Typhoon ‘Meli’

An account of surviving a killer hurricane in Fiji aboard a 27 foot sloop.
The events occurred in 1980, this manuscript was written 5 years later and
edited in 1992.

by Vern Clinton

I lay uneasily in the bunk next to Joyce with my hands cupping the back of my
head, listening to Chimera’s rigging thrum a deep bass note. The east wind had
veered and intensified during the night. Our anchorage, so tranquil last evening
when we carefully set the anchor for the night, was now directly under the wind,
and Chimera pranced fitfully, heaving against her anchor chain in the
wind-driven chop. Usually the morning air felt cool and fresh, but now it was
heavy and wet, funneling down the hatch into the forecastle stifling my
breathing.

I glanced at my watch. It was seven thirty, well after sunup, but the thick
layers of overcast only grudgingly let any light filter through. What light did
penetrate the clouds was gray and somber, promising rain and squally weather.
For ten days the three of us had been cruising in balmy, spring-like weather. It
was March, the tail end of the Hurricane season in Fiji. We were due for some
change.

I rolled over to spoon Joyce, who was still asleep, and her skin, usually
cool and dry in the morning, was hot and clammy. I put my arms around her. She
squirmed fitfully, annoyed by the heat of my touch. I nuzzled her neck to awaken
her, but she rolled away from me, making little angry sounds in her sleep as
though a mosquito were after her. I let her sleep.

I got up, slipped on a pair of shorts and went aft to the galley to put on
the coffee. I did my best not to bang pans around. Dennis was still asleep in
the bunk adjacent to the galley.

I put a pan of water on to boil. I checked the coffee canister. A few ounces
of fresh ground Kona remained. Its warm aroma set my mouth watering as I charged
the Chemex. I climbed on deck to see how the day looked.

It was fine yesterday afternoon when we dropped anchor here on the south side
of Vanua Kula, the northernmost island of Astrolabe reef in Fiji. The anchorage
had been calm, protected from the northeast wind that had built up during the
afternoon. While we slept the wind had clocked around almost ninety degrees and
was now attacking us directly from the southeast. We had no protection from it
or from the chop marching before it. The rocky beach a scant 20 yards under our
stern geysered fountains of froth as the building waves pounded it. I glanced at
the wind speed indicator. Twenty knots. We’d have to leave the anchorage soon.

I looked up over the low hill of the little island. Layer after layer of
clouds filled the sky. I counted five.

The display was forbidding, ominous, and beautiful.

Damn, I thought, I should have been checking the weather on the radio. If I’d
known we were in for this weather we could be in Suva now. We were in for a
rough few days. A major storm was building which would bring sheeting rain and
gusty wind, as only a tropical storm in Fiji can do. Maybe it would be better
just to head back for Suva right away. We might beat the worst of the storm, and
Dennis, finishing his two week visit with us, had to leave in two more days
anyway.

Astrolabe is a fringing reef thirty miles south of Suva, the capital of Fiji.
It’s a coral corral almost four miles wide and eight long enclosing a herd of
five small islands. Two are inhabited, three are not. Travel from island to
island in the waters of the lagoon is safe and smooth because of the protection
of the reef.

Without leaving Astrolabe’s huge lagoon you can spend weeks wandering from
island to island. You might drop anchor in front of a village, and pass the day
talking with the people, eating with them, laughing with them. The next day you
might want solitude and move to a nearby uninhabited island cove. You can choose
beachcombing, lazing in protected water near your anchorage, or you can dinghy
out to the leeward side of the reef to spend a day soaring with fins and mask
over coral grottoes teeming with outrageously flamboyant fish.

Astrolabe reef is the favorite stomping ground of the yachts which stay near
Suva for protection during the Fijian hurricane season. It can be reached in one
easy day’s sail. In case of a hurricane warning it is only an afternoon sail to
get back to the protection of Suva Harbor.

A shout interrupted my thoughts. I looked over my shoulder. Ocean Rover, a 37
foot trimaran was sliding up astern. For the last couple of weeks we had “buddy
boated” with Ocean Rover. Eric, her skipper, decided yesterday to anchor on the
north side of the island. He anticipated the probable wind shift and expected
the north side to offer more comfort during the night. Julie, Eric’s lady, all
blond, suntanned loveliness, stood at the trimaran’s wheel. Junius, his father,
who was visiting for a week, was standing by her in the cockpit. Eric walked to
the lifelines on the trimaran’s wing deck to talk to me.

He called over the ten yards of choppy water: “It was pretty rough last night
on the other side, and we didn’t get much sleep. How was it here?”

At that Joyce’s head popped up out of the companionway. “It was pretty damn
good,” she grumped, “until some inconsiderate creeps in a big noisy trimaran
came stomping into the anchorage.” She ran her hand through her long brown hair
and tried to look fierce.

“Joyce,” Eric said, “I thought you’d be up jogging by now. You’re really
getting lazy.”

“The way is long and winding, Eric. I’ll get you. Remember that. Where are
you headed?”

“We’re going on down to Namara Island. We need some sleep after last night.
Are you coming down there?”

Joyce looked at me instead of answering. I said “I think so. We haven’t
talked it over, yet. With Dennis having to leave in a couple of days we might
just head back. If we don’t join you by about noon that means we left for Suva
and we’ll see you in a few days.”

Dennis climbed up into the cockpit past Joyce, scratching his black mop of
hair. He waved at Ocean Rover as they chugged on past us out of the anchorage
heading south the five miles to Namara. They were motor sailing with just the
staysail set.

Dennis said to me “Vern, there are not too many people I’ve ever envied. Eric
is one of them, though.”

“What do you mean, Dennis?” I asked.

“Well, he’s 27 years old. He’s sailing the South Pacific in a boat he built
with his own hands. He’s got Julie with him who is the most beautiful, together
girl I’ve ever met. What more could any man ask for?”

I didn’t try to answer that one.

We started our morning routine, and I forgot my misgivings about the weather.
Joyce called Dennis and me below, and we dug into whole wheat pancakes spread
with large dollops of butter, and laced with carefully hoarded, real maple syrup
from Vermont. We washed it all down with steaming mugs of fresh coffee. While
Dennis cleaned up the dishes, I switched on the ham radio for the morning
schedule I kept with the dozen or so ham-equipped yachts waiting out the
hurricane season in Fiji.

Perry on Aminidab anchored in Suva answered my call.

“VEO ETC, this is HP3 XDE. Mornin’, Vern, haven’t heard from you lately.
Where are you? Over.”

“Hi, Perry. We’re down at Astrolabe for a couple of days giving Dennis a last
shot of the good life before shipping him back to snow country,” I said, “but
it’s looking kind of rough here. Maybe we’re in for some really wet weather.
What do you think of the sky? Over.”

“Looks pretty fierce, doesn’t it? I guess it’s that cyclone building in
Tonga. Over.”

“A cyclone” I said frowning. I glanced over at Joyce who looked up from the
letter she was writing, “I haven’t been listening to the weather much lately,
Perry, I thought the hurricane season was over. Over.”

“Well, last I heard this one has only just been upgraded from ‘tropical
depression’ to ‘cyclone’ with maximum fifty knot winds, so maybe it will just
peter out. In any event, they expect it to move southeast into Tonga. Over.”

“Look, Perry, we’re really exposed here. The wind’s been clocking and has
increased in strength pretty rapidly this morning. What kind of wind is blowing
there? Over.”

“Let’s see. It’s kind of gusty here in the Tradewinds Hotel anchorage, but
I’d say it’s averaging about twenty five knots. How about at Astrolabe? Over.”

“About the same, Perry, only it’s steady and the drizzle is turning to rain.
I want to check the weather, so I’m going off the air for about five minutes to
listen to the WWVH weather synopsis. I don’t usually receive it very well,
though. Your equipment is a lot better than mine. Would you monitor it, too, and
meet me back on this frequency in fifteen minutes? Over.”

“Sure, Vern. Over.”

“Thanks. This is VEO ETC, clear.” I flipped the tuning dial on the receiver
toward the weather frequency.

Joyce had heard part of the conversation. “Did I hear him say ‘cyclone’?”

“Yeah, in Tonga. That’s probably why we’ve got this miserable weather. I’m
going to try to see just how bad It’s going to be.”

Twenty four hours a day WWVH broadcasts a metronome tone marking the exact
second for navigational purposes. Once an hour they give storm warnings for the
South Pacific along with a synopsis of weather and a prognosis for the following
day. I checked my watch. They were due to broadcast in one minute. I spun the
dial of the radio and hoped the weather forecaster’s voice would come in clearly
for a change.

The voice was hopelessly garbled. Still I did hear the word “hurricane”
clearly enough through the hash of static to raise the hackles on the back of my
neck. I couldn’t make out the location of the storm or any of the other
information.

I retuned the radio to the ham frequency. “HP3 XDE, this is VEO ETC. Perry,
you there? Over.”

“VEO ETC, HP3 XDE. Roger, Vern, did you hear the report? Over.”

“Couldn’t make out much. Over.”

“Well, I hate to give you the bad news, but that cyclone is now officially a
hurricane, “Hurricane ‘Meli’. Over.”

“Jesus, where’s she headed, Perry? Over.” I knew most hurricanes traveled
south to higher latitudes before curving west. If ‘Meli’ followed that path,
Tonga would take the brunt of her force, and we could expect the wind to swing
more to the south giving us an easy run to Suva just about thirty five miles
north.

Perry, didn’t answer right away. I assumed he was checking notes to get the
heading that WWVH had broadcast. I fidgeted nervously until, finally, he keyed
his transmitter.

“The center is one hundred fifty miles west of Vavau, Tonga, traveling at ten
knots and accelerating.” He paused for a few seconds and then continued,
speaking reluctantly, “I hate to tell you this, Vern, but she’s going to pass
through the channel between Suva and Astrolabe some time tonight. Meli’s headed
right down your throat. Over.”

Joyce and Dennis stood at my back, listening silently.

Jesus, I thought, it can’t be much more than one hundred fifty miles away.

I triggered the mike. “What strength winds did they report, Perry? Over.”

“Not bad as hurricanes go, Vern, I couldn’t read the wind speed on WWVH, but
Radio Suva, the local AM station is reporting sixty knots which technically
isn’t even hurricane strength, so it could be worse.” He paused for a heartbeat
and asked “What are your plans? Are you heading back? Over.”

“I don’t know, Perry, I’m going to have to figure a couple of things out.
We’re cruising with Ocean Rover. Eric doesn’t have a ham radio, and he’s already
on his way down to Namara, so I don’t have any way to contact him. I’m pretty
sure he hasn’t checked the weather this morning, and, even if he has, that old
short wave receiver of his is about shot. I know he doesn’t usually listen to
Radio Suva on AM either so I’ll have to go let him know about this, and talk it
over with him. Look, can we meet on this frequency at noon, and I’ll let you
know our plans? Over.”

“Sure, Vern, I’ll log the reports that I get and fill you in when you come
up. See you at noon. Over.”

“Thanks a million, Perry. VEO ETC clear.”

“HP3 XDE clear. Good luck, you guys.”

IN HONOLULU

Joe sat at the drafting table in the main work room of NOAA PACIFIC WEATHER
PLOTTING in Honolulu. A cold cup of coffee was perched precariously at the top
of the desk. A cigarette with a long drooping ash dangled from his lip. He was
entering barometric pressure readings on a large chart of the central pacific,
readings radioed in by ships and planes. With enough such information Joe was
building a picture of the current weather. It was like a kids “connect-
the-numbers” puzzle. By connecting the numbers that were the same, the isobars
were formed. It was tedious work, but it verified information from the
satellites.

Don walked up behind him. “Hey Joe look at what Meli’s doing,” he said and
tossed the latest set of satellite photos of the South Pacific onto the drafting
table. “Hey, let me borrow that lighter.” Without waiting for an answer he
reached for Joe’s lighter beside the coffee cup and lit his cigarette.

Joe picked up the photos and the interpretation sheet and whistled. “Jeesus,
Meli’s a real little bitch isn’t she? Looks like she’s accelerating, God, right
for Suva. What are the wind speeds, now?”

Don said “The same. We’ve been broadcasting a prediction for 115 knots for
two days now. Gusts will be up to 140 we figure.”

“Did the warnings go out to Radio Fiji?”

“Yeah, they know that they’re in for a rough one this time. It’s going to hit
sooner than we thought, but they’ve known for two days what to prepare for.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m here and not there. Hey, you got a spare cigarette? I’m
out…”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I shut down the radio and turned and looked at Joyce and Dennis.

“How long before it hits, Vern?” Dennis asked.

“Well, I guess it already has hit. Now we’ll just see the winds get stronger
and stronger. The wind has to blow at least 64 knots to be classified as a
‘hurricane,’ so we can expect the wind to increase at least to that level and
maybe more, especially if she continues coming directly at us.”

“Any chance it won’t come this way?” he asked.

“Well, it could always veer away, or stop completely for a while, but since
it’s already so close, I doubt if that’s likely. Dennis, to top off your visit
to you’re going to go through a real live hurricane.”

“Thanks, Vern, but I can live without that experience. Do you…”

Before Dennis could finish, Joyce broke in nervously. “What are we going to
do? Go back to Suva?”

