Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
looking for a dock or something to head for before I ran out of sail and motion. There was
no dock suitable for tying up to, but there were a few red buoys scattered around the tiny
little harbor. I steered Déjà vu towards one of them just upwind of us and charged forward,
grabbing the handy boathook that I always kept on the coach house roof alongside the grab
rail.
I had only one chance to pick this buoy up. If I failed, the momentum of the boat would be
insufficient to carry me to another, and I would fall off the wind. That would have pushed
Déjà vu around; I would have to jibe, and there would not be enough water in this harbor
for fancy maneuvers. No, I had to pick this little buoy up, and I put every effort into this
simple action. I missed it the first time and, suddenly panicking, lashed out at it again as
we were sailing abreast of it. This time I had the line on my boathook, and I brought it
up slowly and carefully and pounced on it as I got it up on deck. Never before did a little,
plastic float look so good to me! I almost kissed it. I dragged it around to the foredeck and
hauled in on it to reveal a larger more substantial mooring warp. This I lashed firmly to the
bollard on deck, and I shuddered a sigh of relief. I now turned to the mast and dropped the
two sails that hung limply in the falling rain. I felt as limp as they looked. I lashed them up
so they wouldn't flog or fall about and went down below to get out of my wet clothes.
I stripped and peeled off my freezing, wet garments and toweled myself off roughly. My
teeth were chattering, and I was blue. I was awash with the feeling of “tired but happy.” I
had made it. I was secure, and I was dry and putting on warm dry clothes. There is always
a sense of achievement that comes from a sail and a destination made even though it may
only be one or two hundred miles. Whether it is an overnighter or a week out, it is still a
complete trip from one safe anchorage to the next. The trip that goes in between is never
the same; even if it is the same destination, it always has a different feel to it. Obviously, a
lot has to do with the person making the trip and what frame of mind he is in. I made the
identical trip to Lanai almost twenty years later and, though I was alone again that time, it
was completely different.
Murphy was very happy to see me, and he ran over to me meowing loudly his concern,
“Where have you been? I was so worried about you in all this wild, wet motion! Now can
I have some food, please? Look sharp about it; I don't have all day either!”
I held him for a while and looked warily about the cabin. He was being too sweet. I ex-
pected to see one of his nasty, little presents somewhere around but was quite surprised to
see that the coast was clear. I gave him some crunchy cat bix and another piece of the fish
that we had caught. He gobbled it down and drank some of the powdered milk I made for
my tea, and he went straight to sleep. He had had such a day. I drank my large cup of extra
sweet, strong tea and put on the radio. On the commercial radio I picked up a station from
