(2)

Indeed there were radios—three of them.

On the afternoon they sailed, Jim summoned Bob from where he was studying the ocean maps and Linda from the cupboards where she was stacking canned goods, and he spoke enthusiastically about the communications shelf that he had erected at the forward end of the main hull.

The first and simplest radio was a receiver, nothing more. Its value was in picking up marine broadcasts, Greenwich time, and small craft warnings from coastal weather stations. Moreover, it could receive regular commercial radio broadcasts from coastal towns, serving as a kind of approximate navigational aid. When the Triton neared Portland, for example, that city’s radio stations would come in clear, and then fade away as the boat moved farther down the coast.

As the men talked, Linda moved back to the icebox where she had left an unfinished job—coating four dozen eggs with Vaseline to prolong their freshness. It was a tip she had picked up from a camping guide, one of several books she had read in preparation for the voyage. Her hope was that the radios were a little more modern than the icebox. For it was just that, the old-fashioned kind that required a large chunk of ice and would not keep perishables cool more than a few days. As she moved a large bag of Washington State cherries over to make room for the eggs, a burst of rock music suddenly erupted from the receiver. Linda turned in delight.

But Jim, wincing, quickly turned off the radio. He had proved that it worked well, and that kind of music was offensive to his taste.

The second system, explained Jim, was the ship-to-shore.

Bob interrupted. “But that’s only good for a maximum twenty-five miles out.”

“Forty tops,” disagreed Jim. The course set by the two men would take the Triton into commercial shipping lanes, sometimes as far as one hundred miles offshore. The ship-to-shore radio would be useless that far out at sea. But even with its limited range, insisted Jim, the ship-to-shore would be useful for, say, entering the harbor of Los Angeles ten days hence. The journey was to be divided into three parts of approximately a thousand sea miles each: Tacoma to Los Angeles, from there to an unspecified stop in Mexico, perhaps Puerto Vallarta or Acapulco, and the final leg into Costa Rica. Because Jim estimated the Triton could average one hundred miles a day, each segment was budgeted at ten days. Bob and Linda were allowing themselves a total of fifty days, the extra time to accommodate delays from errant winds or for sightseeing in Central America. Whatever, both had to be back in Washington by the end of August to resume their teaching.

Now Jim moved to the source of his pride—a new Hallicrafter ham radio in which he had invested almost $1,000. For weeks now, Bob had been hearing from his brother-in-law about the radio and about the examinations he was taking for the federal radio license required to send and receive both Morse code and voice messages.

With this one, said Jim, the Triton was in touch with the world. This was the insurance policy. If any trouble arose, help could be summoned in a matter of minutes. “And I don’t think we’ll ever be more than an hour’s reach by plane from shore anyway,” he said.

To keep their respective families informed of their progress and well-being, Jim had established a radio liaison with a teaching colleague in Auburn who held a ham license. Each morning sharp at seven, as the plan went, Jim would reach his friend, whose name was Wes Parker, and report the Triton’s position, the weather being encountered, and any news they wished to pass on. And every Friday morning Bob and Linda were to talk to their families via telephone patches established by Wes Parker. This weekly link was especially important to Linda’s mother, Hisako Elliott, an emotional Japanese lady who had been opposed to the journey from the first time it was mentioned.

Hisako had sharply questioned her daughter about Jim and Bob’s sailing experience.

“Mother, please,” said Linda. “Trust me. Bob’s an expert sailor. He’s been sailing for seven years.” Once again she recited Bob’s credentials: skippering a sixteen-foot sailboat on the Columbia River with its tricky currents, pleasure sailing on Puget Sound, a summer of racing out of Marina Del Rey on a twenty-five-foot Cal.

“That means he has experience with inland waters, rivers, and ocean,” said Linda.

Unsatisfied with the answer, Hisako wept and implored her daughter not to go. “Has he been out in the middle of the ocean?” she demanded. “Tell me that. And who is this Jim Fisher? What do you know about him?”

Linda sighed and closed the subject. She was an adult, capable of making her own decisions. She would do what she and her husband wanted to do. But she urged her sister, Judy, not to raise the topic of the summer cruise, lest she unleash her mother’s copious tears.

Now, finished with the eggs and watching silently as the men examined the radios, Linda thought about asking permission to call her mother—just to prove that communication lines were open. But the men were so absorbed in their study that Linda put away the idea and set about preparing supper. On this first night out, she would serve fresh salmon steaks pan-broiled in butter, green peas, a plain salad with vinegar, and root beer. No wine or alcohol was on board in deference to Jim’s rigid abstinence. If he knew, he would probably even frown on the tea that Linda had smuggled into the provisions.

The men decided to take four-hour shifts at the cockpit, which had to be manned twenty-four hours a day. After dinner, Bob took the evening shift from 9 P.M. to 1 A.M., and Jim sat on a bench to read his Bible, one of four he had brought with him. Linda put away the dishes and checked the provisions one more time. The Triton would make a stop on the third day, at a village port called Quinella, just before she left the Sound and entered the Pacific. There Linda could pick up fresh vegetables and any last-minute necessities.

The food was Linda’s chief responsibility. The cupboards that lined the main hull were crowded with supplies to last fifty days. Always a meticulous researcher and planner, Linda had drawn up menus for seven days in advance. Her husband had long since stopped marveling at her organization and took it for granted. Even though her debut as a first-grade teacher was two months away, Linda had already planned the entire year’s curriculum. Her lectures were rehearsed, her charts prepared, her music chosen, her illustrations clipped out and ready to show the youngsters. She had read up on Costa Rica so exhaustively that she could probably give guided tours to the natives. But this was her way. Very much the efficient, liberated woman, she ran all parts of her life with grace and skill.

