We would gladly have spent much more time in these islands, but we had been at sea for three and a half years and now the end was in sight. After only one more stop—in the Marquesas—we would be closing the circle. Soon, instead of the perpetual routine of “hello—good-bye” which was one of the most difficult aspects of extended cruising, we would be meeting old friends again. In Hawaii we would be able to relax a bit and settle down for a while in familiar haunts while we overhauled our faithful Phoenix. After a bit of rest we would undertake the last leg, back to Hiroshima.
Only one thing remained before leaving the Galápagos—our rendezvous with Valinda in James Bay. On the morning of February 16, we got underway early and rounded the point from Buccaneer Bay into James. It was empty. We crossed to the south side and anchored, going ashore during the day in two groups for exploration.
Throughout the day we kept an eye on the expanse of James Bay, expecting at any moment to see the big power yacht appear. We had a stack of letters ready to hand over and we felt more than a little put out when darkness fell and it became apparent that Valinda had not kept our date. By noon the next day we reluctantly put away our envelopes full of news, and started off for the next post office on our route—3,000 miles away.
Out of fairness to her owner, this might be the place to tell what happened to Valinda. Months later (while leafing idly through a back issue of Life magazine) we learned that Valinda had been there to meet us. She had reached James Bay the night before and anchored to wait for us. Just at dawn, while we were all asleep aboard the Phoenix, five miles away around the point, Valinda had been boarded by twenty-one escapees from the penal colony on the neighboring island, Isabela. They had mutinied the night before, raided the arsenal, stolen a couple of small boats, and by chance had come across Valinda in the course of their escape flight.
The convicts forced her to sail for Ecuador, a trip of sixty-three hours under power. At Puna they took the ship’s boat and went ashore, leaving the yacht to sail north to the Canal Zone, where they gave the alarm.
No wonder they had not been there to meet us, when we arrived in the bay some four hours later! And as I read the account, even months after the fact, I wondered what would have happened if it had been the Phoenix rather than Valinda that had reached the rendezvous first.
Entire books have been written about voyages far shorter than ours from James Island to the Marquesas, but my own memory of the 26-day passage is of quiet seas, light breezes, and peaceful company.
Once we had rounded the north end of Isabela and put tiny Redonda Rock astern, we knew we would see no land for 3,000 miles, and the chances were remote, in those empty waters, that we would see another ship. Yet that one in a million chance did happen, at midnight on the sixth day out. Ted, on watch, saw lights and called me. We put on our masthead light and a large ship came close to hand. We exchanged signals and I flashed our identity. Then the liner, in a wonderfully thrilling gesture, turned on all its lights, including the system that outlined the name of the ship—City of Brisbane—in enormous glowing letters. Although we could only turn a flashlight on our sails in reply, the moment was deeply heart-warming, as two ships that passed in the night made brief contact across the dark sea.
This was the only even remotely exciting event of the trip. The weather remained constant, the trade winds steady, and my notes in the log are the briefest of our entire voyage. During our watches Ted and Jessica took turns reading Melville’s Typee aloud, and we all looked forward to seeing Nuku Hiva and the beautiful Typee Valley (Taipi Vai), changed though we knew it would be. In addition, we were longing for baths in some isolated mountain stream, for we had had no fresh-water showers since leaving the Canal Zone, water in the Galápagos being far too precious for such indulgence.
By noon of March 14 we were just off the entrance to Taiohae Bay, on the south coast. We took in our log line and started the engine—which quit on us just at the entrance. With light and baffling airs coming down from the surrounding mountains, we continued in under sail alone and, at 1415, dropped anchor in eight fathoms off the settlement at the foot of the bay, with 3,193 miles logged in a refreshingly relaxed passage of twenty-six days.