Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
was always a constant battle, fighting chafe. Sails, ropes, masts and even whole boats have
been lost through negligent scrutiny of wear and tear. Gavin was constantly checking the
ever trailing fishing line, and we would catch fish every now and then. A good sense of
humor was vital in those days; it took a lot of the heaviness out of the seriousness of the
trip.
I can't remember who started this little prank, but it was always highly effective; one even-
ing I was carrying up our supper plates from the hot cabin below, Gavin was at the helm as
the air was too light for the boat to steer herself. I handed him his plate, and suddenly no-
ticed that the fishing line bungee cord was stretched way out and springing back and forth.
We had been dragging a good sized fish behind us.
“Hey! We caught a fish!” I yelled, quickly putting down my dinner plate.
“Oh yeah, God, I didn't even see that,” said Gavin.
I started to haul in the line hand over hand; visions of a nice, fresh tuna swam before my
eyes. It did feel rather lifeless though, we must have been towing it for quite some time. It
must have died. If I'd thought about it I would have realized that we had not been sailing
fast enough to catch a fish, but one never knows what is out there. I hauled away, con-
centrating on only one thing: bringing this feller in and making sure he didn't escape. Up
came the old dish cloth! Heavy with dripping seawater and lifeless as a limp rag! It plopped
wetly onto the deck. Gavin was grinning broadly doing a great weasel face; he was ex-
tremely proud of the success of his prank. I had to laugh; it was very funny, and he had
caught me, I hate to say this, “hook, line and sinker!” This prank was repeated by one or
the other of us regularly and with the same amusing results.
Our patient, the injured frigate bird with the broken leg, was doing grandly. He was drink-
ing water and nibbling on the cracker crumbs which we softened in water. He was taking
an interest in his surroundings and kept a beady lookout from his towel nest in the corner
of the cockpit lazarette. He had beautiful, orange colored eyes that sparkled with alertness
and took no nonsense from us; if either of us got too close to him, he would lean over and
give us a peck with his sharp beak. It was day three now, and we would leave him in his
nest for a few days more to give his leg a chance to heal.
Our progress was slow but sure. We were still in the grips of the easterly equatorial current,
and there was not too much I could do other than alter course slightly on our bearing. The
change in degrees to compensate was so slight that we could hardly put it into practice
when sawing away hour after hour at the helm. The needle danced around from east to
west, north to south; we were just conscious of it and would err to the west when we could.
