We were working our way south now, out of the area of steady trades and into the horse latitudes. Gradually the wind dropped and at last for several days we were becalmed outright or made bare steerageway in very light airs.
Far from being bored, we found these quiet and indolent days full of interest. We lolled on deck, read aloud, fished (without success), shot at cans for target practice, and slept. A great deal of time was spent just staring at the gently heaving sea.
In some strange fashion, a sea that is utterly calm seems to me more alive than a sea in a gale. An angry sea is a mechanical monster, all sound, power, and threat of immediate destruction. But a calm sea, its surface breathing slowly and gently like a sleeping giant, seems animate and, in spite of its seeming gentleness, somehow more menacing.
At various levels below the surface we could see hundreds of life forms: jellyfish of many shapes and colors and innumerable other floating shapes ranging from tiny, confetti-like blobs to fairly large and elaborate, flower-shaped creatures. We caught a man-of-war, floating on the surface of the water like a child’s plastic bath toy, and Jessica, who spent hours hanging over the gunwales, discovered a school of half a dozen little banded fish, about eight inches long, who were escorting us faithfully, in the shadow of the hull.
Our most memorable day at sea was the one we christened the Day of the Albatrosses. In the glassy calm these birds, who had been following us for hundreds of miles, one by one left the air and skidded in for a landing on the quiet sea, braking with feet flat ahead as they hit the water. We threw out bits of pilot cracker and soon they had been lured up to the boat where they squabbled noisily over the scraps.
Our next move was obvious! Rigging a loop on the end of a bamboo pole, we began to try our hand at lassoing them. To my amazement, when I finally succeeded in dropping a noose over the head of my chosen victim, he struggled hardly at all—nor did his neighbors show the least alarm at his predicament. I pulled the ungainly creature alongside, Nick and I lifted him by his outspread wings and held him while Barbara got a picture, and then we released him. He withdrew only a few feet, grumbled a bit, and smoothed his ruffled feathers. In no time at all, he had forgotten the indignity and rejoined his fellows to battle under the stern sprit—and another threatening noose—for the delectable bits of sea biscuit.
During the next couple of hours each member of the family had a try and all of us, including Bill Sherwood, earned our membership in P.A.L.S.—the Phoenix Albatross Lassoing Society. Since there weren’t enough birds to go around, it is obvious that some of them must have been captured more than once! (Sidelight on the mysterious East: Nick, who was mildly interested in our capture of the first albatross, soon went below without attempting to try his luck: Mickey, reading in his bunk, never did appear throughout the excitement; neither of the two bothered to wake Moto, who was taking a nap.)
At last a light breeze, out of the northeast, rippled the surface of the sea in a tentative manner. After a few false starts, it settled down, and we were again on our way. With the breeze came a large school of porpoises and a solitary whale, who surfaced nearby as if to round out the entertainment.
On the sixteenth day Ted calculated that we should be able to see the lights of the north end of New Zealand soon after dark. At this information Bill, suddenly infected with land fever, glued himself to the upper shrouds and began to strain his eyes to the south. Every half hour or so he descended, wondered volubly where the light could be, and climbed to the crow’s nest again. Watching his antics, we realized how really seasoned we had become. Naturally we would be glad to make our landfall, but none of us was impatient. We knew we’d see the light sooner or later. Poor Bill, however, was in a fever of eagerness and doubt. Not until 2200 did a loud and happy shout come from aloft and Bill climbed stiffly down to announce triumphantly that he had found the lights, right where Ted had said they ought to be. Shortly afterward we were able to see them from deck level.
By morning we could catch glimpses of land through the haze and set our course for the entrance to the Bay of Islands. Once we were in the straits, the wind came up strongly and sent us bowling in so that, by midafternoon, we were riding to anchor off the little port of Russell and ready to be granted pratique.