Hurricane Log

October 8, 2018

I left the Apalachicola Maritime Museum dock about noon after tying down the Museum’s kayaks. I thought about getting fuel, but the wind was so strong I figured the eight gallons I had onboard would be sufficient. It was hard retrieving my kedge (anchor), and the boat just circled the place where it held (it had done a yeoman’s job of keeping my shrouds off the Museum docks), and the line was covered with spiny brown growth, quite unpleasant and messy. 

I motored up the river between 3 and 4 knots. My new Isotherm refrigerator worked great, keeping the icebox quite cold and running at full speed when the engine’s alternator raised the voltage. I tried my Simrad tiller pilot, but its electrical connections were bad and I had to steer by hand (as usual). Later, with some WD40 lent from my friend Mike, I got it working.

I arrived at Saul Creek and turned up. I found a reasonable spot and noticing how the shrimp boats were tucked into the North bank. I figured they must know something, so I dropped anchor and set it fairly close to the bank. To set the anchor securely, I motored in reverse and was rewarded by the boat lurching as the anchor set solidly. I was pretty happy with the solid set. Then I used the dinghy to run a line from the stern to a handy Tupelo tree on the bank. Except for the line, my location was a mistake, as when the wind later came blowing from the Southeast, it drove me into the bank. Also, I thought I had set the big Rocna anchor well, but it turned out I snagged a cypress log, which negated the anchor’s function (it dragged).

I used the dinghy to set a kedge to keep my bow away from the bank. Unfortunately, this did not hold well, either. So, when the big winds came, I had nothing to hold me away from the bank!

October 9, 2018

The afternoon was clear and almost calm. After my lunch I set up my new solar panel kit, which helped the battery condition. In the evening, I watched a movie. Then, wind came up and I found my anchor had dragged. I winched it in until it was free of the bottom, but I could not winch it all the way, not even visible, because it was so heavy due to the big log it was attached to, but I motored out into the middle of the channel and let it go.

One thing after another kept me sleepless and tired, until I finally dozed off.

October 10, 2018

I woke up with the sight of trees above the hatch, a bit shocking to a boater. I ate a little, then returned to winching, when I discovered the big log trapped in the anchor’s mouth. I tried to motor out away from the bank, but made no progress. Finally, I just dropped the anchor-log where I was a few yards away from the bank, figuring the Tupelo trees would take care of me.

Now it is raining and windy. The radio says that in two to four hours, the full force of Hurricane Michael will hit. I remain at the mercy of the elements. I lay down for a rest.

I woke up to the sound of tree branches scraping the boat. I was on the creek bank, tucked into a grove of Tupelo trees.Going forward, I pulled the anchor by flashlight (careful to not jam the chain in the winch). When it emerged, I saw the Cypress log I had snagged which had prevented the anchor from digging in and causing it to drag along the bottom. Figuring an anchor snagged into a Cypress log was better than nothing, I dropped it to the bottom, maybe eight feet below. I also believed that I would be safe in my Tupelo grove, as I have a great affection for these trees. The fact was that I was snugged up against a lot of vegetation that kept my boat out of the forest, and the kindly trees would buffer me from loss.

The wind increased into a howling scream. About 1 in the morning, I felt the strongest wind I had ever felt. It almost pushed the boat on its side. Everything hummed, and the sky seemed full of light, probably sheet lightning. That force lasted only a few seconds, then subsided to the normal by now howling scream. Then, the same gusting happened again, subsided for half an hour, before another powerful, awesome gust. After that, the howling decreased slowly, then faded away. The big storm was over. My boat had been strong enough to withstand it! 

Later, the wind was still strong, maybe 45 knots, and I became aware of lots of scraping and banging noises against the hull. I went on deck and by flashlight, tied to trees fore and aft and used my machete to cut intruding branches. I saw that I had lost my loudspeaker (no big loss) and broke my topping lift, the thin line that holds the boom up when not under sail (a big loss requiring a climb to the mast head to repair). One annoying, stout branch was scraping against the hull, causing a screech, so I tied a cloth on its end and tied it up using the jib winch. I also had to retrieve my tiller pilot, knocked overboard and secured only by its power cord. All secure, I went to bed.

