Copyright
2003 William D. Snyder
All
Rights Reserved
The
African Pilgrim sailed on, the seas were reasonably calm and none of the group
suffered with seasickness. We crossed
the equator and the crew had a ceremony for a new member of the Shellbacks, the
mythical society of those humans who had crossed the invisible line called the
equator. Our passengers were exempt,
although I did carry the card I got during the war.
While
Bob and I were busy typing the Lily stories, Weldon and Errol were getting
familiar with the camera equipment Gatti had purchased in New York for the
journey. Gatti was a Graphlex fan, and
he let everyone on the expedition know it.
The 4x5
Graphlex camera is a single lens reflex camera with a focal plane shutter only.
It has a bellows that extends out a long way so telephoto lenses can be used on
it. It has a hood that the cameraman
looks into and sees a ground glass image of the picture he is about to take.
The image is formed by the rays of light coming into the camera through the
lens and then being reflected up 90 degrees by a mirror that keep light from
hitting the film until it is swiveled up at the moment of film exposure. The
operator sees an exact ground glass image, without parallax, of what he was
photographing. The focal plane shutter is mounted directly in front of the film
holder which are slipped in from the side. It was once a favorite of newspaper
photographers, but the more portable Speed Graphic had taken its place in
favor.
The
setting for exposure on a Graphlex is a complex operation. There are tension
and slit openings to choose in order to get precise exposure determination. The
focal plane shutter at slow speeds will distort pictures of fast moving things
like race cars. The race car could be stretched out by the shutter speed
choice. It was not a speedy camera to use, but it was great for portraits of
people with long lenses. One problem with portrait use is the fact that the
necessity of looking down through the hood to the ground glass made all shots
come from waist level and this tends to shoot people “up the
nose,” so to speak.
When the
operator pushes the shutter button there was a slight delay while the mirror
flips up prior to the shutter operating. The large mirror flips up with a bang
and the operator becomes blind because his finder picture disappears. This
noise can scare subjects and they can blink the instant the shutter opens to
take the picture. But Gatti loved the Graphlex and so we used a number of them
in our kit of tools.
The
Pilgrim was nearing Capetown when Gatti came into our cabin with a sheaf of
papers in his hand. “Snyder,” he said, “would you please type Mrs. Gatti’s Lily
story again, she’s made some changes. And Leo, would you please do these
letters as we want to get them in the post from Capetown.” Gatti was always
smiling when he asked for something, and his continental up-bringing flavored
his speech. I took Ellen Gatti’s Lily story from him and looked it over; Mrs.
Gatti
had changed a lot of little things in the manuscript, one which I had
previously typed on the Underwood portable.
When
Gatti left our cabin, Bob said, “The top letter’s for Bill Halligan;
Gatti’s
complaining. He wants to know the whereabouts of the QSL cards which he okayed
for publication. Did he say anything to you about them?”
I
couldn’t remember any conversation about cards, although I had wondered about
them.
“Listen
to this,” Bob said as he read from the hand-written copy:
“I had suggested (and repeatedly requested) a special QSL card to commemorate the first short-wave radio broadcast from the top of Africa’s top, the 19,400 foot Kilimanjaro. This is the card that every ham will want to have and display prominently in his shack —but I never got a word on it.”
“I wish
he’d consulted us.” I said, “I don’t think he knows what he’s talking about. It
would seem from that we’re supposed to work thousands.”
Bob had
a twinkle in his eye when he said, “How many guys are we going to work from the
top of that mountain?”
“I don’t
know... be lucky if it’s one!” We laughed.
Bob
loaded paper into the Underwood and said, “I wish Gatti’d tell us how we’re
going to get a thousand-pound generator in a two-wheeled trailer, a 25 foot
house trailer shack, and the rhombic antenna up on top of that 20,000 foot peak
and then work the world.”
“Gatti
did the planning,” I lamented, and I think he’s got an idea of one of us
sitting up there working one after another for a couple days.”
