SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION 
UNITED STATES NATIONAL MUSEUM 
WASHINGTON. D. C. 20560 
Aug * 15, 1964 
Mrs. Maryanna Smellow 
Division of Birds 
Smithsonian Institution 
Washington 25, D.C. 
Dear Maryanna, 
The reason that I have taken so long in returning this expose of 
Sand is that it takes a great deal of time to memorize every third 
line* There is so much to see and do out here that correspondence 
often suffers. However, it is also true that we are missing you and 
missing you . « ® as well• 
Sand Island is fantastic, although most of the birds are now leaving. 
I had heard disquieting rumors about the unpalatable nature of an 
assignment to Sand, but with all the birds about, it is really a paradise. 
Who could be discouraged in ran an area where there is a colony of 
Brown Boobies just over the hill? 
When Amerman, Woodward, and I were in Honolulu, we spent much time 
in chasing the birds on offshore islands * really. W© always had the 
feeling that we were being watched, however, as the blasted tour busses 
that crowd the roads always were present as our raft disembarked, It 
has become a standard jo&fe that whenever some funny or embarrasing 
incident occurs, the tour bus is there. Perhaps an illustration of our 
bird banding forays may help you to understand why we always felt that 
we were being watched. On July 23 the three of us, along with your 
friend and mine Phil Lehner, decided to visit Kaohikaipu (Black) Island - 
a spot never visited yet by the SI because of its formidable appearance. 
Imagine the seen© - four raoily men putting an undersized (esp© with 
Woodward in it) raft out to sea from a very rocky point, hoping vainly 
for calm. The cursing from us as wave after wave pushes us back toward 
the rocks, and the final cheers as our now water-laden raft clears the 
last kso4 % breaker and heads for waveless waters ahead. We are sure the 
tour buses line up to watch as the raft refuses to move at any speed, 
while the intrepid crew paddles in an extravagant waste of energy. The 
tourists must be laughing as the raft hits the current, and our paddling 
only induces the stubborn raft to move around and around in circles. It 
is most disconcerting to once again face the area we just left. Finally 
we head correctly again, and*.the tourist must certainly notice our drum, 
containing our gear (dry? )** A cobs about in the water-laden raft, hitting 
our knobby knees with each swell. As we finally reach our island, we fall 
out of the raft and swim ashore - we do remember to anchor the raft - and 
those tourists possessing binoculars must be no little amused as we are 
rolled up over the rocks, looking quit© startled to find once again 
land under our feet. And we must go back, this thought occupies ©ur 
minds as we band the Wedgetails and Bulwer f s Petrels on this blackest 
of all islands. 
