18:02.87S 163:11.60W

Midnight. Pitch dark and time for a change of watch. I peer down into the gloomy cabin and can make out stirrings from Annie. She reaches up and switches on the corner light and there, behind the table I can make out a large white shape moving silently across the couch towards Annie's berth. For a moment I stare in disbelief, my heart in my mouth. I call to Annie, she sees this silent apparition and with a shriek is in the cockpit so quickly I cant even recall her climbing the companionway. The ghostly shape climbs down to the cabin floor and into the lamplight and there, clearly not intending to go any further, is a red billed Tropic bird. Now, we have had Boobies roosting on the boat overnight but a Tropic Bird in the saloon is altogether a different proposition. An immediate standoff ensued with the bird seeming content to sit it out and Annie and I in the cockpit wondering how on earth to reclaim our interior space. We weren't entirely sure how or why it was inside the boat but it must have come through the open cabin window above the couch. Whether it peered through, overbalanced and fell in or whether this was a deliberate act of cabin takeover we will never know. The only certainty was that the anatomy of a Tropic Bird has not evolved to climb companionway stairs and there was no way it was going to fly out. How many days were we going to have to endure in the cockpit before it finally keeled over?

When I was young I used to take a great interest in all things wildlife and I recalled that if you put birds in a sack they go quiet and can be carried to wherever required for ringing (leg not neck), weighing or whatever. Of course, even if you have an appropriate sized sack you have to get your bird into it. No problem if its a sparrow but a Tropic Bird with a 6 inch pointy beak aimed in your direction is a different matter. The solution was Annie's fleece blanket (rather reluctantly parted with) and leather gloves otherwise used for fishing. It took a while to summon up courage for an approach; what if the blanket missed, or it struggled like mad? Supposing it was injured either already or as a result of the manhandling attempt? A brilliant wheeze was to don the red light head torch. That would confuse it or at least not be as intimidating as white light but of course there was always the chance that with its much better eyesight it was just making the target for that beak all the clearer. Occasionally there comes a point in life of no return, that moment when you are desperately summoning up the courage to, say, drop over the top of the longest water slide at the water park and suddenly the urge to go ahead is irresistible. So it was with the bird. A few deft paces across the cabin floor, blanket held aloft, draped firmly but gently over the bird and with only the odd faint squeak it could be carried motionless up into the cockpit. In extracting itself from the blanket it fell off the side bench onto the floor and there we were, Annie and I imprisoned in the saloon with the bird in command of the cockpit. It had to go. Injured or not it was a seabird and at that moment the sea was the only place for it. The blanket trick worked a second time and the beautiful creature was bundled unceremoniously over the rail and into the water. I watched the faint white shape on the water receding from us with a mixture of relief and sadness. And then the shape moved across the sea, rose into the air and flew off to continue its adventurous night.

A few human squeals from the saloon indicated that we had been left presents in the form of a regurgitated squid and also a fish. A bit of bird crap on the cushions and the faint whiff of seabird were small reminders of an eventful and sleepless night.