“Nice to
find out what we’re supposed to do,” Bob said quietly and began typing the
letter.
“Read
this bit,” said Bob as he handed me Gatti’s hand-written copy.
I looked
at the commander’s scrawl and read aloud:
“Another matter quite embarrassing to me is that of ‘Short Wave radio.... experiments as may be suggested by the Expedition Corporation’ and approved by me—to quote our contract’s words, ‘such approval not to be unreasonable withheld.’”
I
stopped reading. “Bob, got any idea ... scientific experiments?”
“Beats
me,” answered Bob.
I turned
the page and read more of the letter:
“As you must realize, many times as I have begged let alone requested—to be informed of the nature of these ‘experiments’, I do not know a single thing about them, as yet. Which made it very difficult indeed for me to answer the insistent questions of general newspaper reporters and—even more, those of editors of radio publications.”
“I like
this part,” I said as I continued to read aloud:
“In conclusion, Bill, I must say that, although Hallicrafters has met its financial responsibilities, it has also managed to make me overtired, disheartened and very much discouraged.” “Of course regardless of everything you can count upon my keeping my contractual obligations down to the last small detail—as I have ALWAYS done—toward you as well as toward everybody else.” “In your case, however, up to now I have also done PLENTY, BUT PLENTY, MORE THAN I HAD TO DO, and I deeply wish that I would have been allowed to continue to act in this really friendly, ultra-productive manner.” “But this ‘miracle-producing’ state of mind cannot be artificially created or sustained. It is possible only when the flame of enthusiasm is burning, in one’s heart and spirit, unhampered and spontaneously high.” “Anything you might feel like doing, personally to help rebuild this flame again will be deeply appreciated. And—believe me—it will be highly beneficial essentially to your interest and to those of the Hallicrafters.”
“Boy,” I
said, “Gatti ain’t the writer his wife is, but he does sign off with a cheery
note: ‘With all best wishes, Cordially yours, Attilio Gatti.”
Bob
smiled at the finish of the letter. “I’m glad we’re doing his typing,” he said,
“we might learn what we’re going to do!”
I handed
the paper back to Bob and we both turned to our “Underwoods” and the typing
chores.
After 18
days at sea and 18 jugs of evening Hallicrafters’ happiness, the African
Pilgrim reached Capetown, South Africa. We sailed into the harbor very
early in the morning. The sun was just coming up and we were all out on our
deck watching the arrival.
“What a
sight,” said Bob pointing to the mesa above the city. “That must be the Table
Mountain I read about. Look at the cloud over it, it’s draped just like a
“table cloth.” No wonder they call it that.”
We all
agreed with Bob; it was spectacular.
Radio
operator “Sparks” stood on the rail with us watching the arrival procedure. He
was dressed in a suit and tie, and had a small suitcase with him.
“Going
somewhere?” asked Jim.
Sparks
had a big smile on his face when he said, “Got a girl in Johannesburg. Captain
says we’re gonna be here for three days or more, so I’m off to Jo’burg on the
train.”
When we
docked, the South African customs and immigration people came aboard and
checked our passports and immunization registers. I had both my civilian and
military registers for the inspector to view. “You don’t have a yellow fever
shot,” he said.
“I
couldn’t get one in North Dakota, too far north for that disease,” I said.
“Roll up
your sleeve,” he ordered and proceeded to jab me with the needle.
“You have it now,” he laughed and filled out
a South African immunization register to add to my US Army and civilian
booklets.
The
other passengers, Baron Theo Roth and the other man, said their good byes to
everyone and departed the ship; from there on the Gatti-Hallicrafters people
were the only passengers left on board.
How Bob
and I got acquainted with South African amateur radio operators escapes me, but
we did. Luckily we had arrived on the
day of their monthly radio club dinner meeting, and we were instantly invited.