“I really don’t know, yet, babe, but let’s get underway right away. We’ve got
to warn Ocean Rover, and, we have to motor directly into this wind to reach her.
The sooner we get moving the better.”

The five miles of lagoon between Vanua Kula and Namara lacks maneuvering
room. The wind was coming directly from Namara so there was no choice but to
motor rather than sail. With only 18 horsepower from our little diesel Chimera
could make only two knots, against the wind. Over two hours passed before we
pulled into the little protected bay on Namara’s west shore. We dropped the
anchor in twenty feet of clear water about ten yards from Ocean Rover.

Namara’s low hill protected us completely from the wind. Only a few stray
gusts wrapped around the south end of the island to disturb the tranquility. A
steady, warm drizzle of rain fell, but the air was so warm that we ignored the
dampness. The three of us climbed into the dinghy and rowed over to Ocean Rover
to talk with Eric and his crew. “It’s about time you got here,” Eric said and
tied our dinghy to the life lines. We clambered on board and ducked below to get
out of the rain. Julie greeted us in the aft cabin with cups of tea and freshly
baked cinnamon rolls laid out on the dinette. The six of us sardined into the
tiny dinette.

“We’re in for a hurricane, you guys,” Joyce blurted, not one for beating
about the bush.

“A hurricane? What do you mean?” Eric asked, his eyebrows rising. “Where is
it?”

“From what I heard, about a hundred fifty miles northeast and closing at over
ten knots on line for Astrolabe,” I answered before Joyce could speak. Her eyes
flashed in annoyance at me for breaking in.

“How strong?”

“We had the AM radio on while we were motoring down here, Eric, Radio Fiji
says sixty to sixty five knots sustained winds with higher gusts.” The cinnamon
rolls were rapidly disappearing so I snagged one before they disappeared
entirely. Joyce raised an eyebrow at me in silent comment on my double
breakfasting. Junius got up to get the coffee pot.

“I’m curious about something,” he said as he poured the coffee, “What is the
difference between a ‘hurricane’ and a ‘typhoon’?” He looked at Eric.

“Well, Dad, about the only difference is in the name. In the northern
hemisphere it’s ‘hurricane’… or ‘hisicane’,” he smiled looking significantly
at Joyce honoring their good natured feud over women’s lib, “and, in the
southern hemisphere, it’s usually ‘typhoon’. The only real difference is that in
the northern hemisphere the winds

move counterclockwise around a low pressure area, and in the southern
hemisphere, clockwise. That’s why we’re getting these southeast winds right now.
The low is northeast of us. Hurricanes begin near the equator as lows or
‘tropical depressions,’ then, if they grow, they start moving south and picking
up wind speed, then the weather service calls them ‘cyclones’ and starts
tracking them. If the winds get to sixty four knots or higher, they change the
name to

‘ hurricane. ‘”

“So far, this storm just barely qualifies as a hurricane,” I added, “One of
those that touched Fiji a few years ago had winds of better than two hundred
knots near the center. Fortunately the worst of it only hit unpopulated areas.”

Julie chuckled and said “Vern, to hear you tell it this is just going to be a
little kite flying weather. Next to two hundred knots, sixty five doesn’t sound
like much, but when Eric and I were out in ‘only1 forty knots of wind, sailing
here from Tonga, we took all of the sails down, and it was still really hairy.
The waves got monstrous. This hurricane coming our way scares me.”

“Me, too, Julie,” Dennis said, “I’d just as soon be dropped off at the
nearest bus station. Suddenly I’m

tired of cruising.” We smiled and he continued. “Seriously, what’s going to
happen now?”

“Yeah,” Julie added, poking Eric in the ribs, “how about you guys figuring
out how we get out of this?”

Eric dug out the chart, Kandavu Passage, which covers the area from the big
island of Kandavu south of Astrolabe Reef to the main island of Viti Levu 35
miles to the north. We spread it out on the dinette table after clearing the
coffee cups and cinnamon roll debris.

I began. “Eric, the way I see it, we’ve got three choices. The closest
hurricane hole lies down here on the south side of Kandavu. Have you been down
that far?”

“No, but I’ve talked to some people who have. They say it’s pretty fair
protection, but, with this wind… We’d have to beat into the wind all the way
there, and we’d have to make it through two unfamiliar passes in the reef. The
area’s probably got some reefs that aren’t on the chart, too. I’d hate to be in
that area at dusk in any weather. That’s a very long haul and a very dangerous
one for me. What do you think, Vern?”

“I think Chimera would have damn little chance of getting there today under
the best of circumstances. It took us over two hours just to make it here from
Vanua Kula this morning, and it’s only five miles. Kandavu is out of the

question for us, too. The second possibility is to run for Suva, and go up
the river into the mangroves like we did in November when we had that hurricane
warning. Suva would be a broad reach, about thirty five miles. You have a real
chance to do that, don’t you Eric? It’s twelve o’clock. You could be there by
four and still have some time to get up the river to tie off in the mangroves.”

“It’s a possibility. What about Chimera?” “We’re not fast enough, Eric. Even
with perfect sailing conditions and no equipment problems, we’d arrive near
dark, and we’d never find our way to the river mouth in those conditions.
Remember that channel through the shoals by the river isn’t marked, and it would
be disastrous to get stuck at the last minute on the mud banks. The worst of it
is if we got caught outside the harbor entrance with bad visibility, or a
squall, it would be all over. We couldn’t even slow down, and it’s all reefs
there. We’d be history.” I paused for a moment letting that sink in, and
continued. “Whatever happens I don’t want to chance Chimera getting caught out
in a hurricane. We’ve ridden out fifty knot gales right in the anchorage at the
Royal Suva Yacht Club before, and Radio Fiji is only reporting sixty five knots
maximum sustained winds. That’s a lot, but I think we’ll take our chances right
here, Suva’s a real alternative for you, though. Ocean Rover’s speed might
really pay off this time.”

“I don’t know, Vern, we could get caught in a squall, too, and I don’t like
the idea of trying to get situated that late, especially since everyone else
will already have hardened their silos. There’ll be anchor lines and mooring
lines all over the place. Probably every commercial boat in the area is crowded
in there. Most of all, I don’t like the idea of leaving you guys here alone.
Ocean Rover’s ridden out some good blows at anchor.” He looked at Julie, and
Junius, and then looked back at me “We’re staying with you.” He turned to
Junius. “How do you feel, Dad?”

“Son, you’re the sailor. I’m a teacher. I trust your judgment. What can I do
to help?”

“There’ll be plenty to do soon,” Eric replied.

Strangely we felt in high spirits. Dennis alone seemed withdrawn. Earlier in
the season a hurricane roared through Fiji. We all had prepared for the worst.
The storm had veered away from populated areas and missed us. It was hard to
imagine any serious danger in being anchored. Maybe we could lose Chimera on the
rocks, but Joyce and I faced that danger in almost every anchorage we entered.

The excitement of danger was intoxicating, and we joked about the situation
while Julie fixed sandwiches and tea.

Since we decided not to leave our present anchorage the sense of urgency was
gone and we were buoyed by the satisfaction of having made a decision. It was as
though making a decision on what to do about our problem, solved the problem.

I felt stimulated, almost eager come to grips with the worst of the
hurricane. Dennis seemed distant, deep in thought. Perhaps he had a better grasp
than any of us of just what sort of test we were really facing.

Joyce and I met Dennis eight years ago at our home at Lake Tahoe, California.
Cautious by nature, Dennis thinks things through carefully before making any
decision. Eight weeks ago we picked him up at the Nadi Airport near Suva. He
travels light, and was an experienced traveler. He had hitchhiked all over the
world, but was cruising now for the first time. Serious and brooding by nature,
he is handsome with dark hair and eyes, fair skin, and a wrestler’s body. Dennis
is methodical in every aspect of his life from the food he eats to the exercise
routine that he follows every day. I wondered how the unpredictable and
uncontrollable nature of Meli’s threat felt to him.

The three of us returned to Chimera. Joyce put Dennis to work removing sail
bags, water jugs and other gear from the deck to stow below in the forecastle.
Then she came below with me to secure loose equipment for rough weather. I

switched on the ham radio. It was time for my noon schedule with Aminidab.

“HP3 XDE, HP3 XDE, this is VEO ETC, you there, Perry? Over.”

“HP3 XDE, HP 3 XDE, this is VEO ETC, come in, Perry, Over. ”

I called for five minutes before giving up.

“What’s the matter, Vern, can’t you get Perry?” Joyce asked.

“No, I guess everyone in Suva’s too busy now for a chat. Or it could be we’re
simply not getting out. These conditions are funny. Well, I’d better get busy if
we’re going to stay hooked on the bottom in sixty-five knots of wind.” I left
the radio on all afternoon in case Perry called in late. He never did.

Usually we anchor in twenty feet of water or less in a protected anchorage,
but after the center of the storm passed our position the wind would shift.
Without the protection of the island huge waves would assault the anchorage.
Even with the protection of Astrolabe reef a mile away, the waves might easily
be over ten feet high. In only twenty feet of water they would be crashing
breakers. We moved the boat out to forty feet of water about 150 yards from the
beach and dropped the main anchor. I wanted to be even farther out

where there would be less chance of a breaking wave tearing Chimera loose
from her anchors, but we had limited anchor chain, not enough for deeper water.

From its stowage in the bilge, I got out the second anchor, all of the spare
chain and a one hundred foot length of one inch nylon line. With everything on
deck I broke out the scuba gear. Joyce helped me put it on.

“Vern, I’m getting a little scared. It’s just beginning to sink in that this
could be really serious.”

“I think we’ll be able to ride it out okay. Sixty-five knot winds are not
that bad. The important thing now is to think of everything we can do before the
worst hits. How’s Dennis taking it?”

“It’s hard to tell, you know how quiet he is. I think he’s pretty frightened.
I think I’m getting that way, too.”

“Well, keep him working, and talk to him. Remember we’ve got a certain degree
of confidence in the boat from our experiences during the last few months. To
Dennis this is all new. As soon as you can, check the bilge pumps and the
portable pumps, and make sure the buckets are where we can get to them. Oh, and
break out the fins and masks for you and Dennis, and test the inflatable life
jackets. And stop worrying. Think of the tapes you can send to Lynn back home
when this is over. When I’m done setting these anchors we’re

going to be well attached to the bottom. We’re not going to drag anchor
tonight if I can help it.”

Joyce helped me lower the spare anchor on it’s chain along with an additional
100 foot length of nylon rope, I strapped on the SCUBA tank, clamped my teeth
around the regulator, and pushed off the deck into the water. Below the surface
I cleared my mask of water and the saliva I’d rubbed it with to keep it from
fogging. As the cloud of bubbles from my entry cleared, I doubled over and
kicked for the bottom. I glided down to the pile of chain and the spare anchor.
The chain of the main anchor was tending off in the direction of shallow water
nearer the beach.

I could see over 100 feet the water was so clear. I looked around the area to
see how well it would serve as anchorage. I saw mostly sand with small coral
heads dotted here and there, but there were several very large coral, heads
within my range of vision. These were what I was most interested in. I kicked
over to the anchor and, taking off my fins and stringing them on one arm, picked
up the anchor and an armful of chain. I backed off from Chimera toward the
largest coral head. Weightless and held to the bottom only by the thirty or
forty pound weight of my burden, I pogosticked along the bottom like an
astronaut skipping along backwards on the moon. When the chain was stretched
out, I put It down, donned the fins and swam over to the main anchor. It was
okay, but I would have to move it later. I returned to the coral head I had
chosen for the second anchor and looped the anchor’s chain around it, then I
shackled the loop together so that the chain could not come off unless the
entire coral head disintegrated. If that happened the anchor would still be
there and might set in the sand or catch on another coral outcropping.

As I worked, clouds of damsel fish surrounded me. A dozen yellow and black
sergeant-majors darted in front of my mask trying to decide if I were some sort
of fish they could adopt and follow around. I finished placing the anchor and
double checked the chain and the shackles. A glance at my pressure gauge showed
my air tank half empty; I didn’t have another. I swam back to Chimera, passed my
fins up to Joyce and climbed aboard.

“How you doin’, turkey?” Joyce kissed my salty face.

“Pretty good. One anchor’s set solid. I’m going to take a few minutes break
and finish up. How’s Dennis doing?”

“He seems okay… Awfully quiet. He’s just lying in the bunk looking at
nothing.”

“Have you heard anyone talking on the ham? Or gotten any news on Radio Fiji?”
I asked.

“The ham’s nothing but static, but Radio Fiji is now predicting seventy to
eighty knots of wind, ” she said watching for my reaction. I did my best not to
show my anxiety,

Joe got up from his drafting table and went over to the coffee machine. Don
was there stirring some muddy brew in a Styrofoam cup.

“Hey, Don, what’s the latest on our little Fijian sweetheart? ‘

“She’s being a typical lady, Joe, she’s up to 115 to 120 knots sustained
winds with some really rugged gusts. She’s a tight little mother, though, the
worst of the winds only extend out about 30 miles. She’s still headed right for
Suva or maybe a little south.

