From Wodegai to Falalop,Woleai -- and No Further -- in Yap, Micronesia; Operation Open Runway I
Saturday morning on Wodegai came bright and sunny. We were planning on a boat ride to Falalop and then flying to Yap this afternoon. But the rain had pounded all night, ummmm two nights, and I cautioned Danka that despite our plans for High School Principal Louis to come get us with a boat at 9 am, nothing was likely to happen until she called the other island on the radio. She said, no, the plans are solid. Sigh. I had told both her and Catherine yesterday that I was quite certain we would no be flying today, that the rain would close the runway. They both disregarded my warning. Maybe they should listen to me?
Anyway, we were all packed up, and I was swimming, and we could hear the 40 or 50 men of Wodegai island putting thatch up on the roofs of various buildings, chanting and shouting as part of the work. After 9:15, Danka finally hailed Louis to learn that they weren’t even bothering to come and the runway was flooded and closed. Heh . . . . Danka was being insistent that we have to get the airstrip open, that Mike had to fly today or he would miss his connection. I joined her and we asked them to start pumping, but got a big “Uummmm, maybe” (which means actually "no.") on the other end. They needed the generator that Handsome had, but we pointed out that Mike had a generator, promised to pay, and asked them to start. And I went and asked for Handsome’s help and a boat ride.
So we loaded up Handsome’s boat, and brought his generator, and took a quick 35-minute ride back to Falalop. Nothing was happening there; inertia. There were lots of discussions where we basically begged them to help us try and clear off the runway. After hours, by 1 pm we finally had 3 pumps going on 2 generators. We had a long radio conversation with Peter the Pilot back on Yap, who tried to explain to Danka that we weren’t flying today. She kept pushing, and basically set up a serious of radio check-ins to try to fly. She still was pushing to fly today or Sunday.
She also began pushing for the use of a truck and a bunch of buckets or barrels. The “dry season” was just ending, the “rainy season” starting, and most people were hoarding their buckets and barrels - which were now full of fresh water. We asked a couple of the elders about this, and they essentially told us we were crazy, that the best thing was to just wait for the water to dry off and recede, and that we would never be able to motivate people to help. Danka said she would get people to help.
So we walked down the road (there’s only one) asking people to help. Most laughed. We offered payment. They laughed. But after 45 minutes, we had George the Public Service guy, and his truck, his buckets and many teens and young men to help. So we started the operation.
The runway was in bad condition. Over 80 yards of the 800 yard runway were inundated, mostly ankle deep, and it was swampy, marshy, fetid, hot water. It ranged from 4 inches (10 cm) at the crowned center to over 8 inches deep at the “target edge” of the minimum-necessity-width to reopen. I learned from the men with the pumps that we were dealing with a large flood plain, extending almost the entire length of the runway on both sides, acres and acres of march that we were trying to drain. The pumps were pumping over the seawall and over into another drainage are with taro patches.
Since Danka had got the equipment together, I tried to keep the truck/bucket operation focused and active. I jumped on and off the flatbed, bailed bucket after bucket, kept the boys dumping the barrels and buckets outside the seawall (when water spilled back inside the seawall, it could trickle back and rejoin the flood plain). The heat was intense, and we went all afternoon, until it was too dark to continue. No time for meals. I had walked all over that island multiple times, probably 5 miles, and worked bailing muscles I had forgotten about, in addition to all the jumping up and down off the truck. We made 26 trips up and down the runway, and counting all the buckets and barrels for a conservative estimate, moved over 2800 gallons off the runway Saturday. The pumps moved much more, but I would hesitate to guess how much.
At 3:30, George and his family abruptly left - there was a canoe dedication, and he was the canoe builder. But Mike stepped up with the other truck (his own) and lots of teenage boys to help. Mike was a huge man, though not tall, and looked so familiar to me that I had to ask - Yes, he is first cousin to our friend Francis. And between him and Handsome, they went far above and beyond the normal call of duty for people to help one another.
