The Season's End

“The wind howled in the rigging like a chorus from hell until her head went underwater.  There was a hollow silence as Dani held her breath and braced her feet against the bulwark; she maintained a death-like grip on the handrail as she waited for the wave to recede.  When it did, she snatched another breath and resumed her crablike progress along the windward side deck toward the bow, taking care not to tangle her feet in the tether to her harness.  She timed her movements to the rhythmic rise and fall of Vengeance as the overpowered yacht crashed through the storm-tossed seas.

As she paused again to wait for the deck to shed the knee-deep water from the next breaking wave, she spared a glance back at the cockpit to check on Liz.  Satisfied that her partner had the helm under control, she inched her way forward again.  It was a rule of nature that sail changes always happened at the worst times, usually in the wee hours of the morning, but this predicament was the result of her own impatience.  She knew better than to trust a weather forecast this time of year, particularly when heading north from the tropics, and she had known there was a problem with the headsail furling system before they set out.”

These are the first two paragraphs of my latest novel.  Most of us who have sailed much in open water have had the experience of reducing sail in stormy weather.  That’s also when we discover weaknesses in our equipment and our technique.  I just wrote those paragraphs a few months ago, sitting aboard Play Actor as she rode placidly at anchor in the calm water of Simpson Bay Lagoon in St. Martin.

We left St. Martin on May 25, prepared to beat into a 15 knot east wind to St. Barths, 15 miles away.  It took us four hours to reach Anse Columbier in St. Barths, thanks to the usual foul current, but the trip was uneventful.  We spent a relaxing afternoon and evening, resting for the long day from St. Barths to Antigua.  It’s a little over 70 nautical miles, and we have made the trip in as little as 12 hours when conditions were just right.  More typically, we take about 14 hours, given that there’s often a foul current holding us back for about half of the trip.  If we leave at dawn, we usually arrive at Jolly Harbour, Antigua, a little after dark.  The wind was forecast to back to the northeast over night, which would make for almost ideal conditions.  Optimistic about tomorrow’s sail, we went to bed early, noting that the wind was already backing around as we dropped off to sleep.

When we got clear of the wind shadow of the island of St. Barths on the morning of the 26^th, we discovered that the wind had indeed backed to slightly north of east, but it had also weakened to the point where we would have a slow trip.  Eager to get to Antigua and begin the process of laying Play Actor up for the hurricane season, we decided to motor-sail with the main and staysail.  There was enough wind to help counteract the effects of the westerly setting current, and the sails contributed stability in the somewhat confused seas.  We were having a pleasant trip, passing through occasional rain showers that lasted for a few minutes but had no effect on the wind.

Late in the afternoon, we passed into another shower which did have some 40 to 50 knot winds.  We had the first reef in the main already, as that’s our normal motor-sailing configuration.  Based on the previous showers, we decided to ride the wind shift for a few minutes in the hope that the wind would abate.  If it didn’t, then we would reduce sail.  We were both tired at that point, so taking another reef in the main for what we expected to be a few minutes of squally wind wasn’t attractive.  The wind continued to build in gusts, blowing the tops from the already confused waves.  Play Actor is what’s called a ‘wet’ boat in heavy seas.  She sits low in the water and provides a smooth, stable ride, but under conditions like these, windblown seas wash over the deck.  We decided to take that second reef.  Leslie was wearing a foul weather coat from the last shower, but I had been below decks since then and left my coat there.  Since I was already soaked, I opted to go forward to the mast and reduce sail.

I clipped a tether to my harness and started forward along the windward deck.  Once I reached the mast, I locked my legs around it, holding myself in position against the wild motion of the boat as the wind drove her leeward rail under.  We had released the main sheet, so the sail was fluttering in the wind, making a deafening racket as the waves washed over me periodically.  I thought about Dani taking down her big Yankee jib as I tied in the reef with the speed and skill born of long practice.

