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When all else fails, try journalism. Alternate History: ‘Real’ Odysseus Sailed to the Bahamas and BackAuthor-Sailor Also Suggests Florida Might Have Been ‘Hell’
Henk van Oosten is a Dutch sailor and professional predictor of the future. When van Oosten retired from his job as an innovation expert, he combined sensibilities from both vocation and avocation, reexamined historical assumptions and proceded to rewrite The Odyssey.
One of the greatest works of literature of all time, The Odyssey is also one of the earliest examples of a sequel. Writing around 800 years BC, Homer chronicled an epic war of Greeks versus Trojans in his poem The Iliad. The blind Greek poet hooked his audience: The war was caused by Helen, the unfaithful queen with a “face that launched a thousand ships.” With the release of the Christipher Nolan movie “The Odyssey” last week, a massive amount of attention is being paid to the story. Odysseus, the central figure in The Odyssey, was fresh from winning the Trojan War with his idea for the “Trojan horse” ruse de guerre in The Iliad. If you think of the Greek heroes of that war as celebrities such as, say, the Beatles, Odysseus would have been “the clever one.” What van Oosten had done in a series of academic papers and a book was to upend the Homeric versions and create an entirely different narrative, set not in the Greek world of the Eastern Mediterranean but the Atlantic Ocean. In van Oosten’s retro-futuristic imagination, Odysseus takes a ten-year lap around the Atlantic, to the Caribbean, then the Bahamas, Florida and the Azores before returning to his kingdom in southwestern Spain. Hilariously, van Oosten identifies Florida as possibly the Hades of Homer’s account. That is, a Hell on earth. Van Oosten was inspired by a 1990 book that posited Troy as a fortress in England, not what is now Turkey. Speaking to Fiona Cameron Lister in a July 22, 2020 story on the Medium website, Van Oosten said:
Van Oosten’s inspiration was the shield of Achilles, another Trojan war hero conventionally assumed to have been Greek. According to Homer, the shield was made by a god for Achilles and decorated along its rim by a depiction of Oceanus, now called the Atlantic Ocean. The waves of Oceanus surround a dome of the sky with the sun, moon and four constellations. Which can be used, van Oosten theorizes, for navigation to guide voyagers on the somewhat circular route still used for small boat voyages from Europe to the Caribbean and back. The fact that the Oceanus motif rims the circular shield suggests the Gulf Stream, he said. The Iliad records the first reference in history to celestial navigation. Homer describes the nymph Calipso giving Odysseus sailing directions using the very same constellations on Achilles’ shield, according to van Oosten:
Stars Like Range LightsOdysseus’ Imagined RouteThe story is pretty involved, of course. Epic, you might say. So one of van Oosten’s papers is included below for those who want to get deep in the weeds, or you could read van Oosten’s book on the subject.
Helen of Troy doesn’t exist in van Oosten’s narrative. The Trojan War is a powerplay between various peoples along the Iberian Atlantic and British Isles involved in the mining and distribution of tin. Tin was perhaps the most strategic commodity of the Bronze Age since it was the element in bronze alloy that kept edged weapons sharp. The absence of Helen doesn’t mean van Oosten entirely ignores the love angle. None of the mentioned Atlantic islands were populated in 1400 BC, according to conventional thinking, but the science is not definitive. That gives van Oosten the wiggle room to speculate. In those places, Odysseus dallies with the same assortment of nymphs, witches and queens as had been assigned by Homer, thus maintaining a plausible explanation of why it took 10 years to sail from Cornwall in the Southwest England to his wife in Huelva. Covering nautical news, history and now legend, LOOSE CANNON encourages you to subscribe. It’s free, and there are no ads. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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TD2 at 5pm EDT, was centered near 28.7N 85.8W with max winds of 30 KT with a minimum pressure of 1005 mb. The strongest winds are currently south and east of the center. The low-level center is drifting northwest at only 3 knots and is forecast to move slowly northwestward to west-northwestward for 36 h or so, followed by a turn toward the west. The depression is experiencing moderate northeasterly shear, and these conditions should continue for another 18-24 hours, after which, the northeasterly shear should increase, and cause the system to weaken. The peak intensity forecast is 45 knots in 36 hours, however, wind shear could keep that somewhat lower. Tropical storm conditions are possible in portions of the Gulf Coast from the Florida Panhandle westward to southeastern Louisiana Tuesday and Wednesday. A storm Surge Watch is in effect for the Alabama, Mississippi, and southeastern Louisiana coasts. Areas of flash flooding will be possible through Friday along portions of the Gulf Coast and adjacent inland locations from western Florida north of Fort Myers to the Middle Texas Coast, including southern portions of Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana. Latest NHC advisories: NOAA NHC You’re currently a free subscriber to Fred Pickhardt’s Substack. For the full experience, upgrade your subscription. |
