Most evenings around sunset, the local brown boobie population begins circling Madrone. One by one, they eye the bow pulpit and swoop down for a landing on the stainless rail, timing the pitch and roll of the bow in the waves. Once landed, the new boobie fights for position with the ones already resident – a clash of beaks and squawks.
Last night, a boobie landed on the lifeline directly next to the cockpit. We’ve resigned ourselves to the boobie colony on the bow pulpit, but having one a foot or two from the cockpit is too close.
Angie pokes the bird with a winch handle, and it responds by biting the metal with the hooked end of its beak. Resorting to the heavy weaponry, Angie next tries the six foot long boathook. After a poke or two, the boobie calmly steps from the lifeline onto the boathook – it’s a more comfortable ride than the wire lifeline, apparently.
A shake or two and the boobie gives up, flies to the bow, and begins the never ending fight for territory.
We continue to creep towards landfall, as we’ve been requested to arrive after 5pm on Friday. So we jog towards the islands under an unimaginable number of stars.
All’s well.
Day Eleven
119 nm
00 54.4N 86 29.0W
