"The
time has come the walrus said……." On February the 8th
we agreed we were ready to go. Our stay in Mexico had been wonderful and
it was easy to see why cruisers before us were taking root all along its
Pacific coastline, their plans to roam further afield fading in the tropical
sun. Setting out on an ocean voyage in a small boat gives rise to a myriad
of unfamiliar sensations. Part of ones consciousness is acutely aware
that it’s a major commitment in time and energy and not without occasional
discomfort and risk. The other voice relishes the challenge, anticipates
its joys, and is eager to get on with it. At
midday we slipped past the El Cid marina with its pools, bars and sunburnt
holidaymakers. Within a few hours Mazatlan slid lazily below the sea in
the late afternoon haze leaving us alone with our thoughts and a destination
2750 miles beyond the western horizon.
For
five days we tacked this way and that in inconsistent and often contrary
winds. The occasional calm would leave us wistfully feeling that reaching
Hawaii might prove to be a very long drawn out affair. On day six the
breeze picked up and steadied, finally marking the arrival of the long
awaited northeast
trade winds. Agua Verde heeled to leeward, lifted her skirts, and with
her big reaching genoa straining at its seams we tore off to the westward.
The wind blew and the spray flew. The seas astern built up in big gray
restless heaps chasing us on our way.
Day
rolled into night in a continuum of three hour watches. The mostly overcast
day sky would occasionally clear and the sun burned with considerable
intensity testing our newly installed bimini. Agua Verde rushed and rolled
in the quartering sea, always demanding and receiving our attention. Her
relationship with the wind and waves in their differing moods was willingly
and wholeheartedly given priority. We the crew were as her lovers, sensitive
to her wants and eager to please. We traced a zigzag course just south
of the Tropic of Cancer, usually running wing on wing, sometimes broad
reaching, and always adjusting sail to suit the conditions.
Our
main diversion of the day was our evening meal, a social affair just prior
to sundown, always creative to prepare and entertaining to share. After
the dishes were put away one of us would don their safety harness, clip
on, and settle down in the twilight to welcome the stars. Just as the
sun had done before it, the moon would rise, stay aloft as long as cloud
and gravity permitted, and disappear again below the horizon, switching
off the lights as it did so. The nights were special, reminding city dwelling
sailors of the delights of the sky's other inhabitants, a
mind boggling abundance of energy umpteen light years away. If the watches
sometimes seemed long it wasn't the stars fault. Dawn in its turn would bless us
with its sunny benediction and colourful renewal, and the whole life cycle
revolved by yet one more day.
After
a longish while, or so it seemed at the time, a mess of cloud appeared
ahead where the sea meets the sky. If our navigation had been correct
for these last 20 days it should be hiding the almost 14,000 foot volcano
of Mauna Kea at the eastern end of the Island of Hawaii….and so it
was. We hoisted our US courtesy flag and twelve hours later, just prior
to sunset, we were piloting our way into the still blue waters of Hilo
Bay, enfolded as in a welcoming embrace by its lush green arms. We felt
curiously ambivalent however as we slid serenely past the channel bouys
towards the tiny small-boat harbour of Radio Bay. In part we eagerly awaited
the joys of terra firma, but were also somewhat reluctant to surrender
our hard won intimacy with the ocean.
trade winds. Agua Verde heeled to leeward, lifted her skirts, and with
her big reaching genoa straining at its seams we tore off to the westward.
The wind blew and the spray flew. The seas astern built up in big gray
restless heaps chasing us on our way. 
Day
rolled into night in a continuum of three hour watches. The mostly overcast
day sky would occasionally clear and the sun burned with considerable
intensity testing our newly installed bimini. Agua Verde rushed and rolled
in the quartering sea, always demanding and receiving our attention. Her
relationship with the wind and waves in their differing moods was willingly
and wholeheartedly given priority. We the crew were as her lovers, sensitive
to her wants and eager to please. We traced a zigzag course just south
of the Tropic of Cancer, usually running wing on wing, sometimes broad
reaching, and always adjusting sail to suit the conditions.
After
a longish while, or so it seemed at the time, a mess of cloud appeared
ahead where the sea meets the sky. If our navigation had been correct
for these last 20 days it should be hiding the almost 14,000 foot volcano
of Mauna Kea at the eastern end of the Island of Hawaii….and so it
was. We hoisted our US courtesy flag and twelve hours later, just prior
to sunset, we were piloting our way into the still blue waters of Hilo
Bay, enfolded as in a welcoming embrace by its lush green arms. We felt
curiously ambivalent however as we slid serenely past the channel bouys
towards the tiny small-boat harbour of Radio Bay. In part we eagerly awaited
the joys of terra firma, but were also somewhat reluctant to surrender
our hard won intimacy with the ocean.