Sandy

The Aftermath


Things are OK now. I didn't lose power or comms, so I have no complaints. Friends of mine in the area lost power. Certainly quite a few people wer evacuated.

The power company deliberately shut down power in lower Manhattan to prevent damage, and even at that, a power station in Alphabet City exploded a transformer. A quarter-million people in Manhattan alone are without power; another half million throughout the city are without power. Of course, the total number of people without power in the region is in the millions.

Subway service is suspended at least a few more days. Buses resume tomorrow, and I am going to attempt to make it in to the office. We're not officially closed.

Our data centers in New Jersey and lower Manhattan all lost power. The one in Manhattan also lost generator power around the time a foot of water was in the lobby. I was on a call last night basically listening to the command center just announce it was going dark and they were starting to evacuate people still in the building. The data centers in New Jersey are running on generators now. One has 7 days of gas, the other less than three, and that one is so surrounded by water that they can't get anything to it. If that doesn't change by the end of the week, those machines are going down as well.

I got a little spooked by some moaning wind at one point. Watching the news this morning, I was moved to near-tears.  It's pretty devastating, but I'm reasonably certain things will be running again soon. No pun intended - the marathon is still on for this weekend.

I did get out to help clean out one of my kayak clubs' boathouses. The water came up to about chest height in the boathouse - say 4.5 feet. The garage door was damage, and some panels from retaining walls floated away. A decoratie arch was split in half when the gangway was lifted into it by the surge, and our garden was ravaged pretty badly. Still, it could have been worse. There is a construction site next door and we were worried their office trailed was going to smash into our tender tin-walled shack.

So, yeah. show's over. Now it's just cleanup.

Redneck Weekend

I'm walking through a CVS parking lot in Binghamton, NY, the soles of my cheap hiking boots clapping like flip-flops, when suddenly, the sole on the left boot comes completely off.

"Guess I'll have to tear off the other one then," I told BW, my companion, reaching down to the right shoe to continue what had started only a day earlier.

Thus I wound down my Redneck Weekend in update New York.

--

I met BW last year through a mutual friend who lived in Ithaca. She was fighting cancer and had briefly been getting treatment in New York City before switching to a hospital at Cornell. BW would accompany her down to the city sometimes, and they would stay with me, and I would stay with him when I went up to visit her.While she has since passed away, we've kept in touch, initially working through our grief but subsequently forming a friendship.

BW is self-employed business owner. A self-described redneck, he lives more like a country gentleman - he cleans up well, has done a lot of work himself on two houses he owns, and he runs a small business in Whitny Point, renting things like excavators and generators to farmers, construction, and contractors in the area.

A few months ago I took an interest in firearms. My father was in the military, and most of my brothers shoot, either for recreation or professionally, and I thought I should at least try it. When I mentioned a shooting range in NYC, BW balked at the prices. "We can do a lot more up here," he said. So I had a standing invitation to come up and fire a few rounds.

When we finally set a date, he'd already signed up to participate in a scavenger hunt run by a local bar ("a dive bar, where people are missing teeth", he promised). My visit would be short, curtailed by my work schedule. I arrived late on Friday and left early Sunday afternoon, giving us basically a day to do things. So, we settled for hiking on his property in the morning, skeet shooting in the afternoon, and the scavenger hunt that night. 

From start to finish I was promised I'd see the high and low end of the community before I left.

--

I took a Greyhound bus up there. I was promised a three hour ride; it was over four. Whether it was weather,or traffic, I'm not sure. Traffic coming out of New York City wasn't so bad, but there was some serious rain further out, before we got to Scranton. We took a short rest stop before turning north, and an hour and half later, we were in Binghamton, where BW picked me up. It was a short drive from there back to Whitny Point.

There, we stopped at Aiello's, an Italian restaurant that's been in the family for two generations. BW knows the owners, and they're asked him to do some work for him, but he won't. He's in a position to be picky about his customers, and likes having a place he can come to without mixing business with leisure.

"This is the high end," he said. The food was OK. Surprisingly, the pasta was the weak spot, but the fried cod was good. 

By the time we got back to his house, it was late, so we pretty much washed up and crashed out. The next morning, we got up, had breakfast, and I got a tour of the house. He's got a nice property, back up against a creek, with views out to woodlands, and hills a bit beyond, glowing in fall foliage that's come down from its peak. We made our plans, gathered our guns, and set out for his other property : ten acres of land where he'd built a small shed to store a tractor, otherwise populated only by a camper and small cabin situated by two ponds.

