340 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1960 



out of control, over what had been dry land a moment before. By 

 now Ulrich remembered his radio. Shouting into it, he made the 

 international voice-radio distress call, "Mayday, Mayday — Edr'ie in 

 Lituya Bay — all hell broke loose — I think weVe had it — goodbyl" 

 The wave, however, changed course and bounced off the shore, allow- 

 ing Ulrich, with strenuous efforts and certainly with superb seaman- 

 ship, to get his boat under a kind of control, lie now began devoting 

 himself to evading huge chunks of churning ice, any one of which 

 could have made kindling wood of the Edrie. 



The next problem was to get out of the bay through its turbulent 

 and tricky entrance — a passage bad enough at the height of the ebb, 

 not to speak of the wild conditions of that particular moment — for 

 the remotest chance of getting out looked mighty good to Ulrich just 

 then. He tucked pillows about Sonny and told him to hang on for 

 dear life. A stroke of luck now appeared in the form of a helping 

 hand. A fellow fisherman had become aware of the situation and 

 was taking station outside the channel in his boat Theron to give 

 Ulrich a guiding mark for running the swift ebb tide. Bracing him- 

 self, Ulrich headed for the biggest gamble of his life. Ages later, 

 it seemed, he was out. Three giant combers had broken over the tiny 

 pilothouse, but the Edrie was sturdy — she shivered but she came 

 through. Howard Ulrich does not know whether he will ever enter 

 Lituya again, but the chances are he will. Seamen are like that. 



