Six on a Raft

KoN-TiKi (304 pp.)--Thor Heyerdahl --Rand McNally ($4).

Peruvian sailors watching the crazy craft under construction at Callao thought the six Scandinavians must be mad. The crude raft was made of balsa logs, the longest 45 ft. long, hauled from the Ecuadorian jungles and lashed together with ropes. A crude steering oar swung astern; a big, archaic square sail drooped drunkenly from the mast, and the cabin aft was a bamboo hut thatched with banana leaves.

This seagoing eyesore had a name: Kon-Tiki, after a Peruvian chief of 500 A.D. who had hopped a balsa-log raft to escape his enemies. Kon-Tiki had a destination, too, but it was born of a hunch and a prayer. Her captain, Norwegian Scientist Thor Heyerdahl, hoped to be carried by wind and currents to Polynesia and thus help establish his thesis: that the prehistoric settlers of Polynesia sailed from Peru. Anthropologists may argue whether Skipper Heyerdahl made his point, but no one can deny that Kon-Tiki, his book about the attempt, and the September Book-of-the-Month Club choice, is one of the best man-against-the-elements yarns to crop up in many a year.

Man Overboard. Oddly enough, Heyerdahl had no trouble in raising his crew of five, all but one of whom were landlubbers and all itching to go. Herman Watzinger, an engineer, and Ethnologist Bengt Danielsson invited themselves when they heard about the stunt. Knut Haugland, Tor-stein Raaby and guitar-playing Painter Eric Hesselberg all jumped at the chance when they were asked. There is no indication, in the book at least, that they regretted it for a moment.

The raft itself was never in serious danger. Outside of a couple of storms, the vast Pacific obligingly lived up to its name. The Kon-Tiki had been built cunningly and rode the seas like a chip. "The more leaks the better. Through the gaps in our floor the water ran out but never in." Only once was a crewman in serious danger, when Watzinger fell overboard and was unable to catch up with the raft, which was at the mercy of the current. Haugland jumped in with a life line and rescued him while the other four watched with horror as some huge sea monster tailed the swimming men.

No Engine? Once a whale shark larger than the raft itself came alongside, but it gave no trouble, not even when Hesselberg begged for it by plaguing the visitor with a harpoon. As for mere sharks, they worried no one: it became sport to haul them aboard by the tail with the bare hand. The Kon-Tiki's food kept well, stored below the deck in asphalt-coated containers, and seafood was a glut in the galley. Flying fish, good eating, practically flung themselves at the frying pan.

On Aug. 7, 1947, the 101st day of the 4,300-mile voyage, the Kon-Tiki piled up on a reef just off a lovely island in the Tuamotu Archipelago. Three or four days before that, friendly natives had paddled out to visit the raft. Where, they asked knowingly in sign language, was the engine? When they realized there was none, their faces expressed pure 20th Century astonishment.

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