I looked over toward Namara island. It’s only about one hundred feet high and
was covered with coconut palms, papayas, and mangos. Looking up along the crest
of a hill I could see the trees and bushes whipping in the wind. About forty
knots I guessed. It was two thirty.

“You know, Joyce, the worst of our problem will be after the center of the
hurricane gets past us, and the wind shifts around. We’re pretty well protected
while the wind is like

this. We’ll get a lot of the wind, but not too much of the waves, which are
going to be humongous on the windward side of the island. After Meli passes us,
the winds are going to shift to this side of the island. Then we’re not going to
have any protection at all, with the exception of Astrolabe reef. The wind will
set us right toward the rocks. I’m trying to orient the anchors so when the wind
shifts we won’t ‘snag a coral head and break the chain, but I don’t know…”

By three o’clock gusts of wind were blasting around the sides of the island.
Chimera and Ocean Rover darted first one way then another in the forty knot
gusts. I looked over at Ocean Rover about thirty yards south. Eric was still
underwater working with his anchors. Julie and Junius were just wrestling the
main sail down the forward hatch. Both Ocean Rover and Chimera looked like
plucked chickens with all their deck gear below. Julie caught my eye, and we
waved to each other. It was good to have friends nearby, and I was glad they had
decided to stay.

Before going back into the water, I let out more chain-on the main anchor
until it was completely slack, letting Chimera ride to the second anchor. Then I
slacked another fifty feet of chain to give myself plenty to work with.

The main anchor rode was all chain instead of a mixture of chain and nylon
rope. Repositioning a hundred feet of chain means disentangling it from coral
along the way, dragging it through the sand, being careful that the movement of
the boat doesn’t catch you while you’re tangled up in it. A sudden tautening of
the chain can break bones or crush fingers. I dragged the pile of slack several
feet at a time untangling the chain from the coral along the way. Finally at the
main anchor, I chose another huge coral head and ran a loop of chain around it
in the same manner as the first one. Fish were feeding all around me where the
anchor chain had demolished the coral; some of them hovered eagerly near me
while I worked to see what new morsels I would turn up for them as I dragged the
chain.

The end of the job coincided with the end of my air supply. I took a last
look around, mentally crossed my fingers and swain back to the boat. It was
about four o’clock. When I reached the surface the chop had built up, and
Chimera was surging against her anchor like a frightened horse trying to part
its tether. Once aboard I stowed the scuba gear in the lazarette, and adjusted
the anchors so Chimera was riding to both of them equally. Then I went below for
a cup of coffee out of the rain. I was feeling the strain, and the aroma of the
coffee was wonderfully comforting.

“Vern,” Joyce said as she poured me a cup, “Radio Suva’s predicting sustained
ninety knot winds. Ninety knots. Everything is stowed, what next?” Joyce made no
comment on the new escalation of the predicted wind speed. I was stunned. What
had started as a 65 knot prediction was now 90 knots. The power of the wind
increases with the square of the wind speed. We were now facing winds twice as
strong as expected earlier, and for all I knew the prediction would continue to
increase. Jesus, six times the power of a full gale. Well, we were committed.
Like the parachutist who has already left the airplane there was no going back,
now.

I said “The dinghy has to be stowed. I think we’ll take it in to the beach,
into the protection of the trees so we won’t have to deflate it and have it
taking up a lot of space down below.”

Dennis was lying in the bunk in the forecastle. I went forward and said “Grab
your fins, Dennis, we’ve got to take the dinghy in to the beach. On the way back
out we can stop by Ocean Rover and see how they are doing.”

As we got close to shore, we were protected from the wind and had no
difficulty negotiating the shallow reef just off the sandy beach. We dragged the
boat far up behind the beach, and I lashed it securely to a palm tree.

Namara Island is shaped like a dog bone oriented north and south with a hill
at either end. In the center between the two hills is a comparatively low ridge,
perhaps fifty feet above sea level, which was marked by an enormous mango tree
in its center. A narrow trail led through the dense vegetation up the hill and
over the small pass by the tree. Most mornings when we were anchored at Namara,
we would follow the path and cross the island to the other side to the western
beach, which is long and wide, having benefited from being on the windward side
of the island where more sand is washed up onto shore.

“I think the dinghy will be okay here even if the water rises quite a bit.
Lets see what things are looking like on the other side, okay?”

“Okay.”

Overhead the clouds were a solid brooding mass of gray. The wind tore up over
Namara’s spine whipping the branches of trees as though angry at having anything
impede its flow, and its sound was loud, even down in our protected spot. One or
two birds were still aloft although most had already found whatever shelter they
could. I wondered briefly just what birds do in these conditions? What sort of
shelter do they find? Those above us were having a difficult time in the
turbulence behind the island.

We set off up the path ducking the encircling branches and stepping over
ferns and fallen limbs. Rain was dripping off of every leaf and branch. The air
was sticky and heavy. The light was dim. A pungent odor of compost rose from the
carpet of dead leaves beneath out feet.

In five minutes we stood by the mango tree just below the spine of the ridge.
Several of the branches of the huge tree had broken, and one of them had fallen
across our path. We climbed over it and topped the pass. The windward channel
stretching two miles east to Astrolabe Reef lay white capped below us. The water
was half deep, dark blue-gray, and half the foamy white of breaking waves. Long
wind streaks radiated toward us from the southeast, and the beach below was
almost completely covered with water and spume torn from the waves by the
building storm. The wind assaulting our hair and eyes carried the clean scent of
air that has blown for thousands of miles over the sea without touching the
pollution of civilization. The moisture collecting in our hair and on our faces
ran down to touch our lips, and I licked a few drops and tasted the tang of salt
water mixed with the rain.

“That is one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen,” Dennis said
looking out over the channel. “How can something so beautiful be so
threatening?”

We climbed a large rock outcropping to look in the opposite direction over
the bushes and trees back down into our anchorage. Chimera and Ocean Rover
looked serene enough, although they were in the grip of much of the wind’s fury
now.

I looked again from the comparative calm of the anchorage to the tempest on
the windward side of the island and tried to imagine what it would be like when
the wind shift that would follow the passage of the storm turned the tables on
us and put Chimera and Ocean Rover under the full power of an eighty or ninety
knot wind. Jesus, I thought, Jesus Christ Almighty.

“Let’s go on back,” I said to Dennis.

When we reached the beach white caps were turning the water white all around
the bay. Both boats tacked on their anchor lines restlessly darting to and fro
under the influence of gusts exceeding forty knots. Damn, maybe I should have
spread the anchors more. It was too late to do much about it now, and without
SCUBA it was impossible to change anything. For better or worse we’d have to
live with it as it was.

Quickly putting on fins, mask and snorkel, Dennis and I flip-flopped into the
water. Out a few yards we hand walked over the shallow reef that guards the
beach, being very careful where we placed our bare hands on the sharp coral, and
swam for Ocean Rover as soon as the water deepened. The water had clouded to a
gray-green murk. Rainwater running off the island carried sand and debris, and
currents brought more cloudy water flowing from the other side of the island.

Nobody was on deck when we reached Ocean Rover. Dennis knocked on the hull.

“Hey, you Yachties,” he yelled, “you’ve got company.”

Eric’s blond head appeared over the life lines. He helped us on board and
gave us towels. We went below for a cup of coffee and some talk. Piled on the
galley work counter was a plate full of sandwiches, some wrapped, and a huge
thermos of tea. Julie had gotten provisions together for a long night.

“Well, are you guys ready for the show?” Eric asked. “I think we’ve done
about all we can.”

“That’s why we came over. Joyce, Dennis, and I have decided to check into the
Namara Hilton so we can have a couple of cocktails while we watch it all happen.
We’ll ask the bell hop to keep an eye on the boats.”

Again I was struck by our lightheartedness in the face of such a crisis.
Perhaps we were all whistling in the dark, but there was an air of exhilaration
in the little cabin. I think we knew we might find our boats damaged before
morning, but with all of the uncharted obstacles in Fijian waters , that was
always a possibility.

Eric and I reviewed each other’s anchoring arrangements, and Dennis and
Junius got to talking about what a complete show was being laid on for their
benefit as visitors. I don’t think they knew quite what to do with their
adrenaline, but I was glad to see Dennis opening up a little after the way he
had brooded most of the afternoon. We all wished each other luck, and Dennis and
I went up on the rainy, windy deck to put on our fins and masks.

“It’s getting pretty dark, Eric. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Right. Tell Joyce not to forget to come get us for a jog in the morning.”
Eric smiled.

Dennis answered, “Careful what you say, you might be running in hip boots at
dawn.”

We had a last chuckle before we crammed snorkels in our mouths and jumped
back in the water to swim the thirty yards to Chimera.

We climbed aboard the plunging boat, pulled in the boarding ladder and went
below. Joyce was talking on the tape recorder telling her friend Lynn about the
experience so far. She was making it sound like a real lark.

We had thick, hot lentil soup as the sodden darkness enveloped us. After
cleaning and tidying up.-. Joyce settled down again with the tape recorder.
Dennis tried to read in his bunk. I put on a wet suit shirt and climbed into the
cockpit.

My plan was to use the engine to relieve some of the strain on the anchor
lines and to actually drive Chimera onto the beach if the anchor lines should
part. From the cockpit I could see Ocean Rover’s light, but no details. The rain
was too heavy. It was six o’clock.

By seven o’clock we were out of control.

Chimera jerked to a halt at the end of her anchor chain, heeled over, dipped
her rail in the water, and threw me to my knees. The screaming wind held the
sloop flat on her side.

Below, Joyce and Dennis braced themselves on the hull and looked up at me in
the cockpit. They expected to see sheets of water cascading past me to flood
Chimera and send her to the bottom. I crouched where I had been thrown, pain
exploded through my knee where it had struck the deck. I willed the little sloop
to recover, to swing into the wind again so that her five thousand pound keel
could bring her upright. Through the deck I could feel the anchor chain grind in
the chock as the little sloop struggled to tear her anchors loose from the coral
heads forty feet below her.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Chimera pivoted around her bow and dragged her keel
sideways through the water. The keel that helped her sail a steady course, and
which kept her from rolling in a seaway was now helping the wind destroy her.

As her bow fell off in one direction or the other, the keel resisted letting
the stern swing to keep the boat lined up with the wind. Then the wind started
her moving at an angle to the anchor line, and she rapidly picked up speed. The
faster she went the less the keel let her head up into the wind, and at the end
of each tack the anchor lines yanked her to a stop and tripped her, while the
wind held her down.

Finally she struggled into the wind. I took a deep breath as the keel levered
her upright, realizing that I had been holding my breath for a long time.

At sunset” darkness enveloped us with a malignant vengeance. The wind, strong
before, now became a ripping, screaming obscenity of power. The darkness,
combined with the overpowering, irresistible wind, cut us off from the outside
world as completely as if we were trapped in a submarine on the bottom of the
ocean.

We were even denied speech. We had to shout directly into each other’s ear to
communicate. We were saturated with sound.

In our bubble of darkness and din the only light was a feeble glowing of the
cabin light, diffused by a foggy mist of water. Lightning flickered, but its
thunder was swallowed in the tumult.

While Chimera headed directly into the wind I cupped my hands around the
compass and put my face close to its luminous card to get our heading. Still
southeast. The wind had not changed direction all afternoon. The course of the
center of the hurricane still lay directly toward us. If it had veered to one
side or the other, the angle of the wind would show it. If it were moving to the
north of us, the wind would change counterclockwise, if to the south of us,
clockwise.

We couldn’t measure the wind speed. The anemometer disappeared shortly after
registering sixty knots. That was an hour and a half ago. According to the last
report we were able to receive, the center of the storm was still hours away. I
wondered to myself with a sinking in my stomach, can we really stand six or
seven hours more of this punishment? I didn’t consider then that Meli’s center
passing would only mark the halfway point of our torment. Then we would face
again all that we had survived already, only in descending levels of power as
the storm center moved on.

And what if it didn’t move on? In low latitudes hurricanes sometimes paused
in one location for hours, or even days.

The wind grasped Chimera’ s bow anew to launch her on another wild tack. I
advanced the throttle on the little Volvo auxiliary and jammed the tiller over
as hard as I could. To judge the RPM of the engine I put my ear to the deck. It
was the only way I could hear the engine over the locomotive roar around me.
Motoring didn’t seem to do much good; maybe it even made things worse. It did
give me the feeling that I was doing something worthwhile.

Chimera’s bow kept falling off the wind, and as she picked up speed on her
new tack, I throttled back the engine to avoid adding to her speed. Lightning
flickered continuously, but its illumination was too faint for me to see beyond
the immediate vicinity of the cockpit. I wanted to see the deck forward to judge
how the anchor lines held, and to see how badly the nylon anchor line wore at
the chock. To do that was impossible. I had a spotlight, but I couldn’t safely
rise above the level of the cabin top to see forward.

The chain of the main anchor led aboard through the port chock and then
wrapped around the sampson post, a heavily reinforced timber projecting through
the deck near the bow. The sampson post is designed to take any reasonable
strain, but I had then taken several wraps of the chain around the winch as a
backup. Finally, the chain led around the base of the mast. If any of that tore
out, the water pouring down through the deck would be our notice that something
was awry. A much more likely disaster would be the chain breaking.

