Tag: Hawaii

I Don’t Have a Title Yet…Part 3

If any of you have an idea for a title to this new story I am developing, let me know in the comments.

Part 1 and 2 were past posts.

The Ala Wai harbour and marina were huge. Hundreds of yachts, of various sizes and shapes: Sloops, Cutters, Ketches and Yawls. Double Enders, where the bow and stern have the same pointed aspect, Tahiti Ketches, Catamarans, and Trimarans. They were all here. No power boats. They were all berthed separately across the main channel near the Ala Moana Park. I guess they wanted to keep the stink-potters separated from the true believers.

I left G dock, walked a way over through a parking lot that abutted a park area, then a small landlocked lagoon. Not really a lagoon as it was landlocked but it was known as the Ilikai Lagoon, part and parcel of the Ilikai hotel – a local landmark as it turned out and I do recall its centrally located exterior elevator that took one from the hotel’s lobby to the top of the “I”, all the while allowing one to see the calming beauty and blue turquoise pastels of the Pacific Ocean, the Ala Wai Harbour, the Ala Moana Yacht club and the like. This exterior run was also made famous by the Jack Lord version of Hawaii “book-em-Danel” 5 Oh. The Ilikai was just many of a long line of Waikiki luxurious beachfront hotels that stretched from the Ala Moana Yacht club, skirting their way as fringes of the beach only stopping its progression by the iconic Diamond Head volcanic caldera. Luckily, not active but extinct, the sides of which was covered from its base about a third of its elevation in tropical green hues of a lush carpet like vegetation blanket, like moss, then abruptly transitions to that easily recognizable dark brown blackish coloured and bare volcanic rock that permeate the many volcanic islands of the South Pacific. The rock sides were not smooth but interspersed it seemed with symmetrical lines or cracks, seams and what appeared to be vertically oriented valleys that were all too apparent on many of the mountain ranges and rock formations on these volcanic Hawaiian Islands and those other mountainous gems of the South Pacific. It appeared as if those seams were hardened rivers and streams of lava slides or floes of long ago.  On its crown you could just make out the diamond like cluster of rock cuts at the leading edge of this ancient rock.

Waikiki Beach is not the beach one would expect. Yes it beckons one to the lush, tropical and welcoming warmth of the island of Oahu but its texture is rough; its colour a dull greyish taupe and its lustre anything but that expected in the tropics. This very narrow strip of sand was not blindingly white or soft or smooth to the touch but a rough textured morass like field. Shipped in I was told. From Norway? No way. Australia? No way. Manhattan Beach California? Yes way. And on further inspection, as I didn’t want to explore too much or wander too far from Krofune, I noticed that the line of hotels didn’t quite make their way all the way to Diamond Head but were buttressed by a beautiful beach park where many of the locals, mainly older men, played chess or checkers under the watchful eye of a statue of Duke Pana Kahanamoku, Mr Aloha, who had just recently passed, himself a great surfer, Olympic gold medal swimmer, and well respected international Ambassador of these Hawaiian Islands.  All of this would have to wait for another time as I was anxious to get settled in Krofune. Besides the hot and high afternoon sun was beginning to make its mark on my as yet acclimatized skin.

Another great tune from the Allman Brother’s Band. Dickie Betts on lead guitar. He saved this band after Duane died way too early.

SJ…Out

I Don’t Have a Title Yet…Part 2

If any of you have an idea for a title to this new story I am developing, let me know in the comments.

Part 1 was yesterday’s post.

 

“Hello.” What does one say when one comes calling at a sailboat? ”

“Ahoy there?” That sounds too cartoonish, like Popeye to Olive Oil.

“Anyone home? Onboard?” Nigel?? I knew his name.

Nothing. Silence except for a slight clanking sound coming from a loose halyard somewhere on some boat somewhere in the harbour and the relentless caw of the seagulls. Nothing. I was beginning to sweat in the mid afternoon sun. There was no breeze to speak of, no cool northeast trade-wind that I had read and heard so so much about.

It was bright, blindingly so. The same acuity sensation one gets when exiting a theatre on a hot summer’s afternoon. I made a note to myself to get shades as soon as possible.

Dropping my kit bag into Krofuni’s cockpit I decide to have a look at what will be my home for the next few months, my foreseeable future. From the perspective of the G35 finger float, on which Krofuni was tied, I took a good look at her from end to end or stem (bow) to stern. She was, in the vernacular, a sloop rig. That is she was equipped with a foresail, or a sail properly positioned when raised ahead of the mast, then a mainsail, the main propulsion, providing the primary source of horsepower for the boat to move through the water. That sail’s foot or bottom portion of the traingular shape was attached to a boom, along a track that went from the mast to an end cleat, of a thingamajig contraption on the end portion of the boom. The boom itself was connected to the mast via a universal joint such that the boom could move from side to side and up and down. A topping lift, or a line attacked to the end of the boom then running up to the top of the mast, parallel to the backstay, or metal line that was connected to the top of the mast and a chainplate at the transom or stern, rear end of the boat, held the boom horizontal, about 6 feet off the deck of Krofune’s cockpit. The forward, or leading edge of the mainsail, the luff, was down as was the trailing edge, of the mainsail, or the leech, stuffed in a seamanlike folds to the boom and protected from the sun with a mainsail cover.

