Saturday, November 30, 1929
Perfect day—plenty hot with a nice breeze. Sea almost like glass. We were about 120 miles off the Mexican coast. With a calm sea you could better notice the sea-life—schools of flying fish skimming low over the water, propelling themselves by a flick of the tail on the wave crest—scores of large turtles (2 ft. in diam.) lying on the surface, seemingly unperturbed that our good-speed-wagon sped by thirty feet away. The first hour at the wheel I counted 64 turtles as we passed, many of them with a bird standing on their back. Several birds are flying about the ship—of two species. One I think comes from the mainland while the second kind has followed the ship since we left Honolulu.
Bugs were teriffic (hot spelling) today, so much so that we could hardly even get into the mess room to grab some food and run for the open. Heaven help Jimmie, the “doler out” of the mess (mess is right). I deny that eating is a pleasure; it’s a task. Therefore I am not interested especially since I picked nine bugs out of seven bites of macaroni at dinner.
Speaking of bugs, have just discovered a bigger and better cockroach that puts its puny counterparts to absolute shame. This type is a “flying dutchman” variety, underslung, straight eight, fully equipped sports roadster model in reddish brown color. No spare tires. Quite an improvement over his would-be scrawny fellow-men.
Had the Saturday afternoon fire and boat drill, played bridge in between times, and while all this was going on the Ethan Allan tore off 216 miles.