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Can a trio of shipwrecked newbies help preserve Dinotopia's legendary peace and harmony? |
| Philip scanned the horizon all around his perch in the Treetown Weather Station. Nearly a neck and a half (60 feet) up, and in the Backbone Mountains besides, it afforded views of the nearby towns of Cornucopia and Bent Root. Phil's thoughts turned to his life course that led him here -- so happy to live in Treetown and enjoy this among his assignments. For a recent Dolphinback, he has come a long way. Many of his childhood friends played with toy dinosaurs, but Phil had advanced to the next level -- creating both epic carnivore battles and pastoral grazing scenes. As Phil grew older, his interest in living things led him to studying marine life and climate. It was about a year ago when Phil jumped at an opportunity to travel on a tramp freighter in the South Pacific, where he could study ocean currents and marine migrations. His thoughts drifted away to his experience aboard that ship: The first week on the Maersk Sea Robin reawakened my enthusiasm for discovery, long forgotten in school. The salty breezes reminded me of being alive! Many of the ship's crew left me to my research, yet a few took quite an interest. George the ship's cook loved to fish and had the tall stories to prove it. He felt strongly about cooking too -- and it showed. I'd say the meals we enjoyed exceeded my modest expectations. George was affable, always ready with a joke or a kind word. And so, I found myself in the galley at times as he regaled his fishing trips. He described in detail the lengths he'd go through in search of not just any fish, but the very species desired. "You only catch a fish," he said, "when you know what they like. For example, if they enjoy cooler water, we fish just after it rains." And I was amazed how he trundled his pots and pans to and from the crew mess. He hustled in a way that belied his slight frame, making sure that the hot items were hot, the cold ones cold, and everyone was satisfied with dinner. Making others happy seemed to be his chief concern of life. Then there was Eddie, one of the ship's yeomen. A giant of a man, and a bit rough around the edges. My first thought was, "this guy could toss me overboard with one arm." Yet Eddie hid a kindness which showed once you got to know him. A freighter of this size has many sorts of rope lines, and Eddie knew every one of them. And curious about seemingly everything, including my work. "Phil, looks like you're about to lower something over the side. What is it?" "I tied a thermometer to this rope, to measure the..." Right away he cut me off. "You buy rope at a chandler's," he said, "but once it's on our ship it ain't rope no more. We call it line." "OK, well I'm going to troll my thermometer on this, er, line. After a few minutes I'll pull it back up and read the water temperature for my log." "What for? ..." This began what became regular discussions about temperature gradients, ocean currents and weather. Of course, Eddie was profoundly interested in wind and waves, having lived through quite a bit of both. So, I was happy to explain basic meteorology, the kind practiced on ships since the days of sail. Before all the satellites and computers. I let Eddie keep one of my two aneroid barometers, on condition that he record its reading twice daily. And Eddie returned the favor. He happily taught me how to tie a bowline noose and to make my instrument box fast to the deck for rough seas. Eddie gave me a rigging knife and had me practice eye splices. I made myself a nautical-themed belt from a length of line and a snap hook, which I still wear to this day... "...to this day." Jarred by a messenger bird's impatient squawks, Phil realized it was past time for the noon observation. He scanned the instruments which the Sea Robin's crew had salvaged, making note of the temperature, humidity and barometric pressure. The windsock atop the station's roof helped him estimate speed and direction. And gazing skyward, he took note of the cloud formations. The winged envoy would soon deliver the scribbled report to Waterfall City, where once combined with others, would yield forecasts for all Dinotopia. Phil bounded down the ladder to the picnic tables where lunch was served. The youthful trainees of Treetown had gathered, enjoying animated conversations about the morning's activities. Phil was happy to join Stephanie at the table. Phil teaches a meteorology class -- and she's his star pupil. Stephanie is ten mothers Australian -- and she somehow managed to hold onto that endearing "Hoy Mite!" accent. With her mom a musician and her father a convoy guard, she had quite a rich upbringing. All of Phil's students were attentive, yet Stephanie more than any of them appreciated the weather's profound effects upon all those good humans and saurians in this agrarian society. "Nice day!" said Philip. Stephanie replied, "Beautiful -- though I'm concerned about those cumulus clouds overhead." Phil took another look. "Wow, they do appear darker than what I had observed upstairs. Cumulus are fair weather clouds, but if they should thicken..." "We could be in for an afternoon thunderstorm." Phil could see Steph filling the next meteorological position to open. Yet he felt like changing the subject. "How's your friend Justin? I'm surprised he's not at the table with us." Stephanie sighed. "You know how smitten we are for each other. But he's on a field trip to Canyon City with a group of potential rider candidates. You know what happens should he choose that career. I'll hardly ever see him." "But how about the weather station in Canyon City?" "There is one?" "You don't hear much about it, but it's of great importance to the Riders. And if you land a spot there, you two lovebirds will see a lot of each other. Be sure to invite me to your wedding." "I sure will ... if there is one." After the class that afternoon, Phil supervised a group of Treetown youths working in the orchard. Half of them climbed ladders for the low-lying fruit, while others picked the treetops from their Brachs. After a while they switched places. Finally, the youths and the sauropods headed for the Brachiosaur Barn. And they got to the barn just in time, as a pop-up thunderstorm drenched them all on the way in. Yes, Phil thought, Stephanie was right again -- and this means he would surely hear about it come dinnertime. Once in the barn the young ones pampered their Brachiosaur charges, on ladders brushing their pebbled hides and picking off the bugs. Phil wondered if he was hearing things -- yet weren't those Brachs purring like twenty-ton kittens? He longed to enjoy a ride on one of these majestic creatures, and after some weeks have passed the opportunity arrived in the form of a visitor from Vidabra. At first Phil chuckled to hear his name -- Bricabrach -- but then Bric's attending physician described how this aged sauropod received his name as an orphan. "That's quite a story!" Phil exclaimed. "And you haven't heard the half of it. Ol' Bric drew hazard duty in convoys and harvested countless crops. He's getting old, though, and is here for some much-needed R and R." "Oh shucks," Phil sighed. "I was hoping to catch a ride with him, but he won't be up for that." "Are you kidding? There's nothing Bric likes more than favoring humans with a ride. Show up here first thing tomorrow, and it's as good as arranged." |
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