Sailor’s Quest

Captain's Log, sea date 03122001, 0352 hours

          We have been getting pulverized for days! Currently, the wind is a sustained 30+ knots out of the Northeast. We are on a close reach of 149 degrees true, making more than 10 knots through the water, but only 8.2 knots over the earth's surface. Our position is 16 degrees 30 minutes North, 154 degrees 33 minutes West. That puts us about 160 nautical miles South Southeast of the big island of Hawaii.

          Sherrine, myself and Bobbi and Dave Scogin sailed away from the island of Oahu three days ago. The weather radio told us to expect 20 to 25 knots of wind crossing the channel to Honokohau, on the big island. Instead, we encountered winds of over 40 knots with steep, eighteen foot seas. Fortunately, we made it safely, but spent the next day licking our wounds, preparing for the 2500 mile passage to Tahiti.

         Under a setting sun, we left the Kona Coast expecting trade winds of 15 to 20 knots to carry us on our long trek. Dave took the first offshore watch and guarded our lives as the wind climbed into the low thirties. Sherrine had the graveyard watch with the privilege of seeing the wind accelerate into the high thirties. Dawn opened her eyes during my watch. I secured lines, sails and other gear that had come loose during the night. Lots of green water tumbled over the bow, due to the steep, breaking seas.

          Just after Dave relieved me, a wave hit the boat so hard, it felt like a log truck dumped its load on top of us. Dave started yelling and Sherrine rushed back into my stateroom to tell me that the dodger's windshield had given way. The water hit the clear lexan so hard and fast that the “bullet proof“ material just shattered. All we can do is duct tape up the shards so no one gets cut and cover the windshield with canvas.

         This is a blow. Now when the person on watch in the cockpit lifts their head over the dodger to look forward, they get slapped in the face by spray.

         We spent the day before yesterday in a “sewing bee“ repairing the mizzen sail. A good section of the leech (the back edge) blew out and the top batten which keeps the sail from flogging snapped with the jagged ends chewing a hole in the sail. The four of us finished just after dark and went out on deck to reset and reef the sail.

         As the captain, I never give an order that I wouldn't do myself, and if a task is especially dangerous, I'll take it on. During the mizzen sail set, I was perched high on the stern pulpit above twelve foot seas trying to fasten the mizzen's clew to the outhaul. Somehow I torqued my lower back. Two hours later, I was lying in my bunk in pain.

          Our situation flashed through my mind. With no masthead light, the ships can't see us visually and without a radar, we can't see them in the darkness and rain. And even worse, no radar to track the squalls and thunderstorms in the area.

          Dave started taking the radar apart. I stepped away from the nav station and sat down on the port salon settee to think. The cable is about sixty feet long.  It leaves the nav station going down into the engine room before crossing to go through the deck and up the mizzen mast. A hole in the plastic casing on deck could allow saltwater to enter the cable and be piped to the nav station and thus into the radar unit itself.

          For the next three hours, we rinsed out the connector with fresh water, flushed out the guts of the unit with WD 40, and vacuumed the saltwater out of the cable. I made sure that any new water entering the cable would drip into the engine room through the small hole I had cut.

          Exhausted, Dave went to bed and I stayed on watch, waiting for the radar to dry so I could test it. Two hours later, I hooked it up and it worked like a champ. Too tired and too racked with back pain to make it to my stateroom, I dozed off in the salon as Sherrine came on watch.

          Bobbi heard the commotion and climbed on deck to help.

          Hours later, dawn broke and the energy in the thunderstorms dissipated. Everything was apparently in one piece. I cleaned the saltwater out of the flat screen monitor, tested it and found that it worked. Finally, I slept and now Sherrine's cooking a wonderful Mahi-mahi dinner!

Captain's Log, sea date 03152001, 0204 hours

          Years ago, when I first considered Sailor's Quest, I was scared to death. Then I started to read books about people who have sailed around the world and saw the sheer numbers of those who have actually done it. I calmed down, concluded that everything was pretty much discovered, the oceans were all charted, and with the assistance of modern technology, sailing around the world was probably safer than driving in rush hour traffic.

