Memoirs of a pollution
control officer
 The
boat lazily rode the gentle Lough Derg swell. I straddled
the seat, one hand on the wheel, the other on the throttle
lever. The new 90hp 4-stroke motor gurgled contentedly on
the transom behind me. I heard the distant 'kraaa-ak' of a
heron and, although it may have been imagination, the
whistle of an otter. A pair of swans cast an aloof glance in
my direction and then made a point of ignoring me. A drake
paddled by, busily pretending not to be begging for crusts.
A soft breeze, scented with hawthorn and newly spread
slurry, wafted over the lake. I sat back and imbibed
nature.
Then
I pushed the throttle full forward. The boat didn't exactly
leap out of the water and my face muscles didn't exactly
ripple like they do when people go into space, but my
eyebrows were pinned to my forehead. The acceleration was
incredible! 0 - 40 in 10 seconds!!! Well, 40 knots is pretty
fast on water because there aren't any white lines in the
middle, or 'Accident Black Spot' warnings, and there are
lots of bumpy bits that try to make the boat fly. There are
also lots of uncharted obstacles 
that can make a boat go from 40 - 0 knots in zero seconds,
so it's quite exciting sometimes.
After
a few moments of wallowing in the exhilaration of
acceleration, it dawned on me that I hadn't warned the other
three people on board that I wanted to test the new motor to
its utmost. Perhaps the sudden acceleration had whipped them
overboard or they were splattered on the back of the boat,
causing an unsightly mess!! I quickly pulled the throttle
back to neutral.
Most people think boats don't
have brakes.
I
was relieved to see all three were present and correct as
they tumbled past me and bounced off the forward watertight
compartment. I checked afterwards and there wasn't even a
tiny leak. It reminded me of a similar episode that happened
in Dungarvan Harbour many years ago.
In
those days, the early 1970s, there wasn't an EPA to control
emissions of industrial waste to the environment. New
industries had to apply to the Local Authorities (County
Councils, City Corporations) for planning permission to
develop a site for industrial development. In many cases,
the proposed development received financial support from the
Industrial Development Authority (IDA). However, neither the
Local Authorities nor the IDA had any expertise of their own
to advise them about the environmental implications of new
industries. Although both were striving to support anything
that provided employment, they were aware that environmental
issues were becoming more and more important; they realized
that an assessment of the environmental impact of new
industries should be an integral part of the planning and
funding process.
One
such development resulted in myself, DK and Mr. Beeches
having to do a survey of the flora and fauna on the seabed
in Dungarvan Harbour. DK and I are biologists who used to do
underwater surveys using SCUBA until the Health and Safety
Authority (HSA) told us we were committing a mortal sin and
should desist forthwith. This was before the HSA was
invented, though, so we unwittingly committed lots of mortal
sins. Especially when we were away on surveys.
We
towed the boat to a little place that had a slip and a pub.
The proprietor didn't seem to mind that Mr. Beeches used the
shelter of his gable-end to fill the fuel tank for the
outboard motor from a jerry can while smoking a cigarette
and inhaling petroleum fumes. I think he was impressed by
the dexterity with which Mr. Beeches handled the expensive
laboratory glass funnel during the fuel transfer. He did,
however, object to the smell of my cigar.
Our
boat, at that time, was a white, fibre-glass Dory. Although
it was only 3.5 meters long, it had a nice wide beam and a
cathedral hull. It had a broad, flat prow that provided an
ideal platform from which divers could roll backwards into
the water without hurting it. It had a little wooden seat
for the driver, and a little steering wheel that told the
motor which way to point.
When
Mr. Beeches had successfully failed to immolate himself and
the pub, we launched the boat and drove to the survey area.
DK and I donned our diving gear and went through all the
buddy checks that conscientious divers do. Mr. Beeches, who
was driving, took off his lifejacket and used it as a
cushion because the little wooden seat was too hard. He
rolled down his sleeves and fastened all his shirt buttons
in case the sun got at him. Then he stretched out, cigarette
in one hand hovering enticingly close to the fuel tank,
relaxed in the knowledge that all he had to do was follow
our bubbles.
DK
and I dropped our 1m2 grid from the surface and followed it
as it drifted lazily down to fall randomly on the seabed. We
recorded the abundance of each species of plant and animal
that was readily identifiable within the grid. We also took
photographs that would help to identify other species later.
Then we moved the grid and repeated the process until air
started to get low. The survey took the best part of an hour
and we were quite tired when we finally surfaced.
Divers
don't just swim back up to the surface. There's a whole
ritual attached to it. They have to control their rate of
ascent and their breathing so they don't strain or rupture a
lung. They also raise an arm above their head, especially in
murky water, so they won't bang their heads on the hull of
the cover boat that is following the bubbles. Sometimes the
cover boat avoids the possibility of head-bashing by keeping
a distance from the bubbles. Mr. Beeches seemingly
subscribed to the latter approach because the Dory was about
400 meters away from where we surfaced. His back was facing
towards us and he seemed to be signalling to someone in
Spain. His arm was rising and falling in a jerky,
rhythmical, fashion, as if he was conducting an invisible
orchestra. Using the emergency whistles on our lifejackets,
we finally attracted his attention and he came to retrieve
us.
Not
having the energy to reprimand him, or enquire about his
previously unrecognized musical talents, we gratefully
handed him our weightbelts and air bottles and waited until
he had stowed them securely in the front of the boat. Then
we hauled ourselves out of the water and sat, panting, on
the flat platform on the prow.
For
some reason known only to himself, Mr. Beeches decided that
it was time to go. So he pushed the throttle full forward.
The Dory had a lot of weight on the front end - two divers,
their weightbelts and diving bottles. In less than a second,
the bow was ploughing its way underwater and the remainder
of the boat was following. Fortunately, Mr. Beeches pulled
back the throttle before he jumped onto the steering wheel
which, by now, was the only part of the boat above water.
Mr. Beeches is a fine specimen of mankind, and the steering
wheel was just a little one. I still don't know how he
managed to remain sitting on it while the boat sank. He
couldn't swim, and was frantically trying to grab his
cushion/lifejacket as it drifted away. Each move he made
caused the steering wheel to turn him away from the object
of his desire, thereby proving that every action causes an
equal and opposite reaction. After what seemed a lifetime,
the boat's built-in buoyancy slowly brought it back to the
surface.
DK
and I finally managed to avert the danger of capsizing by
bailing frantically and making the boat reasonably seaworthy
again. It took a bit longer to persuade Mr. Beeches to get
off the steering wheel so we could drive the boat back to
the pub. It's not easy to drive a boat when the steering
wheel is shaped like Mr. Beeches' backside. On our way back,
we spotted a pair of sickle-shaped fins cutting through the
water. Mr. Beeches, already rather pale, turned decidedly
green. We didn't tell him they were harmless basking sharks
because we didn't know if they were or not.
As
for his musical talents, we later discovered that he didn't
have ambitions to be the next conductor of the RTE Symphony
Orchestra. He had smuggled a set of feathers on board and
was jigging for mackerel!!
"What about following the
bubbles?" we asked.
"Bubbles? Sure they'd only
frighten the mackerel away."
© John Dory MMII
About the
Author
'John Dory' advises Irish industry
and Government agencies on pollution prevention and control
measures
|
.