"If you don't know where you're going, any road
will get you there," said Alice
to the Hare. Gone are the days when I used this quote from Alice in
Wonderland in my motivational lectures on the benefits of strategic
planning
and goal setting. Today, on the 0300 - 0600 sunrise watch, the Pacific
Bliss
navigator truly doesn't know where she is going. And-surprisingly, it's
OK.
Yesterday, we were headed for a waypoint at the entrance path of Ahe,
an atoll
in the Tuomotus. Today, possibly Rangaroa
possibly Tahiti. We're
about 300
miles from the Marquesas now, headed in a general southwest direction.
All is peaceful and quiet on Pacific Bliss in these wee morning
hours. I made
a fresh pot of Starbucks® Colombia coffee and took it with me to
the starboard
helm for company. A few clouds had formed since I went off watch at
2100
(9:00 PM), but most of the stars were still shining brightly. I systematically
scanned the northern sky behind me, then the eastern sky to port, the
southern
sky ahead and above the top of the main, and the western sky to my right,
looking for the now-familiar constellations of the sky south of the
equator.
The Big Dipper, rising early last night, had gone to bed. But there
was still
Pegasus, Cygnus, and Hercules to the north; Virgo, Hydra, and Corvus
to the
west; The Southern Cross, Vela, and Centaurus; and little Delphinus
to the
east. My friends.
By 0500, a distinct horizon line has emerged, separating the navy blue
ripples
of the sea with grey horizon clouds topped by the faint orange-pink
of
pre-dawn. A few stars continue to glow in the southern sky, as the dawn
spreads and snuffs them out. Our buddy boat Makoko is motoring
along, about 6
of a mile to our starboard, the radar confirms, her red and white navigation
lights still on, the outline of her sails barely perceptible against
the darker
western sky.
By 0520, I watch the dark cumulus clouds of night gradually turn to
a benign
grey as the orange-pink pastels spread across the eastern horizon. The
sky
above me turns mauve for a few moments, then to a pale blue. I can see
clearly
now, the three sails of the ketch gently outlined against pastel blue.
How I
love these muted tones of the pre-dawn!
At 0535, the lighter cirrus clouds begin to form a red-fuchsia backdrop
behind
the heavier cumulus, striated furrows that the eye can see, but that
my Nikon
can barely capture. There is only five minutes of this intensified,
saturated
color, then the horizon becomes muted once again.
Photo: Predawn (to come)
The wind picks up to 10 knots. I am abreast of Makoko now and
I see that they
are setting their sails to catch every breath of that elusive wind.
Finally,
they will be able to shut down their problematic engine! I pray that
today
will be a better day for them. I set our port motor that has been running
all
night to idle (thankful that we have two) and enjoy watching our tall
main fill
as it catches the wind.
By 0545, the still-striated cirrus in the east begin to glow, silver-white
neon
edges reflecting the rising sun still beyond the horizon. The cumulus
with
their fluffy ballerina skirts fringe the entire horizon, forming one
triumphant
circle, enclosing Pacific Bliss in a superdome that is now glowing
with
reflected light. Imagine, if you will, a visual "surround sound".
But the
star performer is yet to come.
Right at 0600, as if on cue, the sun dances coquettishly behind the
fluffy
skirts of the ringed cumulus performers, her subtle form peeking through
the
striated cirrus. She casts her spreading rays like a pale golden gown
reaching
ever downward through the clouds, but still I do not see her. The glow
intensifies. The rays are wider. And finally, she breaks through in
all her
glory. Another day has begun.
Dance of the Dawn: Tomorrow is Another Day
Part II
The uncertainty in our destination began yesterday afternoon. Pacific
Bliss
had been motorsailing ahead of Makoko in light winds that never
exceeded 8
knots. The VHF talk between the two vessels had focused on how much
fuel we
had, and whether we could make it to the Tuomotus if we had to motor
all the
way. We were about two or three miles ahead when we saw the ketch dropping
back. Through the binoculars, it appeared as if they might be hove to,
their
sails perpendicular to ours.
"Something is wrong with Makoko," I said, setting
down the binoculars.
"Jean-Claude radioed earlier about having some problems with his
engine. Then
he never got back to me," Gunter said. "Let's just turn around
and go see."
We turned around and soon were alongside. On the VHF, Gunter asked
a few
questions. Then he took out a key reference of ours: the Nigel Calder's
"bible" on anything to do with electricity on vessels. It
turned out that the
book had a section on Hurth transmissions, which Makoko has.
He read a
pertinent section out loud, and then said, "What the heck, I'll
bring it over
to you."
"Don't jeopardize your safety," Jean-Claude warned.
We inched Pacific Bliss as close to Makoko as we dared.
Though the wind was
light, the swells were high. Armin stretched precariously over our dinghy
Petit Bliss as he untied the additional dock lines we used to secure
her during
long passages. Then we let her down gently, still fastened to the davit
lines, into the ocean swells. The danger was that she slides sideways
in the
swells and flips. Gunter managed to get in, with Armin and me trying
to hold
her steady. I handed Gunter the thick manual, carefully protected in
a garbage
bag. Gunter pulled the cord on the outboard. The Yamaha did not start
right
off as she usually did. I held my breath. What if
then on the third
try, the
welcome Brmmm sound, and we let the dinghy go.
"This is rough, not like in an anchorage," Gunter yelled
out as he powered
toward Makoko, reaching the 53' mono hull which was rolling from
side to side
in the swell.
Armin glanced to his watch. "Less than one hour till sunset. Is
he going to
board?"
"I don't know," I said, worried.
Aware of the danger, Gunter handed up the bag and headed right back,
and we had
Petit Bliss secured again before dark.
We ate a meal of brown rice and octopus as the sky gradually darkened,
encircling our two boats, lonesome specs bobbing quietly in a vast sea.
Finally, Jean-Claude got back to us. "It's definitely the gear
box. I can go
in reverse but only up to 1000 rpm in forward. It's going to be slow
going.
You should go ahead to the Tuomotus."
"No way. That's what buddy boats and friends are all about,"
said Gunter.
"Just have a pastis, and go through Calder's book in the morning
when you are
fresh."
"I did have a cold beer already, after spending all that time
in the engine
room. Problem is, only 1000 rpm is not enough to power through the passes
in
the Tuomotus, and towing through those passes could be very dangerous,
if not
impossible. I'll have to have the gearbox looked at in Papeete."
"That's OK; we're sticking with you wherever you go. Have a good
night!"
"With such good friends, how can I not have a good night?"
With that, our vessels had droned on into the quiet and listless night
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