          Talk about ignorant. In San Francisco, I met a guy whose best friend sailed out to sea and vanished without a trace. Our friend back in KoOlina, who is providing us with daily weather reports via the SSB radio, had his head split open far from land by an unruly boom. His crew had to sew up the gaping wound with fishing line! Another couple in the marina experienced a micro-burst so powerful it drove theirs, and every other boat in the anchorage, onto a reef. Last fall, a beautiful Swan 41 with an experienced captain on board left Oahu bound for Australia. We later heard that they hit a reef off Fiji and had to be rescued by the Fijian Coast guard, the boat a total loss.

          At 18:24 hours on 03142001, seven hundred miles South Southeast of Hawaii, Malia was on a course of 162 degrees true, going just under seven knots.  An eight to twelve foot swell with a 20-knot wind was off her port beam. Bobbi was sitting in the cockpit, about to take her second bite of a magnificent chocolate and blackberry flan that Sherrine created, when a rogue wave whacked the stern and spun the boat radically.

          Flan was “a flynin,” and by the time I got on deck, the liferaft had automatically inflated. The canister that the liferaft once inhabited was sinking beneath the waves. I rushed below and hit the “man overboard” function on the navigation computer to mark the spot. Scrambling back on deck, I watched the liferaft vanish among the waves and looming darkness.

          It seemed like it took us forever to get the sails under control, each minute taking us farther and farther away from any hope of finding the liferaft. Using the engine, we headed back to where the computer said we lost the liferaft and began searching. There was nothing but steep, dark waves surrounding us. Turning around, we made another pass. Still nothing. By now the darkness was impenetrable and I was losing hope.

          He flicked the beam back and forth rapidly and then I saw it, too. The flashes of light were far too bright to be waves. They could only be caused by reflective tape. I spun Malia's wheel toward the raft and within moments we could all see it clearly each time it rose on the peak of a swell.

          I did my best to keep Malia close enough to the raft for visual contact, but still far enough away so we couldn't become entangled in the liferafts's drogue or safety lines in the water. The steep seas bounced Malia all over the place. It was almost impossible to keep the raft in sight. Several times we lost it, then to our relief found it again minutes later. It seemed like years for Sherrine to prepare the spinnaker halyard.

          Finally, she returned to the cockpit and Dave and I went forward. Sherrine did an outstanding job at the helm. When she got us in position, Dave and I tied the halyard to the raft and started hoisting.

          We quickly discovered there was a big problem. The raft had taken on hundreds of gallons of water. The spinnaker halyard attaches to the top of the mainmast and the weight was so great, it caused Malia to heel way over. As the raft came further and further out of the water, it began to swing and smash into Malia's side like a wrecking ball.

          Bobbi rushed forward to help Dave by tailing the spinnaker winch. I teetered on the foredeck attempting to prevent the raft from doing too much damage. It was like trying to stop a runaway train.

          Suddenly, Malia heaved wildly. The raft smashed over the top of the lifelines and immediately swung back over the side again. Malia rolled and Dave cranked on the winch as fast as he could. The raft barreled through the lifelines once more and I screamed, “Drop it!”

          Bobbi let go and the raft fell onto the deck with a heavy thud. The momentum of the water sloshing back and forth inside the raft caused it to buck back and forth wildly like a mechanical bull. Dave lunged at it with a line in his hand and I tied on another. With the liferaft tamed, our panic eased. We bundled the remaining lines and pulled in the drogue (it's like a small underwater parachute).

          When I finally took a flashlight and looked inside the raft, I was stunned. All of our survival gear and supplies were loose in the hundred or so gallons of water still remaining. How many supplies had been washed out by breaking seas while hoisting the raft aboard Malia?

          My first reaction was to start grabbing stuff frantically in an attempt to find the epirb and the portable watermaker. The first handful yielded paper airsickness bags like you find on airliners in the pocket on the seat in front of you. These, of course, were rapidly turning into paper-mache.

          I tried again and pulled out a large, empty, red rubber coated nylon bag. A line was tied from the bottom of the bag to the inside of the liferaft. The top of the bag was wide open with no zipper, no velcro or any other means for closing it and making it waterproof. Picture a double-size, paper grocery bag with a string tied to the bottom. Hello!!!! No wonder all the supplies were scattered or lost in the ocean. I reached for a second bag, hoping it would be sealed. No luck. Absolutely empty with a line tied to the bottom!

          Can you imagine the idiots that designed this system? And what about the company in Hawaii who last packed Malia's raft? They didn't see a design flaw here? This raft and its survival gear make up a SOLAS and United States Coast Guard certified offshore liferaft. It is supposed to keep eight people alive for an extended period, thousands of miles away from outside assistance.