I woke up alert at 3:30am with the thought that when the flood water subsided, I would be left grounded, causing a call to Sea Tow and another $1000! By this time, the wind had almost died. So, I started the engine and pulled up my anchors. To my relief, the main anchor’s Cypress log was gone! I untied my lines and motored out into the middle of the creek, aimed at the wind direction, slowed down and when stopped, dropped my little anchor, a Fortress “lunch hook” and thought it was set. I went back to bed and some sleep.

About half an hour later, a strong bang woke me. I thought it was a drifting log. Then, another bang caused me to look out the window, and there was my friend Mike Young’s sailboat! I was drifting in the current, with my little anchor merrily dragging along. 

I dropped the big Rocna anchor and watched my position. I determined that I was still drifting down the creek, towards the Apalachicola River. I went forward again and working by flashlight, loosed another hundred feet of chain and rope. I cleated off and waited and was rewarded by a nice thump, telling me that the anchor had set. I went to bed again and slept soundly until daybreak.

In the morning I had some breakfast and tried the radios. All silent. A friend came by in a motorboat and gave me the frequency for NPR in Panama City and told me some news. Apalachicola was a mess. The City Marina had flooded with more than six feet of water. Whole docks and boats were just gone, scattered to the marshes. He also said that the city of Mexico Beach, landfall for Michael, was just gone.

After the storm comes the cleanup. I spent an hour or more just sweeping, picking, and dumping branches and leaves that seemed to be everywhere. Then I rowed up Saul Creek and retrieved my almost two hundred feet of tie line from its tree (I felt very fortunate to find it). When all was ready, I started the engine and pulled my Rocna anchor. It seemed to take forever and used up almost all my strength because I had run out so much chain and line. Normally, I would use the engine to drive up to the anchor and pull it straight out, but the transmission has a quirk that sometimes it won’t go into forward gear solidly, slipping, and that was the case. I used the slipping power to help and got the anchor up. Then I was drifting and did not have enough power to maneuver. So, instead of hitting my friend’s boat or running into the bank, I drove in reverse all the way to the Apalachicola River! This was fun because reverse had always baffled me in this boat (a double-ender, Southern Cross 31) and I found through trial and error how to go backwards accurately. Out in the middle of the Apalachicola, I stopped and planned to raise the sail. However, I chanced to try forward and the boat sped on its way. Because of the current, we sometimes made almost 9 knots on the return trip.

My friend said that Apalachicola was a mess and he planned to stay on Saul Creek. But, I was out of fresh food and my stove would not work due to the lower level of diesel in the tank. I had not topped off the tank when I left Apalach (big mistake), and I had used enough fuel on the journey so the fuel level was below the stove’s feed line. So, I needed food and fuel.

Coming back, there were trees down everywhere on the river bank, and when I got close to town, I could see a big two-masted sailboat stranded in the marshes. The turning buoy was gone, but I turned by the Apalachicola Maritime Museum. There was scattered damage on the docks, but the building was still there. The fuel dock stunned me, though, as all the docks were smashed. No fuel there, so I went on to Gander’s Marine, which was also smashed. As I approached Scipio Creek Marina, I saw a man on the dock. I was glad because it is really hard to dock a big boat my oneself. I hailed him and he ignored me, curse the fellow, but it turned out he was just a plastic pirate figure for the bar! I managed to dock by myself, and now I am securely tied up to the Scipio Creek Marina fuel dock. Unfortunately, because of no power, they cannot pump any fuel, but the manager is happy to let me stay tied up until power is restored. I need a slip, so perhaps this little hurricane, having freed up quite a bit of space, will let me find one.

After securing the boat, I walked to my car and toured the town. Down trees everywhere. The waterfront is mostly gone. Mud from the storm surge and tree branches and leaves are everywhere. The Museum has an enormous pile of junk in front of it. One older building had its front blown off, revealing the inside shop where shelves neatly hold the mechanic’s things, untouched. 

Tamara’s restaurant set up a tented booth and busily cooked up all the food from their freezers and gave it out to all comers. Other people brought food from their freezers—all meat, beef, chicken, and fish—to cook up and give away. Other people brought ice—I don’t know from where since there is no power. It was very nice to talk to people and eat hot food for a change (well, it had only been two days since my stove quit working), even if it was hamburger. Eat what is given!!! My daughter, Lisa, showed up from Tallahassee, bringing food, water, and gasoline (not realizing I used diesel).

