After leaving Mary Ann at camp, Gilligan had followed Mary Ann's directions and found the Professor and the Skipper in the jungle unravelling several long, tangled lengths of vine. "Hey, Skipper, how come the two of you are way out here?"

"We got tired of waiting for you! What kept you anyway? The simulator's just about finished." The Skipper twisted some vines 'round and 'round. "There, Professor. Easy does it."

Gilligan shook his head disapprovingly as he set down his cords of bamboo. "Boy, those vines sure are a pain in the neck, aren't they? Just as sneaky as the mooring lines on the Minnow. "

The Skipper blinked. "Come again?"

"Happened every time I got ready to wind them. I'd lay the lines out on deck all nice and neat, turn my back, and when I'd turn around again they were all one big knot. I could have sworn they did it by themselves."

The Skipper threw a long-suffering look at the Professor and put down the untangled vines with a sigh. When he finally turned 'round to look at his first mate, he did a double take. "Hey - what's with the bird on your shoulder?"

"I don't know. He just felt like coming along for the ride."

"Oh, brother." An indulgent smile softened the gruff tones. "Now I know what took you so long. Gilligan, is there any animal on this island you haven't tried to make a pet out of yet?"

Gilligan raised an eyebrow. "I haven't tried the giant spiders - yet."

"What?!" The Skipper's head whipped 'round, as though he expected to see one of the colossal creepy crawlies lurching out of the jungle. "Well, er - good! Ep-ep…just stick to the birds and monkeys, little buddy!"

Gilligan permitted himself a small smile as he scratched Rusty's breast feathers. "Sure, Skipper. Anything you say."

The Professor stepped in. "Gentlemen, are we ready to proceed?"

"Proceed with what, Professor?

"Our earthquake survival drill, Gilligan. We're almost all set up. Come on: it's just through here." The Professor gestured to a trail through the bush, and the three men passed through into a large clearing, brooded over by a soaring banyan tree. In the clearing sat a long platform, roughly the shape of the deck of a small vessel. It was perched on top of a large log that acted as a fulcrum, and long vines snaked up to a large pulley that hung from a sturdy branch of the banyan. The communal table and several buckets sat on the ground nearby.

Gilligan stared, his jaw dropping. "The Mock Minnow? Oh, come on, Professor. The Skipper and I almost drowned on that thing once!"

The Skipper folded his arms. "Gilligan, that's ridiculous. What do you mean, we nearly drowned? It was all play-acting, and we were on dry land!"

"Not too dry, Skipper! You remember Ginger, when she was supposed to be playing the waves? All those buckets she sloshed on us? She could have bailed out the Titanic!"

"Oh, Gilligan! Don't worry about that, all right? There won't be any buckets this time."

"I'm afraid there will, Skipper." The Professor gestured to some buckets nearby. "Putting out fires in an emergency will also be part of our drill."

"Oh." The Skipper looked unhappily from the buckets to Gilligan. "You just leave those to me, little buddy."

"Sure, Skipper. " Gilligan missed the Skipper's sigh of relief as he turned back to the scientist. "But what's with the Mock Minnow, Professor? We used it to recreate a storm, not an earthquake."

"It's all the same principle, Gilligan. We'll simulate the rocking of the earth with this vine and pulley system, just as we simulated the rocking of the sea. We've removed the guardrails, because now the Mock Minnow will be representing the earth itself, rather than the deck of a boat, so we'll have to be extra careful than the rocking starts."

"Yeah." Gilligan shuddered. "Otherwise we'll fall off the earth!"

The Professor tried to disguise his quick snort of laughter as a cough. "Ahem - I assure you, Gilligan, we are not going to fall off the earth. However, in an earthquake, there'is always danger from falling debris. Now, if we're in our huts when the quake strikes, we should be relatively safe. The roofs and walls are made of such light-weight material that they can't harm us, even if they do collapse. But outdoors there could be falling trees and coconuts. We must learn how to protect ourselves."

The two sailors nodded. "And the buckets of water, Professor?" asked the Skipper.

Now the Professor's face grew solemn again. "One of the greatest dangers during an earthquake is the spread of fire. We must see that any candles, lanterns and campfires are put out at once, otherwise the flames may spread, and we'll be faced with a massive conflagration."

"And a mighty big fine from Smokey the Bear," murmured Gilligan.

