January 31--Wind Watch

Source: Sam Low

At 5:30 a.m. Shantell and Pomai Bertelmann stand at the end of the jetty leading into Tautira's harbor addressing the sky. They see one dark outline of a mountain peak descend to the sea--punctuated by up thrusting coconut palms at the shore. They see an upturned scimitar of moon, pale against the brightening sky, and the bright spot that is Venus. (Already, all the stars have dimmed to invisibility.) More importantly, they see a broken rope of compressed cumulus clouds trailing away to sea from the mountains dark slope.

"There is wind out there," Shantell says, "and it looks like light trades. The clouds are dispersed which means the wind is light, but it's there alright."

Close ashore there are wind ripples on the surface of the lagoon--fanning away from beach, the result of wind funneling through one of the deep valleys behind Tautira. "That's a local wind," Pomai says, "which is apparently from the South, but it's not significant."

After breakfast, we all meet aboard Hokule`a where Nainoa, Chad and Bruce assign each of us our watches and list of duties while underway. The canoe is moored in a sheltered part of the lagoon. There is no breeze and it is already extremely hot. Snake, Mike and Tava--the three Watch Captains--take us through drills opening and closing the sails and bending different jibs on the forestay. We also change the mizzen and bend on a larger one in anticipation of light winds. As a final drill, and without warning, Bruce yells "man overboard" which elicits a purposeful scurry of activity to pull in the sails, douse the jib, toss in the man overboard pole and life ring and make radio contact with the imaginary escort boat ghosting in our wake. "Good job," is Bruce's comment. When the various drills are concluded, most of the crew fan out to their various homes to wash clothes, write in their journals and otherwise prepare for departure. Shantell Ching lays out her star charts on the long dining table at Sane's and immerses herself once again in the intricate details of navigating Hokule`a home.

By 2 p.m. the low ropey cumulus clouds have morphed into puffy ragged shapes--a virtual N.C. Weyeth sky (the artist who illustrated, among other books, Treasure Island)--with exuberant parapets of cloud marching briskly from East to West. In Tautira, the fronds of palm trees clack together in the freshening breeze. Nainoa spreads the word that, if the winds continue to build, we should all be ready to depart tomorrow morning.