Spree got underway with a crew of 5 from Key West, FL at 1730
on 2/5/10. Crew is Me, Melanie, Captain John Camp, Cook Butch Boggess, and
Security Officer Ken Delaney. We left Key West armed to the teeth with both
lethal and non-lethal force, and a qualified officer to use it. We waited until
1730 to ensure that we would be leaving in the middle of the cold front. Winds
were 40 knots and the rain was blowing sideways, but it was all behind us for
the entire trip. It was one of the easiest ocean crossings we ever made. We
encountered Cay Sal Bank, Cayo Lobo, could easily see Cuba 12 miles away, and
found a pod of breaching humpback whales near Quinchos Cay. None of us had ever
seen humpies before, so we stopped and watched them for a little while. Our plan
was to stop in to Great Iguana to get fuel so we would be full upon our arrival
in Haiti, but the wind was still northwest right into the harbor mouth, and the
harbor was full of Haitian fishing boats, leaving no room for us. We stuck the
tank, determined we had enough to make the trip, and moved on. As we rounded
Pointe la Perle, Haiti, there were village lights, cars on the road, everything
seemed normal. We started to encounter fishing boats at sunup. These are 12-20
foot row boats, 4 feet wide, powered by human muscle. They are rowed 10-20 miles
offshore, where they troll for fish. I had the sounder on, and didn’t mark a
single fish coming into Haiti. Some boats have sails, and the only thing they
have in common is their method of lighting up at night. They light a cigarette
lighter. They don’t show up on radar, nor can you see them.
We arrived in Port au Prince harbor at 1030 on the 8th. We were assigned to
anchorage C, and dropped the hook to wait for our charterer, a day behind us.
The harbor is full of aid ships waiting to unload. They are being unloaded by
landing craft, barge, U. S. Army self-propelled bridge span, and helicopter.
They are waiting for us to re-build the docks. The military is using hovercraft
to ferry personnel from ship to shore, and the Coast Guard is here with their 25
foot patrol boats moving doctors around. When a vessel checks into the harbor,
they are required to tell port control what they have, what flag they are, how
perishable their cargo is, and what their unloading plans are. I had to laugh at
the Mexican aid vessel that arrived shortly after we did. Port control asked
them what cargo they had, and they replied “water, milk, and goats”. How perfect
of an aid cargo is goats. Bring them on deck, show them shore, and let them
swim. A self-unloading cargo.
A more somber aspect of life here is the radio traffic between aid stations and
the hospital ships. The USNS Comfort is the biggest ship in the harbor, and it
is big. The USNS Grasp is also here, but I can’t see it. I heard a doctor from
the aid station at the airport call a doctor on the Comfort. He had a 2 month
old male baby with a distended belly. He told the doctor on the Comfort the
symptoms, what they had done to treat the child, and the child’s response to
treatment. The doctor at the aid station didn’t have the lab facilities he
needed to figure out what to do with the child. He didn’t think the child would
survive the ride to the Comfort, and described the child as being in a “fatal
spiral”. I’m just guessing here but I don’t think a fatal spiral is a good
thing. After dark last night, I expected to see the city lit up. Not so. There
were more lights outside the city on the way in than in the capitol city itself.
Light seems to come from fires. The wood smoke haze in the morning obscures
land. We are only ¾ of a mile from the beach, but can’t see it. The mountains
are denuded of trees, but you can tell that this was a beautiful, mountainous
country at one time.
I expect our work crew to show up today, and we will start building a place to
off-load all of this aid. Stay tuned…. |