Helen Island
Helen Island
I stare longingly over the reef at the open ocean beyond. It has been two months since I fell overboard while traveling to Sonsorol Island. Perhaps the eight Red Rooster Ales were a contributing factor, but I really think it was that rogue wave coinciding with the cleavage distraction to my left that caused me to loose my balance. I was so concerned that my beer may have been contaminated with seawater that I forgot to yell. But that is all behind me know, a distant memory—gone with the tide.
We are alone here on Helen Reef, up until now an uninhabited atoll in the Southwest corner of Micronesia, but now home to these seven island girls and I—oh yeah, and twelve million nesting terns. Do you have any idea how much noise twelve million birds can make? Where was I? Oh yes, back to the story. This morning was just a typical island day, breakfast was lobster for eight, I prefer eggs but hey, do you think I want to get pecked to death? Tuesday was washing off the breakfast banana leafs, when Saturday ran up and shouted,
“Papa Mike, there’s been a terrible shipwreck just off the northern tip of the island!”
I hate it when she gets that emotional, but hey, she is my only red head.
“Calm down I’ll go take a look.” I stood and walked to the north end of the island. Before my eyes was a sight that I shall never forget.
Just beyond the reef was a container ship, the USS Budweiser, resting on its side. Just to the left of the first ship was a second even larger ship. I could just barely make out the name on the side of it, the Norwegian Princess, bound for Koror with a cargo of ice from Norway. The incoming tide was flushing both beer and ice through the passage in the reef and onto our narrow beach. There on the beach were Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday scooping it up and carrying it to our makeshift camp. Everyone was smiling and even the twelve million terns seemed to quiet down, acknowledging the solemn occasion. For the first time in two months I didn’t even care that I was standing in tern droppings.
That’s when the phone rang and I woke up. It was the Hawaiian timeshare people on the phone, late with my payment again. Now, where are those girls?
Well, parts of the story are true! Helen Island is a well-known nesting place for flocks of lesser-crested terns. Where there are an abundance of terns there certainly is an abundance of tern droppings. Papa Mike has been seen nesting on various stools in close proximity of Red Rooster Ale and is habitually behind on his timeshare payments. Besides, I didn’t know what else to write about an uninhabited island
Tags: Travel
Papa Mike