We stopped and feed his koi - one of the ponds is for koi only. He keeps a bottle of fish food in a bush near by. As he scattered the food out, the koi came to the top and nibbled it away. Apparently their biggest threat is heron, which will spear and swallow a fish. BW pointed out a couple of his favorites and went in a bit on the life cycle and value of koi.

We went for a walk on the grounds, hiking up a hill that ran through the trees, and then back along the property line against some pasture. He pointed out places where he'd cleared away brush to maintain a trail, and pointed out the different kinds of trees he had - cherry, oak, ash, beech. The beech trees are actually an infestation, with dozens of new beech clustered in areas where an old beech died or was felled.

By then, it was getting close to lunch time. A couple of phone calls confirmed our earlier plans. We went home, packed a cooler, grabbed some guns, and set out for some skeet shooting.

--

All in, I fired at least six different weapons that day: a 20-gauge shotgun, a 12-gauge shotgun, a .17 bolt-action rifle with a scope, a .22 pump action rifle, a .27 high-power rifle with a scope, and a .22 revolver.

The shotguns were what we used for skeet. BW's friends, a straight couple I'll call M&M, had a skeet thrower. We brought along almost two hundred biodegradable clay pigeons and used almost all of them. 

Predictably, I did better with the 20-gauge shotgun than the 12-gauge. It was easier to swing into aim, and the recoil was manageable. The recoil on the 12-gauge wasn't terrible, but more noticeable, and I only fired it a couple of times.

The .17 was fun to shoot, if only because it looked cool, a black bolt-action rifle with a magazine clip, looking like a miniature "real" sniper rifle. The sights needed adjusting, but once that was done, it was like playing sniper. This is harder than it looks. Finding the target, then lining it up, and then not wobbling all over the target, is difficult.

The .22 was nice and easy to shoot, though a little more difficult to aim with iron sights. I got to try two versions of the same rifle: one with a wood stock, the other aluminum, which was considerably lighter. Both were fun and easy to shoot - just getting used to shooting. I'm not sure what I'd use them for other than target practice, but for getting the rhythm down of load, aim, fire, they were perfect.

The .27 had the most recoil of any gun I fired that day. It felt like a gun. I sighted in on the target and compensated for my weaknesses - high and to the left, I aimed down and to the right of my target, and I hit it dead on. I felt it though, thudding into my shoulder, then spitting out a brass cartridge over two inches long.

The revolver, I'm sad to say, was pretty useless. First, it was hard to punch spent casings out - we had a narrow screw to push them out. Second, it was crazily inaccurate.None of us landed a round more than twelve feet out, and even then, only once. "It's alright, if you put it in someone's belly you'd have even odds on hitting them," I said.

--

Skeet shooting was awesome. We'd fired at some stationary targets, but skeet move. They fly across the sky, and after I'd gotten comfortable, Ma (Mi's husband) would switch up the flight patter with each toss. At one point he threw two that went in opposite directions. I didn't get either of them.

I did nail quite a few more though. I didn't keep count but I'd say 1 in 5 was about right. "Pull!!" Then out flies the disk, aim, track, fire. I found I did much better if I waited a moment to fire after sighting the target in.

--

That night we participated in a scavenge hunt put on by a local bar. BW and I were part of a team with two friends of his, a mother and daughter (N and P). We met up at the local bar and killed some time after registering.

One of the ways locals kill time is flinging a dollar at the ceiling. I noticed this first when I looked at the ceiling and saw a bunch of dollar bills stuck to the city, in various stages of unfolding. Basically, you take a tack and poke it through the middle of the dollar, back it with a quarter, an the fold the dollar back around the quarter. The result is a dart, weighted up front. A quick hand-flick sends it to the ceiling. It took a while, but I finally got it.

At 7, we lined up and dashed out with a sheet of 28 objectives. Altogether, we accomplished 20 of them, most requiring local knowledge that my team provided (as a visitor, I provided mostly enthusiasm). However, two items stand out in recollection.

One was to get a photo of a teammate in head-to-toe camouflage. After some discussion, BW called a friend to arrange a meetup, we had a fortuitous round of luck. At a Dollar General store, we spotted another team simply throwing fleece camouflage pajamas on over their street clothes. After they left, I did the same, completing my ensemble with a camouflaged duck-bill cap. Camera, photo, snap. Done.

The other one was to have a photo of a teammate drinking a shot of Wild Turkey with a total stranger at a specific bar. We went to the bar, and arranged a drink with the bartender (who had done the same once already, leading us to wonder how much longer she'd be working that night).

Here, we were fortunate for another goal: getting a fifty-cent piece. Our activities attracted the attention of a patron in the bar, who demanded to see our list. As it turned out, she had a fifty-cent piece. She gave it to us gratis, with no expectation of return. Fabulous.

