Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I looked about in the semi-moonlit, watery void for other boat lights but saw none. I seemed
to be the only soul out here in this part of the world. It was a heady feeling, but never once
was I afraid or lonely. There was an ancient feeling out here amongst the islands. I could
feel a certain spirit or spirits out here : ghosts of old Hawaii around me in the partial moon-
light and dark waters. It was not eerie but rather comforting. I felt protected somehow, as
though these ancients approved of what I was doing.
I wondered if my mast partner had the old men's choir still in it. I had not listened for quite
some time; I made a mental note to listen when I went back down. I made one final check,
noticed that the fishing line was still trailing through the water, saw that the hurricane lamp
was still burning companionably, and turned in again. I lay down on my bunk and pressed
my ear up to the mast partner and listened. Sure enough, there they were, not all singing as
loudly as when the wind was up but still there, chorusing to me from centuries ago. I can
understand if the dear reader thinks I am quite mad. Perhaps I am, who is to say?
Surprisingly, I fell asleep again, waking to the day just breaking, Déjà vu sailing a lot faster,
and Murphy up on my bunk playing with my wrist. I arose and looked outside through the
fore hatch, Lanai was still way in the distance, and I noticed we were quite a bit off course.
I went above and altered the wind vane slightly upwind, as the breeze had freshened to a
definite fifteen knots. We were fairly galloping along. The increase in the wind had over-
whelmed the steering vane slightly, and I had to alter the helm upwind just a tad. There
were a lot of clouds in the sky, the sun just peeping over the clear yellow line of the ho-
rizon over to my east. The wind felt nippy but exhilarating. I went below and tapped the
barometer; the needle swung back from its high pressure point, and I assumed we were in
for a little blow.
Lanai continued to grow in size, and I could see more detail and color on her mountain top.
Kooalawi also grew in size, and one could tell there was no water on this brown island as
it was too low to collect rain. The seas were picking up gradually too, I noticed, and gone
was that balmy, idyllic sailing from yesterday. I had to be more alert. Yesterday's sailing
was forgiving and lazy. I could see today I would probably have to be a real sailor. I no-
ticed that the fishing line had gone all stretchy, and I realized I might just have a fish on
the other end. If Gavin had been aboard I would have suspected foul play, or towel play in
this case. I hauled it in; it was heavy and struggling. I was sailing at around five knots and
would normally heave to or head up into the wind to land a fish, but I was more interested
in getting to harbor in daylight and didn't want to waste any time. If the struggling fish got
away, so be it.
The fish continued to struggle; in fact, it put up a brave fight, and I was quite sure on several
occasions I would lose him, but in the end I managed to land a very nice, large dorado who
was almost as tall as I was. He came flying over the aft rails, tail slapping and flapping,