          I replied that I hadn't and stuck my head back into the raft to keep looking for it. The epirb is a water-activated, emergency beacon that transmits a Mayday signal to satellites, where it is supposed to be forwarded to the Coast Guard. Without this device, the chance of rescue is virtually none. Finally, I found it and yelled out to Dave.

          It took us hours and hours in heaving seas to gather all the gear, deflate the liferaft and stow it safely in Malia's dingy. Afterwards, I found three, sharp tipped steel can openers on the deck. They were the old style that punch a triangular hole in the top. But cans aren't used in liferafts anymore! What are these people thinking?

Captain's Log, sea date 03152001, 1520 hours

          My back is killing me. The crew is exhausted. We've done what we can to salvage the contents of the raft, but since we don't have an inventory list, we don't know what has been lost.

          In my opinion, a lot of the stuff is just plain junk. The “waterproof flashlight,” isn't waterproof. The spare batteries fizzed and shorted out from saltwater leaking through the flimsy plastic packaging. Many of the operating instructions for the gear were printed on paper, which disintegrated.

          Some of the medical supplies are also contaminated with saltwater. The kit is packaged in a heavy duty, zip-lock bag that isn't waterproof. Each component of the kit is also sealed in plastic. But the quality of the plastic and sealing is far worse than you find in the grocery store for a bag of rice!

          I feel horribly irresponsible as a captain. I purchased the raft based on extensive investigation and recommendations. Many commercial ferries and even some international Coast Guards use this brand. The raft can only be serviced by a licensed company.  Each time it's packed, I'm given a document certifying that the raft is ready and meets all offshore safety standards. All along, I've been expecting this raft and its supplies to keep the crew of Malia alive and safe should the need arise. In an abandon ship scenario, most of the supplies would have been lost or destroyed.

Captain's Log, sea date 03162001, 1854 hours

          At approximately 1030 hours, the cringle tore out of the genoa's tack in 23 knots of wind. We couldn't safely lower the sail with the tack loose. So we ran down wind most of the day while Bobbi and I wore harnesses on Malia's plunging bow, struggling to sew a new cringle on by hand. Sherrine helped us against my wishes, until I finally talked her into going back to bed. She's exhausted, and I fear that if another major crisis erupts, she won't be able to rise to the challenge. The human body and mind can only take so much.

          About half way through the sewing job, Bobbi and I looked up to discover a ship far too close for comfort. So much for keeping a vigilant watch!

Captain's Log, sea date 03172001, 2035 hours

          We are not prepared if we have to abandon ship. The crew is beyond tired but we did manage to formulate a strategy for inflating the crippled liferaft in an emergency. So now we have a preparedness plan, but no energy to implement it.

          Dave told me today that Bobbi has informed him she is never going to do another ocean passage. He is seriously bummed now that his dreams of world cruising have sunk beneath the waves.

Captain's Log, sea date 03182001, 2355 hours

          Today, at 1034 hours Universal Coordinated Time, Malia crossed the equator at longitude 148 degrees, 31 minutes West. This point is over twelve hundred miles from Hawaii, but still a thousand miles from Tahiti.

          A testing ceremony commenced on Malia's foredeck to determine who is worthy of serving King Neptune. Each candidate was anointed with a potent brew of the accumulating leftovers from the fridge and baptized with a leap into Neptune's waters. All on board passed with flying colors and it is now official that Sherrine Hakim, Bobbi Scogin, Dave Scogin and I have joined the ranks of Neptune's Shellbacks.

          We are now in the Southern Ocean on a course of 177 degrees true, going 7.5 knots with 13 knots of apparent wind just forward of our port beam. The sky is studded with stars, there are no squalls and it feels like Malia is a magic carpet carrying us to our destiny.

Captain's Log, sea date 03202001, 0513 hours

          The doldrums descended upon us yesterday around 1030 hours and we have been motoring ever since.

          At 0325 hours I made a course change, thirty degrees to starboard. My decision was based mostly on intuition, but also on the flashes of lightning Sherrine observed in the distance, ten degrees off our port bow. The weather fax is also showing isolated thunderstorms South of us, with the heaviest concentration off our port bow.

          Now we are on a course of 208 degrees true, going 5.4 knots, with four knots of wind right on our nose.

