Kauai to Oahu: First ocean overnight, Part 1

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Written by Kaci Cronkhite  Winter 1992  All rights reserved.

Nawiliwili Harbor,   Kaua’i, Hawai’i
Alaska was at its darkest, coldest decrescendo.  Perfect time to head to Hawaii.  I wanted to think about sailing and set a course  for my next ten years with a warm clear mind.

As fate had forseen, the friends who introduced me to sailing in Port Townsend had been struck and successfully weathered Hurricane Iniki on Kauai.   From Oahu, I called to check in with them and they invited me to come visit and help, as long as I could camp. Backpack loaded with food and tent, I hopped a flight to Lihue and walked to the marina. Palm trees were stripped, houses roofless, power poles and other debris still littered the island. Most people still didn't have water or electricity. Aboard their voyage ready boat they were stocked for two months.  When I arrived they were mired in Plan B, something to keep the fire stoked on much bigger plans. Plan B was a tangent indeed. A tack to the north of their previous course, an interisland interlude day sail from Kaua’i to Oahu.  They invited me along as crew.  I knew little more than I had in Washington, but they didn’t seem to care. I was little trouble to feed, had a stomach of steel and was handy with tools in emergencies.  It was a short trip and one they could do with their eyes closed.

The chilly morning of my first ocean sail began at 0400.  I throbbed with enthusiasm and could hardly sleep,

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Honolulu to Seattle: First Ocean Passage

Honolulu to Seattle: My first long voyage, 1993

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Written by Kaci Cronkhite  March 2012  All rights reserved.

"So you serious about doing an ocean passage," asked my buddy Bruce as he walked up to C Dock in Ala Wai where the boat I was varnishing was moored.

"You bet," I said. "But I know how to cook, Bruce. Sort of. You wouldn't want me for a cook. Would you teach me how to navigate, use the weather fax, sail in the ocean?"

"Sure," he said with the impish grin I'd come to love in this Kamaina guy who'd been one of my first friends in Hawaii. "I need crew that will work!"

A few weeks later, we were headed out of the channel and west into the cooling sun in a 40 foot Gulf Star whose almost unpronouncable name meant sweetheart. In an hour the sun would set and we'd still be in the lee of Oahu. This part of the journey I'd sailed a couple of times already. Twice at night the year before and a half dozen times as crew for the man who owned one of the boats in my care. I knew this part was a pretty easy cruise in the lee of the island. No big waves. No big wind. As we passed close to Ko Olina, wisely tucked in the last of our shelter, the two guys who'd signed on as crew drunk their last beers for awhile (or so I thought) making grand claims about the surf, the women or the fish they'd caught along these shores. 

"Hang on boys (I'll call them #1 and #2)," I whispered. The channel in the islands could be rough and we were just entering the zone. That beer was likely going to reappear if the channel was anything like my other trips. Bruce just smiled at them and listened.

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Capes of Hope (originally published @ 48 North)

Capes are the poetic points of continents—landmarks of legends. The focus of fears and goals to reach. Capes are the summits of our sailing souls.  Kaci Cronkhite

 by Kaci Cronkhite (Published 2003, 48 North Magazine)

 When I doubled The Cape, Africa's southern most point, with Nancy Erley and her Port Townsend built Orca 38, Tethys, I could breathe like I was on my way down from 18,000 feet. Every fiber in my body was happy. I could taste relief and it was sweet. At 1120 (local time) on April 10, 2000, we watched the GPS course count down to zero miles to go, then project a northbound heading for our first time since crossing the equator in the Maldives, halfway behind us in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Nancy's hair stopped turning gray. Tethys kicked up her 19-ton heels. We laughed louder than the wind for the first time in months and slapped hands and pounded the cockpit teak. Our gale force headwind moved abeam and Cape Seals leapt through our wake chasing us toward Cape Town, 125 miles north.

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Unintended Singlehander: Day 2, the grounding

Updated on Monday, November 21, 2011 at 09:46 by Kaci Cronkhite

This story continued from Day 1, next blogpost down!

We motored east as the tide began to ebb. Flipped up the fenders, one at a time. Not cool to keep them trailing, like fingers skimming patterns in the sand. Dawn was warming black into blue and the monolith islands ahead looked like construction paper silhouettes.

Nervous, excited energy made my stomach queasy. The tide carried us right on course, so I hopped below to start the propane stove for tea. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, click. The flame burst into the darkness and the red light came on. All good. Back in the cockpit, wood smoke signaled the start of the day. Cocks crowed, answered, crowed again.

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Unintended Singlehander: Day 1, the decision

Updated on Monday, November 21, 2011 at 09:48 by Kaci Cronkhite

When a Thai official decided to push it, to insist that that the letter stating I was officially Captain of the vessel while the owner was out of Thailand and that the money we'd already paid for extending our visa wasn't enough, I called his bluff. "If you do not pay, then you must leave Thailand", he said. "Ok," I replied, calm and determined not to pay the bribe. "Alone?" he said. "Yes," I replied, less calm and mind awhirl with an adrenalin rush.

Officially checked out of the country and with 24 hours to leave, the sweat making my shorts stick to the taxi seat were, this time, not just due to the tropical heat.

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