A Typical Day
Here is a typical 24 hour day from our lives on the island:
I wake up and stare at the shade cloth above me. There is an absolute silence, the SSB tent is quiet.
It is 0530-AM. It is dawn, but the sun is not up yet. There is a medium breeze from the southwest. The breeze is our natural air conditioner and the usual daytime temperature of our tent is 30-32 C. It is now a very pleasant 23 C. I can hear the fluttering of the national flags above me, on the main mast of the
tent. As I turn around, I notice that there is a light dew on everything. The air was full of moisture during the night with the results that everything is now moist. It is now 0610-AM and the sun is up, moving rapidly on the eastern sky. The bluish haze on the horizon dissolves and the water in the lagoon turns a vivid green-azure blue with reflections of bright yellow from the sun, the tide is coming in. Sam and Jim are asleep wrapped up in their sleeping bags as protection against flying sand and bright daylight. They are very tired, and went to bed about 3 hours ago (1900 UTC) when propagation ceased towards Europe and North America. Malcolm and I are sharing a king size air mattress, as mine attracted a loose fishing hook
during the sea voyage and the temporary repair did not work. I switch the electric kettle on, power is supplied by our small reserve generator, and look into the portable refrigerator and our storage bins for something to eat. Meals are taken when there is no propagation. All our bread became moldy and useless from the high humidity by Wednesday morning, so there was no need for breakfast cooking. Some canned fruit, breakfast cereal and specially prepared milk and coffee was quite an adequate breakfast.
The cool breeze has stopped, and there is now a warm breeze from the east and the temperature is rising in "Rowley's Cafe". At 0900 it is now 30 C. I walk 50 paces down to the lagoon for my morning swim. The water is very salty and warm. One would want to spend hours in this water, but it is not possible. The heat affects us and the reflected light on the coral sand of the beach is blinding. We have to be constantly alert for stings from floating sea wasps (a type of box jelly fish) and possible mishaps from deadly sea snakes. We try to avoid stepping on spiky/rock fish and wear special reef shoes to avoid cutes or scratches which could result in coral poisoning.
Mal gets up, does his regular intruder watch, refuels the generators and checks all the equipment and antennas that have been operating continuously without any failures. It is getting towards mid-day, the bands are dead. Jim and Sam are up now and we all compare notes from last nights activity. We discuss bands, the number of islands worked, the number of contacts and the daily reports from our pilot stations. Jim is looking after the Americas. Sam is trying to cover Europe and "keep some volatile southern Europeans"
in order.
With my limited CW operation, I use the "first come-first served" method. Here I am, fighting my way
through endless barrages of stations, dog-piles that never seem to end. In the background I hear a loud
vibration from Mal, "The pilots have requested more CW!"
Unexpected visitors
Today was a happy day. Unexpected visitors? The charter fishing Boat "Kingfisher III" reappeared on the horizon and tells us, on our special commercial marine transceiver, that they had a very successful side trip of deep sea game fishing, and will send over a large coral trout and a bag of ice to be melted
down for cold drinking water.
This was the first, and last, time we did any serious cooking. The fish tasted
wonderful - maybe we
were hungry, too. Mal checks the bands and calls out "10 meters is open." Jim and Sam disappear into
the SSB tent and soon one hears the familiar monotone noises: "four Delta Lima you are five and nine."
The long periods of activity is on again and the water and black coffee supply to the SSB tent gets
under way. Steve is in "Rowley's Cafe" and on the Bencher key. The Yaesu FT-900AT is on a small picnic
table and is connected to the auxiliary generator. There is propagation to Japan and North America
on 15 meters and the logs pages rapidly fill up. It is now late afternoon and the breeze is from the
south. The temperature in the shade is 26 C. There are dark contours on the horizon where the sky meets
the sea. Shortly after 6-PM, we witness a majestic sunset as the sun goes down and within 10
minutes there is total darkness. Everybody is now on the air. Malcolm is using my station, so I
catch up with my notes. Tomorrow is the last day of our activity.