Still, as the sun set, it seemed like we had not made a ripple in the flooded runway. And there were ominous clouds on the Western horizon. We arranged for some food, coffee, water and fuel to go out to where Handsome and Mike were spending the night out on the seawall manning the pumps and generators. We retired long after dark in exhaustion. My waterlogged feet and hands were in pain, and both Danka and I were sore and exhausted. My two large toenails were blackening and are clearly going to be lost.
Danka had still been thinking we might fly today or tomorrow. I finally told Catherine I was pushing hard in hopes we could reopen the runway by Tuesday. If we couldn’t fly then, it would be a disaster for both her and Mike for their airline connections, and a disaster for me at work. And when we tried to contact Yap, the airline agent was already extremely drunk on tuba, telling us we wouldn’t succeed in opening the runway. Actually, almost all the men on the island were extremely drunk on tuba, after the canoe launching ceremony.
And that was the greatest frustration, the attitude of our hosts; the local folk. We repeatedly insisted we wanted to do all we could to clear the runway, and both Danka and I were out there bailing water harder than anyone else. But in talking to us, people kept insisting it was better not to put any effort forward. “It’s just going to rain more, and flood whatever you remove;” “Look, here comes more rain;” “You won’t get the runway open, we’ve done this before when the President was here (6 years ago) and it took 3 days;” “It’s not worth it.” The other sides of these discussions reflected that, “Oh, it will dry off on its own, then you can fly.” I had a deep discussion, in the light rain, late in the evening, with the neighbor, who repeatedly advised me it would rain all night and that we were wasting, time, effort and fuel. I resisted, saying, “Well, if you have ever met Danka, you know quitting is not possible.” Danka ignored him. It stopped raining, and only lightly rained again at 4 am.
I’m fairly certain that was the only time in my life I’ve said “Handsome, I promise I will get you some hot coffee,” - and meant it. I’m pretty sure
As we tried to sleep, I reminisced about how I used to go on these holidays from the US to Mexico, where you get a couple of margaritas on the plane, then a bus picks you up at the airport and promptly whisks you to an all-inclusive hotel where you can any fried or alcoholic thing you want any time you want, and you lay in the sun . . . . These island holidays are not quite like that . . . .
Anyway, we were all packed up, and I was swimming, and we could hear the 40 or 50 men of Wodegai island putting thatch up on the roofs of various buildings, chanting and shouting as part of the work. After 9:15, Danka finally hailed Louis to learn that they weren’t even bothering to come and the runway was flooded and closed. Heh . . . . Danka was being insistent that we have to get the airstrip open, that Mike had to fly today or he would miss his connection. I joined her and we asked them to start pumping, but got a big “Uummmm, maybe” (which means actually "no.") on the other end. They needed the generator that Handsome had, but we pointed out that Mike had a generator, promised to pay, and asked them to start. And I went and asked for Handsome’s help and a boat ride.
So we loaded up Handsome’s boat, and brought his generator, and took a quick 35-minute ride back to Falalop. Nothing was happening there; inertia. There were lots of discussions where we basically begged them to help us try and clear off the runway. After hours, by 1 pm we finally had 3 pumps going on 2 generators. We had a long radio conversation with Peter the Pilot back on Yap, who tried to explain to Danka that we weren’t flying today. She kept pushing, and basically set up a serious of radio check-ins to try to fly. She still was pushing to fly today or Sunday.
She also began pushing for the use of a truck and a bunch of buckets or barrels. The “dry season” was just ending, the “rainy season” starting, and most people were hoarding their buckets and barrels - which were now full of fresh water. We asked a couple of the elders about this, and they essentially told us we were crazy, that the best thing was to just wait for the water to dry off and recede, and that we would never be able to motivate people to help. Danka said she would get people to help.
