Without a Grave

Could I be starring in a James Bond flick? Uh, would you believe an episode of Get Smart?

Seven fifty a.m. With a chair pulled up to the kitchen table, Pattie’s ‘bible’ to my left and a spiral-bound logbook to my right, I opened to a blank page. Stuck to the table in front of me were a dozen Post-its where I’d jotted down information about community events so I wouldn’t forget to announce them.

Microphone in my left hand, pen in my right and both eyes on the clock. Paul minding my coffee cup, keeping it full, but adding more sugar than I like.

The digital numbers on the clock ticked from 7:58 to :59 to :00.

Show time!

‘Good morning, this is Hannah Ives at Windswept on beautiful Bonefish Cay. I will be your Net anchor today and I’m standing by on this channel now for anyone who would like to register early for the Abaco Cruisers’ Net which will begin in fifteen minutes on this channel.’

During those minutes the airways clicked and hissed and hummed as listeners called in on their VHF radios, making appointments to talk. Using my notebook, I assigned callers to slots, depending on the category – community announcements, invitations, mail call, new arrivals, departures – on a first-come, first-served basis.

As part of the fun, Paul had come up with the daily trivia question – in what year did the first Americans come to Man-O-War Cay (stubbornly refusing to share with me the answer). Meanwhile, I confirmed with Stu Lawless on Dances with Waves that he’d do the weather report.

When it came to Stu, Paul had serious radio envy. Stu received his email and weather information on a single-side band radio and could download satellite maps from remote anchorages all over the world in the twinkling of an eye. We got our weather from www.barometerbob.com, a reliable source. When the Internet signal cooperated, of course.

At 8:14 I flipped to channel 16. ‘Good morning, all. The Abaco Cruisers’ Net presents weather and announcements now on channel 68.’

And at 8:15, back on 68 I picked up Pattie’s script and my microphone, pressed the talk button, and began reading.

‘Good morning, Abaco. This is the Abaco Cruisers’ Net on the air every day at this time to keep you informed with weather, news and local events. This is Hannah Ives at Windswept broadcasting from Bonefish Cay.

‘Today is Monday, July twenty-eighth. If you think you may be calling in to the Net, please switch your radio to high power now so that everyone can hear you. Remember to use your call signs when calling in, so that I may answer you. I will repeat any messages that sound scratchy, but if you miss anything, feel free to ask me to repeat. You could do the same for me. If I appear to be ignoring a call, I’m not. Your relay will ensure that everyone is included, because, after all, the goals of this Net are safety, friendship and message handling.

‘Weather, the first concern for all of us. We will get an updated weather report now from Stu on Dances with Waves.’

While Stu reported on the weather – sunny, but the chance of squalls later in the day – I sipped some coffee, hoping the caffeine wouldn’t make me more jittery than I already was. Maybe in a few days I’d be as relaxed as Pattie always sounded, able to lean back and plan what to fix for dinner that evening – chicken in the freezer, a nice eggplant, a handful of oddly shaped but flavorful heirloom tomatoes from Milo’s stand over on Guana Cay – but at that moment, I was a caffeine-fueled, microphone-clutching, tightly wound spring.

‘Winds three to five out of the southeast.’ Stu was wrapping up. ‘And if you’re wondering about those smoke clouds over northern Abaco this morning, brush fires have been reported on the old Bahama Star farm, so let’s hope this change of direction doesn’t help them to spread. Dances with Waves out.’

I pressed the talk button. ‘Now that we are up to date on the Atlantic seas,’ I announced, ‘we need to check close to home on the sea state of the Sea of Abaco. For this report we always trust Troy Albury at Dive Guana. Troy?’

If Abaco had a Man for All Seasons, it would be Troy Albury. Dive-shop owner, island councilman, community activist, Troy was also chief of Guana Cay Fire and Rescue; his boat was first on the scene in any emergency. A native of Guana Cay, Troy’d been spearheading the effort to halt the Baker’s Bay project that threatened to overwhelm his tiny island, working his way tirelessly and painfully up through the Bahamian court system. I wondered if he’d turn up at the meeting in Hope Town the following week. Warden Henry Baker could certainly draw on Tony’s expertise for any action plan directed against Rudolph Mueller’s development on Hawksbill Cay.

That morning, though, Troy was wearing his dive-shop hat, reporting calm conditions on the Sea of Abaco, perfect for snorkeling and diving. After Troy signed off, I called on listeners all along the island chain, asking for sea conditions from Whale Cay in the north to Little Harbour in the south.

Calm conditions all the way.

‘Fabulous!’ I said. ‘Just what everyone dreams of when you think about boating. Look out fish!’

‘We have no emergency email today,’ I continued, consulting my notes. ‘But remember that Out Island Internet has provided a free emergency email service to listeners since 1997 – the address is cruisersatOIIdotnet.’

Gaining confidence with Pattie’s script in front of me, I moved rapidly through the community announcements to headline news. I’d tapped Paul for that. He’d spent the morning checking the New York Times and Washington Post online, taking notes, so that he could summarize what was happening in the world we’d left behind.

Paul wrapped up with the stock market report, then handed the microphone back to me. I took it and gave him a high-five with my free hand.

‘We pause here to let new listeners know what’s coming up next on the Net. First, we will have some invitations from some great places here with special activities you need to know about. Next, are mail call, then trivia, and our open mike session . . .’

‘Break, break!’

Someone was calling with a priority message. I immediately interrupted the script. ‘Caller, this is the Cruisers’ Net. Go ahead.’

‘Uh, this is the Raging Queen out of Key West, and I’m looking for cabin boys.’

