National Geographic : 1969 Dec
seen a working caravan, half a dozen camels taking freight to a brightly painted little cargo carrier up the pier. A moment later, Sara was covering the Bodrum waterfront. A fisherman scrubbed ink from his fresh-caught octopus-to Sara's wry-faced disgust. Nearby, spongers had spread out their sun-dried wares, ranging from round sponges the size of one's hand to giant baroque sponges as big as Sara herself. Joe cut our shopping short. "We'll lose the early-morning light," he insisted. Joe wanted pictures of Yankee sailing out of Bodrum's harbor; he had picked a mountaintop vantage point and had a walkie-talkie to direct Yankee's maneuvers. We followed orders, even leaving the harbor a second time when Joe's radio voice squawked, "One more, please" (below). 824 As Yankee slipped out of radio range, we had no way of knowing the rest of the story that day. But three Turkish soldiers appeared and arrested Joe, Bart, and guide Yamag. "This is a military reservation," one soldier explained. "Your radio is illegal." Years before, Joe had briefly seen the inside of an African jail because of a diplomatic mixup. "Bodrum looked a lot like Africa for a few minutes," he told us later. "Then we got the soldiers to call the museum, and we got sprung. They even brought us cold drinks." As Yankee plied Aegean waters, we found the west coast of Turkey almost a different country from the south coast. For weeks we had wandered off the beaten track, gunkholing as sailors say-or shunpiking, as our shore party put it. Along the southern coast we'd usually found either westerly breezes or calms.