Forget Regret for Egret Egress

ARC Leg1 101207 1200
Positions
174 14.39N 54.28W 10:00
We are headed due-west now at around 8 knots with the red spinnaker boldly announcing our approach. We are down to seven 5 liter bottles of fresh mineral water and still eating well, with a menu of fish, rice, long-life milk, juices, a few apples, and frozen or dry foods. We still hope to make Rodney Bay by Wednesday evening. Bella the bird and her boyfriend are no longer with us. It would be nice to leave it at that, but some kind of explanation is deserved and even required.
Mistakes were made:
1) It was assumed that two birds on the boat would be twice as wonderful as one bird on the boat.
2) The two birds were permitted to "fully explore" this strange and wondrous man made island.
3) The two birds were given generous portions of raw fish scraps.
The night air was warm in the cabin, and even with the two overhead hatches fully open it was difficult to find a decent sleeping position. From this vantage point, the lights atop the mast throw a secondary glow that alights the bunk in a blue-green wash. The normal cycle is to sleep a few minutes, overheat, awaken to wave noise on the side of the boat, roll, look at the dim light coming through the hatch, sleep a few minutes more. It's not the stuff of mattress advertising, but when it's what one has, one makes it work. Anything that breaks that cycle is more than a little unwelcome. A precocial seabird repeatedly poking its head and then its tail into the hatch directly over one's face fits the description of a cycle breaker. Eventually, I closed the hatch. The air in the room went still, but the bird could no longer get in.
The seabird made adjustments of his own. After a few peaceful sleep cycles, I opened my eyes and looked up at the hatch to make sure I was looking at sky and not sea. Sky is good, sea means it's time to get in the life raft. What I saw was the bottoms of a bird's feet, feathers, and tail, made enormous by the mast backlighting. Very funny. I'm fairly goodnatured. So I was the butt of a bird's joke. Touche, bird. Goodnight.
After a peaceful early morning watch, I stayed up top and chatted with Barry and Tom. We put the world to rights as a stunning sunrise lit the sky in red, pink, blue, bluer, white, black, and purple. The wind was gaining strength and all signs pointed toward a good day at sea. Tom got up to get some water or something. As he descended the steps, he exclaimed, "Aww horrible, horrible bahhh! Get out you birds!" A couple days ago, Tom kindly inquired as to what we call bird excrement in English, and I immediately supplied the first word that sprung to mind. Despite Barry's protests at the time, Tom seems to have determined that the word is succinct, easy to pronounce, and even sounds like the stuff that is being described. Since then, he has named nearly every surface of the boat in conjunction with that word. While this in itself was adorable, we all recognized that we had a problem.
When Mark arose, he took one look at the mess and announced to the two birds that it just wasn't working out. The seabirds listened politely, but in the end, they disagreed. With shelter, food, fresh water, and a free ticket to ride, it was working out splendidly. Mark was marching around the entire boat with a pole in hand, jabbing it at the two stowaways. Shoo! Get out! The birds lazily spread their wings, circled, and landed at the opposite side of the boat. The Cap'n then marched across the bow and repeated the insults. He even performed an ancient bird riddance dance which involved throwing both feet above his elbows and spinning on his back. Breathtaking, bruising and surprisingly effective, or so it appeared. At last, the two birds flew off and away, disappearing against the gentle sea swells. All was quiet.
Louis said, "You don't really believe those birds are gone for -"
"INCOMING!" And they returned as Hitchcock always knew they would. This had the makings of a project, and five dudes on a boat for two weeks love a project. Without any instruction, we positioned ourselves on all four corners, with a fifth man at the wheel. Some with poking sticks, others clapping hands and yelling OYE OYE. I took the American Cowboy Approach, hurling a bundle of rope at them to allow the end to snap. The object was to keep them flying. LANDING ON THIS BOAT IS NO LONGER AN OPTION, GENTLEMEN. The birds would occasionally squawk at us, "I thought we were cool! We're still cool, right guys?" It was becoming clear that this was not going to be an amicable breakup wherein we all remained Good Friends. Something had to be done before these birds found a good lawyer. Cap'n Mark emerged from his quarters with a homemade slingshot, some cork balls, and a steely glare. He drew back, took aim, cracked his neck, and fired.

Somewhere east of our position a boat is making its way. Two white seabirds are spotted well off in the distance. They look tired and beaten. Poor little birds! Of course you can stay with us! We're delighted to see you. Would you like some food and water? You must be starving so far from land, my goodness! Yes, thank you, the birds say, thank you so much. You're very kind ...

and a little Dutch for you to translate with babelfish.altavista.com
De reigers zijn nog steeds aan boord en hebben de boot op een vervelende manier ondergepoept.
We zijn nu op alle mogelijke diervriendelijke manieren aan het proberen het de beesten moeilijk te maken en maar een andere boot op te zoeken.
Maar kennelijk vinden ze dit vliegdekschip nog de meest aantrekkelijke in de buurt.
De spinnaker staat weer op na een zeer vredige, alleen motorgeluid, nacht. Desondanks prima geslapen.
Vandaag hebben we Barry vrij gegeven zodat de Dutch het diner, supper of give at a name mogen klaarmaken.
Het wordt, als er geen verse vis wordt gevangen prima boot eten t.w. spaghetti met tonijn uit blik en een goede saus erbij. De ingrediënten zijn aanwezig.
Verder is het een prima dag met vanmorgen een kleine regenbui en de vooruitzichten zijn goed. Op naar St. Lucia.
cheers from the blessedly birdless crew of Maverick Dream.