If it did break we would probably not know it unless the second anchor line
broke also. The nylon line of the second anchor came aboard via the starboard
chock and ran back along the deck to the big genoa winch, mounted with five,
five-sixteenth inch stainless steel bolts onto the right side of the cockpit. A
large cleat bolted to the coaming of the cockpit secured the tail of the line.

I reached out and felt the nylon line running to the winch. It was bar taut,
but secure. One anchor, at least, was holding. Still, I worried about the
possibility of chafe where the line came through the chock.

I reviewed in my mind where the anchors lay. There was little chance of the
chains or anchors coming loose as long as the wind held steady from the
southeast, but the lines becoming fouled when the wind shifted as the storm
passed was a serious possibility. Coral would slice the nylon in an instant if
the line drooped to the bottom. The chain, if caught up short by a coral head
would quickly break by the heaving of the boat.

A grinding crunch shuddered through the deck. Chimera again reached the end
of her pendulum swing and heeled sharply. The cap rail submerged. Water slopped
over the coaming into the cockpit. For the hundredth time that night I silently
thanked the English shipwrights who had built this little Golden Hind sloop
strong enough to take the fury of North Sea gales, and I repented ever cursing
her for her stolid pace on passages. She always got us into port, albeit last.
If the anchors held and didn’t turn her loose to founder on the reef, we had a
chance.

Chimera struggled up to face into the wind. I reached for the throttle again,
but the warning light on the instrument panel glowed red. The engine temperature
was dangerously high. The cooling water intake must have sucked in air while we
were heeled over. The cooling water pump was airlocked and useless. with no way
to bleed the pump, running the engine would destroy it in minutes, and could
cause a fire. I cut the engine.

Now I had nothing to do. We were completely at the mercy of circumstance. I
peered through the blackness trying to catch sight of a light from Ocean Rover,
but could see nothing. For all I knew she had dragged out of the anchorage
without my seeing her. Eric, Julie, and Junius were probably having it even
rougher than we were. Ocean Rover had much more windage than we and would be
blown about even more violently than Chimera.

I didn’t want to go below even though there was nothing I could do on deck. I
thought back to a discussion I had with Dennis earlier in the day. Dennis had
said “Look, maybe we should secure everything here on Chimera and go on in to
the island. There are no people there, but we might find some shelter back in
the trees, or maybe find a cave or something. What do you think?”

“Well, Radio Fiji reports maximum winds of only sixty to sixty five knots,
which we should be able to handle okay,” I had replied,” and a night in the rain
and wind on the island would be pretty uncomfortable. At least out here we’ve
got a coffee pot, and we can always swim to shore if it gets too wiId.”

I could not measure the wind speed now, but I knew it exceeded any prediction
we had heard, and no one could survive in the water in these conditions. With
this wind the current probably exceeded two knots, and I doubted there was
enough air at the surface to breathe anyway. Water was being torn from the ocean
in sheets, at the surface it would be like trying to breathe in three feet of
foam.

Joyce crawled out into the cockpit. Somehow she had managed to pour me a cup
of coffee from the thermos. I took it gratefully and sipped. There was a shot of
rum in it that warmed me to my toes. She put her lips to my ear and shouted at
the top of her voice.

“Are you OK?”

“Yes,” I yelled in her ear, “how is it below?”

“Rough. Dennis is pretty sick, I am too. What’s happening?”

“The wind is backing some. The center can’t be too-far.”

“Why did you shut off the engine?” she shouted.

“It was ready to burn out. I was afraid of fire, and I thought by saving it
we might be able to run it in an emergency later, at least for a few minutes.”

“Have you seen how Ocean Rover’s doing?” she asked.

“I haven’t seen any lights from Ocean Rover at all.”

“We felt a terrible crunch a minute ago. Do you think the anchors are
holding?”

Before I could answer her question we hit the end of our swing again and were
thrown to one side. An explosion like a rifle shot at close range sounded over
the roar of the wind. Joyce looked at me. Her eyes widened in alarm.

Oh, shit. I thought, there goes one anchor line. The main anchor was secured
on the foredeck. I had no way to check it. I could check the nylon line leading
aft from the second anchor.

I put my hand out in the dark, reaching just forward of the winch and laid my
hand on the rope. It was still taut, as hard as steel wire. It was taking most
of the strain as Chimera struggled with the relentless pressure of the wind. I
slid my hand aft toward the winch, and encountered… Nothing! Where’s the
winch? I felt the rope all the way back to the cleat. The winch was gone. That
had been the explosion. Five, five-sixteenth inch bolts had sheared under the
strain. The winch had snapped off and been flipped over the side. The cleat, not
designed to take a tenth of the load it was under, was holding, but for how
long? Was this our only anchor now? Had the main anchor chain already parted so
that this cleat and the afterdeck cleat were all that held us?

I put my lips close to Joyce’s ear and shouted “I think both anchors are
still holding, but get everything together below just in case. Get my fins and
life jacket for me, too. I’ll be down in a minute. Thanks for the coffee.”
Wordlessly she went below.

The lightning was now a continuous, a flickering strobe light in a blacked
out disco. A flash of reflected lightning to starboard caught my eye. I
investigated with a flashlight. Alongside the hull was a length of aluminum
mast. It was entangled in its rigging, held alongside the hull. Our mast had
buckled and broken. That must have been the noise Joyce heard earlier.

With the mast down there was less pressure aloft to heel the boat over, which
was good, but the mast was pounding the hull. It might smash through at any
moment. Could I cut it loose? Briefly I considered trying to take bolt cutters
forward to cut the rigging away. No, that would be suicide. I’d just have to
hope that the plywood and fiberglass of the hull would take the punishment for
the next few hours. God, how many hours to go?

When Chimera faced the wind dead on I checked the compass. Our heading was a
little more easterly. The eye must be getting close, but it was still too early
for that according to Radio Suva’s afternoon reports. The eye would probably
pass north of us, possibly right through Suva. God, what a mess that would make
of the crowded anchorage there.

Thinking of Suva I wished we were there with Chimera safely tucked away up
the river tied to the mangrove trees. Still, the mangroves themselves might be
tearing away this very minute.

When the eye passed the wind shift would continue through east and change to
north or northwest. We would then face the wind’s fury unprotected.

Astrolabe reef a mile to the east would protect us from storm waves, but not
from the wind. If we broke loose after the wind shift, the wind would drive us
onto the island; if it happened now, it would drive us offshore to founder on
Astrolabe reef.

I went below to explain our situation to Joyce and Dennis.

Below, in the dim light, the clammy dampness, the lurching, jerking motion of
the boat, and the roaring of the storm made the moment unreal, even dreamlike.
Water droplets in the air formed a dense fog. As I sat down on the companionway
ladder, I felt the first nausea of seasickness. A glance at my watch. It showed
a little after nine.

Joyce and Dennis looked at me. I was facing them with my back to the
companionway hatch leading to the cockpit.

“The engine is shot,” I yelled, “The mast is down and may break through the
hull at the starboard quarter. Be ready to handle a leak there. The anchors seem
to be holding so far. There is no way to swim for it. We stay with the boat even
if it does break loose from the anchors. We don’t abandon ship unless she sinks
under us.”

“If we break loose now, we’ll end up on the outer reef. Maybe that would just
strand us high and dry, but we could blow right over the reef and sink. If we
have to abandon Chimera try to stay together. Our best chance in the water is to
swim backwards so that an air pocket forms around our faces. Conserve your
energy in the water. We can’t swim against this, and we could be in the water a
long time. Don’t fight it. Save your strength until after the worst of the storm
passes. With wet suit shirts and life jackets we can survive for a long time in
the water.

“There’ll be a wind shift after the eye passes sometime later tonight. That
would drive us back toward Astrolabe, so I don’t think we’d end up very far to
sea. Mainly, don’t panic, and conserve your strength..

We’ll keep fins and mask in our hands from now on. All we can really do is
just sit.” Meli was not yet half over. It was nine fifteen. Maybe six hours of
this to go before we could expect some easing.

Just sitting and waiting was the hardest. All day we had been occupied with
preparations for the hurricane: anchoring, securing deck gear, taking the dinghy
ashore. Now, with nothing to do, we were all seasick, and worst of all, had time
to dwell on the outcome of the next few hours.

I hoped Chimera’s anchors could hold until the wind shift, so that at the
worst we’ drive up on the rocks. We could make our way onto the island if that
happened. At least we’d have a good chance of it. Chimera would be gone, but we
would be safe.

hat was happening on Ocean Rover? I remembered what Eric had said earlier n
the day when we wee hiding our nervousness with kidding. “Vern, in a high wind I
just touch a button, and Ocean Rover’s windvane converts into an airplane-type
horizontal stabilizer. The steering wheel converts to a joy stick, and I just
fly her to some safe landing.” I hoped he wasn’t having to make good on that
boast now.

Joyce was packing passports and traveler’s checks in a waterproof bag, and
getting sandals out of the clothes locker when she stopped suddenly and shouted:
“Vern, there’s water pouring into the clothes locker!”

Her face was stricken.

“Joyce, get the clothes and junk out of the locker. Toss it all into the
forepeak. Dennis, lift up the deck boards and check the bilge for water.” I
grabbed a flashlight and stumbled forward. Joyce pulled the last of the clothes
from the locker and I shone the light inside. A long fracture in the hull ran
from deck level down to about a foot above the water line. The chain plate, the
fitting that secures the shroud to the hull for the mast support, had partially
pulled loose. It probably happened when the mast broke.

I examined the damage. Not too serious, I thought, as long as the mast is
already down. Still, it’s going to let a lot of water in each time we heel over.

Dennis called, “Vern, there’s about a foot of water in the bilge.”

Without a word Joyce pulled the bilge pump handle out of its cubbyhole under
the bunk and handed it to Dennis, showing him where to insert it in the pump
body. He began to pump, bracing himself for the next knock down.

Suddenly he stopped pumping, looked around, and said “Listen, you guys, did
you hear that? I heard a shout.” We all stopped to listen and suddenly realized
it was quiet. The noise of the storm was gone.

For a few moments we remained frozen in place without understanding what had
happened. It was as though God had forgotten to start the second reel of our
movie on time, and abruptly the tumultuous fury of the storm had paused for an
intermission.

Dennis was the first to speak. He said with a tone of awe in his voice, “It’s
the calm, we’re in the calm of the middle of the hurricane. I must have heard
somebody shout on Ocean Rover.” He climbed out into the cockpit. I followed him
into the flickering lightning lighted darkness and also heard a shout. I
couldn’t hear the words, but it was surely from Ocean Rover. I looked up and the
stars shone bright and clear. The sea still heaved around us, though, and
chivvied by the chop, Chimera wallowed.

“Let’s…get…out…of…here.” Dennis said emphasizing each word.

“Yes,” I agreed, “Joyce, c’mon,” I called, “we’re swimming for it. Hurry,
babe.” I looked around but couldn’t make out any lights from the Ocean Rover.
The almost continuous flashing of the lightning revealed the silhouette of the
island. The low pass in the center of the island marked the little rockbound
beach. We were not far from our original anchorage. Even if it were impossible
to find the beach it was better to attempt to land on the rocks than stay with
Chimera. I didn’t know how long the eye of the hurricane would last.

“Here.” Joyce handed me a pair of levis. “If we’re going in over the reef
you’ll need these.”

Within three minutes we added fins, mask, and snorkel to the gear we already
wore. I clutched the waterproof flashlight, and Joyce carried the waterproof
camera bag with the hastily gathered passports, traveler’s checks, and journal.
Four hundred dollars cash lay forgotten in the bookcase.

I jumped in the water then grabbed the gunwale of the boat as the residual
current from the wind tried to sweep me away. It would be a tough swim, even
with fins, and especially with so much clothing, life jackets, and equipment.

“Hurry!” I was anxious to get moving. God might put that second reel on at
any moment.

Dennis and Joyce were in the water with me in seconds. The water was rough.
It was very, very, dark. Joyce held on to my life jacket strap so we would not
separate.

My clothing, life jacket and the big flashlight dragged in the water, still I
resisted the desire to swim harder. After a day of work and tension,
overexertion might cause cramps. My snail’s pace drove Dennis nuts he kept
swimming on ahead and then returning to urge us on. A shout from Ocean Rover
reached us when we were about half way to the beach’”‘ .\ I shouted back into
the blackness that we were heading to the beach, but we did not slow our efforts
in an attempt to communicate. We all had one goal. Get to land and safety.
Quickly.

We tumbled over the little reef a few feet from the beach. If the wind had
been onshore building up the surf, instead of offshore, we’d have been smashed
into the coral, and wouldn’t have had a chance. We scrambled up away from the
surf in the eerie darkness. I shone the light around us. Fallen coconut trees,
coconuts, and fronds littered the ground. The trail leading to the other side of
the island through the jungle was gone.

Dennis said “We’ve got to get off this beach and find some shelter. That wind
will be strong enough to lift us right off this island.”

He was right. We should be far from the beach when the wind returned. If we
stayed here the possibility of getting coldcocked with a five pound green
coconut driven by hurricane winds was real.

“Vern, where’s that trail? Can you tell?” Joyce asked.

