After Romances's first, most enjoyable Circumnavigation, we longed to return to the South Seas. The 1978 Expedition sailed June 18th, a rollicking 166 mile tradewind day, swiftly dropping the blue mountains of Grenada below the horizon astern; and a new crew of adventurers learning port clew garnet from starboard main sheet. We were soon in whales, three Fins rearing a third of their great bulk out of the water. Our first landfall: Bonaire, low and windswept, miles of salt pans evaporating seawater under a glaring sun, a pink cloud of flamingos flashing past turquoise shallows, and a quaint Dutch town. Our girls 'Guest crewed' on a McAllister tug bringing in a supertanker, before sailing Romance off the dock in Kralendijk.

Past Curacao and Aruba she flew, down where the Caribbean trades are strongest, and on June 26th, a record run for Romance... 199 nautical miles noon to noon! Grand going for a little square rigger--and though the magical 200 we have sought for 12 years still challenges us, we were thrilled! Combined with 150 miles on the 25th, Romance reeled off 349 miles in 48 hours, an average 24 hour run of 174.5 H.M. at a speed of 7.27 knots.

Cartagena: ancient walled city, red tile roofs and ornately carved balconies over the narrowest of streets, Moorish doors open to cool courtyards. Cathedrals and fountains, horse drawn carts and raw oyster stands. A Festival of Lights at San Felipe Fortress, reawakening long ago battles, with the sound of cavalry storming the ramparts, the clash of swords, the cries of battle, and the thunder of cannonades across the silent harbor.

Approaching the San Blas, we caught a dorado which went off the scales at 30 lbs. Delicious! Revisiting all our favorite anchorages in this lovely archipellago of tiny islets, thatch villages and colorful Cuna Indians, we traded for lobsters, and bought bread from a sailing bakery, a dugout canoe. The Indians took us miles through the reefs in their dugouts, to the newly wrecked schooner Freelance. She lay shuddering in the breakers, broken, dismasted, gutted, a tragic sight. We made our usual cayuca trip up the lush, jungle bordered Cardi River, and acquired some unusually fine molas, the prized reverse-applique art of the Cunas.

The Panama Canal, and a quick run to uninhabited Cocos Island, legendary cache of Peruvian gold. There we found an encampment, not of treasure hunters, but of shark fishermen, and a small force of Costa Rican National Guard. The Guardia took the crew pig hunting with semi-automatics, and gorged them with wild bacon smoked over an open fire. The shark hunters took us--shark hunting. And caught 25 on a "poor day."

For the first time since 1972, Romance was granted a full cruising permit for the Galapagos, through the fine work of Mr. Michael Cotter of the American Embassy in Quito; and longtime friends the Angermeyers of Academy Bay. This, our sixth visit to the Enchanted Isles, held new thrills. The great volcano, Fernandina, had staged a minor eruption, and a few nights later, favored us with a cherry red cloud. Romance lay anchored in Tagus Cove, a dead end facing the caldera across the narrowest of channels. It was not difficult to imagine a new flow bottling us up forever in the cove! At midnight, with the erie scene bathed in moonlight, and birds shrieking like lost souls, we made preparations to slip the anchor. And left a watchman to ponder the pulsing volcano.

Elizabeth Bay--perhaps the only spot on earth where sealions climb trees--had this year been partially blocked by a new flow of black lava cinders. We polled our way silently beneath tumbled mangroves. Turtles shot from under the boat, and penguins popped up to stare at us. And deep in that enchanted pool--the sealions, curled up in the branches. They rolled over, roared half-heartedly at the intrusion, and went back to sleep. We picked buckets of mangrove oysters off the trees, for the lmost delicious of Galapagos stews. Wreck Bay, Kicker Rock, Plazas, Bartholome, James Bay, Seymour, Mosquera, Turtle cove, Punta Espanoza, Post Office Bay. The herd of tour boats comes and goes, and we all march behind our guides on staked paths. Not the Galapagos we once knew, but we are grateful for the visit.

The 3,000 mile passage from the Galapagos to Pitcairn Island began with a fine, fair wind ...........................

Next......2nd half of Log #8
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