In response to this report from his navigator Nainoa simply smiles and nods his head.

A slight adjustment was made yesterday when we departed Tikehau. The reference course, the imaginary geographic line along which the east-west position is plotted, was altered to begin at Tikehau --25 miles to the west of its former beginning point at Rangiroa. "This means that we have to keep those 25 miles in mind as we approach Hawai`i," Shantell explains, "and remember that our cushion for sighting land has been reduced from 275 to 250 miles."

The cushion Shantell speaks about is the distance to the east from the Big Island to where Hokule`a's reference course intersects the latitude of Hawai`i--the point where the navigators will turn the canoe west to begin their search for the Hawaiian islands.

"We always approach the islands from the east because it is relatively easy to determine our latitude and because it's much easier to search with a northeast tradewinds behinds us then tacking into them," Nainoa explains.

So the end game strategy goes like this: Hokule`a sails northeast from Tahiti across parallels of latitudes from that of Tautira, 17 degrees 44 minutes south, to that of the center of the Hawaiian islands, 20 degrees 30 minutes north. Using the stars, it's relatively easy to judge latitude to within a degree or so--about 60 miles --so the navigators guide Hokule`a to a rendezvous with 20 degrees 30 minutes north latitude and then turn west to begin their search. But if their dead reckoning is in error and they are already west of Hawaii, they would be searching empty ocean. Next stop Japan. Hence "the cushion." By steering from Tahiti toward a point 275 miles to the east of Hawai`I, the navigators provide a large margin for error in their ability to reckon longitude (their position east and west of the islands) by dead reckoning.

Yesterday we encountered the remnants of an upper level disturbance that occasionally descended to the surface, bringing squalls--one of them long enough for the crew on watch to take fresh water baths. The mid-day sun was hot, forcing the crew to seek shelter in shade pools cast by Hokule`a's sails. The tradewinds are now clearly established and we are moving along at a steady 5 knots.

Yesterday evening was another beauty, the horizon smudged with low clouds illuminated by an occasional flicker of lightning and the sky dome clear except for wisps of fast moving clouds.

"It's so beautiful out here tonight," Bruce says to the crew on watch, "and it's really difficult for me to explain it to my friends back home. You've just got to experience it to believe it."

The moon is a tiny upturned sliver, in a phase the navigators call hoaka, the second day since it was new and the sky was absent its sheen. With the moon almost aft our port beam, we steer northward toward Capella's pointers. The Milky Way is a glowing ribbon overhead which is matched by phosphorescent sparkles in our wake stirring up hundreds of darting squid. We are on a beam reach and a steady easterly wind and under these conditions Hokule`a will wander when asked to steer herself, so the giant center steering sweep is constantly manned. Kau`i relieves Tava on the sweep and aligns Hokule`a with the setting moon on our port beam. The sweep is angled to port by a simple device--a rope tied from its terminal knob to the safety railing along the deck. Kau`i partially sits on the sweep and partially leans against it applying weight to lift the blade from the water. Standing up she allows it to lower into our wake and steer us off the wind. Her motion becomes a kind of graceful dance. In choppy seas, the paddle undulates harshly--kicking back against the body of the steersperson; in relatively calm seas, its motion is gentle.