On his own accord he took his three-wheeled carrier to the south of the island, where the military area started. He threw a couple of garbage sacks and two black excrement barrels with lids on top to keep them from flying away. There was an outhouse he could attend to, to clean and change barrels, but that wasn´t really his interest down south. The road was good, as in areas the military owned. It started clinging the outside of a large green field where the camping was. This was in October 1982 and the very most of the campers had moved to the capital, where the sun goes down. From the island point of view, anyway. The all year were there, as excited as him. The rest of the way in the woods, curvy, but yet mostly straights. Distances of thick fur, varying the alder streaks. 4 kilometers, coming out of it rolling without motor on. There were only pines around him. The sun was still in the east, it looked like a fine day coming. The air was coming right at him, the salt, the alga and the driftwood on the stones edged round by sand, gravel and saltwater through the time elapsed since the last ice age some 10 000 years ago. They gave the usual smell, now flavoured with one of newly caught fish. This made him scared, thinking about the evening before, because he knew what it meant. He looked to the left. To the gate where the military area started. Two gards, with the AK-4´s ready, were paired up, each 90 degrees asigned to them. Beginning from the forehead, down the cheekbones, chin and neck was camouflage painted. At least someone taking this seriously, he thought reassured. He did his work at the outhouse. Changed one barrel, putting lid on, twisting the last thread with a pin in the ear of the large screw.
The sloeberry bush gave him a painful struggle the only way he could reach the farthest headland in the south. The cliffs were slippery, lichen and moss were spongy and added to the danger. He didn´t go all the way due to danger of falling. Seeing the islands further out, where the mines where monitored and discharged. The seagulls were as interested of the blasted fish as the White-tailed eagle. Fish floating was an easy catch for the eagles, but to keep the seagulls away was harder. They were quick and the eagle an inert scavenger. Inert both on land and in the air. They did the dragging ashore. He saw six of them and was sure the mines in the mine-line where discharged earlier that morning. In contrary to what was said in the news.
He was still on the island on weekends in October, beginning of November. It was three weeks later they did the same procedure with the foreman fetching him, with the difference they visited the local bar for a pint of lager. The woman behind the counter nodded at our familiar faces. To refresh themselves took an hour and a half and two more pints. We entered the usual tormenting trip. Not knowing how memorable it was going to be.