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Tropical Depression Two, has formed in the northeastern Gulf of Mexico with initial maximum sustained winds of 25 knots and a minimum central pressure of 1011 mb. Current Status
Expected Track and TimingTD 2 is forecast to drift very slowly northwest, approaching the Florida Panhandle Monday and Tuesday before turning more towards the west. Wind Intensity ForecastTD 2 should slowly strengthen reaching tropical storm intensity in about 24 hours peaking near 50 knots midweek. Rapid intensification is not likely due to dry air and wind shear. Primary Hazards and Warnings
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When all else fails, try journalism. Draken Shows Off Her Star Power in ‘Odyssey’Per the Naysayers, Nothing Is Quite Right, Yet Somehow Magnificent
Last month, Loose Cannon poked fun at the folks moaning about a black woman playing the role of Helen of Troy in the movie “Odysseus.” These folks had obviously been hoping for someone more like Nicole Kidman. “The poet Homer may have been blind, but that doesn’t mean he was colorblind,” I wrote in jest. Last night, we attended the film’s opening at our local theater, and I can testify that 1. The movie was breathtaking, and 2. Black Helen (Lupita Nyong’o) was a minor character with only a few minutes of screen time that hardly mattered. Whereas Odysseus’ ship was a major character, she being the vehicle that transported these Trojan War veterans from one nightmarish disaster to another. (Forgive the trivialization, but the movie harkened back to cruising the New England coast in my old wooden sloop, during which we faced “a crisis in every port” of engine failures and near sinkings.) The Bronze Age penteconter was played by Draken, a replica of a 10th century Viking longboat. As I jokingly pointed out, this choice was more a-historical than a black Helen. The Vikings built lapstrake hulls, while the Greeks stuck with carvel planking. Truth be told, the distinction was hardly noticeable on screen, and I shall return to Draken’s performance shortly. But FirstPredictably, a few of my own readers last month fell into the “I like white” camp, not from racism but a nerdy devotion to Homer’s sacred text. I rarely debate readers anymore. I have become convinced that you should be able to have your say without an author feeling he or she has to nitpick back at you. But this time I felt these grown-up prep-school grads had entirely missed the point.
As I explained to one skeptic, the Odyssey is really akin to a fairy tale, albeit an epic one. Fairy tales are stories where wolves and pigs can talk and witches are real. The narrator began last night’s movie by telling us that the events of the Odyssey happened “in a time of magic.” That plays out as you watch scenes of goddess Athena walking among us, a one-eyed giant, a witch or two, monsters and deadly sweet-singing mermaids. But, no. Helen’s got to be milky white—Irish looking, if possible. Let me go into some background about Helen that was not included in Homer, but would have been known to everyone listening in his audience: Helen was hatched from an egg. Yeah, Zeus yearned for a little lovin’ from a human woman named Leda, who happened to be queen of Sparta, so he came down to court the lady the way one does. He took on the form of an oversized swan, swept down from the sky and raped her. (The New Testament God took a more nuanced approach when he sent the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove to impregnate Mary—via her ear in one telling.) William Butler Yeats described the rape in his poem “Leda and the Swan,”¹ which begins: A sudden blow: the great wings beating still Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill, He holds her helpless breast upon his breast. So, with dad being a bird and all, Leda was unable operate her gestation machinery in the conventional way. Instead, she laid a clutch of eggs, one of which housed embryonic Helen. Pray tell, amigos mios, what color should a person be who was hatched from a friggin’ egg? In a July 16 article for Slate, writer Myke Cole described the same phenomenon, except from the point of view of military history buffs who were fussing over Director Christoper Nolan’s choice of costumes, armament and fighting tactics:
Which brings us back to the boat, as we must do, to fulfill Loose Cannon’s mission statement. Draken was simply magnificent, even as an anachronism in Hellenic disguise. Beach scenes depicted Odysseus and crew running for their lives back to their ship, clambering on board and rowing away chaotically from pursuing Cyclops or the Laestrygonian cannibals. It occurred to me that scenes such as these must have played out thousands of times during the Viking Era, but with Saxons and Franks instead of giants. As fierce as they are portrayed, Norse raiders were also casualty-averse. They had to be, and the reason was simple. Each amphibious band had to maintain a certain number of hands in order to operate the ship—60 or 80 men to row, for example. They developed tactics and technology for the quick get-away, rather than risk too many casualties. On a rocky shore, Vikings would drill a hole into a boulder, a hole big enough to loosely nest an iron mooring pin. These pins were likely fabricated with a big eye on top. Think: closed-loop oarlock. They would secure the bow of the longship to the pin with a long line, while deploying a stern