We drove around collecting other items. Inspiration struck when we realized that one demand  - a photo of us holding a wooden carrot - referred to a local sign. Someone had hidden the sign, and then stayed around to tell us it wasn't wooden (it was). It was one of our last gains, and shortly after, we went back to the bar to put in for our prize.

We didn't win. but, we had fun, and in the partying afterwards, I met a bunch of interesting people.

Most were surprised I was from New York City. "Must be real different, huh!" they couldn't realize I grew up in a smaller city, and have lived in bucolic areas myself. Most hazarded that they couldn't imagine living in a place as large and overwhelming as New York City, unable to imagine that the city itself is just a series of small towns next to each other, that I commute from suburban Washington Heights, surrounded by park, and I'm not out on the pavement every day.

My redneck weekend was a lot of fun. I got to do something I've never done, spend time with a good friend, and see how a substantial part of America lives. I recommend everyone, redneck or not, take a "redneck weekend".

Belize Day 4

This was it - the Big Day - we were going to dive the Blue Hole in Belize. Because deep dives are the first dives for any given day, that was our first stop. First, we had to get out there.

It was about a three hour boat ride. After the choppy weather on the first day, none of us were looking forward to three hours in a boat in open seas. We were fortunate however, in that the water was calm, and while it was a long ride, it was mostly uneventful.

I say mostly because we did see dolphins playing in the water, though they scattered when we circled to observe them. We saw some flying fish, and far in the distance, a water spout. Out at sea, we could stare for miles and miles without seeing anything, until a new island or would appear.

Most of the ride though, we caught up on sleep, listened to iPods, chatted with each other, or checked out gear.

FInally, we arrived. The only sign was that the boat slowed as the captain threaded his way through the opening of the reef around the hole itself. I tried to make out the hole, but didn't quite have the elevation. Photos I took look just like ocean - flat and endless, except for a boat of snorkelers across the way.

We went over the dive plan and our groups, then geared up and splashed in. I checked the computer - it was on air and working fine. 

We descended to about thirty feet, cruising along a relatively shallow edge until we came to the drop. The Blue Hole drops into the ocean and gets wider the deeper you go. Looking out, we truly were staring into the abyss. It bottoms out at over four hundred feet, deeper than any of us could safely go. We swam forward gradually, descending as we went, into the darkness.

As discussed, around ninety feet of depth, we began to inflate our buoyancy compensators to slow our descent. I leveled out, and my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Before me was a large hole in the wall, with columns in front of it, like a naturally carved temple. Other divers swam around. I turned to find my dive buddy - there he was, above me. In the distance, a pack of reef sharks swam by.

I swam closer to the columns, and watched my depth. About a hundred and thirty-five feet, nearly twice any depth I been to prior to the previous day's test dive. I only had a few minutes before I had to ascend. I slowed down in order to better appreciate the world around me. 

Mostly, that was, "holy cow I'm nearly a hundred and forty feet below the surface of the ocean". There were some fish, but not many. I marveled at the geology we were swimming in - formed thousands of years ago, before the ocean levels rose, this was a dry cave that collapsed. Well before we were recognizably human, centuries before humans had anything approaching a civilization, these caves had already gone through enormous shifts in geology.

There was a beeping sound. I looked at my computer. I only have five minutes left at this depth. I began my ascent. Simply moving up ten feet gave me three more minutes. I found my dive buddy, and we stayed together, gradually ascending, working our way back to the shelf.

On the surface, when I reviewed my log in the compute,r my max depth was a hundred and forty-two feet. I doubt I'll be doing that again any time soon.

After such a dive, and a long ride out, we needed a lengthy surface interval, so we made for an island to have lunch at. It was a nature preserve, home to several species of migratory bird, as well as lizards and hermit crabs. 

After lunch, we walked along a path, seeing iguanas, hermit crabs, and in the sky, heron and egrets (or, one or the other,memory fails). We were on an enlarged sandy bank pretending to be an island, the accumulation of coral, ground into sand, surrounded by ocean.

We went out for two more dives, which were arguably the best dives of the trip. They were shallow, and we saw a wide variety of creatures, flora and fauna. Barracuda, sharks, rays, fish, tons of fish; coral of all kinds, and sea snakes receding into the sand like retracting grass.

When we got back, the long ride seemed negligible. We cleaned up and went out for drinks and dinner. For some of us, it was the last day of diving. We had another day in paradise, sans diving, before returning to our regular lives. Pina Colada, Mojitos, plain cerveza, and plenty of food, and we crashed out, dreaming of fish.