Captain's Log, sea date 03212001, 0034 hours

          My decision to alter course to the West was a good one despite losing 40 miles of easting. As the sun set last night, we could see massive thunder heads teeming with lightning bolts to port, right where we would have been if we hadn't changed course.

          I'm more afraid of lightning then any other danger. It's highly unpredictable. When struck, the best case scenario is the loss of all electronics aboard. The worst is a hole blown in the hull with Malia sinking in under five minutes. During the night, we had a few minor lightning battles.

          Now we are sailing on a course of 180 degrees true, going over seven knots with 18 knots of wind out of the East.

Captain's Log, sea date 03222001, 0503 hours

         Yesterday, just before dusk, Sherrine and I finished stowing the remaining survival gear in the liferaft and testing our improvised method of deployment. Dave came up with the idea of using a scuba air tank to inflate the raft now rolled up inside Malia's dingy. In five minutes of working time, we can get it inflated and launched in moderate seas. But if Malia goes down in less than five, we'll never make it.

Captain's Log, sea date 03232001, 0018 hours

          Rivulets of sweat are running down my chest. The heat and humidity are brutal. Bobbi and Dave are from Portland, Oregon and their suffering exceeds Sherrine's and mine. It's very easy to get caught up in the never ending list of “things to do“ and neglect drinking enough water. Sweat just pours out of your body to be blown away by the wind. Before you know it, you're looking at a heat stroke. The first sign is usually a headache, followed by a sick stomach and then sudden overheating.

          We are now 437 miles from Tahiti, sailing due South on a close reach with 20 knots of wind off our port bow. Stars are thrown across sky, the seas are relatively calm and Malia is soaring at seven knots.

Captain's Log, sea date 03242001, 1110 hours

          We are closing the 102-mile gap to Tahiti at 6.5 knots. The wind is out of the East and varies between 10 and 20 knots. Minor squalls dance around us, but no thunderstorms or lightning. Landfall should occur late tomorrow afternoon.

Captain's Log, land date 03252001, 1800 hours

          At 1430 hours today, after 15 days at sea, we made a safe landfall in Papeete, Tahiti. What a beautiful place.

Captain's Log, land date 03272001, 2020 hours

          This morning we searched Papeete for a liferaft canister to replace the one that was lost. Everybody told us the same thing: “Your liferaft's British. This is France. We don't work on British liferafts.“

          So this afternoon we sailed to Moorea and went scuba diving. I wanted Dave and Bobbi to at least have some fun here. They have to fly home tomorrow night.

Captain's Log, sea date 03282001, 2004 hours

          Sherrine, Bobbi, Dave and I left Malia anchored in Opunohu Bay, Moorea at 1045 hours. We motored in the dingy through the channel toward the open ocean to squeeze in another quick dive before taking Bobbi and Dave to the airport. Our quest was to find a superb dive site on the other side of the reef surrounding the bay and be back aboard Malia before 1400 hours.

          As we left protected waters, I watched Polynesian surfers racing down breakers near the outside channel buoy. Others were resting in the water on their boards just inside the surf next to a small boat with an outboard motor.

          We coasted up to a one gallon clear plastic jug functioning as a makeshift dive mooring buoy. Sherrine slipped over the side with her mask and snorkel, checked out the bottom and announced that the terrain was uninteresting and the water murky. We revved up the motor and continued on past the buoy we had dived on yesterday. Our tenacity was rewarded with clear, inviting water and a promising underwater ledge. This spot was three quarters of a mile past the red, outside channel buoy and seventy-five feet away from the backs of the breaking surf.

          I attached the dingy's painter to the anchor rode with a bowline knot and handed it to Sherrine for inspection.

          At 1200 hours, Bobbi and I entered the water to join Dave and Sherrine. Since Bobbi's first open ocean dive was yesterday, we decided that Bobbi and I would buddy up while Sherrine and Dave explored with the underwater camera. We also agreed to swim a course of 40 degrees magnetic, then return back to the dinghy when our air ran low. Just before Dave and Sherrine submerged, I told them that they were to stick together.  I also said that if they became separated from Bobbi and me, don't worry about it, just return to the dingy.

          Sherrine started her descent, spinning around and posing for the camera as Dave struggled to keep ahead of her and shoot. A few minutes later, he came back up and put the camera in the dingy. Bobbi and I were still on top working on her buoyancy. When we dropped below the surface, Dave and Sherrine were nowhere to be seen.

