Wilbur Bancroft’s Thorough Report on the Planet
San Ramon, CA
2022, Senior, Creative Writing
“Heave ho! Heave ho!”
“That’s what I’m talking about, Trevor! Move those arms,” I holler. I’m working on my man voice, you see. A man on a mission has got to get his man voice ready. The sound of the oars splashing and ripping against the waves overpowers my commands, and Trevor begins to loosen his grip.
“Oh, come on, Trevor! You’re giving up already?” I have one large black boot on a cradle at the front of the dinghy as we stumble across the ocean.
“Sir,” Trevor gasps, “If we could just take a break—”
“Nonsense.” I shake my head. A break? What are we? No! We are on one of the boldest and most daring missions of all time.
But I turn around and smile at him.
“Do you know why we’re here, Trevor?” I speak with a soft yet powerful voice. A man knows how to do both, you see.
“Yes, sir.”
“Explain to me.”
“You were sent here on a mission—”
“Very good, keep going.”
“Sent by the Head of American Enigmas, and the President of the United States himself asked you—”
“Yes, me.” I beam proudly.
“To stop the spread of the ongoing terrorism by climate activists and to solve the most puzzling mystery of all time: what is happening to our planet?”
I clap with full force, nearly shaking the dinghy. “Well said, Trevor. Well said. Now do you realize how important this mission is?”
“Yes.”
“Then, go on! Let’s get rowing!”
It’s been an hour since our last momentary conversation. Trevor’s skin glistens with sweat, and I’m beginning to wonder if it’s from rowing.
“Alright, Trevor, we’ll take a break.”
“Ah! Thank you!” Trevor collapses on the bottom boards, his legs half in the air. He is one dramatic fellow; he’s 22 and can never seem to find a pair of trousers that fit him. But other than that, he’s a wonderful assistant.
We’re floating in the middle of the vast ocean; it’s as blue and clear as I had seen it before. Nothing has changed. Green terrorists are exaggerating everything! “Let’s begin.” I seal on a pair of surgical gloves. “Hand me the pH kit, Trevor.” With the kit now in my hands, I lower the pH meter and electrode into the water. The device reads 7.87.
“My golly! 7.87.” I smack my hand on my forehand. “We’re already onto something, Trevor. You see, 1 is mighty acidic, 7 is neutral, and 14 is basic. 7.87 is leaning on the basic side. The ocean isn’t acidic!”
I scribble my findings on my notepad. It’s funny how terrorism can sprout from misinformation about the simplest things.
“Sir,” Trevor says, “Wouldn’t the acidity have to be measured for a longer duration? Like over a few years?”
I smile. “Trevor.” I can’t help but laugh. “Why on earth would you do that? You see, the green terrorists are trying to say the ocean is acidifying. It’s not even past 5!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t be afraid to ask questions when you’re working with the best, Trevor. Keep it up.” I spin around and continue to record my findings. “Now, for additional evidence, let’s take a sip.” Trevor brings me a large wooden spoon. I get on my knees, bend over, and take a sip of the ocean.
I pause.
“What is it?” Trevor asks.
I take another sip.
“Are you alright, Detective Bancroft?”
I glance at him with an eyebrow raised and calmly stand. “I believe I understand why green terrorists claim the ocean is acidifying.”
Trevor’s eyes are wide with curiosity.
“The ocean is indeed sour,” I declare. “Sour and salty at the same time.” I drum my fingers on the side deck. “Now, Trevor, tell me what’s one thing that pops into your mind when you think of acidity.”
“This mission?”
“No, something else.”
“Uh—”
“For god’s sake, Trevor. Lemons! Lemons! Lemons!”
“Lemons?”
I spread my arms wide and lift my head to the sky. “Lemons!”
Trevor stands up as well and spreads his arms, mouthing the word, lemons. “But, wait, sir, what has lemons got to do with—”
“Lemons, my boy, have a pH of about 2. My theory is that someone has been squeezing or dumping lemons into the ocean for a few years now. It’s quite hard to discern from the salty taste, but with keen senses, it’s not impossible.”
“But climate activists—I mean, green terrorists—say the increased human CO2 emissions are dissolving into the ocean, which makes it more acidic—”
“Codswallop! I’m telling you boy, we’re making history here on this dinghy. There’s no CO2 dissolving right now! Can you see it? No! The pH is well above 5, and the lemons, my boy! It’s the lemons.”
I look proudly at my report and slam the folder. “And that’s how you do this job.” The second case is a phenomenon called coral bleaching. Terrorists claim it is because of the warming waters. Well, we’re here to find out.
Trevor and I are now in scuba gear, swimming towards a large coral reef. Johnswall, the Head of American Enigmas, has specifically requested the inspection of this reef. I immediately notice the color change in the reefs. They are not as vibrant or colorful as the ones I had seen in the documentaries; they’re white-gray.
“You see what I’m seeing, Trevor?”
Trevor is nearly upside down, trying to move around by flapping his arms. “You know, I believe the terrorists were right on one thing. This is coral bleaching. The answer is in the name.”
“Really sir?”
“Yes. Someone has been pouring bleach into this area of water.” I type this into my underwater notepad.
“I thought coral bleaching was talking about a rise in ocean temperatures, which causes the coral to expel algae,” Trevor says.
I shake my head. “That is a mouthful of rubbish, what you just said there. There are no algae being expelled, and the ocean is not warming.”
“The ocean isn’t warming?”
“No, my boy! Green terrorists think it’s the carbon dioxide or whatever! But it’s not!” “What is it then?”
“So many people are going to the beaches, our body temperatures are heating up the water!”
Trevor is silent for a while, and I know he is both defeated and enlightened. Climate change, I write, is a big hoax created by terrorists to scare the people and increase taxes. I will put in a request for an investigation for the culprit responsible for dumping lemons and bleach into the ocean. Disgraceful fellow. He’s causing a lot of fear for nothing.
“Sir.” Trevor looks up. “So, you’re saying the ocean is warming because of people on the beaches, the coral are bleaching because of bleach, and the ocean is acidifying because of lemons?”
“Never could have said it better.”
“What about the increased heat on land? And the droughts and flooding and coastal erosion and water insecurity and worsening air quality?”
“Glad you asked, for I have my theories. And it’s up to us now. Come Trevor, we must prove all of these things wrong to teach the world who is really right.”
Reflection
Reflection
The funny thing about climate change is the way even facts and evidence cannot penetrate a closed mind. People's misconceptions keep it so that any sort of proof is either disregarded or misinterpreted. This is highlighted in my work as Wilbur Bancroft is off on a "mission" to prove something quite obvious. He first-handedly witnesses the impacts of climate change, but he interprets everything the way he wants to see it. His prejudice toward science holds him back from admitting the truth; instead, he cooks up pretentious, unexplainable reasons that fit his eye. Our eyes and perspectives hold such power in the way we think, breathe, and act. There is danger to it, but also beauty. If we can work together and break the divide, we cannot only stop climate change but thrive on our planet once again. My piece begs the question: What will it take for people to believe in science? Does it really take a sip of the sea from a wooden spoon on a dinghy to prove that the ocean is acidic? Our species is facing its greatest challenge: not fighting the planet, but fighting ourselves.