Apalach now has a 7 to 7 curfew, and it will be some time before power is restored and life will normalize. I am awed by the destruction. I should pitch in and help clean, but I am exhausted by days fighting elements, anchors, winches, chains, ropes, branches, machetes, leaves, driving boats. Since there is no cell service, I don’t know if Tallahassee is any better off than here. But at least my boat is safe, and I have family there and Lisa will take me there for a good rest.

Seeking A Better Life

I regularly read or hear that the immigrants and refugees at our borders are “seeking a better life” in America. That could be so for some, but for the majority, they really are just seeking life, a condition opposite to that of dying, i.e they are seeking to not die.

It is an incredible conceit of exceptionalism that America offers a “better life” to these people. On the Left, politicians propose that we should grant the better life. On the Right, politicians jealously hoard it and wish to deny the better life to these strangers, especially because they are Brown and not from Norway.

However, if you have ever lived in a remote village, surrounded by forest, rich with fruit trees, solid (albeit humble) homemade houses, gardens, fields, animals, complex and satisfying social structures, i.e great-grandparents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, you would envy that life, compare it to Paradise, and want to live there. Compare that life with the sterility of suburbs and shopping centers and dollar chasing that we have exchanged in the interest of progress. People can be happy there.

That is, until the soldiers come, or the drug cartels, or the drought, or too cheap American corn (NAFTA, CAFTA). Then, the people rightly flee for their lives and those who have heard of the beneficence and prosperity of the North, undertake the long journey.

When I lived in Mexico, all the clever young men would make their way to the fields, yards, or construction sites in California or Texas, work a season, then return home with a nest egg to build a house and start a family. It was a “rite of passage.” They all did it. Years later, however, the border got more controlled, so they stayed North rather than return. In the 90s, NAFTA came into effect and the stores were flooded with cheap corn. The old CONASUPO corn cooperatives went out of business, and the farmers had no market. Rather than starve, they went North, families and all. Guatemala and El Salvador were different. There was civil war, very much directed against the Indigenous peoples (Indians) whose major fault was resisting progress and preserving their ancient, cooperative ways. So, they fled North. Finally, in the last few years, due to a coup in Honduras, conditions became horribly chaotic with lots of murders, drugs, and other evils. In this case, even children began to head North.

So, why do you suppose that these people keep heading North when the Border is so unwelcoming? I believe that these people intuitively understand that the evil that has destroyed their communities has a source, a cause, so they head North to meet their destroyer, to confront it. Actions have consequences; so the immigrants and refugees say, “Here I am.” “I am the consequence of what you did, so you could have your cheap bananas, cheap auto parts, cheap clothing, marijuana, cocaine, and heroin. Accept me or watch me die. Your choice.”

Kamakura Buddha

Apologies. 

Growing up in the 60s, I became deeply disillusioned and mistrustful of my government, the media, and all things smelling of “The Establishment.” I directed myself as far away as I could, so I adopted Buddhism, Socialism, even Communism. I worked as a carpenter, a plasterer, a farmer, and a caretaker of cows. Later, I programmed computers and taught English.

My distrust of ‘things as they are’ was deepened by endless war in Central America, Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, Syria, and support of Israel in her shabby treatment of Palestinians. I did do a stint with the Democrats when Bernie Sanders ran for President, a flawed candidate miles superior to his peers. But he did not win.

Now, I am sorry to say, I cannot believe anything at all in the mainstream media or manifested by our government, Republicans or Democrats. I discard what these people say.

So, if I disdain Hillary and the DNC, express support for detente with Russia and do not demonize President Putin or President Assad, if I do not hate the North Koreans, the Chinese, or the Iranians, if I think that the capitalist neoliberal program is destroying both our democracy and our planet and must end (right now), excuse me for my life experience.