Wet and cold by now, I made my way back to the cockpit and sheeted in our now much smaller main.  As Leslie began to come up on our course line, I first saw and then heard the rip of canvas as the main tore near the reef cringle at the juncture of the mast and boom.  I eased the sheet and Leslie fell off the wind, reducing the load on the main as I went forward to drop it before it was damaged beyond repair.   I repeated my crablike scramble up to the mast and dropped the sail.  The wind continued to howl and fight my efforts to get the unruly, wet sail bundled up along the boom.  Without the wind resistance of the main, the motion of the boat became ever more erratic.  My focus narrowed accordingly.  Hands, feet, arms, legs, the boom, and the next handful of slippery, wet canvas.  Those things became my entire world for what seemed like hours.  I finally had the sail roughly folded along the boom, and the boom centered and lashed down in its gallows.

I crawled back to the cockpit and got in position to trim the staysail as Leslie revved up the diesel and brought us back to a course hard on the wind.  The wind had subsided to about 20 knots, but it had also clocked.  It was blowing directly from our destination.  We were 20 miles from Antigua; we resigned ourselves to several more hours of beating directly into the wind with the engine and the staysail – something we’ve done before, but not one of our favorite points of sail.

“How long did that take?” I asked.

“About three minutes,” Leslie said.

“It seemed longer…”  I was experiencing mild hypothermia by now, clumsy and disoriented.  Leslie sent me below to dry off and warm up.

I recovered in 30 minutes or so and put on my foul weather coat, returning to the cockpit to discuss our situation with Leslie.  Our main is old – 34 years old – which to most sailors is ancient beyond belief.   We would need to fix it to get us to a good place to buy a replacement when we came back to the boat after hurricane season.  It’s been patched many times.  It started as the very highest quality sail that money could buy, but it’s finally reaching the end of its life.  We had already decided to replace it the next time it gave us a problem.  That would be now.

We’re safely in Antigua, beginning to ready Play Actor for her summer vacation.  We patched the main one more time yesterday; we’ll use it next fall to get us back to St. Martin, where we’ll  take advantage of the duty free port to order a new main from Lee Sails in Hong Kong , the makers of our current, battle-scarred but still functional sails.

No Zombie needed; the new swing bridge will open tomorrow.

Delivery of the swing span for the
 new bridge in our neighborhood

We were surprised to realize just the other day that the end of May is approaching; it’s time for us to leave St. Martin and sail to Antigua, where we’ll store Play Actor for the hurricane season once again.  For several years, we had a routine of spending summer in Grenada and winter in St. Martin.   During March through May and October through November, we would visit the other islands of the eastern Caribbean as we made our way north or south.

For the last two summers, we have made  visits to the states during hurricane season, spending time with Leslie’s family on the west coast and visiting our children and grandchildren.   The issue of a safe and affordable place to store the boat during those visits, and the ease of airline connections, has changed our migratory pattern.   This past winter, my book business had a serious impact on our sailing, as well.  I published three new titles during our stay in St. Martin, and I have felt constrained to stay here where I can get good high speed internet access on the boat.  That’s not an easy thing to find in the islands if you want to do more than check your email and do a little browsing on the web from time to time.

We dropped the anchor here in the lagoon in St. Martin last November, and we haven’t lifted it since.  All of our cruising friends and acquaintances have come and gone, but we have provided a stable base for marine growth below the waterline.  Other than a few necessary repairs and periodic dives to keep the propeller clear of barnacles in case we had to move in an emergency, we might as well have been working somewhere.

I’m not complaining; writing is fun, and it’s nice to be selling some books.  Besides, the commute is short for this job, and the location is great.  While not as naturally beautiful as some of the other islands, St. Martin has a charm of its own, and it’s nice because it’s so cosmopolitan, at least by Caribbean standards.  We can find most of the things we need without difficulty here, and because it’s a true free port, with no customs duties, prices are attractive.  We do miss the local produce that we find on the other islands.  Most of the fresh food here comes in from the states.

