One Girl One Dream

by Dekker, Laura

  DAY 16: 23 May

  Fortunately, I’m able to recapture my wonderful feeling of timelessness today. I read Dove and then start on Spray by Joshua Slocum. There are clouds again today; many, many clouds of all sorts and sizes. Really cool! And I sit and gaze at them for at least two hours. You get the dark, low ones that chase ominously overhead. You also have the huge, white ones that look like giants and tower above you as they float past faster; and above them the long wispy ones. And all this against a background of clear blue sky with the sun burnishing the sea into a blazing, golden disc. Awesome!

  There is more wind and Guppy is sailing at the great pace of 7 knots. We still have 300 miles or two days’ sailing to get to Hiva Oa. Incredible! I walk around the foredeck to check that all is in order and — whoosh — receive an impromptu shower as a wave breaks over Guppy. Thank you very much, now I’m wide awake and decidedly salty.

  The wind has accelerated and the waves are now high enough to wash over the foredeck, but Guppy simply thunders on and I can continue to play my guitar in the cockpit. The guitar sounds so cool in combination with the hiss of the waves as Guppy cuts through the water that I forget all about the egg I’m frying for myself. All at once I smell something . . . Luckily, I catch it before it burns and most of it is edible.

  DAY 17: 24 May

  At 05.00, I switch on the SSB. Snap, crackle, pop . . . can’t understand a word. Well, no problem, let me catch some more sleep. Mother Nature thinks otherwise, and a little later I’m unceremoniously ejected from my bunk. Guppy has suddenly been thrown on her side, and, instead of it getting lighter, it’s now pitch dark outside. Rain and wind are breaking over Guppy. I furl the genoa in as fast as possible and change to manual steering now that the waves are growing in size. Guppy is surfing, with the wind and waves coming from a broad reach. With just the mainsail and mizzen she is picking up speed to well over the 10 knots on occasions. This is going way too fast! After a while the rain stops, but the wind and high seas continue. I change the steering back to the windvane and decide to take down the mizzen before she broaches. Guppy is sailing better this way, but the wind gets stronger and I’m forced to put a second reef in the mainsail. I then unfurl the genoa — still attached to the boom — a little on the windward side to improve the balance. While I’m busy, I’m being pelted by one shower after the next.

  The rest of the day remains dark and rainy. I hope the weather is better tomorrow. Hiva Oa is a tall island and I’ve been looking forward to seeing it from a distance. Reaching the Marquesas Islands is a milestone; something I hadn’t dared to dream of a year, even three months, ago. They seemed so far-off and are so near now. I’m longing to see with my own eyes whether the Pacific Islands are as idyllic as everyone has told me they are.

  DAY 18: 25 May

  The squalls kindly keep me busy all night, but, just like me, they are now tired and have retired after a couple of final stunts. It’s slowly growing lighter and clearing up. The shadow on the horizon is growing larger and larger, and with just 16 miles to go to the anchorage I’m getting more impatient by the mile. When I finally sight land on the horizon in between downpours, I dance for joy. I’ve found it! But my happiness soon changes to sadness when I consider that the longest and probably the most beautiful crossing is coming to an end.

  The shadow grows and takes shape slowly. I can’t believe my eyes when I see a wall of rock rising out of the ocean at the place which has been water for the past 17 days. The water gets shallower, and because of this the swell gets higher, which has Guppy now surfing from the wavetops down into their troughs 4 metres below. The land is approaching fast and I’m getting really nervous. Guppy has never approached such a tall and craggy island before. Finally the bay is in sight. On the VHF I hear that Papillon has already spotted me. The swell subsides as I enter the bay of Hiva Oa.

  I throw out bow and stern anchors in the muddy waters of the bay, and Guppy lies still at last. I then inflate the dinghy and first do a lap of honour around my home, my loyal friend, my everything. She’s dirty and has accumulated a lot of marine growth during the crossing. I put the covers over the sails and talk to other sailors who come by in their dinghies. It’s only 19.30, but I’m dead tired. I can’t get used to the fact that I can go to sleep now without being constantly alert and having to keep going on deck to check that everything is still in order.