“I don’t think I could find it in the dark, Babe, but if we can get to the
other side of the island maybe we will be better protected from the new wind. It
should blow from almost the opposite direction. Let’s go.” We started off.

“Hey, who’s there!” It was a shout from the water. Eric ran dripping up to
us. With no preliminaries he asked, “Have you seen Julie or my Dad?” Before we
could react he continued, “Ocean Rover capsized, Julie was swept away, my Dad
was trapped inside. Is she here?”

“We just got here,” Joyce said “Maybe she’s taken shelter already. Come on
with us we’ve got to get to shelter quick. ”

“I’ve got to find her, Joyce, I’ve got to,” Eric said. I thought she might
have made it to Chimera and when the eye came I was just about to swim over
there when I heard you shout. I thought you said she was with you. Then I saw
your light. I thought it was some natives on the beach who could help. Maybe she
did make it to Chimera. I’ve got to go get her . ”

“Eric, no,” I said. “She wasn’t on Chimera, and if she was in the water
nearby when the eye came she’d have heard us or seen the light, too. Don’t go
back in the water.”

Suddenly, sand, palm fronds, and water took flight about us. The wind had
returned with a vengeance. Speech was no longer possible or necessary, and there
was no longer any question of Eric’s going for a swim.

We rushed inland. I led with the light. The others followed as best they
could. For long minutes we stumbled through the underbrush climbing through
bushes denuded by the wind, clambering over fallen trees, stumbling, falling,
scrambling. Finally we topped the spine of the island marked by a rocky saddle
outcropping. We tried to cross it, thinking the other side might offer more
protection, but the wind had shifted less than one hundred eighty degrees. Our
side of the island held the worst of the wind at bay. We huddled under an
outcropping, which formed a kind of shallow cave with a floor that sloped
sharply downward toward the anchorage.

With only the light of the flashlight, we worked into the little cave. There
were denuded branches all around, and we had to squirm, push, and rearrange
branches, twigs, and rocks to make room for ourselves. I hooked my butt over a
two inch branch lying horizontally in the mud to keep from sliding down the
hill. On my left Dennis dug his heels into the soft soil. On my right Joyce sat
on the same branch as I, and Eric found a spot next to her. We sat facing out in
the direction of the bay, our backs pressed uncomfortably against the hard,
knobby outcropping of rock.

Water dripped down on our heads from the lip of the ridge, stinging our eyes
with its burden of sea salt. Wind roared overhead and we had to shout to be
understood. Lightning strobed through the tangle of branches around us.
Surrealistic silhouettes etched our vision.

Until this moment the entire adventure seemed unreal to me. I felt detached,
almost like a spectator at a play, or perhaps like one of the actors. I said my
lines, performed the necessary action, but felt detached, uninvolved
emotionally. I felt no fear, no horror or dismay.

Now we were safe from the storm’s fury. Emotion washed over me. I don’t have
a name for it. Perhaps it was a mélange of all of the strong emotions of which
we are capable. It welled out of my inner being and overflowed onto the others.
Wordlessly, we all put our arms about each other and embraced. No words were
said, yet the action itself was a fervent prayer of thanksgiving to the
Universe.

We settled down to wait out the night and to think. It was ten p.m.

The only flaw in our joy was not knowing if Julie and Junius had reached
safety. Joyce took my hand, and I squeezed it. I could feel its warmth all the
way up my arm to my heart, and my eyes stung anew, this time with tears. I
wanted to stand up and shout into the storm, “I’m alive I Joyce is alive!” The
cramped discomfort of our shelter was nothing, the cold rain soaking and
chilling us was nothing, that we might have lost all of our possessions was
nothing. We were alive and together.

The wave of exultation passed, and my thoughts turned to Eric, wedged into
the tangle of branches a few feet away. What must he be going through? For him,
the hours ahead held not only the screaming wind and cold rain, but also the
helpless dread that maybe Julie or his Dad had drowned.

The minutes and hours passed. The adrenaline which had been pumping through
my veins for hours gradually faded. Cramps, fatigue, and cold permeated my body,
and my head jerked as I would fall asleep, and then start awake. Drugged by
fatigue my mind wove thought and hallucination into a fabric of improbable
waking dreams. To combat drowsiness and the chill I had to stand holding a
branch for balance and exercise with knee bends until the warmth of exertion
flowed from my legs through my body. I tried to stretch out, but that was
impossible. Finally, Joyce succumbed to her own fatigue, and slept leaning
against my shoulder. My muscles cramped with the strain of her weight, but
feeling a wave of tenderness for her I fought to remain still so she could have
a few minutes of rest. I consoled myself with the thought of morning when I
would swim out to Chimera, make a pot of coffee, and try to get the ham radio
working to call for help. I did think Chimera would still be there.

Finally, the lightning laced darkness lightened with the coming dawn. The
wind had abated some but still blew with disheartening strength. Murky low
cumulus seemed to meet the sea only a few miles from shore. The light was gray
and ominous. Rain still curtained the scene. Bare bushes, mud, fallen trees, and
coconuts lay everywhere. The dense forest of underbrush, coconut, papaya and
mango of yesterday now was a somber, barren waste. The devastation was total. It
was as though we had emerged from a deep mine after a particularly severe
bombing.

Wearily, we climbed the few feet necessary to look on the windward side of
the island. It was even worse. Enormous whitecaps battered the windward beach
unmercifully. Where only days before we had gone jogging on the sandy beach,
there was only salt water. The beach had disappeared; sucked away during the
night by the hurricane driven waves.

We picked our way down to the beach as soon as we could see clearly.

The anchorage held no trace of Chimera or Ocean Rover, nor was there any
trace of either boat on shore. We scanned the horizon slowly to see if there
were some sign that one of the boats was impaled on the reef or had sunk in
shallow water. There were only the backs of waves marching off into the rainy
dimness. Turbid waves broke and cast their milky water up the beach near our
feet. Fingers of coral clawed above the surface near shore. How did the four of
us make it through that cruel labyrinth in pitch dark the night before? None of
us had received more than a scratch.

The real tragedy of the situation hit me with stunning force. That steaming
mug of coffee I had visualized a hundred times during the night was not to be.
All else paled before that stark fact.

Eric stood ankle deep in the water with the foam of the surf swirling around
his feet. He raised his chin as he scanned the beach in one direction, then
turned his head to sweep the waters of the bay until he was looking in the
opposite direction along the beach. His eyes strained for some sign of Ocean
Rover, which might still shelter his father, or of some sign of Chimera which
might hold Julie.

It was unlikely that either person could have made it to Namara. Junius was
no swimmer, and Julie, although a strong swimmer, could hardly have fought the
fury of the winds before the eye arrived. Still we had to search the shore to be
sure.

Eric turned and joined us. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes tortured. He
seemed twenty years older than his twenty four. He looked at us searchingly and
asked, “What do you guys think? Is Julie alive? And my Dad? God, if I only had
taken them ashore.” He held his head, and covered his eyes with both hands.

Joyce stepped close to him and said, “Eric, Julie was a great swimmer, and
you said your Dad was wearing a life jacket. Let’s check the beaches here.
They’re probably holed up somewhere right now wondering what happened to you.” I
wondered if she really believed that. I think she did.

With the prospect of action Eric perked up. “Thanks, Joyce.” He turned to
Dennis “Look, why don’t you come with me north? Vern and Joyce can go south and
we’ll work our way around the island and meet on the other side.”

We took inventory of what we had brought: Life jackets, two emergency strobe
lights, three pair of rubber booties, one flashlight, one folding rope knife
left forgotten in a pocket, and the traveler’s checks and passports that Joyce
had packed. A quick look around as the morning light increased showed us an
unexpected bonanza, Chimera’s dinghy. It was surrounded by fallen coconut trees
but had not been damaged. We checked the gas tank of the little engine. Only
about a pint of gas remained. Somehow, having the little boat cheered us.

We sat in a row on one of the sides. Dennis said thoughtfully, “You know,
nobody lives on this island, right? The nearest village is a couple of miles
over the water, and I don’t see any golden arches anywhere. What’s for
breakfast? And what about to drink? Shouldn’t we try to catch some of this rain
while we can?”

Joyce said “Well, there’re all these coconuts if we can get them open.” She
gestured to include the trees fallen at our feet. “Anyway, someone should be
here soon to rescue us, don’t you think, Vern? Perry knew we were here.”

“I don’t know, babe,” I replied, “I doubt if anyone from the local villages
will be coming this way soon. They probably got just as wiped out as we. As far
as Perry and the rest in Suva… They may have troubles of their own. We may be
roughing it for a while.”

Eric got up and paced in front of us. “Look, I’ve got to get out of here and
find someone to start a search for Julie and my Dad. They could be out there
right now. Nobody but us even knows they’re in trouble.” He looked around
nervously. It’s only two miles to the next island with a village. I can swim
that or take the dinghy. They must have radio contact with Suva at least.”

“Wait, Eric,” I said, “that village is upwind. There’s still a strong sea
running, much too strong for the dinghy or for swimming. The nearest downwind
island is five miles. You won’t do any good for anyone if you get drowned. Let’s
search the island now. it’s the only thing we can do.”

We divided and set out to search the island. As Joyce and I clambered over
rocks and debris along the shore it was the first time since arriving during the
eye of the storm that we could talk alone. As soon as we were out of earshot of
the others she asked me, “Vern, what do you really think Julie’s chances are?”

“I don’t know, darlin’,” I answered, “she’s a good swimmer, and if she was
able to get clear of Ocean Rover when it went over, and if she was able to keep
breathing until the eye, she could have made it to shore. When the wind shifted
after the eye it still was blowing offshore. The nearest island in that
direction is Kandavu, and that’s almost twenty miles away.”

Joyce sat down on a rock and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Vern, Julie’s
so young, she’s so sweet and beautiful. She’s got to be all right.” Her
shoulders heaved as she cried. I sat beside her, and held her tightly. My own
tears welled up from my heart and stung my eyes. With the dam broken, all of the
emotion of the last twenty four hours flooded to the surface. We both
surrendered to the release of crying. We sobbed together for a long while before
going on with the search.

A little later Joyce said thoughtfully, “You know, Eric blames himself for
Julie and Junius being out there. If either of them don’t make it he’s going to
be very hard on himself.”

“I know. Let’s hope by the time we get back to the beach Julie’s waiting.
C’mon, babe, let’s get moving. I’m ready for some scrambled eggs and a cup of
coffee; I’ll even settle for instant.”

We completed our half of the circuit and met Eric and Dennis on what remained
of the windward beach.

Eric called to us while we were still fifty yards away. “Any luck? Did you
see anything at all?”

“Nothing” I shouted.

“Look,” he said as we neared, “from here you can see the village across the
channel. Maybe there’s some way we can signal them that we’re here… A fire or
something.”

Dennis was the camper and backpacker. We looked his way for a method of
signaling. He said, “We don’t have anything to make a fire with, or any sheets,
or anything to signal with. I’ve got no ideas.”

I had one of the small battery powered strobe lights that was part of my life
jacket’s equipment. At this distance it wouldn’t do much good during the day,
but we decided to try it. We tied it to a branch of a small tree part way up the
slope of the hill where there was a good line of sight to the windward island.
Perhaps someone there would see it and either investigate, or if that was
impossible for them, at least report the signal by radio to Suva.

As we got more and more hungry and thirsty the subject of food supplanted our
other subjects of discussion. Joyce picked up a bright green coconut and said,
“All we need is a machete. Here is a pint of the purest, sweetest water in the
world.”

I pulled out the little folding rope knife which was in the pocket of my
jacket. It was already rusting from the salt water and was hard to open. “Here
is the machete,” I said and began carving away the dense husk of the green nut.
After about fifteen minutes of enthusiastic whittling I got down to the hard
inner shell. I cleared the last of the husk covering the three “eyes” of the nut
and poked the knife blade through two of them to form a drinking hole and a
vent. I offered the opened nut to Joyce. She drank, with much slurping and
smacking of lips. Then she passed it on. The milk was delicious. It was as clear
as spring water, but between four people didn’t go very far in quenching our
thirst. For the next half hour we took turns carving coconuts until our thirst
was satisfied. We were still hungry since green coconuts have only water in
them. Rather than opening more mature coconuts right there for something to eat,
we decided to return over the center of the island to our bay, where we had some
protection from the wind.

The light filtering through the clouds and rain was much brighter now. From
the elevation of the central ridge we could see most of a three hundred sixty
degree panorama. From this vantage we scanned the horizon again, especially the
reef about a mile to the west for any sign of the boats. Still no slightest clue
to the boats’ fate. The only sign of life we could see in that direction was our
bright yellow dinghy near the beach. To the south we could see Ono, five miles
distant. The mountains of Kandavu loomed in the misty distance farther south. A
solid phalanx of whitecaps marched over the sea from east to west. Those that
missed Namara rolled on northwest until they blended with the grey horizon. We
started down the hill and climbed over a mango tree that Meli had smashed to the
ground. It had a trunk fully four feet across. Unfortunately, it was too early
in the season for there to be fruit on the tree.

On the beach we sat together on the trunk of a fallen coconut palm. I
unfolded our “machete” and Joyce picked out a semi-mature nut. She knew it had
soft, sweet meat inside as well as sweetened milk. I carved as we talked.