For all of that, St Martin is still a Caribbean island, with the warm, friendly people who make us feel at home.  It’s unusual because the northern half is a department of France.  The people are French citizens, they speak French, and they vote in French elections.  Their currency is the euro, and the people have French passports that give them easy access to most of the world.  They are free to live and work anywhere in the European Union.   The southern half is still a Dutch colony.  The people are Dutch colonial subjects; they only vote in local elections, and they have restricted, colonial passports that make travel outside the region difficult.  Their opportunities for employment outside the Netherlands Antilles are restricted accordingly.

There is no visible border between the French and the Dutch side, and the people pass freely back and forth.  This has been so since the 1600s, when the two European powers decided to share the island.  Mostly, there is little friction, although there are some inequities that must be particularly painful to people who have family on both sides of the border.  The Dutch side has a dollar based economy, although the legal currency is the Netherlands Antilles Florin, commonly called the N.A.F. or the guilder, and the cost of living is lower on the Dutch side.  The French merchants struggle; their goods come mostly from Europe and are priced in euros, while the merchants on the Dutch side take advantage of the buying power of the dollar to bring in goods from all over the world.  Most of the shopping happens on the Dutch side, where prices are lower and the selection broader.

St. Martin’s economy is driven by tourism, and there’s a tremendous traffic problem.  Visitors rent cars and add confusion to the already crowded roads.  In an effort to improve the flow of traffic, particularly in and out of the Dutch airport where most of the international flights land and take off, the Dutch decided to build a bridge across the lagoon to provide easier access from the French side to the airport and alleviate some of the crowding on the roads on the Dutch side.

 We’ve watched the construction this winter as the 700 foot bridge extended across the lagoon.  The most excitement so far was the arrival about ten days ago of the swing span from the Netherlands.  It was delivered on a small freighter, and bringing the freighter into the lagoon was a major event, as it scraped the sides of the draw bridge leading into the lagoon from the Caribbean on the Dutch side.  The authorities dredged the channel across the Dutch part of the lagoon to accommodate the ship, and we watched from our boat as the span was set in place a few hundred yards from us.

Sketch chart showing our dilemma

We didn’t think much more about it until we began to get ready to leave.  We’re anchored on the French side of the lagoon; there’s more room there.  We use the draw bridge on the Dutch side to enter and leave, as it is much larger and has a deeper channel than the drawbridge on the French side.  We realized that the new Causeway Bridge, as it’s called, was closed and that we could no longer get to the Dutch draw bridge to begin our voyage to Antigua.

The channel to the French bridge is mostly unmarked, and it’s quite shallow.  Our 6-foot draft is at the upper limit, and that requires knowing exactly where the shallow spots are.  We spent a couple of hours in the dinghy yesterday with a GPS and a lead-line, sounding our way to the French bridge.  We now have a route, but it will be nerve-wracking, especially the first time.  Besides, it makes the trip to Antigua longer by several miles, so we were less than thrilled.

There has been all sorts of speculation about the new bridge and when it would begin operation, but there isn’t much solid information, and no one seemed to know when it would open again.  We were hoping that it would open before we needed to leave, so that we could anchor on the Dutch side of the lagoon, giving us ready access to the Dutch bridge that we normally use for exit and entry.

On-line searches for information proved fruitless, although we did turn up some interesting snippets from local news over the last few months.  It seems that the question of tolls for the use of the Causeway Bridge has been hotly debated.  There are numerous factions, each with their own agenda.  In general, the French don’t want a toll, and the Dutch, at least the authorities, do want to levy a charge.   To remind us that we are still in the Caribbean, there was a threat that if the Dutch charged a toll, the French would put a Zombie on the bridge to stop the toll collectors from doing their duty.

This morning we learned from the manager at the yacht club that the bridge will open tomorrow, and stay open at least for a few days, so we’ll be able to move to the Dutch side of the lagoon for an unimpeded departure.  When we go to check out with the French authorities tomorrow, I’ll stop in the local Voodoo hounfort and cancel my request for an emergency Zombie to open the bridge.  Life is good.

