Expeditionary Log
Day 1
It is the first day of Antarctica’s 6 months of light, and the hottest day we have ever known. The climate shift seems never-ending, and every year the temperature rises at least 5 degrees. We record 18 degrees Fahrenheit today. This is significant, seeing as when we first arrived here, the older folks said you could spit and watch it freeze before it hit the ground. Anyway, we have chosen this day in particular on behalf of the belief that it will take the majority of that time to reach our intended destination – Northern Maine. Maine was one of the few states in Eastern U.S. that was completely evacuated before the any decisions were reached on the nuclear cleansing program. However, Maine was not spared entirely, as deadly radiation from New York, Massachusetts, and New Jersey (consequently the 2nd most infected state, right behind California) most certainly lingered within Maine until about 10 years ago. Maine’s exclusion from direct nuclear fire and relatively high distances from concentrated targets like Canada And New Jersey suggest many things. It is safe to assume that it is unlikely that anything could have survived the radiation (although the children continuously assure me that we will find live cockroaches), let alone the ravages of the plague beforehand. The electromagnetic pulse from the nearest possible Nuke hit would barely have made it to Maine’s border, suggesting the possibility of surviving electronic technology. This seems pointless as permanent electricity is not really an option. However, we all pretty much agree that the possibility of working batteries is high (although only NiMH’s and Lithium ion batteries could have held a charge that long without forming destructive alkali). Some of the older men who were engineers assure us that mechanical electricity generators could be made (powered by what though– People?) There is a tiny ray of hope inside of me that suggest the possibility, minute and hopelessly tiny as it is, that somewhere, in hiding, is another human being. Or not even a person, just something—a bird, a dog, anything. It sounds crazy, I know. I dare not tell any of the others, but I know that they all secretly hope the same.
Oddly, I seem to have spent too much time on our reasons ‘why’. I’ll focus a little more how.
We have assembled a three-mast vessel that resembles a mix of a keelboat and what I remember of those little pictures of the Santa Maria in my old history boats. This boat is composed entirely of collected sea debris. Seeing as the debris was mostly from old ships, we didn’t have much trouble assembling our … contraption. There is a lot of writing littered on the debris; some say it is “French”. One old-timer told me that there’s a large port in northern France where they came from. He says they must have traveled on a transatlantic current. It’s odd, he says, because that current used to go straight to North America, not north to us. He speculates that the climate change affected the currents to great degree. Here I am getting off track again.
The ship works very well. The ocean has gotten calmer every year for the past 8 years at an alarming rate. There are almost no giant waves anymore, suggesting a return the previous turbelent state. There is no telling what waits for us at sea, however. We left at first light today with 15 more crew than we had originally intended, putting us at about 120 people. The ‘port’, which was really just a natural inlet of melting iceberg, was littered with the most concentrated amount of people I have seen since the pilgrimage 15 years ago. A great fear that I have never known eats away at my every second. I don’t know what’s out there for us, nor do I know the chances of a safe return. I pray for the answers.