Feb. 26, 2000; 20 days since departure--Almost Home

Source: Sam Low

Yesterday morning we passed through a series of gentle rain squalls which closed off the world around us and washed the decks clean of salt. By noon we were sailing in brisk easterly winds, heading Haka Ho'olua (N by W) and making Na Leo Ho'olua (NNW). The skies had cleared and the horizon was peppered with low level fairweather cumulus clouds.

At 2 a.m. this morning (Feb. 26), Chad, Kahualaulani, Shantell Ka'iulani, and Nainoa gathered aft to make a final observation of the altitude of Ka Mole Honua, Acrux, the bottom star in the Southern Cross. The verdict was seven degree above the horizon, which means the canoe was at 20 degrees N latitude. "That's it," says Nainoa, "Let's turn downwind and sail west."

After pulling down the jib, we turn Hokule'a to the west so that the wind is behind us now, and the canoe races down the face of low, easy swells. Running downwind with the sea behind us is tricky because the canoe may dive into the swell in front of it. So port and starboard sweeps as well as the center sweep are manned.

Bruce, Mike and Snake run the big genoa jib up the forestay on the starboard manu--to enfold the power of the following wind. Now Nanamua and Nanahope (Castor and Pollux) are setting in front of us. Hokupa'a, The North Star is to our right and the Southern Cross to our left. The moon goes through a ragged belly of cumulus clouds.

Behind us the ruby and emerald lights of Kama Hele mirror our own port and starboard running lights, which have been turned on for the first time in three weeks. We are now in shipping lanes between Hawai'i and the West Coast and need to keep our lights on so that passing ships can see us.

It takes three crew members to steer the canoe downwind--Bruce mans the center sweep, Kahualaulani is on the port sweep and Snake is on the starboard sweep. To turn to port, Snake puts his paddle in the water; to go to starboard, Kahualaulani puts his sweep down while Snake brings his up. Swells rise up behind us, crest, and race beneath the canoe, causing her to turn upwind then down. The to and fro motion is dampened by the synchronized movement of the two men manning the side sweeps.

A little after 2:30 a.m., we see Hokule'a high in the sky, and it is less than an hour from passing through the zenith, directly overhead--a certain sign that we are in Hawaiian waters.

At dawn, as the sun breaks the horizon behind us, Kahualaulani, Nainoa, Shantell, Chad, and Kau'i scan the horizon to port for a sign of land, but by 8:30 a.m., they see nothing. But we are all convinced that land is near. In the meantime, the sun warms Hokule'a's deck, Pomaikalani prepares breakfast, and we all enjoy the canoe's easy motion as we race toward home.

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