At Least Nobody Got "Drownded"

“A man who is not afraid of the sea will soon be drowned…for he will be going out on a day he shouldn’t.  But we do be afraid of the sea, and we do only be drownded now and again.”  From The Aran Islands by John Milington Synge.  

People whose lives aren’t regulated daily by the sea have a different set of expectations when it comes to going on a ‘cruise.’

We’ve been struck by the number of articles in the news for the last few days about the cruise ship that was stranded in the Gulf of Mexico after a fire in the engine room.  Living as we do aboard a small sailing yacht in the eastern Caribbean, we see cruise ships every day.  We’ve never taken a cruise nor even been to sea aboard anything much over 40 feet long; we’re in awe of the behemoths that approach 1,000 feet in length and carry 5,000 passengers and crew.  When we encounter one in the open ocean, especially on a lonely, stormy night, we try to imagine what life must be like for the people aboard.

Certainly, most of them are oblivious to the details of seafaring as we know them.  They aren’t dependent on the wind to move them along, and they probably don’t ever get slapped in the face by a confused flying fish.  The people we know who take cruises liken the big ships to floating resorts; almost everything they might want while on holiday is at hand without leaving the ship.  Each morning, they awaken to the opportunity to spend a few hours exploring an exotic new place.  We have often thought of how dramatically different that experience is from our own cruising; people tell us that they are only conscious of being at sea if they choose to be, and we’ve discovered that most of them have only a vague notion of the geography they are traversing.

From the news accounts of passengers’ reactions to the recent ‘disaster,’ it’s clear that the cruise lines have attracted large numbers of customers who have but little interest in seafaring.  This was true of ships’ passengers historically, until air travel became so common during the mid 20^th century.  Then people only went to sea for the experience -- not because they needed to travel across the ocean.  Historically, though, people who traveled on ocean liners were perhaps better acquainted with the risk of going to sea than today’s cruise ship patrons are.  Sea travel is much less a part of the common experience these days, but the cruise ship industry has managed to leverage the romance of the era of ocean liners to attract an entirely different kind of customer.  They’re selling ‘the cruise’ as a safe, all-inclusive holiday at a bargain price.

When my wife and I set sail for a few days out of sight of land, our expectation is that we will be left completely to our own devices to deal with whatever happens.  When you are hundreds of miles from land and something breaks, you either fix it or do without it.  There’s no option of calling someone to fix it.  Abandoning ship in circumstances like that is dangerous, even if another vessel happens to be nearby; it’s an absolute last resort – not something to be undertaken because of discomfort.  That is even more so when you consider the logistics of moving thousands of people from one vessel to another when both vessels are in constant motion relative to one another.  In the absence of a clear, immediate threat to life, the safest option is usually to remain with a disabled vessel until help arrives, even though it may be days in coming.

Typically, the reaction of our society to the ill-fated cruise, at least as reflected in the news media, is that we need to investigate, litigate, find fault, punish, legislate, and regulate to keep this from happening again.  We should be grateful that our lives are so sheltered that five days at sea without modern conveniences is viewed as a disaster.  The passengers had a memorable adventure when they were expecting prepackaged, guaranteed-to-be safe amusement, but at least nobody got ‘drownded.’

About those geckos...

They're thriving, and they make good shipmates.  The little one -- he's the one that poses for pictures -- is more sociable than the other one.  We think there are two of them; at least, there are two different sizes aboard Play Actor.  We rarely see the larger one, but the smaller one visits every day or two, probably to see if he's gotten big enough to eat one of us yet.  He looks at us the same way we've seen him look at bugs just before he snaps them up.

