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offering educational pilgrimages, as it were, beginning with writing workshops. But no one understood the name, especially in foreign countries. My Turkish crew couldn’t even pronounce it. And I wasn’t sure the sign was lined up quite right. It was hard to tell. The sun was very bright off the white hull.
    The boat would be pulled backward into the water on large wooden skids. It was an old system, with cables attached fore and aft. Planks were laid out behind the boat like railroad ties for the skids to slide over.
    â€œWe use this system for hundreds of years,” Seref said. “Not with steel cable or tractor, of course. But this is same system.”
    â€œIt’s the system the Easter Islanders used to move around those huge statues,” I said. “At least according to one theory. But other scientists say the system couldn’t have worked, that the statues would have fallen off.”
    Seref shook his head and smiled. “You think like no other person,” he said. Then he patted my shoulder and walked away.
    By around noon, the yard crew was finally ready, and the tractor, revving up, started pulling. There were shouts immediately, then readjustments to the skids, then movement again. The whole thing looked dangerously top-heavy, but the skids moved smoothly over the ties, and after about fifty feet, the stern hanging over the edge of the water, the tractor eased up and the boat stopped.
    I was inspecting the cable system. It was anchored ahead of where the bow had been, and had a brake on it, using blocks. Seref told me the next step would be to ease the boat toward the water, then let it go so that it slid back without tipping over. If they hit the brakes once it was back at an angle, it would fall onto the stern. So they had to let it glide at the end.
    â€œI’m very nervous about this,” I said. “The launch basically is not controlled. Has a boat ever fallen over backward or sideways?”
    â€œDavid, really you worry too much. This happen maybe once or twice. But almost all the time the boat just glide into the sea.”
    We would be up on deck when the boat was let go. Seref and Nancy and I, and the crew. So at least Seref was risking his own life. I asked him whether our Turkish insurance policy would cover an accident at launch, and he said it would. And there was no other solution. I couldn’t make a 150-ton travelift suddenly appear.
    After various final preparations had been made, about ten people were up on deck and I was down in the bilges, checking. In the engine room I found Ecrem not doing anything about two large holes in the side of the hull. They were going to be exhausts for the generator and one of the discharge pumps; the holes were about three inches in diameter. I tried to motion for him to close them, using made-up sign language since he didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Turkish. Finally I had to yell for Seref, and he came down to interpret.
    â€œPlease tell him to close these holes,” I said.
    Seref talked with him and then said, “He can’t close them. These exhausts will not have valves. The hoses will fit over the pipe.”
    â€œWell we can’t launch with them open.”
    Seref talked with Ecrem again. “He says they are above the waterline.”
    â€œWhen we go flying back into the water, the water is going to slosh a bit, don’t you think?”
    â€œOkay, David, okay,” Seref said. “I tell him to close this.”
    â€œThanks,” I said. Then I went through the rest of the engine checks while he talked more with Ecrem. I made sure the engine intake valves, diesel lines, and shaft gland cooling valves were open. This way of launching was difficult for me to accept. We’d hit the water at speed, drifting around uncontrolled and banging into other boats if we couldn’t start our engines. I knew I shouldn’t make comparisons, but in the U.S. this would never