Across the Pacific. Visitors on the open ocean: monster fish, drunken ducks, and daredevil helicopter pilots. 11 days under way.
“We’ll have to convert the genoa and jib from furlers to hanks,” the cap said thoughtfully after setting the genoa (the large headsail).
“Why?” I ask. A furler is convenient: you don’t have to keep traipsing up to the bow to set the sail; you can sit in the cockpit, sip your tea, and turn the winch. So what’s the reason, you one of a kind?
“The furler will freeze in Antarctica.”
— At this point, the stunned silence slowly gave way to Homeric laughter from the first mate. That was roughly how the talk of a family circumnavigation began four years ago. Nastyka did not even attach any importance to it then: Mum and Dad liked having a laugh. And now we are crossing our second ocean, loaded down to the waterline with two years’ worth of provisions.
Speaking of provisions: everything is stowed so securely in the lockers that this morning we could find neither the cocoa nor a narrow-ruled exercise book for Laduska (she is already learning to write letters). Both are definitely aboard the yacht. It’s just that no one knows where :). And the cap really does want to go to Antarctica! — ... Cape Horn, icebergs, and penguins. After the circumnavigation. Yep. Fortunately, for now he is the only one in the crew who wants that. And by then we’d better insulate the yacht too ))).
We are sailing along the equator, at 0°40′ north. We hope not to cross into the Southern Hemisphere before morning, so we can see those magic figures: 00°00′. For the occasion, we have made our Neptune a trident and crown, and are getting ready to watch the cartoon about Captain Vrungel, which has that ritual in it. Meanwhile, our young sailor has been pondering the details of her mermaid costume since morning.
The calms are almost over, the close-hauled wind has grown kinder, and the crew feels wonderful. No sooner had we complained that we weren’t catching any crocodiles than we hooked a fine tuna, about 5 kilos. We dropped the sail and pulled the little tuna up to the side, when the fishing line went and tangled itself around some bit of rope. While we were untangling it, the tuna kept leaping about furiously. And as we undid the last loop, the fat fellow performed a final somersault and escaped into the cosy depths of home. So we were left without dinner, and the tuna with a torn lip. All right then, dear fellow, go live a long life now and father a million little tuna.
The next morning, another fish bit. Well... what do you mean, bit? The line had barely begun to rattle when it suddenly shrieked in falsetto. Snap! — and no one ever saw our silicone squid again, along with the hooks and every last bit of line on the reel. What sort of crocodile was that? The captain suggested one like the one in the film Waterworld.
But we have acquired regular visitors. Toward evening yesterday, the sky suddenly roared with engines (there was no one on AIS or radar)! The grey sky was adorned by a yellow-and-black helicopter on plump ski-like floats. Such a pretty thing, like a scale model. There were three fine lads aboard: one in pale-blue overalls and gloves, and two dressed in khaki with caps like Fidel’s.
They flew around our little hut no fewer than three times, and so close that we could make out the colour of their eyes. Overjoyed, we began waving and shouting hurrah; they broke into smiles and waved back, all three times around. I must admit, on the third circuit I tensed up a little: what did those men in khaki want from us? Maybe they were about to lob some kind of bomb at us—what were they after? What if we had spotted something secret out here, even though we didn’t know it yet ourselves?
But, thanks be to Perun and Poseidon, they did not lob anything, and within half a minute they had turned into a little bee on the horizon. Afterwards we made out some strange vessel, either a large fishing boat or an expedition ship: two stacks stuck up into the sky, forming the letter V, but we could not make out anything else—it was too far away. It was the first vessel we had seen in the past four days.
24 March
Today a duck flew in. An ordinary black duck, and very lonely. It too began making three circuits around the yacht. It flew into the sail. Then it plopped into the water with a bewildered look. Wild birds don’t usually come to people for no reason; the poor thing must have been in a really bad way.
“Why don’t we tame it?” says the cap. “Then we’ll have duck eggs!” :).
The duck (apparently it was a drake) became very worried about the egg situation, splashed about for another twenty minutes, took off, and vanished into the distance. I must admit, I’m so worried about its fate that I’m ready to take it in for the night, if only it doesn’t drop dead from exhaustion.
What else was interesting? — Today I thought I heard a cry amid the sparkling blue of the ocean. “Help!” — just like that. I don’t normally imagine voices at all.
“Andryukha,” I say, “this is what happened; let’s take a careful look at the ocean, just in case.”
“Daughter, bring Mum the binoculars—she’s hearing voices in her head!” the cap said, backing up my idea.
For a quarter of an hour I stared manically through the eyepieces, eyes bulging, before giving up.
“What is it, Marinochka, have you finally gone cuckoo?”
“Looks that way” :).
Then a rumble sounded through the haze again, and ten seconds later yesterday’s glossy little helicopter on its floaty feet saluted us astern. And started doing crazy turns. This time there were two people inside: Pale Blue and Khaki.
After the second circuit Nastya asked:
“What, are they going round for a third time again?”
But no, today they had a different act. Coming out of the second circuit, our visitors made a graceful turn. And, about 7 metres from us, they shot TAIL-FIRST toward the bowsprit. Well, that’s it, we’re screwed, I thought. These ones are about to fly into the sail too. They’ll do rather more damage than the duck-drake.
But no, the manoeuvre came off, and our crew saluted the pilots with thumbs up! Our visitors took their bows and sped away in the opposite direction from the one they had come from. On the horizon, the strange ship with a squiggle instead of a mast sailed past once more.
Coordinates: 0°40′ north. 86°32′ west. 240 miles to the Galápagos.