So far, we haven't had to feed them; they're foraging successfully above deck, and we rarely see ants these days.  Nevertheless, I appreciate all of the suggestions as to what we should feed them.  The day may come. Suggested food has run the gamut from insurance policies (underwritten by companies that don't have a gecko in their ads) to bits of hamburger dangling on a fine thread to mimic an insect.  Somebody suggested chocolate covered insects, but Leslie won't share her chocolate.  Not yet, anyway, although we've both become fond of the little ant-eaters, speaking to them when we see them.  They haven't answered yet; that may earn them the chocolate covered insects.

The little one has a literary bent.  He ran across my keyboard several times when I was finishing Life's a Ditch, but he doesn't weigh enough to depress the keys, so I'm not sure what he wanted to add to the manuscript.  Maybe chocolate covered insects would help him to mature as a writer.  Most writers seem to have a fixation on chocolate and coffee.  I'll start him on coffee the next time he visits; I'm off for a refill.  Thanks for visiting.

What do you feed a Gecko?

Our time in the States seemed to fly, although when we got there in June, we thought we had forever to enjoy life ashore.  It’s always a pleasure to see family and friends when we’re back there, but we can’t help being shocked by the contrasts to the simple life to which we’re accustomed.  There are so many people, moving so fast.  Apparently, they are all searching for something that eludes them, because they seem never to stop.  Individually, our countrymen are friendly and kind, but our society comes across as fast-paced, uncaring, and acquisitive to the point of obsession.

Shortly before we left on our return journey to the islands, we went grocery shopping at a discount department store with our daughter.  As she and Leslie browsed the grocery aisles, which took up maybe 15% of the store’s space (!), I stood in the front right-hand corner and gazed diagonally across the store.  The back left-hand corner was so far away that I couldn't make it out clearly, and I can pick out man-sized buoys at sea at a distance of well over a mile.  I was awestruck.  This one store could shelter the entire population of some of the countries that we visit, and it was stocked with more merchandise than the islanders could find in their whole country.  When we got back to her house, our daughter realized she had forgotten something.  “We’ll stop on the way to pick up Elise from school,” she said.  School was in a different direction from our morning outing, and she stopped in another store of the same chain, equally big, equally crowded, and equally well stocked.  It was no more than a few miles from the one where we had stopped earlier.

Now we’re back where the stock in even the gourmet grocery store depends on “what de boat brought las’ time.”  Life has taken on a more personal quality again.  While I got Play Actor ready to launch after her five months out of the water, Leslie walked a couple of hundred yards from the boat yard to the government office at Jolly Harbour to deal with Customs, Immigration, and the Port Authority.  The senior Customs officer greeted her with a, “Welcome back, Captain.  It’s been a long time since you las’ visit.”

“You haven’t been working here for the last year or two,” she responded.

“No.  I’ve been working at the airport.  It’s good to be back where I know the people I deal wit’.”

After she finished with the paperwork, the yard crew had the boat back in the water and we took her out to a mooring and launched the dinghy, returning to the yard office to settle up our account.  That taken care of, we walked across the street to the Epicurean Market to pick up some necessities, including fried chicken for lunch.

“You have no bananas,” Leslie remarked to the cashier as she rang us up.

“De boat from Dominica don’t bring one time.  Nex’ week, mebbe so.”

We went back to Play Actor and put up an awning.  Sitting in the shade eating our chicken, we were entertained by watching several geckos at our feet chasing bugs.  They moved aboard in our absence, apparently.  When we're in residence afloat, it's a bit like living in a castle with a moat.  Crawly creatures can't come to see us unless we (inadvertently) bring them aboard.  We have a whole new ecosystem now, just in our cockpit.  We contemplate our new neighbors as we eat.  We could do without the bugs, but the geckos are kind of cute.  We decide to see if they can handle our bug problem instead of spraying with insecticide, as we usually do after taking the boat out of storage.  Of course, we'll eventually have to start feeding the geckos; there aren't many bugs except ashore.  Nex' week, mebbe so.   It’s good to be home. 

