Eviskar Island (10 page)

              “I can see why you like this place so much,” Jack said.  “When I come back here in twelve years, I think I’ll spend a week hiking in this park.  It’s beautiful.”

              “Did I hear you right?” Jocelyn asked.  “You’re coming back in twelve years?”

              “Yep”

              “Not in eleven years or in, say, thirteen years?”

              “Nope”

              The others all looked at Jack expectantly.  He laughed, “Barring unforeseen circumstances, I’ll be here on August 12, 2026.”  He paused, reveling in their curiosity.

              “Okay, I’ll bite,” said Jocelyn, “What happens then?”

              “There’s going to be a total solar eclipse on that day.  The moon’s shadow will pass across far western Iceland and then over the coast of northeast Greenland.  Olafsvik is one of the few inhabited places on Earth that lies in the zone of totality.  This town is going to be packed with astronomers when that happens.”

              “Including you?” Jocelyn asked.  “Do you plan to be one of those astronomers?”

              Jack seemed a little embarrassed by the question.  “Maybe,” he admitted.

              “That is so cool,” Marcie broke in.  “Eclipses are really rare.  I’m going to be here as well.”

              “Oh really?” Jocelyn chided, “as an astronomer or as one of Jack’s groupies?”

              The spiteful comment stung poor Marcie.  It also put a damper on the group’s conversation.

              “All right, that’s enough,” Debbie sighed, “we’d better get back to the hotel.  I want to make sure Morgan doesn’t try to take all of our gear to the dock by himself.”

V.

              The
HDMS Stjerne
flew both the flag of Greenland and the red and white pennant of the ‘Kongelige Danske Marine,’ the Royal Danish Navy.  A "Thetis class" ocean going vessel, her primary mission was to safeguard the navigable waters off the eastern coast of Greenland.  Sleek and fast, she measured 370 feet long, 50 feet abeam and displaced approximately 3500 tonnes—comparable in most respects to a large US Coast Guard cutter.  The ship slid into port, appearing as if from nowhere, and before she had even come to a full stop, her able-bodied crew began to transfer the six visitors and their gear aboard.  The entire pit stop took fewer than ten minutes.

              Spencer had little time to study the ominous-looking, bow-mounted canon before he and the others were herded to the ship’s stern to receive a short safety and welcoming lecture.  The briefing was delivered not by one of the crew but by another researcher and colleague of Morgan’s, who, like the recent arrivals, was also en route to the excavation at Eviskar.

              Dr. Johan Sørensen was a large hulk of a man with a full beard, booming voice and a jovial, avuncular nature.  He’d been a passenger on the
Stjerne
for almost a week, ever since it had last refueled and provisioned in Nuuk.  Because his English was superior to that of the captain and crew, he’d been assigned the job of welcoming and briefing the new arrivals.

              Sørensen had two children of his own.  Both were considerably younger than the Eviskar students, and saying goodbye to them prior to leaving on this trip had been terribly difficult.  Perhaps as a result of some latent parenting need, he felt an immediate attachment to the young members of this group.  Sensing his affection, the students reciprocated.  Even before setting foot on the island all knew they’d already made a good friend.

              The ship shook mightily when her three powerful diesel engines roared to life and she began to pull away from the dock.  Bow and azimuth thrusters swung her around effortlessly and before their introductions were complete, the helmsman had opened up the main throttles and nosed the Stjerne down the center of the main channel towards open sea.

              During the trip out of port, the Eviskar travelers stood along the rail of the vessel’s fantail and watched the town of Olafsvik glide slowly by.  This would be their last glimpse of a permanent human settlement until September.  As land faded into the distance and the white-capped waves of the ocean beckoned, each considered the ramifications of leaving civilization behind.  The cold salt breeze reminded them they were on their way to a forbidding, isolated land, a place where they would have to rely strictly upon themselves and their immediate colleagues for sustenance and safety.

              At least that’s what most were thinking.  Spencer had other things on his mind.  The young man was leaning out over the waves, craning his neck to gain a better view of the ship’s main gun turret located in front of the bridge.  His gaze then moved slowly back along the ship’s port side, surveying the superstructure for other signs of armament.  At length he asked his host, “Dr. Sørensen, do they have bullets for that gun?  ‘Ya think it’s loaded?”

