My red footed companion around Christmas
If you were following my Twitter and Instagram accounts (both @erdeneruc, links at the bottom of the page), you will remember the Red-Footed Booby which befriended me a month ago just before Christmas.
I typically tie my oars across the deck unless I have rough seas. I was starting the day on Monday the 20th when I noticed this handsome booby on my starboard oar handle outside the boat. If had bright red feet and was snow white except at the tail and the trailing edge of its wings. The beak was light blue with a pink base which surrounded its eyes like a mask, because of which I initially thought maybe I had a Masked Booby. A bit larger than a duck but not as big as a Canadian Goose, boobies are a relatively large species.
As it stood on the handle, it preened itself thoroughly like they all do when they rest on my boat. They use their beaks and long necks to reach the root of every single feather then run the longer feathers through their beak. Sometimes the smallest down feathers get plucked and float around with the wind. To sort the feathers on the top and back of their heads, they fold their neck back to use the leading edges of their wings.
But there is one sweet spot on their neck which requires lifting a foot up to give a good scratching. This booby tried but each time it lifted its foot, it had to put it right back down for balance as the boat moved. Seeing it struggle, I slowly reached over with one hand. When I was within its reach, it gave me the tentative tweezer action with its long beak. I did not retract my hand, just held it steady and waited. I then reached past the last few inches to touch its lower neck with the back of my fingertips and fluffed its feathers against the grain with a light touch like I used to with a cockatiel I had back in graduate school.
Soon I had the trust of the booby. It turned its head and neck to receive my fingers, indicating to me where it wanted to be scratched not unlike our dog Buddy. When I stopped, it sounded a barely audible coo and stepped closer. Soon, it was standing next to the oarlock and I could use both hands. I steadied it with one hand as I gave it the spa treatment with the other on the chest, under the wings, on its back and rump.
It was sunny and calm on that Monday. I took a break from the bird to make water before rinsing myself. As I stood in the footwell facing forward, the bird flew around in a circle, landed on my cabin top and laid down on the solar panel, cozying close to my neck. It would make these irresistible subtle honks and request further attention to which I obliged. We were looking eye to eye, having a conversation. When I reached for the sides of its torso with one hand on each side, it leaned back to sit on its tail and lifted its wings a bit to receive my fingertips against its body. It didn’t have any bowel control, so as water drained from its feathers, it made a milky mess on the panel.
The bird stayed on the panel for the first couple days. I could hear its tapping feet at night as it tried to maintain balance by stepping around to counter the rolling motion of the boat. They all face the wind when standing which means its tail would be over my cabin door so I had to keep it closed to avoid runny poop inside the cabin.
It was actually a very clean bird. It would take off to settle on the water within my sight then roll to one side to work its submerged wing on its body for a thorough washing; then it would repeat this on the opposite side. The wings worked like hands as it careened its neck backwards rubbing it with plenty of seawater. It would scruff its neck feathers with its feet as it sat on the water after contorting its neck into position. I smiled when I saw it churn the water with both wings like sparrows do on little puddles in the city. When it took flight with a running start, it would shake all over like a dog to shed excess water from its feathers. The last thing to shake on this big bird would be its tail, which I found amusing each time…
When it returned to my boat while I rowed in livelier seas, landing on the slippery cabin top proved difficult. More than once, it tried to land on my head while rowing or on my back if I was busy working head down both of which I obviously discouraged. It would typically land on my leeward safety line above the gunwale which was a terrible spot to maintain any balance. I would pull in my oars then reach to have it step on my hand to place it somewhere more stable. Off the leeward safety line across the deck to the flattop of the windward gunwale worked each time. I had to pay attention to keep the bird away from the moving oar and oarlock to avoid an inadvertent pinch injuring it. So sometimes I held it by the two wings to pick up and move it elsewhere. It would give me the cutest tiny squeaky toy sound when I held it but would not flinch. It had no fear…
My watermaker is in a hold on the starboard side of the footwell which has a rectangular hatch on it. I put the bird on that hatch which is lower than the gunwale and closer to the axis of rotation of my rowboat. Thus with less overall movement there, the bird was able to lay down and relax. It got used to my left hand and starboard oar handle moving repetitively over its head and to my entire body rushing and retreating with each pull on the oars. It would half close its eyelids, dose off, wake up and repeat.
This went on to the point of worrying me that perhaps it was getting too comfortable, that it should be a bird, go hunt some flying fish. Any flying fish that I fed it whether fresh that fell on deck overnight or desiccated out of sight over days, was nowhere near sufficient for the size of this booby. When I moved it to the gunwale to suggest freedom, it would waddle back over to its resting spot on the hatch. A couple times I carefully tossed it in the air to take flight, only to have it return to the same spot. The advantage of its brief departure was that I could rinse off the runny poop off the hatch…
That Thursday, the winds turned more northerly and swells northwesterly so I deployed my para anchor at night. The weather was going to keep me pinned through that weekend. The para anchor is a parachute that I deploy in the water to turn my bow to the waves. Unlike the smooth rolling motion when running with the waves, with a para anchor each passing wave snaps the rowboat perpendicular to that wave. Thursday night thus became very uncomfortable on the cabin top with its slippery solar panels. In the morning on Friday the 24th, I found two Red-Footed Boobies remaining: my light morph white companion and a dark morph brown variety; they had found their way down overnight to the deck level for more comfort. Poor things looked exhausted not having slept a wink…
They took off during the day that Friday, never to return. Our paths had crossed with my white companion for a few blessed days of our respective lives. Being two fellow creatures on The Ocean, we chose by free will to share this rowboat as a refuge, the thought of which warms my heart. I can now reflect on that gift and feel fortunate as I relive that memory for the rest of my crossing.
My friend Ellen Maude commented:
<<I imagine your companion continuing its travels and telling all its friends about this amazing guy who shared his shelter, giving it a place to rest, and who is off on an incredible adventure. All of its stories start, “so I was flying across the ocean, and you’ll never believe what I saw…”>>
I like that thought.