So we walked down the road (there’s only one) asking people to help. Most laughed. We offered payment. They laughed. But after 45 minutes, we had George the Public Service guy, and his truck, his buckets and many teens and young men to help. So we started the operation.
The runway was in bad condition. Over 80 yards of the 800 yard runway were inundated, mostly ankle deep, and it was swampy, marshy, fetid, hot water. It ranged from 4 inches (10 cm) at the crowned center to over 8 inches deep at the “target edge” of the minimum-necessity-width to reopen. I learned from the men with the pumps that we were dealing with a large flood plain, extending almost the entire length of the runway on both sides, acres and acres of march that we were trying to drain. The pumps were pumping over the seawall and over into another drainage are with taro patches.
Since Danka had got the equipment together, I tried to keep the truck/bucket operation focused and active. I jumped on and off the flatbed, bailed bucket after bucket, kept the boys dumping the barrels and buckets outside the seawall (when water spilled back inside the seawall, it could trickle back and rejoin the flood plain). The heat was intense, and we went all afternoon, until it was too dark to continue. No time for meals. I had walked all over that island multiple times, probably 5 miles, and worked bailing muscles I had forgotten about, in addition to all the jumping up and down off the truck. We made 26 trips up and down the runway, and counting all the buckets and barrels for a conservative estimate, moved over 2800 gallons off the runway Saturday. The pumps moved much more, but I would hesitate to guess how much.
At 3:30, George and his family abruptly left - there was a canoe dedication, and he was the canoe builder. But Mike stepped up with the other truck (his own) and lots of teenage boys to help. Mike was a huge man, though not tall, and looked so familiar to me that I had to ask - Yes, he is first cousin to our friend Francis. And between him and Handsome, they went far above and beyond the normal call of duty for people to help one another.
Still, as the sun set, it seemed like we had not made a ripple in the flooded runway. And there were ominous clouds on the Western horizon. We arranged for some food, coffee, water and fuel to go out to where Handsome and Mike were spending the night out on the seawall manning the pumps and generators. We retired long after dark in exhaustion. My waterlogged feet and hands were in pain, and both Danka and I were sore and exhausted. My two large toenails were blackening and are clearly going to be lost.
Danka had still been thinking we might fly today or tomorrow. I finally told Catherine I was pushing hard in hopes we could reopen the runway by Tuesday. If we couldn’t fly then, it would be a disaster for both her and Mike for their airline connections, and a disaster for me at work. And when we tried to contact Yap, the airline agent was already extremely drunk on tuba, telling us we wouldn’t succeed in opening the runway. Actually, almost all the men on the island were extremely drunk on tuba, after the canoe launching ceremony.
And that was the greatest frustration, the attitude of our hosts; the local folk. We repeatedly insisted we wanted to do all we could to clear the runway, and both Danka and I were out there bailing water harder than anyone else. But in talking to us, people kept insisting it was better not to put any effort forward. “It’s just going to rain more, and flood whatever you remove;” “Look, here comes more rain;” “You won’t get the runway open, we’ve done this before when the President was here (6 years ago) and it took 3 days;” “It’s not worth it.” The other sides of these discussions reflected that, “Oh, it will dry off on its own, then you can fly.” I had a deep discussion, in the light rain, late in the evening, with the neighbor, who repeatedly advised me it would rain all night and that we were wasting, time, effort and fuel. I resisted, saying, “Well, if you have ever met Danka, you know quitting is not possible.” Danka ignored him. It stopped raining, and only lightly rained again at 4 am.
I’m fairly certain that was the only time in my life I’ve said “Handsome, I promise I will get you some hot coffee,” - and meant it. I’m pretty sure
As we tried to sleep, I reminisced about how I used to go on these holidays from the US to Mexico, where you get a couple of margaritas on the plane, then a bus picks you up at the airport and promptly whisks you to an all-inclusive hotel where you can any fried or alcoholic thing you want any time you want, and you lay in the sun . . . . These island holidays are not quite like that . . . .