              Sørensen was expecting such a question and laughed heartily.  It was a booming laugh, easily heard above the engine noise.  He slapped Spencer on the back.  “Ja, it is definitely loaded.  In fact, several days ago they had a live-fire exercise.  Perhaps it was for my benefit, but of that I can’t be certain.  If you are good passengers, then maybe the captain will demonstrate for you too.  That, my boy, is a 76 mm canon capable of firing two rounds per second.  When I inquired about the types of ammunition they carry, if they use armor piercing or explosive rounds for example, all I got for an answer was a smile.”  He chuckled, “It seems there are things they do not want us to know—for security purposes I am sure.”

              “They got any otha' guns on board?”

              “Oh yes, they have several heavy machine guns and I believe there are smaller caliber machine guns that can be mounted on the landing craft.  There may be more, but, again, the Danske Marine probably doesn’t want to reveal all of her capabilities.”

              Sørensen addressed the Eviskar entourage as a whole: “What young Spencer brought up is very significant.  This is a military craft on active patrol.  It is crewed by sailors from Denmark and Greenland, and her mission is to defend the Greenlandic coast and the waters adjacent to it.  We, all of us, are guests on board and we must not, under any circumstances, interfere with her duties.”

              The ship was now outside the protection of the harbor and the seas were noticeably rougher.  White caps broke all around them once they were out of sheltered water, and the up and down movement of the ship was quite pronounced.  Sørensen waved in acknowledgement to one of the crew and then ushered his charges inside.  “The deck area is off limits most of the time while we are at sea.  Although they treat us sometimes like prisoners,” he said jovially, “it is for safety reasons—to guard against someone falling overboard.  If the weather holds up, they will probably allow us to get some fresh air tomorrow afternoon for an hour or so.  Let me show you to your quarters and to the break room.  That is where we will spend the next day and a half on our way to Eviskar.”

              The main central corridor was so narrow that in order for two people to pass one another they had to turn sideways.  Because their quarters were near the front, they had a long way to walk.  Finally, after walking almost the full length of the ship, Sørensen turned left into an open hatchway and led them down a short series of steps into what was obviously the break room.  About the size of a small bedroom, it was furnished with a table and two benches, all of which were bolted to the floor.  Along the far wall lay a counter equipped with a microwave, a refrigerator and a small sink.  “This is the dining area,” their guide announced.  “Some of the crew like to spend time here as well, although it is generally for civilian use.  The crew’s mess is in an adjacent room and is off limits to us.  At times like this, when there are guests aboard, someone will deliver breakfast and dinner, buffet style, from the kitchen.  We are on our own for lunch.  I suggest you do as I do and save something from the dinner tray to tie you over for tomorrow’s lunch.”

              “What sorts of food do they serve?” Marcie asked.

              “Ah yes, that is a very good question, Marcie.  I wouldn’t classify the fare here as four star, but it is capable of keeping the human body alive and functional without causing major discomfort.  For protein there is mostly fish, specifically herring, either smoked or marinated.  For diversion there is usually offered sliced meat as well, generally pork or beef, and of course we have wonderful Danish cheeses.  Steamed vegetables, potatoes and rice round out the menu.  All of the food is either frozen or vacuum sealed; the cook merely heats it up.  If there is a culinary bright spot on this ship it is the bakery.  The cook bakes fresh bread and pastries each day.  He starts with frozen dough, to be sure, but nothing is ever stale.  The pastries are especially good,” he remarked while smiling and patting his ample gut.  “One should expect nothing less on a Danish vessel.”

              When no one asked any further questions, they proceeded back the way they came and stopped a few doors down.  Sørensen opened the metal door but didn’t go in.  The room was so small there wasn’t space enough for more than two or three people to stand.  Two fold-down bunks were closed against one wall.  Opposite them was a narrow, enclosed space that could be sealed off from the rest of the compartment.  Its opaque fiberglass door lay open and one could see that it was a small bathroom.  A sink and showerhead were mounted on the wall nearest the passageway, and a small “head” or ship’s toilet sat at the other end.  The bathroom was about twice the size of a phone booth.

              “Marcie and Jocelyn, these are your quarters.  They are probably smaller than what you are accustomed to, but they are the finest available; you should consider this a ‘penthouse suite.’”  The rucksacks belonging to the two girls were lying in one corner.  The highly efficient crew had already distributed their belongings.

              “The room across the hallway is identical and it is reserved for Morgan and Debbie.  Aside from the captain’s quarters, these are the only spaces with private facilities.”  He turned to Spencer and Jack, “You boys will sleep in the civilian bunkhouse with me and one other individual.  There are eight berths there and only four are occupied, so it will not be so crowded.  There is a communal water closet next door.”  Sørensen paused to allow for questions.  Once again there were none.