          Bobbi had a hard time clearing her ears as we descended, but eventually we made it to the bottom. I was comforted to see the anchor securely wedged under a rock.

          Suddenly, something touched my back and I spun around to find Sherrine motioning me to follow her. I shook my head, not wanting to leave Bobbi alone. Sherrine pointed at Dave, who was now approaching to take his wife's hand. I grabbed their intertwined hands, squeezed and looked each one of them in the eye. They both nodded, understanding that they were to stick together. This must have occurred around 1230 hours.

          Sherrine and I swam off together and about five minutes later I heard a small outboard motor. Feeling uneasy, I wondered if we should turn back, but Sherrine, leading the way, urged me on.

          Two five-foot black tip sharks circled us, the diameters getting smaller and smaller with each pass. Another fish, only two feet long, bit me on the leg. There was no damage, but I found the experience unnerving.

          After five more minutes of swimming, Sherrine showed me that she only had 796 pounds remaining, so we turned back toward the dingy. I kept trying to shake my anxiety and enjoy the gorgeous sea life. The coral in this area is fairly healthy with only twenty percent or so dead or dying.

          Then I heard it. Screaming. At first, I couldn't believe my ears, but when I saw the shock registering on Sherrine's face, my uneasiness erupted into full-blown alarm.

          Neither of us could ascertain the source of the awful sound. We began kicking our legs full steam toward the area of the anchor and dingy. The shrieking continued. Disorientation overwhelmed me when I couldn't find the dingy or the anchor line.

          The horrific sound intensified. I spun around and Dave's face, contorted by the effort of his screaming, materialized inches from of mine. Oh my God, I thought, Something's happened to Bobbi!

          We swam to the sandy patch and I couldn't believe my eyes. The anchor was on the bottom with the rope all piled around it. And no dingy.

          I knew that Bobbi could never make the distance. Already we were beginning to drift apart. The current was sucking Bobbi and Dave away from the channel and out to sea. The outside channel buoy was at least three quarters of a mile away. And it was against the current! I tried to come up with a solution, but found none.

          And she did. Then Dave did. But it was slow going. Every time we were lifted by a swell, I looked around for the dingy. Even if the bowline I had tied in the anchor line had somehow come undone by itself, it seemed impossible to me that the dingy could have drifted very far.

          I still couldn't see it. And then I got a glimpse. Sure enough. A gray inflatable with a white bottom.

          As we swam, the four of us tried to fathom how the dingy could have gotten over the breakers so fast. It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes from the time Dave and Bobbi left the anchor to the moment they discovered the dingy gone. Dave thought it was probably ten minutes. The wind was blowing lightly out of the Northeast, which would have driven the dingy down along the reef before sending it over. The current was running in the opposite direction and the two forces practically canceled each other out. In fact, when Dave and Sherrine hand set the dingy's anchor, the rope anchor rode kept getting tangled in the coral along the bottom because there wasn't enough tension to keep it up.

          A big swell lifted me up. As I strained to get higher, I could just make out four or so heads bobbing in what appeared to be our dinghy and a boat I didn't recognize. They seemed to be motoring along the inside of the reef toward the channel

          We all began screaming and yelling for our lives. Despite the loud surf, the wind was blowing our cries in their direction. If we could hear them, they had to be able to hear us. We screamed, hooted and hollered until we were hoarse.

          The people with our dingy headed off in the direction of the channel, disappearing from view.

          By now, Bobbi was getting tired. She was swimming on her back, using her hands to paddle.  The drag of her dive gear through the water neutralized her efforts.

          Then, off in the distance, from the other side of the channel, a high speed power boat appeared. We all waved our arms as high as possible with some of us screaming. I gave up when I realized that the boat couldn't possibly see or hear us. The others went despondently silent as we watched it turn into the channel and vanish.

          Time passed, and we no longer deluded ourselves with the hope that the people who had our dinghy were coming out to rescue us. It was beginning to look like we were the victims of a selfish and cold blooded crime. All of us were slowing down due to exhaustion. The good news was we were finally beginning to clump together. The bad news was that the red channel marker didn't seem to be getting any closer.

