ABSTRACT
We squint through the fog, trying to make out the shape we know we should be able to see by now. The charts say it is there, and the radar shows it clearly, but to our eyes there still is no sign of the island that lies just 2 miles ahead. Then, slowly, the mist parts, and our blindness gives way to incredulity. It seems almost impossibly barren, a boulderstrewn piece of rock in the middle of freezing, gray ocean, with a ramshackle collection of huts and houses standing defiantly at its base. Gazing at the unfolding scene from the protection of the ship’s wheelhouse, we look at each other in disbelief. People really live here?
