Eco Warrior (15 page)

IT WAS TWILIGHT BY the time we reached the Tinderbox lighthouse. We had stopped for pizza and snacks along the way. Getting down the cliff was easier than getting up, but it was still difficult, especially with Hollie on my back, and the pack, which threw off my balance. I wouldn’t have been so afraid of falling if I knew we would land in the water, but we wouldn’t have. And I couldn’t help wondering about each danger now, if it was what Sheba had predicted. It was a relief to get down to the water, where the trees were still covering the sub, and the sub was waiting faithfully, like an old friend. I hadn’t planned on coming back so soon, but was glad for the opportunity to hide the sub inside a boathouse. It would be much safer there if the coast guard and navy were still watching for us, which they probably were.

I untied the ropes from the tree trunks, raised the branches above the hatch, and squeezed inside. Even though we had only been away for a couple of days, and I wasn’t anxious to return to sea, it was nice to be back inside our own space. Hollie trotted happily over to his blanket, circled a few times, and plopped down. I lifted the pizza and bottle of milk out of my bag, and put the milk into our little fridge. Then I put on a pot of tea. It would be nice to have fresh milk in my tea, and Hollie and I could snack on the pizza on the way up the river.

But after crossing an ocean, sailing up a river was kind of unnerving, and took a lot of concentration. After sailing in water with nothing to run into in any direction—where I could set our course and lie down and sleep—sailing in water where I had to pay close attention every single second, or risk hitting something, or running aground, felt like crawling through a drainpipe without being allowed to touch the sides.

We didn’t sail up by ourselves though. I waited a few hours until a larger vessel turned into the mouth of the river and headed upstream. Then I steered out from the bank, tucked in close behind, and followed her like a shadow, invisible to radar and sonar because of her size and the noise of her engines. I took a good look at her first though. I wouldn’t make the mistake I made in India—sailing behind a naval frigate and getting depth-charged.

She was a freighter called the
Zinc Fairy
, and she ushered us right past the centre of Hobart, and underneath the first of two bridges that we had to pass before reaching Merwin’s boathouse. This was the famous Tasman Bridge that had been hit by a freighter back in 1975, knocking a big chunk out of the bridge, which fell onto the ship and sank her, killing twelve people. The river was well over a hundred feet deep here, and that freighter still lay where she settled.

We followed the
Zinc Fairy
below the surface, until she docked at a refinery just north of the bridge. I watched through the periscope the whole time, keeping tightly in her wake. Any waterway with room enough for her had room enough for us so long as we stayed in her wake. It took only about an hour altogether, but the vibrations of her engines rattled our teeth and shook our bones. It wasn’t fun playing shadow with a freighter.

The trickiest moment came when she was approached by two tug boats that helped her turn and moor. Even in a slow and easy current—just four knots—it must have been a challenge to turn a freighter right around, and line her up neatly against a dock. I waited until their lines were attached and they were busy tugging her before I flicked on the sonar, sank twenty feet, and headed upriver. By the time anyone could guess there was a small submarine in the river (if anyone was even listening), and came looking for us, we’d be safely hidden in Merwin’s boathouse.

It was after midnight when I spotted the boathouse through the periscope. It was the only one in the bay. Few people had need of a boathouse in this climate, I supposed. And the houses along the river, although nice enough, were not the luxurious mansions you’d see in some places. Merwin’s boathouse was plain, unlike his sculpture, and blended in with the background so that you wouldn’t even notice it unless you were looking for it. You certainly wouldn’t think that it was hiding a submarine, and was about to hide another one.

Merwin was sitting on the deck, staring at the water. Fritzi was curled up beside him. Merwin knew that we’d be coming sometime in the night, but not exactly when. I wondered how long he had been waiting there. Would he have sat and waited all night? I bet he would have.