  Hiva Oa

  When I wake up in the morning, I work out that Guppy has covered 3000 miles in 17 days and 22 hours to get to the Marquesas. Wow, it’s the longest and the best crossing I’ve ever made! The Atlantic Ocean crossing, from the Cape Verde Islands to Saint Martin, was ‘only’ 2200 miles and also took me 17 days. I don’t quite understand how Guppy did it; especially when I hear from the other boats in this bay that a number of yachts that left a few days before me still haven’t arrived.

  In the morning I hitch a ride to Atuona to clear in. It’s a small village on a hill. As always, the Customs officers ask me several times if I’ve honestly sailed over all on my own, and then they stamp my documents while shaking their heads in disbelief. After buying a delicious fresh French loaf in a local shop, I walk back to Guppy. It’s quite a distance, but after 17 days of little exercise I really feel like walking. Unfortunately, the hole in my heel still hasn’t healed properly and it becomes difficult and painful to walk.

  When I finally get back to Guppy, the local mayor suddenly appears on the dock. I receive a beautiful flower lei from him and am invited for a meal. This I gather from a mix of French, some broken English and many gestures. The food is delicious and the people are extremely friendly. They say they’re sorry they weren’t able to organise a big feast when I arrived, but they had no idea I would be coming. I’m actually glad it’s worked out this way: when I arrive somewhere, the first things I need are rest, a shower, food and sleep. I like to be treated like everyone else.

  The weather isn’t really smiling on me. It has rained solidly for the past three days. That’s normal here and it gives the island a beautiful and very mysterious air. The huge green mountains are almost always shrouded in a band of mist, and the peaks with scurrying clouds. According to local legend, the islands were created to house the gods. The famous Belgian folk singer Jacques Brel is buried here, as is the French painter Paul Gauguin.

  Although I’ve just arrived, I’ve the feeling that I’ve been here for a week. We drive along the winding roads on the island with Hilary from Salamander and a woman from Atuona that we’ve met. It’s really stunning, very green and mountainous. As soon as we are in the clouds, we are surrounded by pine trees; the air is rarefied and the temperatures plummet. I find it hard to believe that I’m on an island in the middle of the Pacific in this landscape. The local woman shows us the centuries-old tiki — sculptures, usually of faces in stone and wood. We stop at places where nothing seems to have changed in the past 400 years.

  New yachts arrive every day and I get to meet new people. Everyone is amazed that I did the crossing in less than 18 days. They ask if I’ve been towed by a whale, and I’m immediately given the nickname ‘The Flying Dutchgirl’. Except for a yacht that’s 10 metres longer than Guppy, no one seems to have a better crossing time up until now.

  Unfortunately, my speed has not prevented loads of algae, snails and other crustaceans from growing on Guppy’s hull. This means that I’ll have to spend half the day under Guppy, armed with goggles and a putty-knife. I’ve just got into the water when I hear my name being called.

  There’s a woman standing on the jetty who says they have a surprise for me and that I must follow her. It’s the same woman with whom I toured the island. She begs me to come. The people on the island are so friendly that you can’t refuse. We walk to a big field where there’s a hut with a display of food. Outside, a beautiful traditional dance is being performed. The dancers have lovely costumes and are dancing to the beat of the drums and song. They had gone ahead and prepared the welcome they had wanted to give me when I’d arrived una
nnounced. Now that I’ve recovered from my voyage, I can really enjoy their hospitality. I receive another flower lei and two necklaces made of beans. The food is delicious, and at the end of the feast I’m given some more to take home. That night I share it with the other sailors. It’s a late night but a great party.

  I’m woken by the sun instead of rain for a change. It’s suddenly stunning weather and very hot. I see the mountains peaks appear from under the clouds and the mist slowly lifts from the palm trees. But the good weather changes quickly and we’re back to normal: rain and calm. Luckily, the rain is warm here and easy to live with. It’s a good day to visit all the neighbouring boats and to exchange books and movies. Cruisers do this a lot when they meet up, so that we all have something new to read when we’re at sea. It means that I’m reading purely English books now. I also make an attempt to bake bread. I haven’t been very successful so far, but armed with a new recipe and the right ingredients, given to me by another sailor, I’ve just managed to produce a loaf of bread that is now standing in front of me on the table emitting a wonderful aroma.

