On the seventeenth day out I noted: “For the first time in ten days, a nice day—trade wind type, fresh. An Easter present?”
The next day we set the clock on Hawaii time and the following night we saw the loom of a light to port. The following morning we sighted Hilo and headed in.
But we were not to finish the trip without a bit more work. The engine had given up entirely and now the sails all went on strike at once. First the foresail split, and while we had it down and were making repairs, a rip appeared in the main. With so much canvas spread out useless on the deck, we made little progress even before the wind dropped almost to nothing. Drifting idly in full view of our long-anticipated goal, we passed out the leather sailmaker’s palms, the thread and beeswax and sail needles. As we set to work to sew our way in, we were cheered by a brief glimpse of that majestic landmark, Mauna Kea, which appeared for a moment between the clouds. Twice a Coast Guard plane flew low over us, which Jessica interpreted as “Going back to get the leis ready!” The Skipper, however, suggested that it was more likely that they were going back to tattle about the rotten state of our sails.
And so we spent the morning shoving needles back and forth through the heavy canvas and fighting down our impatience. By noon the job was done, enough to get in. The sails were again hoisted, and the wind was up a bit. With clearing weather and an arching rainbow lying low over the cone of Mauna Kea, we entered the bay and rounded the breakwater, making a neat two knots.
Two hours later we dropped anchor just off Kaulaiaiwi Island in almost the exact spot where we had anchored when we first arrived in Hilo after our hard beat around the Kona coast. With great solemnity Jessica filled in the red ink-line that completed an erratic circle around the inflatable globe which had been given her for her birthday in Lahaina three years before. The Phoenix—and five of her original crew—had completed a voyage around the world—Hilo, Hawaii, to Hilo, Hawaii.
Best of all, we had got ourselves into no trouble that we couldn’t get out of by ourselves.
We shook hands rather solemnly all around, but I don’t recall any particular sense of jubilation, only a sense of deep and abiding satisfaction. As we had done in over a hundred other ports, we unlashed the dinghy and put it over the side. When entry formalities had been completed and we finally rowed over to the dock, again we found representatives of the Hiroshima Ken Society waiting to welcome us. It felt wonderfully familiar. Later we took a walk. The town looked just the same. We wandered a block or so from the dock, to the little Japanese market center where we had done much shopping before setting out. In the fishing tackle store the same reels, lines, and hooks seemed to be on display in the window; behind the counter sat the same Japanese proprietor, his grin as friendly as ever. Nothing had changed.
“You on boat?” he asked.
“Yes, on Phoenix.”
“Ah—Ho-O-Maru,” he said, giving her Japanese name.