Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
madly about with bursting hearts, and a hot cup of coffee at hand. Personally I don't know
what could be better!
Déjà vu was thrilled to be out sailing again as well. It was plain to see how she joyfully
filled her white skirts and, with a jaunty tilt to port, sloshed musically through the blue wa-
ter. Sometimes a wave would elbow its way on deck with a sloppy schlup as the foamy
droplets rained down on deck, and there would be a display of bright water glittering in
the crisp sunlight. High above, the mast plate that bore all the halyard blocks, aerials, and
navigation light gyrated in forward moving circles, swinging from port to starboard. I lay
up on the foredeck on a large, comfy sail bag and watched the mast swinging through the
white clouds. I saw characters, castles, and creatures form and melt in these scruffy white
cotton wool dollops.
For once I was sorry to see an island growing in size as we drew closer. I saw the serrated
line of coconut trees lining the beaches, like sentinels, awaiting our arrival. At this distance,
they appeared small and grey and then slowly they started turning black. We then could
make out a sliver of yellow beach, and the sentry coconuts increased in size, turning a dark
green with light brown and yellow dead and dying leaves, waving absently to anyone who
would see.
There was no indication on the map where we could anchor. I decided to sail around to
the lee, away from the prevailing southeaster. Soon, we were in the calm of the island and
what appeared to be a good place to anchor. Down came both sails, and with the engine
muttering obligingly in the hold below, we nosed up to the fringe of pale, blue water. The
silence was broken with the clatter of chain as the Danforth anchor jetted down forward of
the bow, and the rope paid smartly out. I backed Déjà vu onto the anchor, saw that she was
well-bedded, and killed the motor. In the following silence we heard the lapping of wave-
lets, washing up on the sandy beach as they had done for a million years before.
As far as could be seen, there were no signs of any inhabitants. Hundreds of waving
coconut trees dotted the seashore and beyond. There were other trees intermingled,
pandanas, and others unknown to us: leafy, shady, tropical trees. The island was relatively
flat; it seemed like one large coral beach. Crabs scampered about in the sun; they were a
delicate red with almost clear carapaces. I wondered if there were any coconut crabs. Hun-
dreds of terns swooped about in and out of the cool ,green canopy formed by this tangle of
trees and shrubs.
I helped Gavin with the unloading of the dinghy, and we rowed ashore to explore this deser-
ted atoll. Dreams, novels, and fantasies are made of this stuff. This was almost the moment
that I had been waiting for all my life. I had visions and fantasies about living on a deserted
island somewhere in the far removed South Pacific islands. It was visions of this that had
