Feb. 23, 2000 p.m.; 18 days since departure--Heavy Weather

Source: Sam Low

Early afternoon, Feb. 22, the female 'aumakua rides the port manu aft; her perch rocks from side to side, then rockets upward high above the horizon and drops back accompanied by a geyser of spray as the port catwalk meets the heavy roller passing under Hokule'a.

The view of our world expands from our perch high on the back of a swell: we look out over a vast conveyor belt of water rolling toward the Southwest. To starboard we see white caps, froth, and wind streaks scarring the faces of the swells as they move ponderously toward us. Then we drop down into a trough and the world contracts within a fold of ocean--a view that now features a washed out blue sky overhead and clouds fields of cumulus topped by wind-whipped mid-level stratus--probably the outflow of a thunderstorm to the east of us. Occasionally Hokule'a takes a swell hard on the bough and sifts whitewater aboard, or endures the indignity of a breaking wave slapping her hindquarters. But mostly she maintains her composure, slicing through the swells, riding over them, heading Haka Ho'olua, one house west of north, straight toward our rendezvous with the Big Island.

During the evening watches all hands are dressed in their Patatgonias against the chilly wind and occassional tendrils of spray that curl over our deck. The North Star appears about 12 degrees above the horizon to the right of our mast, as we travel at about 6 knots. At about 10 pm., a series of squalls march across our path out of the east and we trim in our sails. The relatively heavy seas Hokule'a has traveled on this voyage to Rapa Nui has exacted its toll on the sails and rigging. With the moon providng enough light to see, we drop with mizzen mast and lash it down, rigging a storm sail in its place...

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