And the family. How would the children take the trip? Would they be able to adjust to discomfort and occasional hardship? How much would they miss the companionship of others their own age? What of their schooling? We were taking along plenty of textbooks and teaching materials for both of them, and Barbara, who had been a teacher, would handle their lessons, but would this be sufficient?
And what of Barbara? We had made a contract with each other—for better, for worse—but was a situation like this anticipated in the contract? Suddenly I felt a surge of deep respect and admiration for her, as it came to me with full force that I was going because I wanted to go, but she was going only because I was, offering me a rare and precious loyalty.
Our Japanese crew—what of them? How would they wear? How would two groups of diverse backgrounds get along, in weeks at sea under confining conditions? So far the men had shown themselves to be fine companions and hard workers. Moreover, on that wild night when Typhoon June almost had us on the rocks, they had proved themselves courageous and resourceful. Would these qualities last during the long grind?
Finally, the captain. Could he take it? And could his companions take him? Could he curb his temper, learn to control his impatience? I deeply felt my inadequacies, my faults, and especially my lack of experience. Whenever one of the family called me “Skipper,” as they had begun to do, I felt uneasy and self-conscious. One of the biggest unknowns was the ability of this so-called Skipper.
Beset with doubts I finally turned in.
The next day we slept late, and did not get underway until midmorning. The doubts and introspection of the previous night were swept away in the sparkling breeze. We had made our choice, we were on our way, we would do our best. From now on, all thoughts and energies would be directed toward making a successful voyage.
Slowly we drifted past the shrine, so that the men could say their farewells to the goddess, which they did, standing in a row on the foredeck with caps in hand and heads bowed. Suddenly I realized that there was still another possibly divisive factor—one I had not thought of: differences in religion.
We continued up the strait and drew abreast the Yotsuda shipyard. We broke out the foghorn, Mickey blew lustily, and the entire shipyard crew—all four of them—came down to the shore while Yotsuda-san ran up the Japanese flag, and we dipped our American colors in a return salute. Just four months ago the Phoenix had been launched from here.
The next several days were idyllic. The fall weather was perfect, the breeze light but fair, the scenery unsurpassed. We found out now that cruising may take a lot of work ashore, but that cruising is also sailing, and this is the reward.
And we were beginning to learn our boat. From the log of October 8, which was also Ted’s sixteenth birthday: