Honolulu Star-Advertiser © Susan Scott
September 23 2013
ISLE TIPAEMAU, FRENCH POLYNESIA » “Sail or sell?” That was the question a young couple we met in the Tuamotus said they asked each other every morning during their voyage through the South Pacific.
We fellow sailors all laughed, but we knew that they were only half joking. There are days on a boat when all you want to do is hang a “for sale” sign on the bow, fly home and get back to normal life.
I had such a day recently off the island of Tahaa when I ran Honu into a coral head.
Craig had decided to paddle his stand-up surfboard to an anchorage ahead while I drove the boat there. I was following the reef edge when a jutting finger of coral took me by surprise. Crunch! Honu’s keel struck so hard the boat stopped cold.
I was able to back off the reef using the engine, and later we discovered that I had only scraped off bottom paint. Still, I felt awful. Not only could my crash have put a hole in the fiberglass hull and sunk the boat, but I surely killed some of the marine animals I so admire.
Anchoring in tight spots in stormy weather is another time that “sell” can trump “sail.” Last week, during gusty tradewind conditions, Craig and I tucked Honu behind this little crescent island off Raiatea to wait it out.
“Think we’re OK for the night?” Craig asked as we watched Honu swing between coral heads.
“Why not?” I said. “We’ve been fine here all day.”
Why not? Because boats at anchor tend to go bad at night when you can’t see past the rails to make it right.
Sure enough, waiting until we were sound asleep, Honu swung into a coral head with a sickening crunch. We leaped from bed, our hearts pounding.
The bump was light enough that it did no damage to the rudder, nor, hopefully, to the coral. But hauling up the anchor and dropping it again in a new place in the middle of a blustery moonless night was no fun at all.
Another “sell” moment comes when I’m up to here with salt. Limited fresh water means clammy clothes and crystal-lined dishes since we wash most everything in seawater. And even those items we try to keep isolated, such as pillows and blankets, eventually get salt sprayed and stay damp.
But every time I think seriously about selling Honu, something happens that turns me around. Whether it’s the sight of Bora Bora’s jagged volcanic peaks jutting from its turquois lagoon, a school of 3-foot-long needlefish striking prey while I watch from the deck, or a humpback whale rising just feet from Honu’s stern, I remember that this sailing thing is not a beach vacation. It’s a marine adventure.
Having marine adventures, and sharing them in this column, keeps me fit, makes me learn new things and gives me new horizons to aim for. Not many vehicles offer such gifts.
I’ll be back on Oahu in a week, and I know from past experience that for a while I will love driving my car that goes where I steer it and stays parked where I left it. I will also actually enjoy doing laundry and washing dishes in my home that can’t sink. And then I’ll start planning the next leg of this voyage west.
Sail or sell? Definitely sail. But not until I get my fill of long, hot showers.