It’s Hurricane Season – Smell the Roses

 This is the time of year when the first thing I do every morning is check the weather to see if a storm is brewing.  Usually, there’s a disturbance out to the east of us.  Sometimes, there’s just a tropical wave off the coast of Africa, thousands of miles away.  But often, especially this late in the season, there’s a closed low pressure system several hundred miles to the southeast.  Those I watch carefully.  I study the various forecast models from different sources, trying to guess the track of the potential storm.  I do the speed and distance calculations to see how long we have before we have to take precautions, and check our stock of groceries, diesel fuel, and fresh water.

During hurricane season, we’re normally at anchor off the west coast of Grenada, a few hours from our chosen “hurricane hole,” where we’ve ridden out one hurricane and several lesser storms over the last few years.  We have a healthy sense of anxiety; it’s not quite fear, because we’ve survived before and we know what to do.  It’s more annoyance at the disruption to our routine.  It takes a few hours to reach our hiding place, but then it takes a day to strip the boat and get the storm anchors in place.  Once we’re there, it’s much more difficult to get ashore and get groceries, so we have to prepare to be self-sufficient for an unknown period.  We also know that we won’t have reliable Internet service there, so we have to make sure all of our bills are paid, emails are answered, and relatives are informed that we’ll be out of touch for a while.  Of course, they watch the minute-by-minute hype on the weather channel, envisioning us in an epic battle with the elements.  We, on the other hand, are in a placid spot that looks more like a mountain lake than a Caribbean lagoon.  It’s pretty, but we miss the open water and the cool sea breezes.

This hurricane season, the first thing I do every morning is stagger to the kitchen. Kitchen?   We’re visiting Leslie’s folks in California for this hurricane season.  They have a kitchen the size of our boat.  I make myself a cup of coffee before I settle down in front of my computer for a few hours.  Some mornings, I take my coffee out into the garden and admire the flowers for a bit before I check email, book sales, Facebook, Twitter, and read the latest news.  A few days ago, Leslie’s mother mentioned a storm in the Atlantic, and I realized that I haven’t looked at the weather for weeks.  In the California desert, the weather doesn’t vary much this time of year.  It’s cool at night and hot in the daytime.  It doesn’t rain, and there’s not much breeze.  The folks here complain about the weather, but it really doesn’t have much effect on their lives.  By the time we return to the islands in November, hurricane season will be over; right now, I’m enjoying the flowers.

An Intergalactic Shipmate

Captain Ishtarek, aboard  Renaissance

 Did you ever read a book that had such vivid characters that they seemed real?  I recently had that experience with Diane Rapp's new book, Dragon Defense. There's review on my writer's blog at www.clrdougherty.com.  Here's a transcript of my interview with the captain of a different kind of voyaging vessel.

Character Interview with

Captain Ishtarek and C.L.R. Dougherty

Dougherty:     I shuttled onto the battleship Renaissance to conduct an interview with Captain Ishtarek.  Captain, please tell me about your unique heritage.

Ishtarek:  What?  You haven’t met an ordinary spaceship captain before?

Dougherty:     I met human captains, and sail my own ship on Earth, but I’m told your planet of origin is called Grawshishkeckkk…Sorry, I can’t quite pronounce the name.

Ishtarek:  (He grins, displaying sharp teeth, and his green scales gleam.)  I was making a joke with you, Earthling.  Your species is not expected to pronounce the name of my planet correctly.  (He makes sounds that start with a growl, change to a hiss, and ends with KKK.  He laughs at my startled expression.)   Humans on the crew call me and my planet “Gronk.”  They usually say this behind my back, unaware that my superior hearing detects the word, but it’s the closest sound your limited vocal chords produce.

Dougherty:     Gronk?  Can you describe the planet my readers?

