No Compass Required

Sailing an iceberg across the briny sea is a rather daunting task. Its slippery for one thing. The size of the waves is terrifying. From the peaks you can see nothing but mile upon mile of these massive walls of water and a glance over the side shows a lot more empty air thank you feel comfortable with.

Gravity is doing more than beckoning. It has sidled up to you, rubbed its fundamental lawishness up and down your thigh and scrawled its phone number on your forehead in indelible ink.

When the whole fragile tub of ice succumbs you find yourself in the trough, deep in the belly of the beast and those grey walls of water look like slick granite and the sliver of sky above seems impossibly far away.

Propulsion is also a bit of a problem. Finding somewhere to erect a matchstick is challenge enough, let alone trying to step three decent sized lengths of timber any self-respecting pirate berg requires. Nope, no sails flying like a fat woman's clothes-line on laundry day here. Just a flat deck covered in ropes. Forward momentum comes courtesy of the tides and winds alone.

Which of course means there's a fair amount of backwards and sideways momentum going on as well.

There is a fairly sizable keel of course. Nine tenths of this frozen barge is doing an admirable job of keeping the upside up and the downside down. What there seems to be a distinct lack of is a rudder.

So its all a rather hit and miss affair involving scrabbling madly across the slick surface, dig the toes in and lean left to go port, lean right to go starboard. Extend a flipper for turning signals.

Oh, and did I happen to mention there's no compass?

And the thing is made of ice. Its one of the defining characteristics of icebergs in fact. What exactly makes them bergy I don't know, but there is one hell of a lot of ice. And the thing about ice is this. It likes things best when its cold. Ice is never going to be a fair weather friend - one whiff of sunny days and the damn thing has slipped out from underneath you as though it had simply melted into the water.

But I have this plan.

You may think I'm kinda crazy and mad and seven and a half different kinds of insane, but I think its going to work.

I'm going to get this sub-zero scow and laminate it. Icy stem to frigid stern. I'll lasso a couple of passing seals (hey, you've seen them frolicking about - its not like the slackers have anything better to do with their time) and lash them to the pointy end.

I've got a first mate signed up on the promise of wild times, southern exploration and crazymad flipper sex. I've got a cabin boy complete with his own rat.

I'm not worrying about a compass. Instead I'm turning my face to the sun and plotting a course to the warmth, sun and drinks served in obscenely big glasses with bits of fruit and umbrellas hanging out of them.

It'll work.

I've got the boat. I've got a first mate and a cabin boy. I've got a belaying pin, oodles of rope and cat o' nine for recalcitrants. I just need some more crew.

Any takers?