          We reached the dive buoy we had tied the dingy to yesterday. This meant we were now one quarter of the way back to the red channel marker. I considered leaving Dave and Bobbi behind, tied to the dive buoy. Sherrine doesn't usually eat much of a breakfast and today all she had was a piece of bread and some cheese.

          Of the four of us, Sherrine is by far the strongest swimmer. With her strength fading, it was unrealistic to think that she and I could dump our gear and swim on ahead for help.

          Finally, I saw the mast of a sailboat gliding down the coastline. But it was way offshore and we were in only twenty feet of water. By now we had been in the water for over two hours. Although the water temperature is quite warm here, it's still below body temperature. Eventually hypothermia will set in.

          Soon, we could see the sailboat's hull and faintly make out people on deck. Once again, we started waving our arms and yelling. Dave and Bobbi had flat whistles on their BC's and blew them as hard as they could. What a miserable sound. The whistle volume was less than half of a good yell. More pieces of crap! The sailboat didn't change direction or give any indication that they saw us as it started to pass.

          I have never felt so much despair as I watched my crew desperately screaming while bobbing up and down in open ocean swells. They quieted down and I thought too myself what quality people they were. None of the three were panicking or getting hysterical, despite exhaustion and being sucked out to sea.

          The sailboat suddenly took a hard turn to port, heading towards us. Those on deck started scrambling around. It was flying the French flag and as soon as it was close enough, Dave hollered, “Do you speak English.“

          We all started speaking loudly at once. It was immediately evident that their understanding of English was limited, especially with four freaked out Americans jabbering simultaneously. Sherrine took over in French.

          Sherrine came alongside to help, but we couldn't swim to the sailboat and still hold onto Bobbi.

          Rather than backing up and risk chopping us into pieces with the sailboat's prop, the French skipper pulled forward and circled around. This time, Dave threw a rope.

          We got Bobbi to the swim ladder where she was able to take off her BC, but she couldn't lift herself out of the water. Many welcome hands reached down to pull her aboard.

          We entered Opunohu Bay and did a quick pass to look for the dingy, but didn't see it. The sailboat's crew took us to Malia where we thanked them profusely.

          While resting, we discussed the possible scenarios that had left us dinghy less. The evidence did not look good. Bobbi said she checked the end of the anchor rode before surfacing and it looked like it had been cut with a knife. I had heard an outboard motor. Those inside the reef with our dingy must have heard us yelling, yet they didn't come out to rescue us!

          I told Sherrine to get on the radio and raise the gendarmerie to report the loss of our dingy. The rest of us prepared to get underway. My immediate plan was to search the entire shoreline of Opunohu Bay. By the time we were moving, Sherrine had made contact with the captain of the Ono-ono ferry who relayed our request for assistance to the gendarmerie.

          Slowly and carefully, we plodded our way around coral heads searching as close to the shore as possible. After two hours, still no dingy. It had obviously been stolen.

          Sherrine tried radioing the gendarmerie again, but got no response. We decided to head for Papeete so Bobbi and Dave could catch their flight back to the States. I felt terrible. Both Bobbi and Dave have worked so hard, and been so brave, bringing Malia here. And now this.

          Malia had exited the channel and started turning North for the island of Tahiti, when a massive gunboat shot around the corner from the south end of Moorea. Plumes of spray were flying from her bow as she headed right at us. Sherrine hailed them on the radio, but couldn't make out the garbled French. I throttled Malia back and waited.

          Even though we're the victims, it was still intimidating having the gunboat descend on us under the French colors. She never broke her pace. Those on deck waved for us to follow and as she passed we could see “Jasmin,” across her stern.

          By the time we got back into the bay, Jasmin was already anchored. We tied up alongside and the crew motioned for me to come aboard. One man led me up to the bridge and said something to the others in French. I should have brought Sherrine to interpret.

          I began recounting the events. The moment I said that one of my crew checked the anchor rode and felt it had been cut, a dark cloud passed over the Capitaine's face. He turned away and spoke rapidly to the others in French. They all nodded.

          Sherrine was whisked away in a cloud of spray aboard Jasmin's rigid inflatable boat (R.I.B.). They ushered me below decks to make an official statement. Capitaine Blanchard translated as his first officer entered my words into a special computer program. Blanchard explained to me that a crime such as this is very serious under French law, somewhere between attempted murder and reckless endangerment.