They were great hosts. Bob kept score of the callsigns we met: ZS1A, ZS1B,
ZS1BF, ZS1FN, ZS1DU, ZS1FT, ZS1BC, ZS1R, ZS1BD, ZS1CZ, ZSL1BZ, and ZSL1AE.
I’d hoped to meet someone I had contacted
from North Dakota, but no such luck.
At the meeting
a couple of the ZS boys wanted to schedule me when I returned to my home state.
“North
Dakota is pretty rare from here,” they both said.
On our
second day in Capetown, Gatti gave us our first photographic assignment: Table
Mountain, the geographic phenomena that looms over the city of Capetown. As we
stood on the deck of the Pilgrim, Gatti pointed up at the mountain and
explained: “Get pictures of the table cloth; it’s caused by the wind and the
dewpoint-temperature spread.”
I was
surprised at Gatti’s knowledge of the temperature and dewpoint relationship.
Particularly after the seasick remedy explanation.
“I want
you to take the aerial tramway up to the top and get some pictures from up
there,” Gatti instructed. “Get some movies of the tramway in action, too,” he
added as he counted out expense money for taxi cab and tramway fares. Gatti was
like a mother hen dishing out instructions and money.
So,
lugging tripods, movie cameras, the Graflex cameras, extra film and Gatti’s
financial handout, we headed for Table Mountain and our first real shoot. It’s
a little hard to be a creative photographer while operating out of taxi cabs,
but we tried. Errol and I collaborated
on footage of the tramway, the mountain and the trip to the top. Weldon, and
Errol snapped 4x5 pictures with the Graflex cameras.
From the
mountain top we were lucky to get a bit of time without the “table cloth”
obscuring the view of the city and the harbor. It was a dramatic panorama and I’m glad I had a chance to see it.
Weldon’s
contacts with the IH company caused us to be invited to a delightful dinner
party given by the local International Harvester branch manager. He and his
wife were Americans. It was there that I discovered the four layers of humanity
in South Africa. They were classed as 1.
Europeans,
2. Asians, 3. Cape Colored, and 4. Colored or natives. The Cape Colored are
mulattoes.
The wife
of the Harvester official was a gracious hostess, and her black servants did a
great job on the Beef Stroganoff we feasted on.
Our
hosts had been stationed by IH in the Philippines when the war broke out, and
they were held prisoners by the Japanese throughout the war. Weldon, because of
his father’s position, had known the family while he was serving in the U.S.
Army on Corregidor. The dinner talk was fascinating for me, because I’d been
with the force that liberated the island of Luzon in the Philippines. Weldon
and his friends did a great deal of reminiscing about being prisoners during
the evening.
Weldon’s
father also became a topic of conversation; both of our hosts knew him well. It
was interesting to hear more talk about Clyde King being the first person to
drive a vehicle across Africa. He had achieved that remarkable feat sometime in
the 1920s when most of the roads were only trails. Weldon’s interest in Africa
was inherited.
The
Harvester people lived on a large lot in a spectacular semi-country setting.
The house and grounds were beautiful and well maintained by native help. The
talk of the evening drifted around to the local crime scene when I asked about
the iron bars on the windows.
“We have
lots of burglary break-ins in this area, but Johannesburg up north is the worst
crime-ridden area in the world,” our hostess explained. “Everything is open
game for thieves.
And they
take anything and everything they can lay their sticky hands on,” the lady
said. It was an educational evening.
The ham
club members really turned on the hospitality. Eric, ZS1R, and his wife took
Bob and me for an all-day sight-seeing motor trip around the Cape Peninsula.
The weather was perfect, and our hosts showed all the beautiful sights of the
area: Constancia Valley; old Dutch buildings with interiors much like that of
George Washington’s Mount Vernon; Capetown University; and everything from
bathing beaches to another view of the mountain table cloth.
Capetown
is a lovely city, but our hosts didn’t show us the ghettos where the natives
lived in poor conditions. They just gave us a tour of areas occupied by the
Europeans that had hogged everything beautiful and good.
