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dazzling on the flat ocean. The gentle wind puffed us along at two knots from the west.
Huge albatross birds wheeled and streaked around, their mighty wing tips sweeping the
sparkling blue water. It was hard to believe such a change had occurred in so short a time. I
clambered over the terrible mess in the cabin and sat outside, stunned but happy to be alive
on so glorious a morning.
I was witnessing nature as she has been since before the dinosaurs were a twinkling in her
eyes. I felt humbled at my insignificance, and a spiritual feeling stole over me. It was the
most moving experience I had ever had at sea. I felt so elated that I had to play my guitar.
I was blind to the mess in the cabin. I sat outside again in the cockpit with my lovely, old
guitar, and music came through my fingers from somewhere. I felt as though I was a chan-
nel for this tune which now came about on the fret board.
I looked around me at this incredible inspiration. Who could seek anything more powerful?
I had just survived a really ugly few days at sea in a grim northerly gale, and now the dif-
ference in my outlook was so vast that my spirit sang in celebration of this beauty around
me. There were so many albatross wheeling about that I named the tune “Albatross Off
New Zealand.” Years later I recorded an album and one of my favorite instrumentals (they
all are instrumentals) was naturally “Albatross Off New Zealand.” I can play it now some
twenty years on and be instantly recalled to that glorious morning after.
I finally laid the guitar quietly down and, as if in a dream, made breakfast, had a second cup
of coffee, and began cleaning up the terrible mess in the boat. This took me several hours,
in which I bucketed out all the full and oily bilges, washed and dried the slippery soles,
and sifted through the jumbled tangle of things nautical and stowed them in their original
lockers. I had to pick up several broken glasses and bottles. I hung out all the wet cloth-
ing and damp cushions. The boat wafted along at around two knots, steering herself as we
rounded the northeastern coast of New Zealand at around 8 pm in the evening. I fell asleep
exhausted again as Déjà vu took care of herself, slipping steadily down the coast towards
The Bay of Islands on the northerly half of New Zealand.
I awoke in the night to the sound of the radio, which I like to leave on if I suspect any sea
traffic in the area. Couldn't believe I heard Patrick Foot of the Hardy Herald asking Nash
on-board the boat Moon Ray to keep a lookout for me. I was deeply touched by their con-
cern, feeling rather bad that I had let fly at Hardy Herald on my hasty retreat out of that
grim, rocky island area. I radioed through to them and told them of my safety and where-
abouts, apologized for my outburst, and thanked them, sounding pathetically grateful. I
hoped the New Zealanders were all like this.
27
th
- 28
th
Mar: Picked up the local FM station this morning as I wafted on down to the
Bay's entrance. I noticed that there were some fancy lasers for the leading lights coming