          When I got back on deck, it was dark and Sherrine still hadn't returned. The Capitaine wanted us to stay in Opunohu Bay so we could assist with the investigation in the morning. I explained that Bobbi and Dave needed to catch their flight to the States to be there for work. After thanking him, I climbed back aboard Malia and got her ready to go.

          We are now motoring at 7.5 knots on a course of 115 degrees true, bound for Papeete, Tahiti. Sherrine's on board, but still no trace of the dingy. Counting the underwater video camera, we've just taken a ten thousand dollar hit. And now, we don't have any way to go ashore!

Captain's Log, land date 03302001, 1400 hours

          Capitaine Blanchard asked me what I wanted to do.

          Nobody was smiling. The situation hit me. Somebody could really get hurt. Plus, the Tahitians might carry through on their threat to destroy everything. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.

          On the way to Jasmin's mess hall, Sherrine and I passed a crew member carrying a ring of complicated looking keys. In the hall, another member of the crew set a wine glass in front of me, took a bottle of white wine and motioned to ask if I wanted a glass. I looked around and realized that wine was being poured, for what looked like, every member of the crew. I nodded to the man in front of me. One sip revealed that this was good wine.

          She motioned, discreetly, towards the mess hall entrance. The man with keys had just come in carrying guns. He started handing them out to the crew.  I counted twelve.

          Lunch was served and the wine flowed. Before long, Sherrine was chatting away to everybody in French. Capitaine Blanchard was the perfect host, speaking with me in English to make sure I didn't feel left out. I don't know how exactly how it happened, but I volunteered to have Sherrine cook dinner that night for the entire Jasmin crew!

          Suddenly, lunch was over and all the crew marched out of the mess hall fully armed.

          We climbed aboard Malia and Sherrine went into whirlwind mode, leaving me totally out of the picture.

          There was a knock on Malia's hull. I stuck my head up the companionway to find one of Jasmin's crew.

          I was taken in Jasmin's R.I.B. to a dock where Capitaine Blanchard was waiting alongside a gendarmerie officer. Together, we walked off the dock and right into a Tahitian family's yard. They watched, grim faced.

          I looked at him and he locked eyes with me. Now some people will say I'm exaggerating, but I felt raw hatred. He never broke eye contact. Standing near him was a woman, who I assumed to be his girlfriend. I looked at her and she locked eyes with me, too!

          We left the garage and the father said something in Tahitian to his son who had locked eyes with me. The son went into the house and appeared moments later with our camera inside the underwater housing. I looked at it to make sure it was okay and handed it back to the son.

          Every eye was on me. I asked the gendarmerie officer if I could talk to him. We went off to the side where I drew a diagram in the dirt of the area where we had anchored the dinghy out in the ocean. I explained that the knot could not have come untied on its own. And even if it had, the dingy would not have gone over the breakers that quickly.

          To this, there was no reply. I asked the question again, but he still wouldn't reply. Instead, he walked over to the son who had locked eyes with me, took him to the side and talked privately. They finished and the gendarmerie officer went over to Capitaine Blanchard. Then the Capitaine came over to me.

          On the way back to shore, I decided that there was no way I was just going to hand this money over.

          Back in the yard, I asked for the son's mother and father. With cash in hand, I introduced myself to them and then asked for the boys who had “found“ the dingy. Five showed up, ranging in age from the son in his early twenties, on down to the youngest, who was probably only ten.

          I asked the gendarmerie officer if they had a Tahitian word for the Hawaiian word, Aloha. He said it, but I couldn't pronounce it. Making a fist, with my thumb and little finger outstretched, I signed Aloha. I could tell from the reaction that everybody knew what that was. I held the sign to my heart and wished them Aloha in English. The gendarmerie officer said something in Tahitian and the Tahitians broke into wide smiles with lots of nodding.

          With the ceremony done, Jasmin's crew and the gendarmerie grabbed our stuff and headed for Jasmin's R.I.B. I didn't have to carry a thing. As I walked, the thought passed through my head that all the authorities were actually afraid of the Tahitians.

          By the time I made it back to Malia with everything, Sherrine had cooled off and agreed that paying the ransom was the sensible thing to do.

          That night, Sherrine served California rolls, artichoke dip, grilled tuna, and polenta with sausage. Jasmin's crew cracked out all sorts of fine wines, champagnes and brandies. And together, we listened to CD's, partying into the wee hours of the morning.

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