The good
ship Pilgrim was busy unloading cargo. We watched as Jeeps, Caterpillar tractors,
battery acid, bridge timbers,
Post Toasties, camera film and a great assortment of other products from the
USA came out of the holds of the ship. Because South Africa had metallic gold
instead of paper money to pay the bills, they could buy material things, so US
products were in great demand.
I was
not completely aware that the British East African countries where we were
going did not have the so-called “hard” money and therefore had a difficult
time purchasing products from the USA. So, any import from America was on a
strict quota system regulated by the government.
When the
off-loading of goods was about complete, the captain posted the sailing notice
on a little blackboard near the gangway. Sparks, the radio operator, had been
calling every day from Johannesburg to find out the sailing date and time; he
knew the ship could not lawfully sail without him.
Bob and
I invited the people that gave us the area tour to come aboard for cocktails
prior to the 3 p.m. sailing time. We toasted each other; they bid us good bye
and stayed on the quay to watch the ship depart.
Sparks
came bounding up the gangway just minutes before it was to be pulled up for
departure.
He was
out of breath and smiling; he obviously had a good time.
As the
Pilgrim pulled away from the dock, we waved to our hosts and killed the last of
a bottle of Old Forester. At this point in the voyage I had a new hobby: bottle
paper. For as long as men have been
sailing ships, masters of vessels that ply the high seas have been putting
longitude and latitude notes in bottles and tossing them into the ocean. If and
when a bottle arrives on shore and is found, the information contained in the
bottle is passed to the chart makers and the date, time, starting position,
discovery data, and name of ship are recorded on nautical charts showing the
world’s ocean currents. Many of the currents, such as the Gulf Stream, have
been discovered and documented by “bottle paper.”
On that
trip I was not aware that bottle paper was a useful scientific maneuver; I
thought of it as “fun.” So, as the GH gang finished each fifth of the
Hallicrafters’ 48, we would scratch out a note and put it in the empty jug,
cork it up tightly, and ceremoniously toss the bottle into the sea.
Some of
the notes were bizarre, to say the least. We put in fake treasure maps, puzzles
that had no solution, and a few latitude and longitudes attributed to
non-existent ships. I thought it was fun, and the contemplation of someone
finding a jug with a strange note became more fun.
So, we kept it up. Exactly how many jugs went overboard with
notes in them, is not recorded anywhere, but I’m sure it was well over 25.
So, as
the Pilgrim sailed out of the harbor in Capetown, I saw a bathing beach pass to
the starboard. Not being able to occupy
the “Gatti Private Deck”, I went up on the bridge where the 2nd mate
was just coming on watch. The 2nd mate is the navigator and he
stands the watch from 4 to 8. His watch covers sunrise and sunset, therefore he
can use celestial star navigation to accurately fix the ship’s position on the
map.
“See
that bathing beach over there?” I asked. “If I tossed a bottle into the sea
right here, would it wash up on that beach?”
The mate
pulled out the chart showing ocean currents and said, “No problem, Bill. It’s
an on-shore current, and the wind is out of the south. Should go right straight
there.”
With
that information at hand, I went down to our cabin and prepared a note as follows:
“This
bottle was tossed into the Mississippi River at New Orleans, Louisiana on July
4th, 1941 by Kenneth Christiansen of Moorhead, Minnesota.”
I then added Ken’s address and the words,
“Please communicate.” I showed the note to Bob and the gang, went out on the
weather deck, crossed over to the starboard side on the fantail of the ship and
tossed the jug into the sea. I could
see the bathing beach with a crowd of sun worshipers in the far distance.
I chuckled at the thought of Ken, W0GHN, one
of my ham radio buddies, getting the word that his bottle had been found. He
was not the first of my ham radio pals who had “tossed a bottle” into some
strange exotic sea. I went to dinner and promptly forgot the whole episode. It
would be brought back to me later on the expedition.