  The islanders are always very friendly and cheerful. You’re promptly offered a ride when you walk along the roadside, and as soon as they see my bandaged foot they want to help me. The wound still hasn’t healed, mainly because it’s often wet from stepping in and out of the dinghy. It’s easy to pick up an infection here, and I’m constantly offered well-meant advice. Recently, I was looking for an internet connection when a total stranger offered me his office. He gave me the office keys and left me to it. If I’d wanted to use his car, that would have been fine, too! You don’t experience this kind of trust in the Netherlands.

  I’ve passed on the flower leis I received at the unforgettable feast given in my honour to other sailors who have just arrived, as a kind of good-luck charm. I don’t have much use for flowers at sea. My gran has given me plenty of flowers and plants in the past, but they never survive in my care. When I managed to kill even a cactus, I was given a plastic plant that could, at worst, only get dusty . . .

  Tomorrow I’m heading for Tahiti. I just need to study the charts and figure out a route between all the atolls before raising the anchor. It’s about 700 miles and I expect Guppy will need about six days for the passage. Dark clouds fly overhead and it’s raining non-stop when I wake up at 07.00, but I’m definitely leaving today. I start by stowing the dinghy, the bimini and the sail covers, and then heave up the stern anchor. It brings a huge amount of mud on board, and both Guppy and I end up not only wet, but dirty, too. I eventually get the bow anchor out of the muddy muck at about nine o’clock. Then Guppy glides peacefully through the floating coconuts towards the open sea, while the sailors in the anchorage call out their best wishes for a pleasant and safe journey.

  Hiva Oa–Tahiti: 700 nautical miles

  DAY 1: 1 June

  I set the sails but there’s no wind; just endless rain. I’m sitting on deck in a pool of water with a bucket collecting the runoff of heavenly freshwater from the boom. Slowly I drift past Hiva Oa. Guppy passes towering waterfalls cascading from the top of the island cliffs almost straight into the sea. The swell is not as bad as when I arrived, but some wind would be welcome. I see a yacht approaching in the opposite direction and hear ‘Guppy, Guppy, Guppy, this is . . .’

  It’s Discovery, who has recognised Guppy from a distance. There aren’t too many red two-masters around. After this contact, Discovery, Papillon, Promise and Juliana II, who’ve all been following the conversation, call me. They’re all anchored in the bay I’m passing and wish me a good journey. It will probably be the last time I see them, as I’m travelling much faster than most of the cruisers.

  It’s still raining and I’ve had enough of it. I’m cold, even though I’m wearing a raincoat. I put on a thick, dry jersey and dive under the covers to get warm while Guppy moves on. I read a book and keep an eye on what’s happening outside and on the radar. I’ve often sailed this way in the Netherlands. Hmm . . . The rain, the cold and the dark clouds remind me of home. Not long from now and the cold, grey Dutch coast will show up before me! Night falls slowly as the last islands disappear in the rain.

  DAY 2: 2 June

  At first light, I see that there’s the promise of a lovely day. The last showers of the night disappear on the horizon, and the wind spurs Guppy on to sail at about 5 knots under a clear blue sky. There are dolphins swimming alongside Guppy, and one of them swims on its back near the bow and seems to smile up at me.

  Jillian, who’s come to see me in Tahiti, landed there today and texts me that it’s an awesome place to surf. I was looking forward to getting there, but even more so now. I’ll have to be patient as I’m using one of the slowest means of transport in the world and still have 600 miles to go, which, with a bit of luck, should take me five more days.

  DAY 3: 3 June

  The teasing squalls are giving me a bad time and I’m constantly busy with the sails. Unlike yesterday, it’s cloudy today. In between the squalls, with winds of more than 30 knots, there’s a breeze of some 15 knots giving Guppy a speed of about 5 knots. I’m sleeping when I can now, because that’s going to be difficult when I navigate between the atolls and reefs and have to do a lookout every 20 minutes to ensure that Guppy doesn’t hit anything. The atolls and reefs are so low that even the radar doesn’t always detect them. When I look at the chart, I see that Guppy has entered a new time zone and that there’s now exactly 12 hours’ difference with the Netherlands.

  Half-absorbed in my book, I’m startled when I think I’ve sighted a small whale. On closer inspection it’s a big dolphin, and it swims along with Guppy for a few minutes before continuing on its way. A pity Guppy and the dolphin didn’t enjoy each other’s company for a bit longer. I would have loved to have studied this sea creature more closely, as I’ve never seen such a big dolphin!

