Early in March we set sail for Kauai, a hundred miles to the northwest. The trip, which we had hoped would be short, routine, and enjoyable, turned out to be otherwise. The channel was rough, the wind was fickle, we were soft—and it took three days. On the last evening a stiff breeze sprang up that threatened to pile us onto the unknown lee shores of Kauai. Ted and I had an uneasy time of it until we sighted land, but it was too late to go in, so, once again, we tacked back and forth all night. What with keeping an eye on the lights and rousing the men every couple of hours to come about, we got little sleep as we waited for daylight to arrive so that we could round the breakwater and enter the beautifully protected bay of Nawiliwili. Happily exhausted, we dropped the hook a few hundred feet from shore and crawled into our bunks.
Within five minutes we had visitors—the East Kauai Hiroshima Ken Association, led by Mr. Yotsuda, who had a full program lined up for us. Under his direction we turned on the engine and motored into the dock where a place of honor had been reserved. On shore, a caravan of cars was waiting and in no time we were on our way.
That day we saw all the points of natural beauty or historic interest on the east side of the island—and they are many. A full day ended with a formal banquet and many speeches.
It was after midnight before we were returned to the boat. At seven the next morning we were aroused by more visitors—this time, the West Kauai Hiroshima Ken Association who did the honors for the other side of the island, including the banquet—and the speeches! If, that night, we were all a little sleepy, there was general agreement that it had been well worth it!
We also received an invitation from the Kauai Yacht Club, but because of club policy it was extended only to the haole members of our group. This gave rise to a situation we had discussed at some length: the probability that in the course of our world cruise we would run into discrimination. It was distressing, however, that it had arisen first in the friendly Hawaiian Islands—and particularly that it should be a yacht club which excluded certain yachtsmen on the basis of race.
The family’s first inclination was to decline but Nick, Mickey, and Moto were more realistic. As they pointed out, they had already received more invitations than they could accept, many of which did not include us. The most sensible course, they seemed to feel, was for all of us to take things as they came and enjoy whatever hospitality appealed to us. We accepted the invitation, therefore, and tried, by our attitude and conversation, to sow what seeds of tolerance we could.
While we were in Kauai, Mr. Yotsuda continued to consider himself our official host. “Did brother build you a good boat?” he asked, one day. “Is there anything you would like to change?”
I assured him that we were well satisfied with his brother’s work, but we would like to extend the stern sprit someday, in order to set up a permanent backstay for the mizzen. The next day Mr. Yotsuda appeared at dockside with his own tools and stayed until the job was done. Boatbuilding, it appears, runs in the family, and the Phoenix had become a family affair.
After two pleasant weeks we headed back to Oahu and Honolulu. As it happened, the return trip was rougher, if possible, and took a day longer than the passage up. Our initiation into trade-wind island hopping had been unfortunate, and I could see signs of disillusionment and rebellion among the women—particularly when we had to spend two days within sight of Honolulu, beating our way in. It was a hard lesson in the vicissitudes of sailing upwind and I discovered that Barbara and Jessica had a tendency—regrettable in those who must depend on the wind—to chafe a bit when land was in sight.
We spent only a few days on Oahu, during which time we loaded aboard canned goods in case lots for an estimated six months. Then, bidding farewell to the many friends we had made, and with promises to return “in a few years,” we moved on to Maui. With us we took, as guest “hitchsailor,” Alan Pooley, the son of Wisconsin friends, who provided welcome companionship to Ted.