anchor to secure the boat perpendicular to shore—barely afloat or barely grounded. When pressed to escape a larger force, men on the bow could whip the line vigourously, flipping the mooring pin out of its hole, thus freeing the bow, as men aft hauled in the stern line, quickly moving the ship into deep water, while oarsmen took station. For decades hopeful amateur archaeologists scoured the shores of New England, whereupon finding any hole in rock, would declare this as evidence of a Viking visit. I will stop now, lest I be confused with a “lonely, nerdy obsessive.” LOOSE CANNON covers hard news, technical issues and nautical history. Sometimes he tries to be funny. Subscribe for free to support the work. If you’ve been reading for a while—and you like it—consider upgrading to paid. 1 In its entirety, “Leda and the Swan”:By William Butler Yeats A sudden blow: the great wings beating still Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill, He holds her helpless breast upon his breast. How can those terrified vague fingers push The feathered glory from her loosening thighs? And how can body, laid in that white rush, But feel the strange heart beating where it lies? A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop? |
This is a different piece of history, my own. I was ready for a change of pace this week. Enjoy the mountains, for a change. ~J If you just dove into our very engaging little community, please read SPARS & SPARRING, .….it introduces my wonders and my wanders. ~J
I was raised in and around the public, protected lands of the United States. Our homes were within the 6,000,000 acre Adirondack Park in Upstate New York; National Parks far and wide were always our destinations. We ogled the Grand Canyon with our grandparents, camped in National Forests, explored Wilderness Areas, climbed Monuments in Utah, saw vast tracts of California, wandered seashores of the Southeast, always appreciating the unique and often endangered creatures each contains. My father achieved his Doctorate in education, but throughout his life told us he should have been a Forest Ranger instead. Less money, more life. He did what was expected of him, a high-ranking job in education, or at least that’s how I look at it now that I can no longer ask him. What follows must be one of the first stories I ever wrote and kept, perhaps two dozen years ago and in the third person, which I rarely use now. Predictably, it’s about a National Park and is presented here largely un-edited. I stumbled across a print copy and typed it in as a powerful reminisce of my transformational summer job three dozen years ago…. hard to believe it’s been that long. ~J THE DECISIONShe had repacked the car, taken her last exam, filled the gas tank, had the oil changed. It was late, early morning, in fact, when she pulled up to her boyfriend’s house to say goodbye. His sciatic nerve had acted up and he could not move from the bed. It was an awkward, weird conversation. He thought she was making a ridiculous mistake and told her as much. They parted, she knowing it was for the last time but not saying that out loud. After leaving him she sat at the curb, both hands on the steering wheel, making sure she was ready. It wasn’t her first solo road trip, all those to and from Arizona were longer, but this one takes her far from everything she has known. The ivy covered walls loomed above the residence as they are supposed to at these old, renowned colleges. She had spent the winter of her Junior year interviewing with Corporate Recruiters, just as her classmates had, receiving an offer from Hilton and Marriott for a Summer Internship in big hotels in big cities, all expenses paid. Great resumé material; it’s what her counselor recommended she do. In fact, it’s what everyone recommended she do, and what everyone expected her to do. But back in March, she had come across an unlabeled folder in the placement office that contained a flimsy three-fold brochure. The pictures were fantastic, too good to be true, she thought as she dialed the number. An elderly gentleman on the other end of the phone seemed surprised that she had found him, took her information and mailed her an uncomplicated two-page application which she promptly returned, applying to be a bartender, her favorite, most lucrative job in the industry. No high heels, no nylons or business suits, no internship to write about, no rotation through the various departments of some anonymous hotel. Probably not great resumé material. Her friends told her she was crazy, throwing her career away, putting herself another year farther from making the big bucks. Big, big, big. Big business, big careers, big hotels with thousands of rooms, dozens of restaurants and hundreds of employees. Big decisions, or so they seemed at the time. She put the car in gear and drove west; the toll booths were lit but empty. Exhausted from making a decision no one agreed with, she pulled over at dawn somewhere on New York’s Southern Tier Expressway until an officer rapped on the window. Suddenly wide awake and ready to get gone, she continued the 2,700 mile, thirty-five hour drive, spending the night in Fargo, North Dakota. One gentleman at a gas station commented that he had never seen a car like hers before; it was an aging Mazda RX-7 and she was rendered speechless. She smiled at him, thinking of her classmates at Cornell. “Where in the hell is Glacier National Park?” they had asked her incredulously when she turned down