Monday, June 8, 2020

Evanston: a storm, two paintings, and an epiphany


I just finished reading ISAAC’S STORM about the deadliest natural disaster in US history, though not ‘the deadliest hurricane in history’ as the book cover boasts.  Although most Americans don’t know it, the rest of the world has history too.



The hurricane destroyed Galveston, Texas, on September 8, 1900, killing between 8,000 and 12,000 people out of a population of about 40,000.  The number of dead is unknown because there were too many to bury and bodies were simply piled together and burned.

The Isaac of the title is Isaac Cline, the chief meteorologist in Galveston at the time.  That there was a storm somewhere in the Caribbean was known, but it was not severe until it exploded after passing over Cuba and it was not thought to be heading toward Texas.


Eric Larsen is a fine writer and the book gripping.  The descriptions of the storm damage are enough to cause one to wonder why anyone lives on low land in a hurricane zone.  Oh, that’s right, we’re planning to.

Of the ‘greatest’ claim, I did some research.  While this storm did kill more Americans than any other, it isn’t even number one in the Atlantic.  That title goes a hurricane of 1780 that killed twice as many on Caribbean islands.  Because the number of dead in Galveston is uncertain, many lists put it third behind Hurricane Mitch.


And no Atlantic storm comes close to comparing with those in Asia.






I don’t believe in multitasking, but sometimes do.  While sipping a martini and listening to Bach the other evening, while Carol watched what poses as the evening news, I viewed paintings by one of my favorite artists, J.M.W. Turner, in the Google Arts and Culture app.

Some of you may recall that I posted Albert Ryder’s ‘Death on a Pale Horse’ a week or so ago.  Here is Turner’s version.


In my Turner search some things unexpected appeared, including this “View of the Heads, Port Jackson’, painted in 1853 by Conrad Martens.   Port Jackson is Sydney, Australia.  A great harbor and a great entrance.  I have sailed through the Heads many times.






Last Friday I had an epiphany.  

I paused for a moment trying to remember.  I think my last was about sixty years ago and it was a reverse epiphany.  I had gone to college with the intention of becoming a Presbyterian minister.  I’ll bet that comes as a surprise.  I had as a teenager convinced myself of the existence of God on the basis of what I later learned is the cosmological argument; but the instant I stepped onto campus I knew that I could not be a minister.  I majored in philosophy instead.

I don’t recall what led to last Friday’s event.  Simply stated, I was off Cape Horn the first time on December 12, 1975 and on Friday I realized that December 12, 2025 will be the 50th anniversary of that date.  Where more appropriate to spend it than off Cape Horn again?

Clearly the answer is:  no where.  I am not saying I will attempt it, but given time and continued health, I might.

A clarification for those who remember that I considered Cape Horn when I began my sixth circumnavigation but soon decided against it.  That would have been a rounding east to west against the prevailing winds.  I continue to believe GANNET could not do that except in very abnormal conditions.  This attempt would be west to east with prevailing wind behind us.


I would be 84 years old then.  I have no intention of googling to discover who is the oldest to sail alone around Cape Horn or what the smallest boat and I adamantly don’t want to be told.  I repeat adamantly.  Perhaps you recall I compete only with myself.  If not, here is a reminder.

departure

                                        judge a man, then, by that
                                        against which he must strive
                                        against what
                                        if not this soft night
                                        and the wind and sea
                                        against the myth
                                        he must become
                                        and his own will

                                        the ocean waits
                                        to measure or to slay me
                                        the ocean waits
                                        and I will sail
                                                                   
                                                                    1978









2 comments:

Anonymous said...

is it Isacc, Issac or Isaac?

Webb said...

I could not have screwed that up more. Thanks for catching it.

I think we can go with the book cover. Isaac.