Ocean Watch

Last Friday, I wrote that I was leaving on my voyage to Palmyra. I lied. I didn't mean to, but the day before our planned launch, the tradewinds started blowing like a banshee.

By late Thursday those winds had the halyards hammering the mast and Honu rubbing elbows with the neighboring boat.

The boat bopping in its mooring the day before the big trip is not a good sign, but even then I planned to go. "We'll tough it out," Alex and I agreed. Then, the boat began heeling in her slip, and the weather radio announced small-craft warnings. The strong trades had become gale-force winds, and 20- to 25-foot waves clogged the channels.

The decision was hard, but good captains put safety first and I called off the departure. We would wait for calmer wind and wave conditions to set out. On Monday those conditions arrived. Friends and family came to the harbor to say goodbye, and off we went, Nemo balloons high to the rail, leis around our necks and the boat stuffed with fuel, food and water.

The Ala Wai boat harbor was just out of sight when the magnitude of what we were doing struck us. How alone we were. What a long distance we were going.

"Are we being bold," I said to Alex, "or just plain stupid?"

Adventurous, we decided. We don't know everything about sailing offshore, but we'll never learn it in the harbor. As we congratulated each other for our daring, conditions got miserable. Away from the shelter of Oahu, the remnants of those dusty trades clobbered us. Big swells rolled the boat, and waves hit us like brick walls. Then the autopilot, affectionately named Alphie, started slipping. It couldn't hold the wheel in such seas. To our great relief, this was not a mechanical failure. After driving ourselves for a while, we felt how hard it was to steer the course in this weather.

So we reduced our sails. Still, we rolled sideways, but at least Alphie was able to drive. Then, Alex and I started feeling seasick. We swallowed some scopolamine tablets and waited for the nausea to stop. It was a wretched wait, but the pills worked and we focused back on the boat.

It was still riding hard. We took in more and more sail until the boat was racing along under our reefed main sail alone. The anemometer showed gusts to 35 knots.

Night came too fast. When you're on a small boat in big seas, feeling sick, tired and a little unsure of yourself, moonless nights are not fun. But that first long night did end, the winds and seas died down and we've now fallen into a routine.

Mostly, we sit in the cockpit munching junk food while gazing at the ocean. There's not much to see. It's a liquid blue desert out here, and spotting one or two seabirds a day is a big deal. Our highlight so far was a visit from two pilot whales that swam up to the hull for a look and then disappeared. We have yet to spot a ship. We're halfway to Palmyra on a great adventure. This time, I'm not lying.