13 Kadavu passage Date July 21 (several months ago!) Janet At last, I get to sit and write. We are out beyond the reefs that fringe the entrance to Vunasea Bay, with a ten hour sail ahead of us to get to Suva.
*** Rising at 5.30, a bit of an effort for our somewhat indolent systems, I ran through our usual pattern of securing things. Drawers, hatches, musical instruments, and padding the booze cupboard with teatowels. Shipping the anchor we headed out past the first of several layers of coral reefs.
"I'm going to head up there," I said, pointing at a clear spot on the paper chart laid on the deck, "then I'll turn around into the wind and head back towards the wharf. That should give us plenty of room to hoist the main." David nodded, and donning his headset went forward.
As the sail reaches the top of the mast I gun the engine to quickly turn 180 degrees, making for the gap in the next reef.
"I'm going up the mast," said David. He climbed the mast-rungs like a 35 year-old.
In my headphones he directs me quietly. "Starboard 5 degrees, port 10..." "David I need to go to the loo," I said urgently. I'd been hanging on hoping to get through all the reefs but couldn't wait any longer.
"All right I'll come down." I glance at the chart and calculate we have just under a mile to the next reef pass, and race to the head.
Back on the helm feeling a lot more comfortable, I look ahead over the wide clear vista. It looked like you could sail in any direction but in reality it was cruelly strewn with submerged coral.
David had climbed back up the mast. "Can you see the waves breaking at about 11 o'clock?" he asked.
I watch the horizon closely and sure enough I see the telltale line of the white foam of breaking waves.
Glancing to starboard I ask, "Can you see the waves breaking at 2.30?" "Yup, we are dead on target for going through the last pass." He lithely descends the mast.
Clear of the reef David looks back and wistfully says "Goodbye Kadavu." We smile at each other, knowing we just had a very special five weeks in that place. Now as I write this months later we still reflect on this part of our trip and consider it the highlight of our Fijian experience so far.
*** "What's our speed?" David asks.
"6.5 knots." I answer from the chart table.
"Time to go?" "Seven and a half hours," I read from the GPS screen.
"I don't know if we'll make it in time," said David, "that's only to the waypoint at the Suva Harbour entrance. We'll need another hour of daylight to get in and anchor." "Maybe we will have to heave to for the night," I suggest.
"Let's make the call in an hour's time and keep motoring till then." As we moved further into the ocean the wind rose.
*** 0930 "Wind is 16 knots and steady," I said to David, watching the windspeed instrument.
"Okay, put her neutral and we'll see what happens to the boat speed." I watch the number on the screen drop a little then steady. "Speed's good." "Engine off then." We sit and enjoy the silence for a moment before putting Robert Earl on the stereo. The sun is out, no three metre swells and rough sea, like on our passage down to Kadavu.
"Champagne sailing," I said.
"You know what would make today perfect," I said, gazing at the two lures that we have towed for thousands of miles, "A fish." "We'll get two!" said David. And you can tell how the rest of that story goes.
*** Navire rocks gently on her anchor. The sun's just disappeared behind the hills west of Suva.
"May we have many more sailing days like this," I say to David, and raise my glass.