"That's a colourful way of expressing it, Gilligan, but you're right. However, once this simulation device is finished we will all practice emergency drills, so that when the earth tremors begin, we can respond calmly and efficiently."

"Like our battle-station drills aboard the destroyer, Gilligan," said the Skipper. "Makes it seem like the real thing. " He blinked for a moment. "Uh –ep-wait a minute. On second thought, Professor, maybe Gilligan better sit this one out."

"Why?" demanded the first mate.

"Because I don't want another disaster!"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean! Remember what happened on our destroyer the last time we had battle station drill?"

Gilligan's eyes widened as the memory returned; then he frowned. "Wait a minute - that wasn't my fault!"

"Oh, sure it wasn't. You only got your foot tangled in the hauser line and went straight overboard. I had to jump in after you!"

"You didn't need to do that. I could've swum out by myself."

"Maybe so, but Admiral Walker couldn't have, and since you'd dragged him over with you I didn't have much choice, did I? It was a good thing we both left the navy when we did, otherwise he might have keel-hauled the pair of us!"

Gilligan grinned conspiratorially. "Aw, come on, Skipper. You always said Admiral Walker was a great big, over-stuffed blowhard that didn't know the foc'sle from the poop deck!"

"Gilligan—"

"And maybe if you hadn't laughed so hard 'cause his big belly was bobbing around like a beachball--"

"Gentlemen, please." The Professor's long-suffering, sad eyes said it all. "Could we save the reminiscing for another time? We have work to do!"

"What do you want us to do, Professor?" asked the Skipper.

"First of all, glue the table to the platform. It's that glue you once made from tree sap, Gilligan, so it will dissolve in three days time. But for now, we don't want the table sliding all over the deck. "

"Aye aye." Gilligan gently lifted the bird on one finger. "I've got work to do now, Rusty. "You go on and sit somewhere out of the way, okay?"

The bird gave a deep throated caw and flapped off in a billowing cascade of red to perch on a nearby bush. Gilligan and the Skipper went to pick up the long table as the Professor returned to his slide rule and papers. The two sailors lifted the table, one at each end, and started walking with the Skipper going forwards and Gilligan backwards. "Straight ahead, Gilligan. Steady as she goes!"

"Aye aye, Skipper. Just tell me when we get to—yeeikes!"

Gilligan suddenly slid out of sight under the table, and the front end came slamming down as the Skipper clutched desperately at the back end. "Doop! Gilligan!" After easing the table down as carefully as he could, the Skipper ducked underneath in search of his vanished first mate. "Gilligan? What are you doing down there?"

Gilligan rubbed his skinny backside, wincing. "Damage control, Skipper! What else? Ow! If this is how the practice feels, what's the real earthquake gonna be like?"

"What happened?" the Skipper demanded.

"I slipped on a rock back there."

"Well, why didn't you look where you were going?"

"How could I? I was going backwards! Why didn't you look where I was going?"

"Oh, Gilligan!" The Skipper dragged his hand over his face as though to ward off an approaching storm. "Come on, on your feet! Make it snappy!"

"Aye aye, sir," Gilligan grumbled, climbing out from under the table. He stood at the far end and prepared to lift it again, but suddenly stopped. "Hey, wait a minute! How come I have to go backwards, anyway?"

"Because that's the way we're going, you knucklehead! The Mock Minnow is behind you!"

"But you've got the easy part! Going forwards! Why can't we switch places and you go backwards? "

The Professor called from his seat on a nearby rock. "Gentlemen, we are wasting time."

"Sorry, Professor. Oh, all right, then, Gilligan, come aft and get hold of this end." The pair changed places, Gilligan rubbing his backside gingerly. "Now," the Skipper urged as he lifted the end of the table, "Shove off!"

They began walking again, the Skipper talking all the while. "You see, Gilligan? All it takes is a little extra effort. You've got to be able to do two things at once."

"Skipper-" Gilligan began.

"Quiet, Gilligan." The table continued right on course. "You've got to stay alert when there's work to be done. You can't daydream or get distracted – by birds or whatever else it is. You've got to pay attention to what you're doing and always keep a weather eye out!"

"But Skipper!"

"Will you pipe down and listen?" The Skipper yanked at his end and upped his pace backwards. "It's the law of the sea, Gilligan! If you don't keep alert, you're sunk!"

"Look out!" Gilligan yelled.