the internships. At the Montana border she still had hundreds of miles to go, and the first exit, honestly, is called Home On The Range. She laughed out loud, stopped and photographed the sign; she was a tourist, after all. The sun was shining and she pulled over on State Route 200 for a bite of lunch. Tremendous Black Angus cattle grazed nearby and gentle breezes blew the prairie grasses just as they did in all the stories she had loved as a child. When she started the engine, it dawned on her that no vehicle had passed in either direction for the thirty minutes or so she had been eating and strolling. The speed limit was 75. That was a lot of miles between her and the next person in either direction. A lot of miles. If you ever want to feel small, go to Eastern Montana and pull over wherever you wish. It’s pretty much just you and God, no matter what form of religion you do or don’t believe in. The tiny hotel in Great Falls was the least expensive place she had ever stayed in her twenty-one years of life and one of the cleanest; the phone, rotary dial. Nervous because tomorrow she was to meet the elderly gentleman who had answered her call, sleep was elusive. May 25, 1990 dawned clear and fabulous, a chilly frost lay on the car. Wondering if she had packed the right wardrobe, she headed Northwest. The longest and most colorful train she had ever seen was running along the north side of the narrow two-lane highway, and in the distance the Rockies appeared, white with winter snow. When those Burlington Northern cars crossed an overpass and framed the bottom of the mountain range, the tourist stopped. She would never forget that sight, and the enlarged photograph has been with her ever since. She entered the park at Babb, Montana, and headed up a thirteen-mile long dead end road, an hour and a half from any services except a tiny convenience store on the Blackfoot Reservation. She turned left into the hotel, crossed a bridge splashed by roaring rapids and surrounded by graying snowbanks. Many Glacier Hotel, with two hundred rooms, one place to eat and one place to drink took three years to construct in 1915 by The Great Northern Railway. Instead of bartending, she was in charge of the one place to eat, a football-field sized dining room serving 700 meals daily with fifty-five employees. None of that mattered. Her pay was $214 for a six-day work week, and that didn’t matter either. The restaurant manager’s room was in the “Crow’s Nest” above the atrium. Five flights up, her view and the one she remembered so well in the brochure matched perfectly. Swiftcurrent Lake was below, Grinnell Glacier to her left, fantastic peaks and valleys in every direction. The snow melted after a final blizzard brought snow in around the windows on June 11th. Grizzlies showed themselves every day, flowers bloomed, waterfalls ran. It was, indeed, too good to be true. Not another doubt ever crossed her mind about that summer job decision. It wasn’t big. It was perfect. All of the photographs I tell you about here are inaccessible right now, 35mm, print only, tucked into a storage unit as my old wooden sailing yacht rocks along in a life far, far different from the time I spent out West. After graduating from Cornell Hotel School, spring of ‘91, I became Beverage Manager at Yellowstone National Park’s flagship Lake Hotel, then moved to Colorado, spending twenty-six years there, Catering from a little organic farm on the stunning Western Slope after an I-just-have-to-make-sure-this- If you have not experienced Glacier, as those familiar call it, GO. Drive Going To The Sun Road. Hike amongst the Beargrass. Watch the Mountain Goats play on vertical granite. GO. It’s officially Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park, a unique cooperation with Canadian National Park Waterton Lakes, which is stunning, too. GO. But don’t tell everyone! What were you doing the summer of 1990? Or were you just a gleam?? ~J If you believe other people will enjoy my stories, please take a quick sec to tap that heart and the little recycle symbol which sends these words out to the world somehow, which is how I get subscribers and fans. Even better, leave me your own reminisce! I answer every one and always enjoy the engagement. Thanks! Share SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE Someone asked me, “Why do you always take the harder road?” And I replied, “What makes you think I see more than one road?” —unknown—if you know, please lemme know. J © 2026 Janice Anne Wheeler |
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Upper level low pressure across Florida and the far eastern Gulf now extends into the lower atmosphere, and a weak surface low. 300 mb windThis system has been designated a tropical disturbance (Invest AL91) by NOAA NHC. There is now a 40% chance for this system to become a tropical cyclone over the next 3-7 days as it moves slowly northward. NOAA Satellite Image
Disorganized thunderstorms, strong wind gusts, and frequent lightning are occuring between 83W–84W and across the Florida Gulf Coast, mainly associated with an upper-level low. An Air Force reconnaissance flight scheduled for Sunday, July 19 to investigate the system. Latest NHC advisories: NOAA NHC You’re currently a free subscriber to Fred Pickhardt’s Substack. For the full experience, upgrade your subscription. © 2026 Fred Pickhardt |
| Watching the Gulf, More Severe Thunderstorms Possible |
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