Word: oceaneering
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Siberia also has the world's largest deposits of iron ore and coal, virgin forests as large as all of Europe, half the world's gold production and diamond deposits matching those of South Africa. Half a dozen great rivers, all flowing north into the Arctic Ocean, may one day provide hydroelectric power across the Bering Strait for Canada and the U.S. It is not so wild a dream. Already the Russians have built the world's largest dams on the Yenisei and Angara rivers at Krasnoyarsk and Bratsk, and a third one is going...
Died. Robert Cushman Murphy, 85, expert on oceanic birds and sea-life conservation; in Stony Brook, Long Island. In 1912 Murphy shipped aboard an Antarctic whaler as assistant navigator, and brought back bird, plant and fish specimens never before seen in the U.S. Among the discoveries of his 61-year career were the skeleton of the New Zealand moa, a flightless bird of centuries ago, and the cahow, a sea bird believed to have been extinct since the 17th century. As bird curator at Manhattan's American Museum of Natural History, he sailed on more than a dozen ocean...
...thought of wine and grinned to herself. The world is a broken Ripple bottle. Yes, yes, a ripped apart Ripple bottle. Some still glistening fragment attracted her eye and absorbed her. Timeless. Rhythm of timelessness; timeless ocean waves. Her endless drift of unconcerned thinking. A sailing without a goal, or known beginning. A hum started out of her sea-faring self; a song of bright, free ships...
...once, in the deep darkness; into the terror that swallowed her. The imminent threat of "no return" whispering all around her; in the whale's gut of her fear; echoing and echoing. Another deeper wave and another "no return"; "no return" splashing against her mind, rhythm of the unceasing ocean. How she had cried and cursed then. Sworn to never again let the drifting carry her so far. Discover so much. Sworn to not feel that movement; rushing in its unquenchable...
...moans were soft and low, an ocean's breeze, finally sinking after long sailing. Her body rocked, though gently. She barely moved. The morning's great passion complete, she simply chews her thoughts now, turning them over and over, soft, fluid clay. Her thoughts were wordless and unformed; they were just wet masses that hung over her mind, dripping their lack of nourishment into half prayers...