CHAPTER 



iS< The ocean welcomed us without the dancing spray 

 of whitecaps or the blinking of reflected stars. At four 

 o'clock in the morning, as we set out to find the giant 

 broadbill swordfish, the sky was dark and the sea was 

 cold. All that the ocean off'ered the seven people who 

 were gathered on our rugged fishing cruiser, the Ex- 

 plorer, was the strong and unmistakable odor of iodine. 

 Yet that odor was inducement enough. 



This was in June, but not like any June at home in 

 New York City. The Explorer was running out of 

 Iquique, a Chilean seacoast village almost 1,500 miles 

 below the equator, which lies upon a barren strip of 

 land, hard pressed between the Andes Mountains and 

 the Pacific Ocean. The seasons, of course, are reversed 