              The four occupants of the ‘penthouse suites’ had gone into their rooms to unpack and the other three had left for the bunk room when the burly Dane stopped and assembled everyone together once again.   “I have just remembered something important,” he said.  “When the ship last stopped for provisions we could not take on fresh water.  Now we are running dangerously low.  Please use as little water as possible.  Washing one’s face and teeth, drinking, and using the toilet are, of course, acceptable, but until the ship docks again in southern Greenland, and that won’t happen for several days after we leave, everyone must comply with strict water rationing.”

              “This is so cool!” Marcie exclaimed.  Sørensen had just left with Jack and Spencer in tow and she was taking measure of their accommodations.  “Look, the whole bathroom, what there is of it, becomes the shower area.  You can sit on the commode while you take a shower.  And the bunks fold up against the wall to make room for us to sit and chat…what an efficient use of space.”  She was grinning from ear to ear.  “So, which bunk do you want?  Upper or lower?  I’d prefer the top one, but you can have it if you want.  I really don’t care that much.”

              “Fine, I’ll take this one,” Jocelyn said, sounding bored and pointing to the lower one.

              “Great, thanks, Jossy.”  Marcie immediately unfolded the bunk, hoisted up her rucksack and then ascended wall-mounted rungs to get into her sleeping nook.  “Man, they gave us clean sheets and a heavy blanket, and look,” she said excitedly, “there’s a neat built-in reading lamp up here.  This is so cool!” she repeated.  “Dr. Sørensen said this was the penthouse suite.  He got that right!”

              Jocelyn was no stranger to the Spartan arrangements aboard ship.  To her, the accommodations were indeed sparse and uninspiring.  In a way she envied Marcie’s excitement, her thrill of discovery, but immediately discounted it for what it was: the ignorance and enthusiasm of youth.

              Marcie bounced down from her perch and announced, “I’m gonna go to the break room.  I bet some of the others’ll be there.  You wanna come?”

              “Nope”

              “Okay, I’ll see you later, at dinner maybe.”  Brimming with exuberance and a healthy sense of adventure, the young girl disappeared into the corridor leaving Jocelyn to her thoughts.  The room went eerily silent save for the steady thrum of the ship’s engines.

              Jocelyn hadn’t slept well in Reykjavik.  She also hadn’t bothered to shower at the hotel.  Putting up with her period—it had conveniently started on the plane flight from New York—and the hassles of an extended trip, had put her in a foul mood.  The summer was becoming a nightmare.  She ran her fingers through her long, blonde hair.  It felt dirty and greasy.  “God, I need a shower,” she muttered, “but I can’t because I can’t use any freakin’ water.”  The irony of her situation made her angry.  Why have a ‘penthouse suite’ with a shower if you weren’t allowed to use it.?

              “Oh, screw it!”  Jocelyn delved into her rucksack and extracted a bottle of scented shampoo.  “I’m taking a quick shower, and if anyone objects, the heck with ‘em.”

              The break room was indeed the social gathering place for the archeological passengers.  Both Holloways, Jack Malinowski and Marcie Van Wormer milled around, snacking on a tray of cold cuts, cheese and fresh bread.  The food was an impromptu ‘welcome aboard’ gift brought from the galley.  Conspicuously absent was Spencer Bowen.  Jack had informed the others that his roommate wanted to rest for a while before gracing them with his presence.  A fresh pot of coffee rested in a binnacle-type holder to keep any sudden motions of the ship from spilling its contents.  Debbie and Marcie opted to choose from a wide selection of teas stocked in a drawer beside the microwave.

              Morgan sipped his beverage contentedly.  He decided this would be a good opportunity to educate his young assistants about life on Eviskar Island and the nature of the encampment where they would be living in the near future.  “As we sail onward towards what I believe will be the experience of a lifetime for all of you, I think it is appropriate to contemplate the trials of those who preceded us a thousand years ago.  What an amazing journey it must have been for those intrepid Norsemen who braved these same waters, piloting their longboats through heavy seas for hundreds of miles searching for habitable land.”  He looked at his watch.  “By my reckoning, we’ve just crossed the Arctic Circle and we still have to go more than 700 miles further north.  That reminds me; one of the main adaptations you’ll have to make is getting used to the lack of darkness.  Some folks suffer from severe insomnia up there.  I can pretty much guarantee, however, that all of you will be fine.  Believe me, after a long day of very rewarding but backbreaking field work, a little sunlight won’t keep you from getting your requisite shuteye.”