NARRATIVE OF THE CRUISE 287 



visible just below the surface. Some of these had disintegrated 

 to such an extent that what seemed to be a solid object in the 

 water was almost impalpable when caught in a dip-net. In this 

 region the goonies came around the ship in whole flocks and not 

 in twos or threes as previously. 



We were so far in arrears in our declination-observations due 

 to the continuously overcast skies that someone was posted on 

 deck to give the alarm should the sun show promise of being visi- 

 ble for a few minutes in the morning or afternoon. These heavy 

 clouds not only interfered with the magnetic work but made 

 taking time-sights an arduous task. Then one day we found 

 that our patent-log had been carried away. We never knew 

 whether some large fish had taken the whirling-vanes for a trolling 

 spoon-hook, or whether the log had become entangled in some 

 refuse thrown overboard. 



On July 27 the sea was extremely rough with a very strong 

 northwest wind blowing. Surprising enough, the wire-angles at 

 the oceanographic station were quite small. Apparently the 

 wind-drift of the vessel and the sub-surface currents were in the 

 same general direction. 



Radio conditions were excellent on this voyage and daily 

 schedules were maintained with the amateur station KUP of the 

 San Francisco Examiner. This station arranged to call us every 

 hour as we neared port so that our numerous friends waiting in 

 San Francisco might know when to expect us. For several days 

 we had been listening in on music broadcasts sent on the ordinary 

 long-waves, something we rarely did at sea. 



So monotonous had the sound of our little fog-horn become dur- 

 ing these weeks that we almost welcomed the ear-splitting roar 

 of the fog-signal from a liner which all but ran us down as we 

 closed in on the California coast. As our time-sights were a little 

 uncertain on the last day out we navigated by soundings. Jones 

 also improvised a radio compass on the back of the Joshua chair. 

 Our landfall was the ugly grunt of the Point Reyes fog-signal which 

 we picked up slightly off our port bow. 



By six o'clock on the evening of July 28, we were riding at 

 anchor off quarantine in San Francisco Bay, the gloomy passage 