I was recently asked during a political discussion at a Christmas party if I loved my country, as if advocating for an end to endless war and exploitative capitalism showed a hatred of American values and freedom itself.
My inner response was, “Of course I do.” But I did not say so because I know that it is easy to say anything, but doing takes more effort. So, I told him how during the Vietnam War I discovered that our country was doing a terrible harm to ourselves as well as the Vietnamese people. Because the goal was a continuation of colonialism (French or American), the war was without doubt immoral and a great wrong, so I decided to do everything I could to stop it. I spent almost three years and some months marching across and around the country, demonstrating, sitting in front of draftee buses, speaking, talking, arguing, being attacked, getting beaten, jailed, and jailed for a long time. We even ran an “Underground Railway” to move AWOL soldiers to refuge in Canada.
At first, the American people were solidly in favor of the War, but slowly the truth bested the lies of Johnson, Nixon, and the Pentagon. I don’t know how much our efforts made a difference. I do know that the soldiers over there played a big part in ending the war and the the draft. Still, I would like to think that what I and my fellow resistors did helped end the war.
Now, we no longer have a draft, so the Pentagon does not have the same soldier pressure. Nevertheless, just as then, our war-making and warmongering are wrong and causing great damage to the world and ourselves.
The government (Bush, Obama, Trump, it does not matter) tell us that America promotes peace, democracy, and economic well-being, while their hidden agenda smashes the target countries. Take Afghanistan. After 9/11 some hype was for us to “bomb Afghanistan back to the Stone Age”, not realizing that we had already done that in concert with our Russian and Mujahideen buddies (the jihadists we supported who morphed into the Taliban). American meddling transformed a social democracy into a wasteland, and Afghanistan is still a wasteland, even after billions of dollars have been spent in so-called Reconstruction.
Iraq has not been much better, although we got rid of a dictator that we did not like and replaced him with a dictator we liked.
If we look dispassionately at all the wars we have engaged in since the victory of WW II, the same pattern shows itself. We make aggressive war on any nation or people resisting our control, showing no interest in dialog or compromise. Historical records show that right after WW II, there was an opportunity for peace and cooperation with the Soviet Union, our bugaboo. That offer was rejected and the Cold War ensued, an event that enriched the weapons purveyors and impoverished the people. Look at North Korea. The Koreans have made a simple proposal: end the decades long war with a peace treaty and cease threatening war games and overflights with nuclear-armed aircraft. The offer was rejected.
I am a bit cynical, but in the end, our wars mainly serve the interests of money and pride. They are immoral, contrary to the spirt of democracy, and a violation of the values of human rights enthroned in the Constitution.

On the ICW, Sailing With Irma

September 11, 2017

Apalachicola, Florida

Getting ready for Irma, I spent most of the day either readying the boat or securing things on the dock or securing the Maritime Museum (we moved the museum’s Starfish tour boat upriver). I finally launched about 5:00pm. First, I motored to the river, then raised sails and began my journey to escape Irma.

I sailed along at a good clip, four or five knots, with the wind over my beam or farther aft (a reach, in sailing terms). I was very pleased with my new mainsail.As I neared Saul Creek, I saw there were many boats up there and decided to just keep sailing, maybe as far as Pensacola where my daughter and family had fled because it just felt so good to be sailing. 

I crossed Lake Wimico at dusk. The lake is a huge body of water, about five miles in diameter, and is quite shallow with a narrow channel cut in the middle—straying out of the channel was a guaranteed grounding. With limited light, though, I had to strain to see the channel markers, and it was not dark enough for the lights to go on. I was very glad to reach the other side, and soon found a nook in Searcy Creek to anchor for the night. At this location, there was almost no wind, but lots of bugs!

The next day I sailed/motored on, the wind not so favorable or strong. I passed White City and considered tying up at its dock for the duration, but went on until I just got tired and figured giving up the Pensacola dream journey was a good idea. 

September 12, 2017

Noon, on the ICW west of White City, Florida

Yesterday evening, I anchored, then tied together my dock lines and used my dinghy to tie to a huge Lob Lolly pine fallen on the sandy bank. This channel was cut to connect White City and Panama City, so the land is about twenty feet above the water with sheer sandstone cliffs on either side. I figured it would be sheltered from the storm. I set the anchor to the north of the channel center, and I figured my tie would keep me safe.

However, I soon found the wind shifting to push me into the bank and I hurriedly pulled anchor, untied my line, and motored out past the center to anchor again, this time setting it very carefully and letting out considerable rode.