Eric sat with his forearms on his knees, his head and hands drooping. Almost
to himself he said, “They must be somewhere out there. I’ve got to find a way to
get a search started. I’ve got to. God, I’ve got to at least try.”

Joyce put her arm on his shoulders without saying anything. He continued “I
should have put them on shore. Dad and Julie couldn’t do anything to help,
anyway. It was all so out of control. It’s my fault they’re out there. I’ve got
to do something.” He got up and paced. His eyes were red, and his expression was
desperate.

“Eric, it was not your fault,” Joyce said forcefully. None of us knew how
terrible that wind was going to be. No one. You did all you could.” Eric focused
his attention on Joyce wanting to believe what she was saying. He wanted to
believe her, but he couldn’t.

He said “Joyce, did you know that Julie’s parents tried to restrain her
legally when she said she was going to join me in Tonga? They were so frightened
that something horrible would happen to her down here. Since she’s eighteen
there was nothing they could do to stop her. She loved and trusted me enough to
defy her parents. And now…” He couldn’t continue. Tears gathered in Joyce’s
eyes. I whittled on a coconut for few minutes in the silence.

Finally, Eric got control of his voice, and looked over at me. He said,
“Vern, I’ve got to get a search going.” He got up as though we could go
somewhere right then and get things started. “We’ve been here all morning now
and we haven’t even seen a plane. if there were a search for us going on a plane
would be out here by now. We’re only thirty five miles from Suva. If Julie
hasn’t made it to shore yet she could still be swimming out there; my dad could
still be trapped on Ocean Rover. I’ve got to do something. I can’t sit around
doing nothing when they might still be holding on out there because they think
help is on the way.” He paused and looked out over milky waters of the bay.
Finally he said, “It’s rough out there, but I can swim in that. I can make it to
Ono and they can radio for help.”

“Eric,” I said “I understand how you feel. At least I think I do, but there’s
nothing you can do right now. It’s still blowing at least gale force. You might
be able to row the dinghy in that for a while but not for long enough. Think how
you would feel if you ended up miles at sea with the dinghy. Tomorrow the winds
should be down, and it’ll be possible to get to Ono. And if you tried swimming
today there’s a good chance you wouldn’t make it at all. The sea is rough, even
inside the reef. With the storm waves coming over the windward reef, the
currents will be strong and will be running right out the passes to sea,”

Eric hung his head and said “Maybe it will ease up in a couple of hours.”

Dennis asked in a quiet voice “Eric, what happened on Ocean Rover last night?
I just know you turned over? What was it like?”

Eric looked at Dennis with red-rimmed eyes and sat down cross legged opposite
us. He looked out toward the reef and said, “Right after you and Vern left the
boat that last time–it must have been about four o’clock–! sat down at the
radio and got Radio Fiji’s latest prediction—seventy five knots. Ocean Rover
passed two days in fifty five knots of wind when I was in Mexico last year. It
was tough, but everything held. Seventy five is a lot more than fifty five I
know. It was only two weeks ago that I read an account of a thirty seven foot
Brown Searunner just like mine weathering a hundred knot hurricane in New
Caledonia. The thought kind of reassured me, and I went on deck to check the
lines again and to see if there was any last thing I could do before it got
dark.”

“Julie came out to me while I was checking the lines and said, ‘I’m really
getting scared. Eric, do you think we should go in to shore? ‘ ”

“Dennis, I thought about it. God, I wish I had taken them both in to shore. I
really did think about it, but I was almost sure we’d be OK. I thought if worse
came to worse we could swim over to Chimera. You guys were only about ten yards
away and downwind at that. Besides my Dad didn’t have any rain gear and I
thought how miserable it would be on that island.” Eric shook his lowered head
slowly, and fell silent for few seconds, then he continued.

“The beach seemed so close. If it got really rough I figured we’d just swim
in to shore. Dad’s no swimmer, but he could go that distance OK with a life
jacket. He seemed to be all right. He had a book he’d been reading, and he lay
down in a bunk forward to try to read. He put his trust in me just like Julie.
They both thought I’d keep them safe. I made the decision to ride it out on
Ocean Rover. Did you guys think of going on shore?”

“Yes,” I answered, “but I thought about the same as you. If worse comes to
worse we swim. I’ve never imagined that water could be so rough I couldn’t swim
in it. Joyce and Dennis are good swimmers, too.”

“Boy, was that a mistake to think of swimming, ” Eric said. “I found that out
after we capsized. I’m glad that when Julie asked me if she should put on our
mask and fins in the cockpit I agreed. I almost said no. That was about dusk.
Those waves were already getting pretty big, and I don’t know about you, but we
were beginning to really jerk around on the anchor lines. I remember looking at
the barometer about six or seven o’clock and it had taken a serious dive to
about 29.2.

“A couple of hours later it was terrible. Ocean Rover was surging up over
those waves and jerking at the end of her anchor lines so bad that we had to
hold on in the cockpit to keep from getting thrown around. Dad had to give up on
his book, I guess. We were getting some water over the bow, and the spray and
the rain stung like hail. You know, the noise is what I’ll probably remember
most. You know what I mean? It was so strong I could feel it with my stomach.”

“I finally gave up on using the engine as you did, Vern, but kept it idling
just in case.”

“Julie was with me in the cockpit the whole time. One time she shouted in my
ear and asked me how to find the shore if we had to swim. I told her to swim
with the wind in her face and angle left. God, what dumb advice that was. When I
tried to look up over the cabin top one time a blast of wind blew my lips back
from my teeth and my cheeks flapped–I’ve ridden my motorcycle at a hundred and
fifteen miles per hour and never had that happen. No one could swim with their
face into that wind.”

“Julie saved my life. In the middle of it all she got down on her knees in
the cockpit and put my fins on while I was still trying to use the engine and
steering wheel.

Without the fins I wouldn’t have had a chance. She put hers on, too. We just
held our masks. They’d have blown off if we wore them.”

“About nine o’clock Ocean Rover tacked unusually hard to starboard and just
lay there. I remember screaming ‘come on, come on1 as I tried to coax her back.
Then a blast of wind hit at about the same time we went up on a wave. We rolled
back and to starboard and didn’t stop.”

“I held on to the wheel. Julie had been sitting across from me and must have
fallen out as we went over and been trapped under the deck when we completed the
roll. I came up in the air pocket of the cockpit with the deck above me.
Strangely enough there was a dim light; I think I had forgotten to turn off the
engine room light, and the glow was coming through the skylight in the cockpit
deck. I heard the diesel engine still running and reached up to kill it. My rain
jacket was getting in the way so I struggled out of it. I almost dove out under
the boat to look for Julie right then, but I remembered that Dad was in the
front cabin. I didn’t know if Julie was okay or not, but Dad was trapped in
there.”

“The trouble was—which cabin was he in? I had never looked at the hatches
upside down. I was disoriented. It probably only took a few seconds to figure it
out, but it

seemed like and hour before I could decide which were the correct hatch
boards. They were hard to get out. You know how they slide down into their slot?
I had to dive down and pull the first board down to get it out. Dad helped with
the next one from the inside.

I ducked into the cabin and pushed my mask up on my forehead. The compartment
reeked of gasoline fumes. I keep the scuba air compressor in that compartment
and the gas tank was leaking. Dad was OK. The reading lights were still burning
underwater. My main batteries were strapped down and still working even upside
down. Without light it would have been much worse. Clothing, plastic containers,
and floorboards were sloshing back and forth. The gasoline made it hard to
breathe, and it stung my eyes.

I was scared to death for Julie and wanted to go out after her, but I had to
help Dad. He didn’t know anything about where things were or anything. He
doesn’t even know how to swim. He’s only been on Ocean Rover a couple of times
before this visit.” Eric paused and then continued. “If he hadn’t been on his
sabbatical and traveling around the world he never would have stopped to visit
me. Why did it have to be now that he came? Dad was really calm, much calmer
than I. ”

“Suddenly Ocean Rover hit something hard and we jerked. The cabin top flexed
under my feet as though it were collapsing. I thought we were on the reef. I
told Dad we would have to leave. He said he felt he should stay inside since he
couldn’t swim very well, and was OK where he was. I ripped off the hose from the
sink drain to let some fresh air into the cabin. Then the boat ground hard
against something and started to go down at the bow. Maybe it was just the mast
hitting the bottom, but I pictured us about to break up on the reef. I thought
of Julie out there struggling on coral or maybe clinging to Ocean Rover. I was
frantic.

As the bow dropped the air bubble in the cabin ran aft and we were forced
into the compartment nearest the cockpit. I kept talking out loud about Julie
and what I was thinking. Dad talked to me calmly, and I got back in control.
He’s a really brave man.

I told Dad it wasn’t safe for him to stay with the boat. There would be huge
seas hitting the reef, and Ocean Rover would break up when she hit. We had to
get out and swim for shore, I swam forward to the deck hatch in the bow. It had
come open and a sail bag was jammed into it. I pushed the bag through. As I
fought with it I could catch a breath whenever the water in the cabin sloshed
enough to send the bubble of air that far forward. The air was still foul with
the gasoline, and I was pretty dizzy from it by then. I wanted the hatch clear
so Dad and I could dive out through it. Then I remembered that the scuba tanks
were stowed in that compartment. I found one, mounted a regulator on it, and
gave it to him. I explained how to use it. He wouldn’t be able to fit through
the hatch with the tank on his back, so I showed him how to lower it through
first and then follow. I put a gas-inflated life vest on him and told him that
he must wait until he was clear of the boat to pull the toggle that would
inflate it. All this time the hull shook and ground under our feet. ”

Tears were flowing from Eric’s eyes, now, and he went on with his story in a
helpless monotone.

“We both stood over the hatch, and I tried to give last minute instructions
to him. He got a little confused at one point, and I had to back up and explain
it over again. Ocean Rover was crunching into something and I wanted desperately
to get out while there was still time. When Dad put his face in the water he
couldn’t breathe through his mouth alone and water got into his nose. I went
back to the dive locker and found a dive mask and put that on him.”

“Finally we were ready. I told him ‘Dad, I love you. I hope you make it. ‘ He
said ‘I love you too, son. Don’t worry about me. I’ve had a long and happy life.
Go find

Julie.’ The air pocket swirled away, and I gasped one last breath and ducked
through the hatch.

“I swam, and swam, and swam. Always the deck was above me. Somehow I got
turned around and was going the wrong way. Suddenly I ran into the life lines
that run along the edge of the deck, and I couldn’t figure out how to get past
them. I thought, ‘So this is the end.’”

“I got past them and popped up into… I don’t know what to call it. It was
like having a fire hose directed against my face. My mask disappeared instantly,
and I turned my head to try to get some air. I had been holding my breath for a
long time. I couldn’t breathe, not really. I gulped half air and half water. The
noise was overpowering–just indescribable. I drifted for just a second and felt
a line in my hand.

I let go of the line at first, then grabbed and held on with all of my
strength. I pulled myself along it and climbed up on something. When the
lightning flashed I saw it was my overturned dinghy. I was very confused. The
last time I saw the dinghy it was lashed down on deck under layers of half inch
line. Was Ocean Rover somehow floating upright? Was the dinghy floating loose?
Another lightning bolt lit up part of the hull next to me and it showed one of
Ocean

Rover’s outer floats. The dinghy was floating alongside the float. A line
dangling from it had saved me.”

“I had to move. Waves kept washing over me, and blasts of wind made it almost
impossible to breathe. I reached up and pulled myself atop the float. The wind
picked me up, lifted me clear off of it. I reached out for anything. I caught a
line at the end of the float as I fell into the water. It was blind luck. I
pulled my way back onto Ocean Rover and made my way about a dozen feet before
another gust blew me off, this time sliding me along the end of the hull. I
caught the line again with one hand.

The third time I worked myself nearly all the way to the bow before the wind
got under me. It dumped me on the underwing. There were life lines on the
underwing that I installed in case of capsize, but I was swept past them before
I could grab one. I had my hands out grabbing for anything. As I slid off the
underwing past the main hull my fingers closed on a rung of the ladder built on
the transom next to the rudder. If I’d missed that I would have been swept away
completely.”

“In the wind shadow of the transom I could breathe a little. The lightning
gave me some light, and I saw a shape just below the surface of the water. I
didn’t know if it was a body, or some clothing, or a sail bag, or what. I could
have let go and grabbed it, but if I did I’d never get back, It might have been
Julie or my Dad.” Eric stopped speaking. He couldn’t go on for some time.