Ishtarek:  (He nods and his neck crest quivers.)  It is the most beautiful planet in civilized space, filled with lush swamps, scented bogs, quicksand, and gigantic trees that we use to escape from dangerous predators.  Six moons orbit in a sky that shimmers in various shades of gold, although swamp mist often obscures the lovely sight.  (He gazes wistfully at the ceiling.)  Sorry, I haven’t visited home in several spans.

Dougherty:     I understand that Gronks are valuable members of the Institute’s military division.  How did you become a soldier?

Ishtarek:  From my first day out of the shell, I was tagged for military training.  As squirts we fight each other in a natural battle to select the strongest and most clever candidates.  The survivors move on to train in our military academies.  You notice that I’m over eight feet tall.

Dougherty:     Er, yes, I wondered if the males in your race are so tall.

Ishtarek:  Females breed a variety of sizes in each clutch, but my father’s bloodline is valued for well-proportioned bulk and high intelligence.  Large members of my race seldom achieve sufficient test scores for military training.  They often fill positions requiring manual labor.

Dougherty:     When you were chosen to command the Renaissance, did you understand the full scope of the mission?

Ishtarek:  You refer to Fremont’s decision to destroy the planet?  No, as my superior he did not feel it necessary to reveal his plans until we orbited Drako.  I am not at liberty to discuss Institute orders.

Dougherty:     Didn’t Fremont’s orders to destroy Drako seem excessive?

Ishtarek:  (His eyes darkened and his neck crest quivered.)  Human members of the crew objected on humanitarian grounds.  I allowed them to stand down, but I was unable to disobey orders.

Dougherty:     Gronks cannot ignore an order?

Ishtarek:  (His green scales darken.)  We are incapable of insubordination.  We follow orders to the letter regardless of its potential destruction. 

Dougherty:     No wonder Fremont requested you to serve as captain of the Renaissance.  He knew a human crew might not follow his orders.

Ishtarek:  Humans are a difficult race to fathom.  Now the dragons of Drako are charming creatures that appeal to my species.  Have you seen the variety of colors they display in their wings?

Dougherty:     I scheduled a dragon ride with Shariel tomorrow.  It should be an exhilarating experience.  Do you have dragons on Gronk?

Ishtarek:  There are draconic creatures on my planet, but their foul temperament does not encourage direct contact.  An unwary person might lose a limb or get its tail bitten off before escaping their ire.  (His tail swishes to emphasize the comment.)

Dougherty:     Have you met the telepathic wolves on Drako?

Ishtarek:  Yes, their leader, Kriegen, was a congenial host in a hunt with his pack.  We hunted a large stag, and I relished the taste of freshly blooded kill—a delightful experience. 

Dougherty:     Are you telepathic?

Ishtarek:  My species does not possess that talent, yet.  However, I understand humans developed the skill after many Transfers.  Reports of improved skills after Transfer give us hope. 

Dougherty:     How did you communicate during your hunt?

Ishtarek:  The daughter of Donovan, Tessa, acted as guide and interpreter.  She is beautiful—for a human—when she runs with the pack.  Perhaps I’ll return to Drako in a few spans and hold a telepathic conversation with the wolves, but I’d rather speak with the dragons.  Shariel claims that the color inside a dragon’s mind is vibrant.

Dougherty:     Can’t Shariel use her “mind control” ability to let you speak directly to the dragons?

Ishtarek:  (His neck crest flairs and his eyes narrow.)   A military leader never condones mind control regardless of the benign purpose.  Excuse me, but you must disembark before 1300 hours—unless you wish to take a long voyage into space.

Dougherty:     Sure, I’ll leave right away.  Thanks for the interview and I hope you make it back to Gronk before long.

Ishtarek:  (He flattens his neck ridge and extends his claw for a brief handshake.)  It was a pleasure to meet an Earthling.  You conducted yourself with sufficient decorum for an inferior species.  

Dougherty:     It was nice to speak with you, too.  Happy sailing, captain. 

    

Read my review of Dragon Defense at www.clrdougherty.com,, or buy a copy from Amazon's Kindle Store at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008KS3MG8