After securing the boat, I looked for my dock line, but it was nowhere in sight. I figured I had gone upriver, so I rowed back about a quarter mile, but no line! Since the wind was strong, I used the sandy shore to pull the dinghy back to opposite the boat, and since the line was not downriver, it must be further up, so I walked several hundred yards. Well, the line was not there, but on my way back to the the boat, I saw a deer swimming the channel and it came out just fifty feet from me. Of course, it ran away in spite of my friendly sounds. The bank was too steep for it to climb, and it came back, stopping just a few feet away. We regarded each other, then it bolted.

My new anchor position seems to work, although winds have not reached 25 knots. There has been some rain, but not enough to swamp my dinghy. So, all is well.

I watched Oliver Stone’s Ukraine On Fire last night (nice to have a wind-powered TV and BlueRay player). Our government has its hands very red and our media feeds us lies. There was a coup, funded by NED, CIA, and State, abetted by US Congressmen, and the ensuing rightwing government has committed dastardly acts against ethnic Russian Ukrainians. There was no Russian aggression, either in Eastern Ukraine or Crimea—all stories of such merely propaganda. Stone produced his film right after the coup, so he does not follow up on the aftermath, but I understand that Ukraine either is or almost a failed state.

I have no cellular connection here, although somehow I receive texts and phone calls that I cannot answer. The only FM station is Fox News out of Panama City, and rather than listen to Glen Beck or Rush Limbaugh, I thought to write this little story. They tell me that the worst of Irma is over, but they keep referring to ominous rain “in the north and the east and the northwest” without any location information. Not helpful. Right now the wind is dropping, though, and it is a good time for lunch.

September 13, 2017

Johnson River, morning

Yesterday was shattering. I left my anchorage in the morning with the wind against me so I could not sail. When I passed the Port Saint Joe cut-off, though, the wind shifted to my back, so I raised sails and motorsailed along. Now, the problem with single-handed sailing is the need to leave the tiller and go adjust things, fix things. I did so by moving the boat to the center of the channel, then lashing the tiller. I would go forward, keeping an eye on the bank, and rushing back to the cockpit when too close. I did this successfully many times. The last time, however, I was too slow and after I got the tiller loose and turned hard to port, I ran aground. I tried to power forward, then aft, but I was stuck. Looking around, I saw I was on top of a big cypress lying on the bottom!

I went below for a rest and a think, deciding I could put my little anchor in the dinghy, row out, drop the anchor, then use it as a kedge to pull me off the log. Just then, I heard a boat alongside. Rescue! It was a nice officer from FWC (Florida Wildlife Commission), who had been tasked to “find me”, I suppose by my son, Adam, since I had been out of cell range for two days. I told him I was OK, just grounded, and asked him for a pull off the log. He politely declined due toFWC policy.

I kedged and kedged but other than stretching the anchor line like a bow string, I did not budge off that damned tree! Well, the tide will rise and float me off, I thought, but I noticed that the water was dropping even after four hours. It turns out that this location was mostly free of tidal action, but dependent for water level on flooding. I was out of flood.

I had told the FWC guy he did not have to call SeaTow because I could kedge off (“Done it before,” I exclaimed jauntily). Well, I could not kedge off and with the water dropping, I would be here until the next hurricane. I got on the radio and contacted SeaTow. It took more than an hour, but the boatman managed to pull me out without damage, except that his rope broke three times and I managed to drop his $45 hook into the water). The real damage was the $1200 charge! I paid up with credit cards, figuring I could get a loan to cover the bill until my insurance reimbursed me. It was now about 6:00pm.

I motored and sailed, then the wind shifted to my front, so I dropped sail and continued on to Lake Wimico, arriving just at dusk, like before, only duskier. I could barely see the green channel marker lights, so I continued on, relying on my iPad’s navigation program as my Garmin GPS was not working. I soon found the problem with the iPad as after I checked my course, my night vision was gone. A quick look to check position, and I was blind for a good minute. 

I proceeded from green light to green light, trying to pass them close to starboard to avoid hitting the red (unlit) channel markers on the portside (all these markers are sturdily set on wooden posts, so hitting one would be consequential). Then, I got lost and found myself rubbing the bottom of the lake. I just could not see the lights. Finally, the iPad helped me orient myself, and I saw a red channel marker just to my starboard. I was able to crawl through the mud and back to the channel. The damn green lights would just disappear or move around. At last, I focussed on one, the brightest, and made my way along the channel.