Though he was staring at the water, there was no way he could spot the periscope in the dark. There was light from the moon and stars, but the periscope was hard to spot even in the day, even when you were looking for it. I came to about fifty feet in front of him, stopped, and very slowly rose until the hatch was jutting above the surface about a foot. Still, he didn’t see us. I climbed the portal and opened the hatch as quietly as I could. He never moved. He was staring in our direction but didn’t see us. Maybe he was in a trance, dreaming of inventions. I didn’t want to alert any of his neighbours so I quietly called out to him. “Merwin.”

He lifted his head a bit, saw me, and jumped to his feet. “Alfred! There you are!”

“Shhhhh!” He was practically yelling.

He lowered his voice. “Sorry. This is so exciting! I’m so glad you made it. Was it difficult coming up the river?”

I shook my head. “It was okay. But the sooner we hide the sub, the better. It’s pretty shallow here. How much clearance is there under your sub exactly?”

“Five feet, I think, allowing for the tide, which rises about four feet. I could probably raise my submarine another foot or two.”

“No, that should be good enough. If you open the doors, I’ll bring her in. Better keep the lights off though.”

“Right-o!” Merwin swung open the boathouse doors. I pumped a little air into the tanks, rose a few more feet, and motored very gently inside. It was a tight squeeze. The hull squealed along the wooden deck as we went in. Fortunately the tide was out, so the sub above us did not bang my head. But what a weird feeling: like squeezing into a wooden body suit. Once we were inside, Merwin shut the doors, flicked the switch, and flooded the boathouse with light.

“Well done, Alfred. Well done!”

“Thank you. I don’t know if we were detected. I don’t think so. We weren’t followed anyway.”

Merwin stared at the sub like a kid seeing a Christmas tree for the first time. I could relate.

“Can I have a look inside?”

“Sure.”

He reached over, grabbed a handle, and pulled himself onto the hull. He didn’t jump like a younger person would have. I went down the ladder to make room for him. He came down the ladder slowly, staring in wonder. “Wow…there’s so much equipment.”

I looked around. I was so used to it I hardly noticed. “Yah, I guess so.”

“It’s a lot more complicated than I expected.”

I nodded.

“You’ve got a bicycle rigged up to the driveshaft!”

“Yah. It’s pretty slow, but it works great in emergencies. Gives me a lot of exercise, too.”

“Amazing.” His eyes pored over the pipes, valves, gauges and casings that ran along the walls, the ceiling, and under the floor. He saw the control panel, radar and sonar screens, the periscope, and observation window. He turned and saw my hanging cot, and the doors to the engine and storage compartments. The engine door was open. “Do you really need all of this to go to sea?”

I nodded again. “Yup.”

“And yet it’s lined with wood. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“It looks comfortable.”

“She is.”

“Wow. I’m so amazed. She must have taken a long time to build.”

“Two and a half years. But we spent another winter putting in the diesel engine, and adding the dolphin nose, so, I suppose we’ve spent three years on her altogether.”

“She’s remarkable, Alfred. And you’ve been all around the world in her.”

“Yup.”

“Wow. When do you suppose we can go on a voyage?”

“As soon as we can restock and refuel.”

“But what about modifying the engine to burn vegetable fat? Should we do that before or after the voyage? Perhaps it would be best to do it first, so we can work out the kinks at sea.”

I suddenly had images of us at sea, blowing clouds of blue smoke into the sky, the engine clogged and breaking down. Then we’d spend two weeks pedalling the sub back to shore. Once again I realized the wisdom of Ziegfried’s cautionary mind.

“Neither.”

“Neither? You don’t want to burn vegetable fat?”

“I do, but I called Ziegfried, and asked, and he said no, not until we return to Newfoundland.”

“But it’s your submarine.”

“Yes, but he has the final say on all matters of safety, and he has the right to say when she’s fit to sail or not, or if I can make a technical change or not. And he said no. So it’s out of my hands.”

“Oh, well, if it’s out of your hands…”

“Yup.” And I was glad that it was.

