Opua: The Thin Red Line
Opua: The Thin Red Line
After I reached land in what is now Vanuatu following CHIDIOCK TICHBORNE’s capsize and swamping in 1981 (see Adrift 1, 2, 3, in nonfiction), I spent a few days in the British Base Hospital at Port Vila.
This was the hospital to which the wounded evacuated from Guadalcanal were taken. The Solomons are the next island group northwest.
I thought of this last night as I watched director Terrence Malick’s film of James Jones’ novel, THE THIN RED LINE. I was very impressed with the movie, which conveys the randomness of the violence of war, the uncertainty, the chaos of combat, the fear, in contrast with the beauty of the natural setting. The cinematography was outstanding as was the acting of an an all-star cast, led by Sean Penn.
But in part the movie seemed to be reaching back toward a natural state of grace of the native Melanesians, to a lost Eden.
The South Pacific has inspired such thoughts in Western culture ever since the first European voyages of discovery, which I believe contributed to Rousseau’s concept of the “noble savage.”
The islands are beautiful. Edenesque in appearance. But the people kill each other, just as we do, but in fewer numbers and less efficiently. The Soloman Islands today are a failed state with tribal warfare, as is nearby Papua New Guinea, where ignorance as to the causes of epidemic HIV has resulted in women being killed as witches.
We are an aggressive species, and I don’t think we ever fell.
I took advantage of sunny calm conditions this morning to start to prepare for my departure. First I collected all the empty bottles left from the spiders’ celebration. Usually they are quite neat, but I think they are too hung-over. Then I rowed ashore and towed back the small rigid dinghy shown above. I keep it locked in the marina dinghy rack and use it only for the last row in when I leave and the first back out when I return. I could hang around the dock and hitch a ride, but prefer my independence. I bought it used for a hundred dollars. It is tiny, tippy, and uncomfortable. But it serves the purpose. On my next return I won’t have to use it. I will be bringing a new Avon Redstart with me--the present one is twelve years old and will be relegated to back-up status.
I also lowered the furling jib, folded it and stowed it on the port quarter berth; and removed the Monitor servo-rudder.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007