The four of us sat there quietly. I watched the breakers crash over the reef
. The birds were back, and again I wondered how such fragile things could have
survived those awesome conditions. The gulls patrolled the shore looking for
dead fish. The bosun birds looked for swimming small fry, but the water was so
turbid they weren’t having much luck. The sun was high, and, even though the sky
was clearing a little, we were still protected from its direct

After a while, with some of the emotion temporarily washed out of him, Eric
continued. “The next half hour I just hung on. Each wave broke over the hull and
covered me completely. When it passed I would catch a breath of water and air
and hold on with all my strength as the next wave crashed over me. I gave up on
trying to get up on the hull. Even if I had something to hang on to I would just
be like a piece of laundry flapping in the wind. The transom was the only
protection I had. I thought I’d have to stay there for the next eight or ten
hours while the second half of the hurricane passed. I wondered if I could. I
wasn’t sure at all. I couldn’t even think. It was a pattern of inhale, hold my
breath and hang on hard, the wave passes, exhale and grab a breath, another
wave…”

“After a while I realized the wind was less. Visibility improved, too, and I
could see more of the hulls when the lightning flashed. Finally I climbed on the
hull and braced myself against the rudder sticking up into the air. The wind
dropped off rapidly. I shouted for Julie and Dad. I couldn’t see Chimera, but as
the lightning flashed, I could see the island. Then I saw your lights to seaward
and I figured Chimera had dragged anchor out there. I yelled and could see you
flashing your light around for me, but you didn’t see me I guess.”

“The wind stopped, and I could see stars. That’s when I realized that this
was just the eye of the storm and it was all going to start again when the eye
passed. I wondered could I survive more punishment? Was Julie on Chimera? Had
she made it to the beach? Had Dad made it? I couldn’t think what to do next.
Then I saw your flashlight on the beach, and I thought it must be Fijians, who
might be able to help me. I know no one lives on the island, but my brain was
really scrambled. I had to swim to shore, but I kept hanging on.”

“The wind began to shift to the north so I knew the eye was passing. I had to
make up my mind quickly. I slid off the hull and swam as fast as I could for
your light on the beach. I yelled ‘Don’t turn them off.’ They were the only real
thing in my world. It seemed only seconds before I was in the shore break. I
scraped my shoulder on a rock and crawled up on shore and yelled at you guys.”

We sat for a while and talked about what had happened. It seemed to help Eric
a lot to talk about it. I had kept working on the coconuts throughout Eric’s
account, and had a respectable pile of opened nuts.

“Hey, everybody, breakfast time,” I said. “Scrambled coconut, and coconut
juice. Lots of vitamin C. The coffee machine’s out of order, however. The
management apologizes. Eat hearty, me buckos” The change of subject did everyone
good. The coconut tasted wonderful.

It was still morning. The afternoon stretched before us.

________________________________________

By afternoon the rain became intermittent. The wind still blew with gale
force but had slacked somewhat and backed into the north. Joyce and I walked
hand in hand along the beach. About five hundred yards away Eric and Dennis were
making a shelter from palm fronds.

Joyce stopped and turned to me. She put her arms around my waist and looked
directly into my eyes for a moment. Then she said “Vern, I’m so happy that I’m
here with you. I don’t think I can ever tell you how much I love you. If I were
alone on this island wondering where you were — if you were even alive — I…”
Her eyes filled and she pressed her face into my neck. I held her tightly and
felt my own tears well up.

“Darling,” I said, “if it weren’t for Julie and Junius I’d be shouting my
thanks to all the gods that you’re here with me right now. Will you marry me?” I
asked, holding her far enough away from me to see her face.

“You donkey,” she sniffled, “you’ve already forgotten we were married ten
years ago. Forty five years old and already you’re senile.” Then she smiled and
said “Sure I’ll marry you, turkey, but where can we honeymoon? It ‘ s a little
hard to get airplane reservations today.”

“How would you like a honeymoon on a desert island in beautiful, tropical
Fiji? I just happen to have reservations that include very private
accommodations right over there out of sight of our camp. ” I smiled at her and
cupped her face in my hands.

“I do,” she murmured into my ear and led me by the hand to the “honeymoon
suite. ”

Later we sat In the sand letting the rush of water from the waves swirl up
around us. An occasional break in the cloud cover let the intense sun through
for minutes at a time. It was the end of March, the beginning of fall in Fiji.
The sun was hot but not as impossibly intense as it had been during December and
January. It was more cheerful with the sunlight, but, with no shade, it was more
comfortable when the sun was behind the clouds.

Joyce tangled herself around me and said, “When we get out of all this let’s
go somewhere away from everybody and just be alone. Someplace where we don’t
have to do anything, not take care of business or work on a boat or anything.
Let’s just hike in the woods, eat, sleep, and make love, OK?” I nodded, and she
continued. “You know something funny? I feel odd about all this. Our boat is
gone with no insurance,–probably sunk–our friends may be hurt or even worse,
we’re on an uninhabited island with nothing to eat or drink but coconuts, and I
feel wonderful. I feel more alive and happy than ever. The only thing is, with
Eric suffering so, I feel guilty about feeling so good.” She rolled over and
rested on her elbows looking out over the water of the bay. Foamy water slid up
the beach and stopped just short of her feet. After a few moments she asked me,
“Vern, do you think you’d want to do it again? I mean get another boat and go
cruising again?” She twisted her neck to look up at me, squinting into the sun.

“Joyce,” I began and paused to look inside my mind, “If I had to make an
irrevocable decision right now, it would be ‘absolutely not. Still I have a
hunch that after this is all over, and some time has passed, I may not feel that
way. How about you?”

She said “Well, it’s only been a few months since we bought Chimera, but they
sure have been good months. I’ve never met so many wonderful people in such a
short time, and never had so much excitement, that’s for sure. I don’t just mean
right now. Remember that night on Gau? I was so scared, probably almost as
scared as I was last night. You know that could have been just as bad.”

We had entered the pass into Gau’ s lagoon at three in the afternoon, dropped
the sails, and motored toward the village of Wakima. Gau is an island lying
about fifty files east of Suva. Dennis had left the boat a few days earlier to
do some hitchhiking in the backcountry of the main island, Viti Levu. Ocean
Rover was due to meet us that afternoon and bring us mail from Suva.

There was a very shallow bay in front of the village, and one friend had
warned us that Gau’s lagoon was dangerous and had many uncharted coral heads.

We crept forward very cautiously as we entered the bay. The bottom changed
continuously. Our depth sounder showed first very deep water then, abruptly, the
shallow water over a coral pinnacle, then deep water again.

The charted anchorage lay about a mile southwest of the village. Since we
planned to visit the village the next day we wanted to be closer than that so we
poked around Wakima’s bay searching for a safe location. Finally we found an
apparently acceptable spot and dropped the hook. I jumped in the water with mask
and fins to check the surroundings. The anchor chain led over the hard coral.
There was very little sand. The anchor was hooked on a shelf of jagged coral. I
circled the boat and found three large, shallow coral heads within the radius of
our swing at anchor. As long as the wind held steady we would be safe where we
were. In every direction except the narrow path we had entered shallow coral
heads waited to impale us should the wind shift or should we drag anchor. I
skinned down to the bottom and moved the anchor to better its precarious grip on
the coral. That might help.

“How’s it look?” Joyce asked me as I climbed back on deck.

“Not as good as I’d like,” I answered shaking the water out of my hair,
“especially since there are so many obstacles around. If we decide later to
stay, I’ll set a second anchor to hold us in a wind shift. We simply can’t
afford to swing very far from this spot. The wind’s been steady for a couple of
days so maybe there won’t be a wind shift.” Lord, did I call it wrong.

“OK, say, isn’t that Ocean Rover on the horizon?” Joyce pointed almost dead
astern.

“Looks like it, and they’re still pretty far out,” I answered. They’ll have
the devil of a time coming in that pass and getting to the anchorage in this
evening light. They’re going to have to spend the night sailing outside the
lagoon.”

“Oh, I hope not” Joyce said, “I want to find out what went on in Suva while
we were gone, and they should have our mail.”

I reached for the binoculars. “They’re pretty fast so maybe they can make it
before it’s too late. I’ll put the dinghy in the water to give them a hand if
they need it.” The dinghy was already inflated and on deck, so I slid it into
the water and mounted the little Seagull engine on it.

Joyce ducked below and dug potatoes and squash out of the vegetable bin and
began preparations for dinner. I waited on deck to follow Ocean Rover’s
progress.

I glanced toward the village. The bay stretched almost a third of a mile
between us. The clear expanse of the bay looked inviting, however the chart
showed extreme shallow water. Visiting the village tomorrow would require a long
dinghy ride.

About five o’clock Ocean Rover was close enough for me to see that Eric was
planning to enter the lagoon even though the light was terrible. The surface of
the water reflected the light of the setting sun as brightly as a mirror, and it
was impossible to see anything below the surface. No markers or lights indicated
where the pass lay. You had to have visibility to get to the anchorage safely.

I called down to Joyce “Hey, Ocean Rover’s just about to the pass, and the
visibility’s really bad. I’m going to take the dinghy to meet them and guide
them into the lagoon. I’ll take them over to the regular anchorage. Should be
back within the hour.”

“OK, we’re having bean goop for dinner and that’ll keep. Be careful.”

The little Metzler dinghy bucked along under me with the Seagull buzzing
furiously. I headed downwind directly toward Ocean Rover. I could pick a
shortcut through the reef in the shallow dinghy since no surf broke on the
coral. I waved to attract Eric and Julie’s attention, but they were too far away
and too intent on their navigation to notice.

The trimaran was heading directly for the reef. Clouds had gathered overhead
making the light even worse than before. With no markers at the pass, it was
impossible to see to enter the lagoon. Ocean Rover closed the reef, and I waved
frantically and shouted as loud as I could, but there was no reaction. I had the
Seagull wide open, but two horsepower just wouldn’t get the dinghy up on a
plane. I just plowed on.

Moments before she should surely founder on the coral, Ocean Rover turned
south to parallel the reef, and I relaxed a bit. Still they weren’t heading for
the pass Joyce and I had entered, but another about a quarter mile south. I
followed in not-so-hot pursuit.

I caught up with them just as they entered the pass.

“Hey, you turkeys, what do you mean coming into the lagoon without the
services of a pilot? How in the hell did you find this pass in this light?” The
clouds had thickened and it was getting really dim as evening approached.

“Hi, Vern, say how did you sneak up on us? We ran into some people in Suva
who drew us a chart of the pass and told us how to line up those two peaks over
there to get a bearing to enter on. Come on aboard. We’ll drag the dinghy.”

I tied the dinghy astern and joined Eric and Julie in the cockpit to guide
them to the anchorage. The clouds continued to thicken. By the time we felt our
way to a safe anchorage and got the hook down and set, it began raining, and the
wind shifted. A squall was approaching rapidly.

I looked nervously toward Chimera about a half mile away, and thought of our
single anchor precariously hooked in the coral.

“Eric, it’s really closing in. I’d better get moving. The wind’s already up
to fifteen, and it’s getting worse. Can I borrow a jacket?” The wind was now
blowing directly from Chimera.

“Why don’t you wait out the squall here, Vern, it probably won’t last more
than an hour?” Julie asked.

“Well we’re in an awful spot and I might be able to get out an extra anchor
if there’s trouble. We’ll see you in the morning. Thanks for bringing the mail.”

Eric’s jacket protected me from the chill wind and rain that presaged the
approaching squall. I set out at full throttle. Against the fifteen knot wind
the little dinghy barely made any progress at all.

Suddenly a blast of wind struck and almost upended the dinghy. Rain fell in
solid sheets. A full blown squall was on us. I looked back at Ocean Rover. Eric
had turned on his mast head strobe light, and its 50,000 candlepower white flash
arrowed through the gathering darkness. If I had to turn and run back to the
trimaran, its beacon would guide me. Ahead I could see Chimera, but dimly and
only between blasts of wind and rain.

“Come on, Joyce, turn on the anchor light, or the spreader light.” I said out
loud. I beamed my thoughts at her with a will and leaned forward as far as I
could to hold the front of the dinghy down in the wet gusts.

Another few minutes and it was totally dark. I could still make out the
strobe downwind, but that was all. The wind increased so much that I had to move
forward in the dinghy to keep it from flipping over backwards. From my position
I couldn’t reach the engine control so I steered with my toes holding the engine
tiller. I squinted into the driving rain and spray, but still could not see any
lights from Chimera. I was navigating solely from the direction of the wind, and
the wind could shift. Damn, I didn’t even have a flashlight to signal with.

The chop built up quickly, and I was grateful to be wearing Eric’s jacket.
Another worry struck me. The Seagull engine’s tank only held a liter of gas, and
it wasn’t full when I started after Ocean Rover. If I ran out of gas I might
guide the dinghy downwind to the trimaran’s sanctuary with the oars, but if the
wind shifted a lot, I’d be swept out over the reef to sea.

Long moments passed and still I saw no light from Chimera. Perhaps I was
looking in the wrong direction to see her, or Chimera might now be dragging
anchor. There was nothing Joyce could do about that without a dinghy.

“I must be far enough by now” I thought. Then I did see a light. A dim haze
of light showed off to my right. The village. “If I can see that, I’ve come far
enough. If Chimera is where she belongs I ought to see her.”

The gas had to be about gone. I had two choices. One to keep searching in the
dark, and the other to try to reach the village to either get some gas or to
wait out the squall.

I decided on the village. Getting blown out to sea and having to row all
night long to get back had no appeal at all. I turned toward the village angling
against the wind still steering with my foot. I took another look around.

A light. Not a hundred yards away. Joyce had finally turned on a light. I
turned toward it hoping I wouldn’t be coming home to a holed and sinking boat.
No. As I closed the last fifty feet I saw Chimera bobbing in the chop with Joyce
anxiously peering out into the gloom.

