The Lives Bringing Life

Phil's Surprise

    Phil made the climb up to the weather station and sat down in a corner. There he turned to contemplating how he and his friends were getting along.  His two shipmates were utterly demoralized and wanted the one thing they couldn't have -- out and off the island.  And his own despondency grew overwhelming as well.  "Sweet old Bric murdered by carnosaurs!" he thought.  "That does it.  This island's no first-class resort.  It's a pit of misery and gruesome death."  At the root of it all, of course, was the lousy fishing.  Something had to be done, all right. But what -- and how? He had no ideas, and neither had the politicians and Habitat Partners he had put so much faith in.  He ruminated on the fish problem until a headache forced him to quit.  At that very moment, a professor's advice given years ago popped into focus.  A mere four words that helped so much back then:

    Stop thinking and look.

    Alone in the weather station, Phil fell to talking to himself.  "Of course!  We don't 'think up' a weather forecast.  We make detailed observations.  From these the forecast practically assembles itself -- a mantra I've taught Stephanie in the advanced class.  Now, how can we apply this principle to the fish problem?  We know the fishing is bad, so what additional observations might clue us towards a fix?  Phil continued this thought for quite a while on this balmy day, until a strange wisp of a cool breeze broke his concentration.

    Phil abruptly stood up and looked around.  In his hours thinking about his friends' troubles, he had ignored the immediate threat as it brewed.  Dark clouds spreading nearby.  A glance at the barometer confirmed his hunch -- a typhoon fast approaching!  From the station's stores he grabbed hold of something he never needed before -- a Parasaurolophus crest fitted with a reed from the Waterfall City Music Shop, imparting a raucous tone.  Putting the contraption to his lips, he blew with all his might.  It could wake the dead, he thought.  A long blast to get attention.  Then three short ones signaling "typhoon." Below he could see humans and saurians scurrying for shelter.  He only wished he had given them an earlier warning.

    Next, he climbed upon the roof to take the windsock down.  Obviously no longer needed -- and its substantial drag could damage the roof.  Unfortunately, this was one procedure the retiring meteorologist had neglected to have Phil practice.  It took longer than he had wanted, but he did get it down off the roof just as the downpour began. Phil removed the woven sock from its pole.  Then he separated the pole's sections so it would fit inside the storage chest.  Finally, he stowed the pieces.  He put away the clipboard, pencils, and other loose items.  With all preparations made, it was time to evacuate.  In a single motion executed countless times, Phil sidled upon the ladder, holding both rails while carefully placing his feet upon the first rung -- and then a wind gust ripped one of his two hands as well as one foot free.  With his remaining hand and foot, he held on dearly -- and in a moment of relative calm he regained footing, eagerly scampering back inside.  "Where's Gerta the Safetysaurus?  This setup needs a harness," he thought out loud.  Gasping for breath, shaken, soaked and strangely cold, he curled up like a pathetic stray cat, waiting for the adrenalin rush to dissipate into a dull ache.

    The gusts quickly merged into a steady blast.  With no safe way down, he was to ride out an hours-long monster storm in what amounted to a treehouse some fifty feet up. Might as well enjoy it, he thought.  Rising to his feet, he felt the floor shudder as he checked the instruments.  The thermometer which had read 29 degrees C. only hours ago, now stood at 24.  The humidity read 100% ("Duh," he thought).  The barometer checked in at 968 millibars.  Phil gently tapped on its glass, something he taught his students -- this releases any friction in the instrument's mechanism.  After some five minutes passed, he tapped again -- and the needle moved lower still.  As the storm continued its approach, pockets of decreasing pressure were passing overhead.  Phil knew that a terrible wind would rush in at incredible speed to fill these pressure holes -- and sure enough, the whole station commenced shaking.  Now there was nothing to do but wait.  Phil dropped to the floor, curling up once again -- and to his surprise, the shaking subsided some.  Center of gravity, he thought.  He held this position for hours, denying the storm any excuse to shake the station, along with his life, to pieces.