"Doop!" The Skipper backed right into the Mock Minnow and toppled backwards, hat flying. The table clunked to the ground, pinning the Skipper by the knees as Gilligan shrank back in dismay. Nervously he edged his way up and peeped over the end of the table to see the Skipper lying sprawled on the deck, blond hair askew.

"The law of the sea, huh? Looks like it's the law of the land, too!" said the first mate.

"Oh! Gilligan! Get this thing off of me!" Gilligan picked up the end pinning the Skipper, who sat up and promptly shoved it backwards. One of the table legs came down with a thud on his foot. "Oh! Gilligan, you're a worse menace than the Bermuda Triangle!"

Racing over to pick up the Skipper's hat, Gilligan suddenly heard a loud cawing. He turned to see something orange and red swoop down to flutter wildly around the Skipper's head. The big man swatted furiously with his hands. "Ep--what in the name of—It's got my hair! Get it off of me!"

"Rusty! What's gotten into you? Shoo!" Gilligan waved the bird away. It lofted up and perched on Gilligan's sailor cap, long plumes hanging down like a red ponytail.

Meanwhile the Skipper struggled to his feet, hanging onto Gilligan's arm and nearly yanking him over in the process. At last, running his hands through his hair as if to make sure it was all there, the Skipper glared daggers at the top of Gilligan's head. "This is too much! That crazy bird tried to scalp me! He's got a hank of my hair in his beak!"

Gilligan rolled his eyes up. "He does?"

"What does he think I am anyway? A giant suet ball?"

"No, Skipper. I don't know why he—" Gilligan paused. "A giant what?"

"Suet ball," snapped the Skipper.

"What's that?"

The Skipper heaved a sigh like the rumbling of a volcano as he jammed his captain's cap back on his head. "It's a kind of bird feeder, Gilligan. A great big ball of fat."

Gilligan blinked and opened his lips to speak, but one glare from the Skipper snapped them shut again. Gilligan swallowed nervously. "Oh, come on, Skipper," he babbled with a feeble smile. "What would make him think a thing like that?"

"He's doing it because he's nesting, Skipper," the Professor called wearily.

"He's what?"

"That's a Raggiana Bird of Paradise. The male Birds of Paradise all build and decorate elaborate nests in the hope of attracting a mate, and collect all manner of strange debris to create a display. Gilligan's bird has evidently decided that your hair might attract a female."

"Hasn't so far," the Skipper grumbled sotto voce.

"At least he doesn't think you're a girl, Skipper," Gilligan offered. "He didn't dance for you the way he did for Mary Ann."

"Gilligan, I don't care if he does the Sailor's Hornpipe! Just keep him away from me and hoist your end of that table. Let's get it up here on deck before it kills me!"

At last they had the table perched on the Mock Minnow's slanted deck. The Skipper held his end steady against the pull of gravity. "Now hop down there and get that bucket of glue and brushes, while I keep the table from sliding off. On the double!"

Gilligan hopped down nimbly and fetched the items, Rusty still perched on his head. The bird shifted its feet, trying to get a better purchase on Gilligan's cap, and the brim slid over Gilligan's eyes. "Hey, Rusty, don't do that! How am I supposed to see where I'm going?"

"Gilligan, hurry it up! This table's heavy!"

The bellow sent Gilligan's kicked Gilligan's adrenalin into action. "Aye aye, sir!" He took a desperate step forward, slipped on another rock, and the glue and brushes flew.

In a splash worthy of Ginger's storm effects, the glue swamped the Mock Minnow's deck, including the table legs – and the Skipper's feet.

The Skipper stared, disbelieving, as the gooey mixture gleamed on his coated sneakers. He tried to lift his feet and couldn't. "Oh, no!"

Gilligan dropped the bucket, edging backwards. "Look on the bright side, Skipper! At least you won't fall overboard – not for three days, anyway!"

"Gilligan!"

The Professor sighed in unconditional surrender and put down his sliderule. "Fortunately, I brought along a bottle of Ginger's perfume. I'll have the solvent prepared in a few minutes, Skipper. Gilligan, perhaps you'd better let the Skipper and I finish this."

"Aye aye, Professor!" Gilligan's adrenalin kicked into overdrive and he fled as Rusty took off, tail feathers rippling. Red shirt and red plumage disappeared into the welcoming jungle.