Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Chapter Seventeen
Fiji and Australia.
Lunar scare.
Jumping ship.
Malolo Lailai.
The artist.
Storm of the greybeards!
Bundaburg.
California calling.
We set sail for Fiji in tandem with Dave and Arlene early one morning. Theirs was a large,
heavy, old, concrete cutter, almost fifty feet in length and, according to Dave, rather slow but
comfortable. However, with their extra length in waterline, they soon drew level and then
left us in the horizon.
There were some interesting islands in the eastern Fijian group, more mountainous than
those of Tonga. Being an overcautious navigator, I tended to give them a fairly wide berth,
much to Gavin's frustration, though we were able to see them quite clearly as we passed on
their lee. We sailed past the scrubby Matuku, Totoya, and Moala. They appeared uninhabit-
able, but it was hard to say from where we were.
The pilot book reminded us of frequent white squalls in this area and at this time of year.
I was on the constant lookout for signs of these high bursts of wind which give very little
warning, hence the name white, or line, squall, as opposed to the black ones which you could
see miles away. We hit a violent one off Totoya. It was all we feared and worse. Even though
I was always on the lookout for one, it hit us from out of the blue. We were sailing in ten to
fifteen knot southeasterlies when it struck. I did happen to notice that a low patch of fog-like
cloud was suddenly all around us. It felt moist and cold and too late we saw the turbulence
on the surface of the water. It sounded and felt like a locomotive as it struck Déjà vu on her
exposed port beam. I have seldom seen her with her spreaders in the water. This incident
was one of the few knockdowns where she virtually had them in the drink. The main and
Genoa made a terrific flogging noise, and it was all we could do to control them, especially
the Genoa. I was given a mighty thump on the head with the heavy stainless cringle on the
clew.
We scrambled up to the mast and feverishly dragged the sails down before they flogged
themselves to death. The sudden gusts lasted for about ten minutes, coming in shrieks and
puffs, and then the dervish was gone, dancing helter-skelter wildly on another errand of mis-
chief. Gavin was the first to recover and inspected the fishing line. Sure enough we had
