Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
hooked a wicked looking barracuda which he gutted and we fried up later that evening with
a can of baked beans. It never ceased to amaze us how fish will go on the bite in the wildest
of weather. I had a nasty lump on my forehead and a path of blood trickled down the side
of my eye. I washed it with salty water and put on a little band aid.
I walked about the boat looking for any signs of damage, particularly in the rigging. A
blast of wind like that could seriously strain the turnbuckles, shackles, or even part a few
cables. From deck level we seemed to be sound, and I made a mental note to go aloft when
anchored to check above. As a rule, we always sailed with all the ports sealed and the fore
hatch tightly shut. I imagined how much water we could have shipped if we had left them
open. I looked down into the cabin and noticed a large, wet patch of water sloshing through
the sole hatches.
I swung down in a jiffy and saw with dismay that the bilges were awash with filthy brown
oily water. Kneeling down quickly, I tasted some and discovered it had a slightly salty tang
but was obviously freshwater. I was relieved and alarmed at the same time: relieved that
the boat wasn't leaking but alarmed that we might have lost a lot of freshwater.
I opened the forward bilge inspection hatch and saw the level of the water as it sloshed
around in the semi-clear fiberglass tank. We had lost about half our water through the
knockdown and consequent wild sail thereafter. I thought I had sorted the tank leak out but
evidently not. Up until the day that Déjà vu and I sadly parted company, I never was able
to determine where that damn water leak was. It only manifested itself when we were well
heeled over, making it impossible to simulate in calm conditions. Ah well, one could never
know all of a lady's secrets could one?
The moon was almost full and, while it was great to sail at night and be able to see for miles
around, it also had a strong tidal pull through the islands. The pilot book warned of the as-
sociated dangers of sailing near any reefs during this lunar phase. Armed with this gem of
information, we eventually made for the breakwater at the southerly entrance of Suva, on
the island of Viti Levu. It was still dark when we arrived a mile or two from its entrance;
we failed to see any marker lights or buoys.
We were sailing very close to land, parallel to the shore, with the moon casting a ghostly,
pale light around the dark, swirling waters. I was very nervous, and my fear rubbed off on
Gavin, who too became rather spooked.
“The pilot book warns of strong currents near the island landmass,” I said shortly.
“Well then, why are we sailing so close? You can hear the bloody breakers on those reefs
there,” said Gavin, nervously looking in the direction of the dark island.
“I'm trying to find the damn entrance marker, that's why.” I said irritably.