Her decks were wide enough to manoeuvre, to work the sails. Painted a sun bleached dull yellow with a non skid of flecked shells, hard on bare soles but stiff and skiff free to provide non slip protection when operating forward and outside the combed protection of the cockpit.. Up in the bow, in the confines of the pulpit, were a few sail bags secured to the forestay, ready to go, to hoist as they say with only their hanks showing in a step like fashion. Lines emerged out of those bags leading aft outside of all the standing rigging like sinewy snakes meandering in unison back toward the winches. Of course I can say this now, decsribe Krofuni as I am looking back on this, but at the time I didn’t have a clue, or a withering breadth of knowledge of the nautical world.

No sign of life, The cockpit was very large for a sailboat of this size. Deep and narrow with combed benches port and stsbd. The engine controls were abutted up against the stbd side combing in the after section of the cockpit while a manually operated “gusher” pump was situated on its forward bulkhead. Turns out that is was a gusher pump having an attached steel handle topped with what resembled an eight ball. For leverage I guess. I would become very familiar with this piece of kit in due course.

The cockpit went as far back as it footprint would allow ending at a narrow covered transom. The transom, or stern section, had a protective white railing attached, not robust enough to save one from hurling overboard but more for utility and functionality as cordage, various sized red and black “Scotsmen” floats were attached. Some 5 gallon buckets, whisker poles, fishing poles were also in situ as if this part of Krofuni was a catch-all for the rest of the boat. Krofuni’s was squared off at the rear by a stern that dropped to the vertical for about a foot then angled itself forward at about a forty five degree angle toward the waterline. The stern’s aspect gave Krofuni an air of sleekness, fine lines and speed. An illusion as it would turn out. Of course it was impossible to see how the bottom faired as the deep bluish green shades of surface water obscured visibility other than a few inches below the boot topping. The boot topping, that narrow 4 inch wide black painted strip that followed the waterline of Krofuni from bow to stern and separated her from the living and the dead. It provided an aspect that seemed to frame Krofuni synergistically.

The hatch to the gangway was locked so I couldn’t go below. This was taboo of course without prior permission, no matter that I was deemed crew. If you want to get off on the wrong foot with any skipper or make a poor first impression just climb aboard without permission to come aboard. This I knew

I threw my kitbag into the cockpit and left it there. I wasn’t worried about somebody stealing it for there was nothing of value in there except for a 35mm camera, which I had with me, on me. No, if someone wanted my stinky stuff they were welcomed to it. I then proceeded to explore my surroundings. “G” dock, Krofuni’s main street was very long with finger floats abutting both sides of the main dock. Probably up to 100 boats on this dock alone. And “G” was followed by “H” and “J”, no “I” apparently, preceded by “A” through “F”. Unbelievable!  An entirely different world than what I had been used to or even imagined: somewhat of a parallel universe to the tourist district and peons of the Waikiki district of Oahu.

This song was a huge hit in Hawaii in those days – Jessica by the Allman Brothers.

Kurofune

An excerpt from my book Kurofune: The Black Ships

My dearest Ruthie,

All is well here, Ruthie, and we’ve been very busy. Training has
increased substantially… (redacted)… and we are also continuing
with our various construction projects. The weather is fine, no, spectacular.
It may be some time before you hear from me again… (redacted)
I went for a long walk yesterday. In fact this letter is being written
at one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen on the island, not
far from our camp. From my perch and vantage point high up on one
of the hills, I can see out across the crystal clear waters of the Pacific
Ocean, which are strikingly blue, with glaringly white, feathering
spray flying off the tops of the whitecaps. The wind here, being such
a constant force from the northeast, can whip up the sea into a
dangerous dancing cauldron, while at the same time cooling and
caressing one from the tropical heat and humidity. The waves inshore
appear short and long: running, cascading, then breaking in a line
from right to left, like some horizontal plane of falling dominos, and
crashing with such force onto a beach of the blackest sand you could
ever imagine—as black as a moonless, starless night in Bremerton.
The contrasts are breathtaking and out of this world.

The beach is surrounded on three sides by low-lying dunes, as if
protected somehow from the small hills and overhanging cliffs that
envelop, protect, and calm the waters as they flow from their seaward
mouth into the throat of this broad bay. The transition area from the
beach to the high tide line and brush is skirted by the greenest,
fullest, and tallest coconut palms that I have ever seen, standing and
swaying like mythical guards to protect this idyllic place from evil
spirits. For it is a place of happiness and peace. If only you could be
here with me now to complete this awesome picture of nature’s splendor.
It is a scene that could only be surpassed by your natural, wholesome
beauty.

I can just see a small boy and his father in the distance, throwing
their nets from a black volcanic outcropping that juts out into the bay,
as if taunting and challenging nature’s strength with every cast. As
each and every wave responds and crashes into it, spray goes everywhere.
It is so very peaceful, so very beautiful, so very natural.
I can only imagine the folklore, the legends and myths that are
part of the culture of this wonderful place. Dark tales of lost loves, of
jealousies, of death, of rebirth, and of eternal joy… of Pele, Lohiau,
Pehe, and Makakehau, and other mythological supernatural beings
of this strange but beautiful place. It is here in this spectacular setting
that I bear witness to all of these strange icons of local legends and
mythology of this sacred place to ask you for your hand in marriage. I
can’t be there in person to ask this of you, as I long to be, but I can
write these words to you as I look out at one of the most beautiful
scenes that I have ever seen and ask you to be my wife, and I your
husband, forever and ever. I love you, Ruth, and this mystical, magical
place will be my testament to you forever.

Always, in my heart,

Ted

Love it….sailing. My next book for sure.

SJ………Out

Check out Kurofune by clicking the link at the top of this page. Thanks…John