Because she had no desire to spend the hours required to prepare three full meals a day on the Triton, Linda shrewdly pointed out to the men that they all should eat lightly. There would be little opportunity for exercise, save sitting at the wheel or sunbathing, and all should watch their calories. And they would save money, as well. Jim and Bob instantly agreed: two meals only—breakfast and dinner. They would skip lunch. Nor would there be opportunity for leisurely dinners in which the three could linger into the night with conversation. One person always had to be at the wheel. Leisurely dinners held no appeal for Jim, anyway, since he was not comfortable with idle talk. He preferred to spend his free time reading his Bible or the Adventist literature that filled his satchel.

Linda was weary now and ready for bed, but she took out her own shopping list to make red checks beside what she had purchased and stored: freeze-dried peas, potatoes, beans, rice, macaroni, vegetable-substitute frankfurters and meat patties (Jim liked these, but Bob made gagging noises when they were set before him), canned vegetables, soups, luncheon meats, soda pop, fruit juices, the four dozen eggs, cheese, fresh fruit, and meat for everybody but Jim. If the winds cooperated, reasoned Linda, the eggs and cheese and fruits and meat would last in the medieval icebox almost to Los Angeles, where they could be replenished. In another cabinet she counted powdered milk, Kool-Aid, cookies, spices, and five pounds each of red licorice rope and jelly beans. So much for dieting! These were Bob’s indulgence. Not only did he like candy, he felt it would be helpful in his vow to stop smoking. With ceremony he had flung away his last pack of Camels just before departure. Jim had looked askance at the sweets—his budget did not permit such extravagances—but Bob had explained briskly that he had picked them up at a ski resort’s end-of-season bargain sale.

Finishing the inventory, Linda moved to the compartment where she and Bob slept; behind curtains drawn to separate the double bed from the main hull. Suddenly a wave of dizziness swept across her. She put her head in her hands for a moment and swallowed a rise of nausea. I can’t be seasick already! she told herself. The first night out! And the Sound is like glass. There’s not even enough wind to make the boat go without the motor. Shaking her head stubbornly, denying the possibility of illness, Linda reached for a glass to fill with water. She remembered Bob’s admonition to use the water sparingly and filled it only halfway. Quickly she drank. She felt better immediately. If the nausea returned, the idea of which she refused to permit, she would open a can of soda pop and spare the water. There were only sixty gallons on board for all their needs—twenty in each of the two outriggers, and another twenty in the main tank.

She looked at Jim anxiously—she did not want her discomfort known. But he was intent on his Bible, his back to her. “I’m turning in,” she said. Jim looked around and smiled. He was a pleasant-looking man, but the sunny face was somehow vacant, as if he were a figure in a coloring book with the lines there and the character left to be filled in. Although Linda did not understand her brother-in-law’s way of life or his religious passion, she admired his gentleness.

“Sleep well,” said Jim.

“I will, if you’ll keep the waves soft.” Linda put on her nightgown and climbed into the double bed. After a time, she heard Jim go to his bed on the other side of the main hull and draw his drapes. He would rest for a while before relieving Bob for the 1 A.M. to 5 A.M. shift.

An hour after midnight, Bob turned the wheel over to Jim and hurried down to Linda. He found her asleep, her copy of Anna Karenina open on her chest. This was to be her summer for Russian novels. Her place marker was the list of supplies to buy on Wednesday’s brief stop in Quinella. Bob scanned the list, finding a few items he had dictated. “New wet suit, fishing lures, fresh meat, vegetables, kerosene, two life preserver seats, yarn for ‘tell tales,’ lipstick, chewing gum, deck of cards …”

Lifting the book gently from her chest, Bob undressed and slipped in beside his wife. He put the lightest of arms around her and pushed his head against her hair.

Linda came quickly to life and pulled Bob closer.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said.

“I wasn’t asleep,” she lied. “I was just catnapping. Waiting for the sailor to come home from the sea.”

Bob smiled. He kissed her tenderly. Each time he saw her face, her beauty refreshed him. If she did nothing but rise each day and let him look at her, that would be a positive contribution to the world, Bob thought. She was unique. He relished a photograph in Linda’s family album, a picture showing her as a high school cheerleader. With a score of animated, vibrant teen-age girls squealing at the camera, the eye went instantly to Linda, to that curious blend of East and West, to that melange of the exotic and the wholesome. His family had written Bob off as a confirmed bachelor until, at the age of thirty-three, Linda had appeared on his mountain with her bindings on backwards.

Now he held her tightly and treasured the moment. “Jim and I just decided something,” he said. “It’s ridiculous to keep four-hour shifts because you can hardly get to sleep before it’s time to get up.”

Linda snuggled against his chest. “Not to mention other activities which can take up rest time,” she said.

Bob smiled. “We’ll get to that. Anyway, we’ve decided to take six-hour shifts from now on, and if you want to, you can take the wheel a couple of hours in the afternoon. Okay?”

Linda was happy at the news. During their preliminary meetings to plan the trip, she had kept insisting that she could steer the boat as well as they. She had certainly read more books on the subject.

She looked at her watch. “Does this six-hour thing start now?”

“Do you want it to?”

Her kiss, Bob decided, was a perfectly good answer.