was always amazed at how well the loran system worked for determining his vessel's position. Like radar, this electronic system for
long range
navigation was a World War II development. Unlike radar, loran required no special transmission from the ship. Instead a radio receiver operating on a low frequency gave loran the capability of receiving signals at great distances. Loran transmitting stations on shore operated in pairs; one was called the master, the other the slave station. The time difference between arriving signals allowed the ship to be located on a loran chart. Loran stations throughout the world afforded extensive loran coverage, but a ship had to be within 700 miles by day and 1,400 miles at night to receive the loran signals.

Earlier in the morning he had slipped a chart of the Newfoundland waters under a plastic overlay on the chart drum navigator. The drum rotated to keep the part of the map he was using in view. A moving red bead marked his boat's current position. So far, so good. They should be back in Bonavista Bay in another few hours.

Without removing any of his clothes, except for his sandals, he dived into bed and stretched out like an old dog. Before he fell asleep he thought about the sea. In spite of its dangers, humans were always attracted to the mystery and beauty of the ocean, the challenge of its unpredictability, from placid calm to raging storm. Since prehistoric times, humans’ personal relationship with the ocean had been unique, unlike ties with other natural surroundings. Perhaps long before scientists realized that the sea was the mother of life, humans intuitively realized that the salty solution, so much like the chemistry of their own blood, was the source of living things.