PANAMA
PERTINENT – WEATHER
Panama’s
weather is in the news. We’re having a
drought of sorts. Our rainy season is
late by two or three weeks. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be a problem but since
there is such a dependency on electricity due to the economic growth, the
power companies and government officials are rationing electricity – sorta.
The
solution is a few weeks away…huge storms will soon hit our isthmus and then
flooding will be a problem. In the
interim, the government in its infinite wisdom decided to close all the schools
and Universities; both public and private.
I’ve lived in Panama long enough to actually see the reasoning in this
decision. The school system in Panama is
ranked in the bottom 10% of the ratings in the world. It ranks somewhere just above some 5th
world African nations. So, if
your schools are not good and the kids won’t get a decent education anyway, close them
to save electricity. Oh, yeah, and just
for grins…you business folks turn off your electric signs.
Everyone plays the blame game. Just like in the other parts of the world. I’ve
determined that the reason for the drought is that not enough people read my
books. So, pick up your Kindle, jump up
and down four times (rain dance) and read ALASKA BE DAMNED.
ALASKA BE
DAMNED, Robert
Hatting
I believe it’s
very important for readers to understand that this novel does not slam the
state of Alaska. I loved living in the
‘last frontier’. I appreciated and
marveled at the people, their attitudes and their rugged spirits. The diversity and beauty of Alaska is
breathtaking. It’s also dangerous. A
brown bear can eat your ass but you can also be eaten by the parasites that
prey on the working class and business-folks of Alaska. RWH
My number
one novel in sales was written during and just after I left my stint as an
Alaska commercial fisherman. Those years, the middle-aged life chapters, were
truly chocked full of excitement and adventure.
The money was good but the adventure of the unknown was
omnipresent. One could be anchored in
a small inlet that was as calm and smooth as a mill pond. Three hours later a williwaw would stir that
cove into a cauldron of wind, waves and chop.
Dragging anchor was a given so the danger of crashing on the rocks was
always a threat. Factor in mechanical
problems, drunken deckhands, fish prices, and the ever-present weather
conditions and you have an exciting time in Alaska; an adventure every day.
One aspect
that spoiled the experience was the constant harassment by the U.S. Coast
Guard, the fish cops, and the red tape of just doing business from a boat. It
was enough to curdle a person’s milk. In
my case, I elected to push back. That was an adventure that is partially
chronicled in my novel.
One of the
most disturbing aspects of cruising around Alaska was learning of the large
number of people who die in boating accidents on an annual basis. Many of them
unreported. Fortunately, my crew and I
were able to rescue -- not just lend a helping hand, but actually rescue from
certain death over a dozen people. Nine separate incidents where lives were at
stake, my crew and I saved the day. Our reward was undying gratitude from not
only the people rescued but also from the fishing fleet in general. Unfortunately, we were chastised by the coast
guard (notice I didn’t put them in caps?) The castigation came from not
following protocol and procedures. I had
made decisions based on the most expedient method to save peoples lives and
property; including ignoring voices on the radio that were disrupting and
contradicting my rescue processes. I
always strived to help the poor souls that were either drowning, near
catastrophe or in distress. Most times I
was breaking rules and protocol set forth by fifedomes of the Coast Guard watch
commanders. I always assumed it was more important to save a life rather than
succumb to authority. It’s been my personal millstone for the better part of my
adult life.
“Coast
Guard, Sitka, this is Wolf Bay.
Listen up, Ensign Pulver, ‘cause this is my last transmission to you. The wind
is blowing out of the north at eighty knots and Chatham Strait
has breakers upward to sixty feet. This is a Class A storm, Pulver. Do not, I
repeat, do not send a cutter, a battleship, or any other type of vessel into
this storm. All parties are fine… doing five by five. We have ample supplies
and shelter, but the radio battery is almost gone. I will oblige you with
paperwork after this is over. Do you read me, Ensign Pulver?”
I think the
crowning moment in their stupidity and my blatant disregard of their orders
came when I was told to ‘stand down’ in my attempt to rescue a fisherman who
had crashed into a deadhead (sunken log) in Chatham Straight. His vessel had been totally destroyed and
had sunk but he was able to reach a rock outcropping near the shore line. To reach him was almost impossible. Any attempt with my skiff would surely put both
of us on that cluster of rocks. Soooo, I
pulled the emergency life raft off my big boat and lowered it into my
skiff. I then drove the skiff upwind
from the rock and the fisherman. When I
inflated the life raft, it took off like a kite in the strong winds. I was finally able to use the wind and the
current and allowed it to drift toward the rock. The fisherman was able to crawl inside and I
then towed him back to my eighty-five foot vessel. The fisherman I saved became
a good friend. His family and fellow
fishermen applauded my rescue. Later in
the week, twenty minutes from arrival at the dock, my vessel was boarded by a
20 year old acne faced E-2 seaman from Topeka Kansas and two other snot nosed
coasties. They inspected my vessel and I was issued five tickets for safety
violations; including one for not having an operable life raft in place. That was the cork blower!
I took the
offensive and used whatever public forum was available (including the VHF and
SSB airwaves) and began slamming the USCG, US Forest Service and a host of
other US agencies that locked down the State of Alaska. I was very careful to not include the
rank-in-file coasties; those that risked their lives everyday saving
people. I targeted the upper echelon;
those dopes that sat in the warm cushy offices and wrote rules and regulations
for their drones to enforce. I attacked
all the politicians, the big multi-nationals, and the cops that enforced their
doctrines. I was finally threatened with
arrest or worse if I didn’t pipe down or leave the state. I quieted my rants, put all my boats and real
estate on the market, and began ALASKA BE DAMNED. A year later, with everything sold, I took my
partially finished manuscript back to the lower 48 and hibernated for a year;
finishing the first draft of ABD (originally 260,000 words...now, 240,000).
Suddenly the night turned a bright
orange-white as the flare Ben shot off hung just over the barge. After a few
moments it was dark again, until Tom turned the spotlight back on. Meg’s eyes
followed the spotlight as she moved the Ancient
Mariner forward of the barge. Ben aimed the light at the waterline of the
anchored barge and the towline became visible. He shined from the top of the
barge to where it entered the water. Then he then pointed the light high on the
logs above the barge deck. Silhouetted in the light was the figure of a man. He
was flashing a small light so they could see it from the Ancient Mariner.
Since completing ALASKA BE
DAMNED, I have moved several times and have always compared my current location
to that of Alaska. I will often reread
the novel to re-experience the beauty and grandeur of that great territory.
