Our boat trip went out as scheduled yesterday, and as expected it was a bouncy ride. We thank the Lord for scopolamine patches. These pelagic birding voyages are humbling experiences. The some 22 passengers were all advanced or expert birders. Several had found more than 700 species in North America. Most had one species as a primary objective, the great skua. This is a Mack Truck of a bird, not really so large, but very thick and aggressive. These skua nest in the arctic of Greenland and Iceland and are on holiday in the winter. During this season they remain at sea and range as far south as Hatteras. To see one in North American territory, the birder must go to sea from December through March. So, here were a group of single-minded serious birders. All assembled at 6:00 a.m. in the dark to board the 61-foot Stormy Petrel II. Our guide and captain, Brian Patteson greeted and logged us in. He is quiet and speaks with a soft Carolina accent. He has been running pelagic birding trips from Carolina since 1986. At least four species of birds previously unknown from North America have been sighted from his boats and now grace our field guides. The boat pulled out into Pamlico Sound as the dawn broke gray. The sun rose as we passed through Hatteras Inlet and splashed out through the channel between Hatteras and Ocracoke Islands. We scanned for shore birds, ducks, and geese before leaving the proximity of land. Then we watched the waves breaking furiously along the edges of the channel. We seemed as Moses passing through a narrow channel between mountains of water. After passing through almost a mile of turbulent channel, the boat raced into a less turbulent but still very wavy sea. The captain turned the boat northeast on a heading that would take us through the famous Diamond Shoals. In a few minutes we could see the flash of the Hatteras Lighthouse. The lamp’s slow rotation gave us warning of its position every six seconds. Those of us on deck could feel a fresh north wind already. A crew member was scooping cut fish chum from the stern and a cloud of gulls was trailing us. Herring, great black-backed, and lesser black-backed gulls also formed a long line of paddlers behind, and now northern gannets began to join them. The gannets seem as giant terns, flying, soaring, and plunge diving after the chum. Mostly white with black wing tips and a long gray bill, they are quite handsome. The adults have a cream colored neck and croak their dominance in the mixed flocks. Imagine the show when dozens dive for fish from thirty feet making lines of splashes that resemble those of projectiles striking the water. Just passing the lighthouse and crossing the shoals, the captain calls out a sighting of a skua at 11 o’clock. Everyone moves to port side and standing in the spray raises his or her binoculars and scans the sea ahead. Far ahead among the gulls and gannets is a dark long-winged bird flapping slowly but moving fast. It looks like a brown cement block with wings. Paying no heed to the boat it continues to move off and out of sight. Most of us saw it, but everyone would have liked a better view. Hours passed. We found and enjoyed seeing tiny dovekies buzzing over the waves and razorbills fly torpedo-like over the six-foot swells. The sea turned from green to blue and the water temperature went from 42 to 56. It is the influence of the Gulf Stream. Red phalaropes congregated at this meeting of waters. These are small sandpipers that nest in northern Canada and Alaska. In the fall they go to sea to sit and twirl on the broad ocean surface and pick crustaceans from the water below. They scatter and skitter among the waves when the boat approaches. A few of the birders sickened and lay down in the cabin. We too noticed the rolling ocean, but fortunately the patches worked for us. The sun vanished behind clouds and then returned. After traveling some fifty miles north and east, the Stormy Petrel II began a westward course back toward land. Chuck was sitting on portside when someone farther forward raised his binoculars. As we raised our own glasses he cried out, “skua, skua! 9 o’clock. Again a dark form flying past enchanted all. The captain turned the boat around and all looked to see a white flash on the wing, the mark of the skua. Now we got a closer and longer view, but again the bird continued on its own course and vanished among the waves. We settled down and the boat made its way to port. The wind had picked up and the swells were now pushing nine feet. The entrance of the channel was even more dramatic than during our departure, but as we shot through the seas fell rapidly. Soon we were cruising through the merely choppy waters of the Sound. The sun was setting and a group of very tired and happy birders scanned the shores for a last bird before landing.