Oh, great. I flipped through Pattie’s bible, but there wasn’t anything listed under ‘Assholes,’ so I’d just have to wing it. I pressed down on my talk button, stepping on his transmission, hard. ‘Well, somebody’s had his Wheaties for breakfast! Moving along now . . . after open mike, we have a very special section where new arrivals can announce and introduce themselves, after which we will cover departures. Finally, as close as we can make it to nine a.m. we will have a recap of today’s weather.’

‘Our invitations are coming up first so you can plan on not missing any fun while you are here. First on the list is Curly Tails Restaurant and Bar at the Conch Inn in Marsh Harbour. Come in, Harriet.’

After Harriet finished announcing her lunch specials, I called on the other restaurants in order – Wally’s, Snappas, Mangoes, and the Jib Room where Boo’s description of the baby-back ribs made my mouth water.

‘I don’t know how popular you are back at home,’ I concluded, ‘but here in the Abacos, everyone wants you!’

I breezed through mail call and spent about five minutes on open mike answering questions about where to get a haircut, find someone who could repair an alternator, and to celebrate the fortieth birthday of Mindy on LunaSea with Net listeners each singing a line of the song, round-robin style.

‘New arrivals are next. Do we have any new listeners this morning who are not afraid of the radio and who would like to take this time to introduce yourselves and tell us where you are from? Call signs twice, please.’

Not many sane folks invade the Abacos during hurricane season. FunRunner, a charter powerboat from the sound of it, had just cruised into Marsh Harbour and the all-male crew of recent graduates from West Point said they were in search of patriotic young women with no visible tan lines. Some bonehead from Key West blabbed on for so long about the ‘inedible’ meal he’d had at a restaurant in Treasure Cay that I wanted to break his transmitting thumb, but Mimi Rehor from Buck-a-Book did it for me.

‘Break, break!’

I recognized her voice at once. This could be serious. ‘Go ahead, Mimi.’

‘Avener just called from the preserve saying that the brush fire is out of control. It’s spreading rapidly toward the preserve, and could threaten the horses. We need help moving fences, cutting firebreaks, and beating back the fire.’

I started to hyperventilate just thinking about it. The fires in southern California had occupied the airwaves on CNN for weeks and weeks, and I pictured our precious herd of Abaco Barbs fleeing before the flames, wild eyed and panicked.

While Mimi described the desperate situation they seemed to be facing out on the preserve, I flipped frantically through Pattie Toler’s bible. There was information on the Buck-a-Book container and its opening hours, details on how to arrange a visit to the preserve, and how to contribute to the rescue effort at www.arkwild.org, but nothing about wild fires. What the heck was a Net anchor supposed to do? I’d have to wing it.

I pressed the talk button. ‘Mimi, this is Hannah at Windswept. I imagine you need to get on out to the preserve, so I wonder if there’s anyone in charge of organizing the volunteers.’

Windswept had a pretty good VHF antenna clamped to the roof, but I knew it wasn’t tall enough or powerful enough to reach to all the out islands, or even as far north as Treasure Cay where the preserve was located. If I was to coordinate, I’d need a relay, which would be cumbersome and result in the waste of valuable time. So, I was relieved when Mimi said, ‘Anyone who wants to volunteer should contact Susan Bliss at Outer Limits on seven-three starting now and anytime after the Net. In the meantime we have taxis lined up to pick up volunteers at both ferry landings – the nine forty-five out of Hope Town and the eleven thirty out of Man-O-War and Guana Cays. Just show up wearing long pants, long sleeves and sensible shoes and socks. Bring a machete if you’ve got one.’

While Mimi was talking, I checked my watch. Two and a half hours until the ferry from Man-O-War could stop by for us.

‘Can we take Pro Bono?’ I called out to Paul who had suddenly disappeared. He was, as usual, on top of things. He emerged from the bedroom wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt, zipping up a pair of grease-stained chinos.

‘Sure.’ He threaded a belt through the loops on his pants, cinched it up tight and fastened the buckle. ‘Where are the bandannas, do you know? If there’s smoke . . .’

‘Top drawer of your dresser,’ I said. ‘Bring some spares.’

My hands were so sweaty by now I could barely hold on to the mike. While I recapped the weather for the listeners on the Net, Paul pawed through the utility drawer looking for batteries for the spare hand-held radio he’d laid out on the counter. That would be for me. He’d already strapped the one we used on Pro Bono to his belt. If we got separated at any time during the day, we could still communicate. Paul and I had cellphones, of course, but who knew if there’d be any cellphone signal from the interior of the island. For short distances, the radios were more reliable.

I was nearing the end of the script.

‘Clearing up now, is there anyone with any unfinished business for the Net this morning?’ I removed my thumb from the talk button and waited, holding my breath, listening to white noise, counting one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, before rushing on with the rest of Pattie’s script.

‘Thank you for taking the time to listen. We hope that you enjoyed yourselves. Now please feel free to join our tradition of using this channel as a kind of spare calling channel, so that 16 can be used for hailing, distress and safety as intended by law. Remember to switch to another channel for your conversations and listen first. In Abaco we never switch to 22, 70, 72, 77, or 80. And 06 is reserved for taxis. Please respect these channel reservations. Don’t forget to switch back to low power when calling nearby, and if there is nothing further . . . ?’ I paused, hoping I’d be done for the day. ‘The Cruisers’ Net is clear!’

With blood still pumping hotly through my temples, I rested my head against the back of the chair and let my breath out slowly through my lips.

‘Hard work, huh?’ Paul commented from behind me. He rested his hands on my shoulders and began massaging the tension out of my muscles with his thumbs.

I leaned into him. ‘Wait until I get my hands on Pattie.’

‘I thought she said that anchoring the Net would be a piece of cake.’

‘She did, my love. But she neglected to mention it’d be devil’s food.’