A Desert Isle

We’re wrapping up our week here at FOB Iscan and I’ve got packing to do. All Gina’s gear is neatly stacked on her cot while mine is scattered over two cots into the little wooden box they’ve provided us here as an office. This log is an effort to avoid the monumental task ahead of gathering it all up in the most economical way to manage it between here and two helicopter rides that will take us to Baghdad and on to the 101st area of operations (AO) up north.
It’s been a good week here with good people and despite the portapotties and pidgeon droppings, I’m beginning to see this portion of the trip as easing into the war zone. In addition to doing a dozen soldier stories on everything from the laundry service to the canine unit, I’ve managed to get in some patrols in town and even take a boat ride to blow up bridges. Well, foot bridges and palm trees but they were nice explosions. Just what I needed to shake the dust off, work up a sweat and start churning out “combat photography.” About the bridges:
There is an “island” here off the Euphrates. I have “island” in quotation marks because the only thing that makes it an “island” is a canal ditch that feeds off the river and runs around it. It seems a few months ago, it was determined that insurgents were using the island as a safe haven. The place was raided and heaps of weapons an explosives were found. So, the 1st Bat. 67th Armor decided to take it over and secure it. For a photojournalist, it sounded like a classic case of “should’ve been here yesterday.” However, there was work left to be done. At least one foot bridge and a palm tree spanned the little canal and the mission of the 50th Engineers we were with was to take their boats laden with explosives to the island and blow up these bridges in hopes of making them too difficult for the bad guys to cross. It was a nice ride on the boat and I got to watch the explosives experts at work. It took two blasts to take down the foot bridge of which I have no good pictures because, I’m a wuss, and damn it, I can’t help but jump when the explosives go off. That bridge out of the way, our team hiked to the palm crossing. As they were rigging this one I noticed a shephard approaching from the opposite side with his flock. The soldiers immediately waved him off, the word “BOOM” is evidently universal language for get the heck out of here. There were oohs and ahhs and woops of success at the flash of light and the pulp that rained among us. Mission accomplished, everyone said, but as we walked away, I looked back to notice the shephard surrounded by his sheep, on OUR side of the canal. Somehow, the wiley old guy and his entire flock had managed to cross in the time it had taken us to pack up our gear. I didn’t have the heart to point this out to our team. Besides, we were late for chow.
As the light fell too low on the river for me to make any more pictures, I sat back in the boat. The wind was still, the water had turned to glass, the motor drowned all other sound and silhottes of palm trees zipped by in the blue night. For for a few blissful moments I was transported to a jon boat in the SC lowcountry, on my way to a duck blind or a fishing spot, or to watch the fireworks on the 4th of July. Many of my favorite memories were rolled into one on this foreign stretch of water.