However, even though I could see the light clearly, I noticed I was going backward! This was very disorientating, believe me. It seemed I was caught in a spooky force determined to keep me in Lake Wimico, perhaps forever. The only recourse was my iPad which assured my 1) I was moving forward at four knots, and 2) I was in the center of the channel (at least according to the chart). So, in spite of going backwards, I finally reached the end of the Lake and anchored in this spot, fearful of going on in the dark.

It is only about seven more miles to Apalachicola, so I will now up-anchor and go home, hopefully without incident. The weather is dead calm and cloudy, but winds are forecast for SW, 10 to 20 knots, so maybe I can victoriously sail into Apalachicola!

September 14, 2017

Cafe Con Leche, Apalachicola, FL

I made it back! First, I stopped at Apalachicola Marina, and bought 20 gallons of diesel, then motored to my slip. Mike Hosier from the Museum, who gave me about 100 feet of new nylon dock line, and Mike Young, my old friend, helped me tie up. Even though I was exhausted from so many days of running forward and back, climbing down and up, pulling anchors, and not eating so well, I spent the day tidying up and restoring my boat home. All is well.

Reflections: I was seduced by the joy of sailing and should have stopped. On the other hand, I loved the quiet and isolation of my hidey-hole, I loved moving along the channel either sailing or on power. I loved rowing to the shore and walking along the isolated beach. I loved seeing the ospreys and hawks fishing, the mullet jumping, and that little deer. Also, I realize that if the storm had hit Apalachicola, I would have been in much better shape than those tied up in Saul Creek. The other lesson is I either have to set up an auto pilot or find a companion for these boat trips, especially for sailing. My dream of being a “single-handler is just not viable, at least not now. So, if anyone knows Otto Pilot, or Ottilie Pilot, please let me know!

I want to encourage everyone who can to watch the new Showtime documentary by Oliver Stone, an interview with Vladimir Putin, President of the Russian Federation. I signed up for a 30-day free trial Showtime subscription, and I am sure to finish the four-part series well before the thirty days are up.

For more than a decade, we Americans (and Europeans) have been treated to a steady diet of Putin hating messages from government and the media, leading to the recent proclamation by General Mattis that Russia is the greatest existential threat to the United States and Putin is the greatest threat to world order. Of course, as we have been taught by the media, Putin is the most authoritarian and criminal despot in the world.

So, it is refreshing to look the devil in the eye, and like President Bush, see Putin’s soul. The man comes across as so resembling an ordinary human being that I have to scratch my head. Where are the horns? This is clearly a nice man, very intelligent, and cool, a man in control of himself. On the other hand, Oliver Stone comes across sometimes as kind of a jerk: obsequious, opinionated, crude. Nevertheless, Stone was brave enough to risk his reputation by offering a once-in-our-lifetime unbiased picture of Vladimir Putin and to allow President Putin to tell his side of the story.

I often ask the heretical question to Americans, “What has Russia done to you to make her your enemy? How has she hurt you?” Answers usually are confined to aggression in Ukraine or malevolent election influence, neither of which satisfy me (the Americans are as guilty of the Ukrainian mess as the Russians, and we have done a fine job ourselves of malevolently influencing our elections: think Koch brothers, George Soros. The real answer, of course, is that Russia will not knuckle under American leadership, clearly the greatest of crimes. Nevertheless, I am predisposed to be charitable to Vladimir Putin, and I believe that anyone watching the Stone show will be pleased by what they see.

Why the abortion wars? My thought has always been, "Not so nice, especially for the baby, but not my business," and, " I don't have the right to tell women what to do." 
But there might be more to this problem. The biological imperative is to reproduce, and we see in nature and countless frat parties, males frantically attempting to copulate and not only with women to fulfill their destiny. We see this imperative codified in religion, such as the “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it..." verse in Genesis.
Well, that ship has sailed. The earth is well-filled and, although global warming is a bit of a hitch, subdued. From my cockpit, I watch not one but seven personal watercraft go by and wonder how long before the River is chock full of these things, their numbers doubling every seven years, their collective wakes increasingly rocking my boat. I saw the number of oystermen increase dramatically every year, fathers passing on boats to their sons, licenses costing only $100/year, while the oyster harvest diminishes due to the effects of global warming. Enough of this nonsense! We just do not need so many babies, and if that means that contraception or abortion is some flavor of murder, so be it. Otherwise, overpopulation will kill us all.