  DAY 4: 4 June

  Flap, clang, flap — every time I’ve just got into my bunk, I’m woken up again. I’m having a night of wind from astern, wind from ahead or — no — it’s a beam wind! But even in this weak and shifty wind, which has me adjusting the sails constantly, we’ve an average speed of 5 knots. Towards morning, the wind has disappeared and I’ve been coaxing Guppy’s small secondary engine to do its job. It doesn’t give us much speed, but it does save fuel and helps to prevent Guppy from rolling so that I can get some sleep. I’m hoping to reach the first of the Tuamotu Islands by tomorrow evening. People have been warning me about this area; very pretty but tricky at the same time; and with very little opportunity for sleep . . .

  While getting ready for some breakfast, I notice that my delicious French loaf has mould on it. I eat the good bits and throw away the rest. It’s going to be muesli from now on. It’s calm and hot and Guppy puffs along at 4 knots. I’ve spent the past hour looking at the point on the horizon where I expect to see land. It’s my first atoll and I’m dying to see it, but however hard I peer, I see nothing but water. Normally, you can see an island from a distance of 30 miles if the weather is clear, but atolls are so low that you see them from only a few miles off and the first sign is usually just the top of a palm tree.

  On my copied chart, I see a wreck marked on the north side, with the comment ‘If you’re gonna run aground, there are worse places than this.’

  ‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,’ I tell Guppy, when I spy something sticking out on the horizon.

  Within seconds I climb the ratlines up the mast and sight a low, ring-shaped coral reef island less than 3 miles away. I’m happy for a moment, but then feel rather hemmed in by all these reefs. With the knowledge that dozens of yachts are wrecked on them annually, I keep a sharp lookout. After a hefty squall with a lot of wind and rain that allows me to collect some freshwater, I can no longer see the island. The calm returns while night falls and the sea is tranquil. There are still 12 miles of open sea before the next atoll, so let me take a nap. The radar wakes me after only 15 minutes when it detects a fishing boat. So much fo
r some rest!

  DAY 5: 5 June

  When I wake up in the morning, there’s an absolute flat calm; the ocean has changed into one enormous mirror and it’s as hot as hell. I sail between two atolls and see them both. Just as I’m sailing through the last two atolls, there’s a sudden strong gust of wind accompanied by very heavy rain. The waves soon build up and the wind shoots up to 30 knots within minutes. I need to put in the second reef and unfurl the small jib. Below, everything I had left out when the sea was calm now lies on the low side of the cabin. Damn, couldn’t this have waited until I’d left all these dangerous-looking atolls behind me?

  Two hours later I’ve passed the last atoll within sight and Guppy is happy to be in deep, open waters again. But the waves continue to grow in size, it’s dark and very cloudy as the sea ceaselessly crashes over the deck. I hope Mother Nature is having fun!

  The companionway has to remain shut or the cabin will turn into a swimming pool. I’m lying on the couch looking up at the hatches, which are awash with water, and listening to the violence of the waves. Guppy is putting up a good fight under difficult circumstances as I watch the last atoll disappear off the radar screen. It’s comfy inside and I know that my faithful Guppy can take it.

  In the middle of the night, I’m woken by wildly flapping sails. I rush on deck and see that the emergency repair job on the severed ring on one of the pulleys of the windvane steering system has broken again. I decide to sail on autopilot for the rest of the night and to sort the problem out tomorrow. Soaked to the bone, I lie in bed but battle to sleep. The waves are high and Guppy is constantly falling into the troughs at the bottom of the waves, flattening me against the side of my bunk. It’s just like a rollercoaster that takes you up slowly and then is really fast going down. I study the chart in the dim light of the control buttons. It had looked as though I would get there in daylight, but now that Guppy is going so fast I’ll probably get there by tomorrow evening in the dark. I confer with Guppy about navigating through the pass in the reef into Papeete’s lagoon at night in this weather. Guppy isn’t fond of reefs and prefers the open sea . . . Hmm, there are still 120 miles to go and circumstances may change. Time to catch up on some sleep! I have just found a good position against the bulkhead when — bleep, bleep, bleep — the ear-splitting radar alarm goes off. A big ship has just appeared in its detection zone. I keep a sharp eye on the sea giant’s course until it’s safely past me, and then try to catch up on some sleep again.