Chapter Nineteen

RESTOCKING THE SUB was unexpectedly fun. Merwin asked me to make a list of the sorts of things we could take with us, which I did, and then we climbed into the camper and went looking for them. His only request was that everything be organic, if possible. That was fine with me.

Our first stop was at an organic farm. Four young girls in dresses and messy hair greeted us when we drove into the yard. They were excited to see Merwin, and made a fuss over Hollie, taking turns carrying him around like a doll. The youngest got him last, and wore a pouty face until she did. Merwin took a large metal bucket out of the back of the camper, and the girls filled it from a larger bucket, using a ladle. The milk had come from the cow that morning, unpasteurized.

“Try it,” said Merwin, as he passed me a small cup.

I dipped the cup into the bucket and took a drink. Wow! It was warm, creamy, and incredibly tasty. I didn’t know how much we could fit in the sub, but Merwin made such a sour face when I suggested powdered milk that I let him decide.

We also picked up yogurt and goat cheese. Once again, I explained that we had limited space, but Merwin insisted we could freeze the milk and cheese. Okay, but it’s a small freezer, I warned. Then, when I pulled money out of my pocket to help pay, Merwin said, no, don’t worry about it, he had traded for it already by making an iron railing for their porch. Cool.

Next, we drove to an organic fruit and vegetable market. It was downtown in an old warehouse. The ceiling was made from the timbers of wooden sailing ships, and the floor was made of brick. When we opened the door, I heard someone playing a guitar. Birds flew in and out of the windows, and the air smelled of herbs and flowers, just like Sheba’s kitchen.

Everyone knew Merwin. When I tried to pay for the groceries, he told me to put my money away. “No worries,” he said. “I rebuilt the windows here. There’s no need to pay.”

I put my money back in my pocket. “Do you
ever
pay for groceries?”

“Not too often.”

At the market we picked up apples, oranges, bananas, pears, kiwi, avocados, pineapple, lemons, melons, papaya, mangoes, potatoes, yams, carrots, broccoli, onions, squash, and an assortment of fresh herbs. As excited as I was at the sight of all this fresh food, I knew we didn’t have room for it. But Merwin insisted we could squeeze it in if we were determined enough. I should have listened to my own experience, but it was hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. I wondered if anyone at the market might recognize Hollie and me, but no one seemed to. Merwin, on the other hand, was treated like a celebrity.

After the market, we stopped at an organic bakery. You could smell fresh bread out in the street. Stepping inside was like walking into someone’s kitchen. Loaves of bread lined shelves from the floor to the ceiling. I said we had room for maybe three or four. Merwin bought ten. We can freeze them, he said. How, I said, when our freezer will be full of milk and cheese?

The one item Merwin wasn’t happy purchasing was diesel fuel. And we needed a lot. This time, I made the purchase. Merwin would never trade anything for a fossil fuel. But fortunately he did bring me to a fuel depot that serviced farmers, and I was permitted to buy at a farmer’s rate, which was just a fraction of the regular rate, so I saved hundreds of dollars. We filled six large metal containers, plus my portable surplus tank. But Merwin wore a frown as we carried the fuel back to his house.

We refuelled the sub first. The containers were extremely heavy, and it took both of us to lift them inside the sub, and pour them into the tank. Merwin wore a long face the entire time, but I assured him he’d be happy at sea knowing we’d have all the fuel we needed. I also thought he’d be impressed to see what a clean burning engine actually sounded and felt like, but didn’t tell him that yet. He’d see it for himself.

Once the fuel was in, we let the sub air out for a few hours before bringing in the foodstuffs. We didn’t want the flavour of diesel to soak into the bread and fruit. The lowering of fresh food into the portal pleased Merwin immensely, and brought back his cheery disposition.

“This is so great, Alfred,” he kept saying. “I have always wanted to go to sea in a submarine. I can’t believe it is finally happening.”

I hoped he would have the experience he was looking for, and that Murphy’s Law—if anything can go wrong, it will— would pass us by this time.