I climbed on board and then placed a couple of five gallon water jugs in the
dinghy to keep it from flipping in the wind. Joyce and I went below. She had a
cup of hot chocolate laced with a generous dollop of rum waiting. “You piece of
shit,” she said affectionately, “I was so worried something had happened to you.
Why’d you take so long?” Her words were a bit muffled with her face buried in my
shoulder.

“Sorry, Darling, next time I’ll phone if I’m going to be late, and remind you
to light a candle in the window. Why didn’t you give me a light to guide me? I
was afraid you were long gone, or sunk.”

“Oh, Vern, I was so scared. There was lightning everywhere and I was afraid
of Chimera getting hit. I thought it was dangerous to have lights on in an
electrical storm, and I could see around the boat a lot better with all of the
lights out. I was sure we were going to hit one of those coral heads you saw
this afternoon. Oh, hold me tight, please.”

NOTES ON ENDING

(Arrival of John with the dinghy, paddle to Ono, arriving at the island of
Ono)

We entered the bay fronting the village. The bay was shaped like a carrot
with the point bitten off. John and I were weary to the bone after the long
paddle. We dragged the dinghy up on the beach, and the three of us walked up
into the village, or what used to be a village.

Every building in sight lay flattened. A giant hand might have leveled every
building and tree over four feet high. Boards, clothing, sheets of corrugated
iron from roofs, and coconut trees littered the landscape. Here and there a
floor and its supporting trusses survived and bore piles of belongings hastily
retrieved. People bustled to and fro. Some carried loads of scattered household
furniture, others small children. Many had cuts and minor wounds.

Two ladies took Joyce in tow and led her off into the heart of the village.
John guided me in another direction. We stopped by the remains of John’s house.
He rummaged in a dresser standing alone in the center of the naked floor and
produced a pair of trousers and a shirt, which he handed me.

We climbed the hill by the village. A stream cascaded beside us to wander
through the village below. We reached a pool which was the community bath. John
left to help with the cleanup work while I gratefully scrubbed off the
accumulated salt and sweat of the last couple of days. I climbed out of the pool
refreshed, dried off with a towel he had brought, pulled on the clean dry
clothes he had given me and sat down to look around.

At the back of the village one lone, long building still stood. Its
cinder-block and stucco construction had saved it from destruction. It bustled
with activity. Several villagers tended two large cooking pots in the yard. The
smoke from the cooking fires curled up around the bubbling cauldrons, and an
insane vision of Joyce and I becoming the main course for the evening meal
flitted across my mind.

Some villagers were hurrying back and forth with armloads of bedding, with
chairs and with kerosene lanterns. They were setting up a barracks for the
night. Throughout the area people worked to clear the debris and to salvage what
they could.

The village animals seemed unaffected by the confusion. The dogs lazed in
whatever shade there was, and the pigs rooted about looking for morsels or lay
snoozing as their piglets squealed around them fighting for a teat.

John returned and led me down to the school house.

Joyce was there and told me she had been similarly treated to a bath. She
sported a black skirt and a pink sweater with a kitten embroidered on the front.
With her dark complexion, and long dark hair she might have been a member of the
village. Everybody seemed busy. There was an air of cheerfulness in the air and
none of the dejection or sadness that I expected. It was as though this was a
frequent happening and no big problem. I found out, however, that it was indeed
a problem. All of the cash crop of tobacco, kava, taro, and manioc, as well as
the food supplies of the village had been ruined by the storm. No one here had
been seriously injured, but on the other side of the island a stone church which
had served as shelter during hurricanes for 75 years had collapsed killing 16
people outright and injuring ten others. There were virtually no medical
facilities available, and some of the wounded were in critical condition.

As guests Joyce and I were the first to be served dinner. We took the bowls
and spoons we were handed and stepped up to the largest cooking pot. A
gap-toothed smiling old lady ladled our bowls full of soup. We found chairs and
sat down to eat. The soup was a thin chicken broth with flour dumplings in it.
The rest of the village lined up and soon there were laughing, joking people all
around. After dinner all sang by the light of the fire and the two kerosene
Coleman lanterns. Joyce and I pleaded fatigue early and were led to the only
other intact building, the teacher’s house, where we shared the floor with a
dozen or so others already stretched out. The floor was hard but at least not as
lumpy as the palm frond mattress we had endured the previous night. We fell
asleep holding hands amid the snores of our myriad hosts.

We were up early. Before the sun arose over the horizon beyond the mouth of
the bay we were walking on the hillside overlooking the village, A few people
were already up and bustling about. Down by the schoolhouse the cook fire had
been built up and cooking was underway. It looked from our vantage that
breakfast would be more soup. People we encountered greeted us politely and went
about their way. No one stopped to chat. There was much to do.

Until we arrived at the village our dilemma put us at the center of the
universe. The whole world should have mobilized to help us. Now I understood
what it was like just to be one person in the midst of a disaster. Whatever my
problems, there were worse ones around me. Joyce and I were just two among many
with problems, and compared to most, our problems were minor. Homes had been
lost, people hurt, some killed even. There was food to find and prepare, wounds
to dress, children to care for, homes to be rebuilt.

We sat down with our bowls of “breakfast”, bowls of sugared water with white
flour dumplings. Joyce muttered “I wish I had a coconut.”

We would have helped with the work of the village, but there was nothing for
us to do so we wandered toward the bay and walked out along the water to sit
atop a small promontory near the mouth of the bay. There were only broken clouds
in the sky, now. The wind still blew but had reverted to the seasonal trade wind
blowing at 10 knots from the southeast. The panorama of bay, lagoon, islands,
and reef had lost its luster for us. We sat and looked at it all but, knowing we
must now leave this world for the one we left behind, weighed on us.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” Joyce asked.

“John said Eric and Dennis went over to the next village and that the plane
we saw picked them up. I suppose as soon as someone can, they’ll be out here. If
the rest of Fiji got hit as hard as they did here, there might be a lot to do
besides rescue us. I guess it could be a day or two. I hope it won’t be long.”

“Me too, Vern, now that it’s over I want to get on with it. Do you think we
should stick around and look for Chimera?”

“I don’t think so. If she sank on the reef which she probably did, it would
cost a fortune to get equipment down here to raise her. Then we’d have to
completely rebuild her. All of the equipment will be shot. The mast was
destroyed. It would take a year at least to rebuild. It would take a lot of
money too. If we stay it might take a long time to find her, too. I’m not sure I
feel up to staying here without a boat. Watching others going about their lives,
taking off for New Zealand, or New Caledonia, or whatever, would hurt a lot. I
want to put this all behind me.”

“Look, look,” Joyce jumped up and pointed out the bay. “Sails. It’s Capella.
Good old Capella.” We both jumped up and started waving wildly.

We ran down to the beach to await them. Capella sailed majestically into the
bay. She dropped her sails and let go her anchor. We splashed out into the
shallows to meet Steve, Dede, Kurt and Marsha, all owners of the Cheoy Lee
Offshore 41.

I helped Kurt and Steve drag the dinghy up on the beach. Everybody was
talking at once. When the flurry was over I asked Steve “Where’s Eric and what’s
happening in Suva?”

“Eric flew in yesterday, and that’s the first we knew just how bad it was
down here. We had some pretty strong winds in Suva, but nothing really serious.
I guess in the places Meli hit the radios were completely knocked out. Radio’s
the only communication with the islands.”

Joyce asked “Has there been any word at all of Julie?”

Steve answered “None, today is the first day anybody is even out searching. I
don’t know what happened in the government, but they don’t seem to have any
organization at all. Early this morning all the yachts that could got underway.
There’s a search going on all over the area using the yachts and the faster
dinghies, the ones capable of planning. The whole thing is coordinated with the
ham radio net. There’s been no word yet. On the way back to Suva we’re going to
go by these northern islands at Astrolabe to look for signs of the boats or of
Julie or of Eric’s dad.”

Some of the villagers came down to the beach to greet the newcomers. Most
kept on with their work. When our rescuers found out how barren the food stocks
of the village were they went back out to Capella and loaded up most of their
canned goods and brought them back to the beach. Within twenty minutes we were
on board and hoisting anchor.

Once clear of the bay’s headland we hoisted the main, but continued to motor.
We were following the shore lines of the islands as we passed them and with full
sail we couldn’t have maneuvered well.

Our friends had heard some of the story from Eric, but as we crossed the
first channel, we told them our version of it.

Throughout the tale Dede kept making trips to the galley to produce snacks
and delicacies for us. Our lack of appetite disappointed her. After all we
should have been starving after so long on a desert island. Joyce explained that
three days of oily coconut meat probably called for dieting, not feasting.

We swung in close to the shoreline. We scanned the rocks with binoculars.
Ahead I saw something orange and thought it might be a life jacket. We pulled in
closer; I saw no movement nearby. As we neared my stomach began to churn. I
imagined finding Julie lying on the rocks–dead.

Finally we were close enough to see what it was. A piece of cloth, perhaps an
old tablecloth blown there by the wind. We all sighed in relief. There was still
hope that Julie would be found alive. For the next hour we searched the coves
and beaches of the islands. At one o’clock we heard news of the search at
Kandavu twenty miles south. The searchers found Ocean Rover. She was broken up
in small pieces on the rocky beach. Parts of her were over 100 feet from the
water. Eric’s father’s body was with the wreckage.

At the news, Joyce put her arms around me. We held each other and cried for a
long time. We cried for Eric. We cried for ourselves. I’m not really sure what
we cried for. It felt as though a lifetime of emotion was welling up inside me
and flowing out through every pore of my body. I cannot put a name to the
emotion I felt.

That, of course, was not the end of the story.

Junius’ body was found with the wreckage of Ocean Rover a couple of days
later. The trimaran had broken free of her anchors and drifted south over
Astrolabe reef and then 20 miles to Kandavu. There was no part of the boat found
that was larger than a man could carry and pieces were found hundreds of feet
from the shoreline. The wreckage had been driven ashore by waves that could have
exceeded 50 feet in height.

Julie was never found. In all likelihood she drowned shortly after Ocean
Rover capsized.

Although we didn’t know it until after returning to the US, Chimera was found
a couple of weeks later. It had drifted to Astrolabe reef and had sunk after
being holed crossing the reef. Natives and Yachties salvaged much of the gear on
board. All we ever saw of it was the sextant and a camera that had been in a
waterproof case. Joyce still has the sextant.

In Suva, Eric, Joyce and I were taken in by the Yachties community. Eric was
particularly in need of support. The emotional impact of losing his father, his
fiancée and his boat was almost too much to bear.

Julie had joined Eric shortly after her 18th birthday. She did so against the
will of her parents. They even tried to restrain her legally, but could not. The
day I arrived in Suva on Capella Eric asked me to make the call to Julie’s
parents. He did not feel that he could talk to them. I made

the call. It was night in Washington state where they lived. Her father
answered the phone when I called. I explained what had happened and that it was
unlikely that Julie would be found. His first words were “What I don’t
understand is that Julie is gone and Eric is not.” That was the most difficult
call I have ever made or expect to make.

After Eric’s return to the US, Julie’s parents helped him recover from the
overwhelming depression and guilt he felt. He always blamed himself for the
deaths and could not be persuaded that he could not have avoided the tragedy.

That was in 1980 and we have remained friends through all that time, although
I have not seen him in person since Fiji. He is now about to be married to a
beautiful lady with two young daughters. The youngest looks remarkably like
Julie. He is happy and yet there still is a brooding vulnerable side to him that
tells me that his loss will never be far from his thoughts.

Joyce and I emerged unscathed. Had it not been for the loss of life we would
almost have been jubilant. I have since seen the same phenomenon in other
friends who have lost their boats and walked away. The loss of property is so
far outweighed by the joy of surviving that the net effect is a high.

The boat was not insured. Since Joyce and I had sold most of our possessions
before leaving we returned with little more than the clothes on our backs.
Arriving in San Francisco in January in shorts and sandals was definitely a
shock. We were not without resources, however. We had property at Tahoe and a
residence that we had rented to friends.

The first day back we stayed with Joyce’s parents in Daly City. One of her
mother’s friends was a reporter for the Chronicle. He asked for an interview and
we met him that afternoon. We told him the story. It was difficult to do. We
both were charged with so much emotion that it became difficult to talk when the
subject of Julie and Junius was reached. Even today, twelve years later, when I
read the manuscript I find tears in my eyes.

At the end of the interview the reporter asked: “Would you do it again?”

Both Joyce and I chimed: “Yes, of course!” and Joyce’s mother’s jaw dropped
at least six inches. The next day we visited yacht brokerages in Marin to start
looking for another boat. Several months later we found Galadriel in Oxnard. She
is one of the most beautiful trimarans I have ever known. We sold our residence
to buy it. We left the next February for Mexico where we spent a year cruising
the Sea of Cortez and the west coast of the mainland before leaving for the
Marquesas, the Tuamotus, and Tahiti, but that’s another story.

Joyce is sailing Galadriel still in the Sea of Cortes. Vern is living in
South Lake Tahoe working as a Real Estate Broker to refill the cruising Kitty,
but we knew that, didn’t we?