“Excuse me, what kind of bird is that?” Antony shouted after him, pointing at the feathered wonder.
The guy turned around in surprise: “It’s an albatross!”
In an hour, Antony had fished out almost everything about albatrosses from the Internet on his smartphone: that it is the largest flying bird in the world with a wingspan of up to three and a half meters and a body length of up to one and a half meters; that, like an ocean bird, it feeds on fish and, like a bird of prey, it does not sing, just screams instead, and that it is extremely rare. А special admiration as an engineer Antony felt from the fact that albatross can catch headwinds and updrafts so masterfully that she can soar over the ocean for days without landing and almost without flapping its wings. In fact, he had heard the name of this bird before, and as a child he even rested in a camp with the same name, but to this day he had not seen it and had no idea how actually huge and beautiful it was. He had never been to a country where albatrosses live even in small numbers before – he was born and studied in Russia, worked in Australia, and visited only Austria. In the United States, it was the first time. Antony called a taxi to the nearest intersection, got up from the bench, and walked down the path to it. When he arrived, the car was waiting for him. Antony jumped in: “To the St. Francis Yacht Club.” The taxi driver looked over his shoulder at the passenger with interest. “A university friend invited me to take a ride to Alaska.” Boasted Antony “On your own yacht?” the taxi almost jumped on his butt of curiosity. “Sort of,” Antony said. “Great! Where may I also could try to find such a friend?” taxi-driver continued. Antony left the question unanswered. The driver's chatter has annoyed him and distracted from pondering why Victor would suddenly has remembered him after twenty years.
The caretaker was already waiting for Antony at the entrance to the club. To the right of the harbor the famous Alcatraz prison island was in clear view, to the left was the equally famous Golden Gate Bridge. It was apparent from the yachts moored that this club was an elite one. The caretaker escorted Antony to pier seven. Victor’s motor yacht with the unusual name ‘The Trackless Hero’ was impressive. Sixty feet long, with a closed wheelhouse, freshly painted in blue and white, it was one of the best yachts in the harbor. Feeling a mixture of envy and pride for his friend, Antony ran up the ramp. A sunburned Victor was pacing the deck and giving instructions to someone in the control room. Antony recognized him straight away. When Victor noticed Antony, he opened his arms and took a step towards him: