It’s supposed to be good to be wanted, but I feel only resentment. The few wonderful, relaxing days at the Y.W.C.A. were not enough and when we moved back to the Phoenix it was with reluctance and a sense of being cheated. And yet, I wouldn’t have wanted her any more delayed, for the last day or two before they arrived was no pleasure because of my anxiety over the lack of communication.
If that trip showed the men that they needed my contribution, it also served to show me that as long as the Phoenix continues on her voyage with Earle aboard, I have no choice but to string along. Watching and wondering is much the hardest part!
On May 26, 1955, with a high barometer but amid showers and overcast sky, the Phoenix set out from Hilo on the long trip south. We felt much better equipped, both shipwise and personally, than we had been when we left Takamatsu exactly six months earlier, but I can personally vouch for it that Barbara was not the only one who had some private trepidation. One thing we were certain of, however: we could at least expect better conditions than on the North Pacific trip.
It was our plan to make as much easting as possible in the early stages of the trip, so that at the southern end, when we reached the area of the southeast trades, we could make the port of Papeete, Tahiti, without undue effort.
For the first four days the weather, as well as myself, was uncertain. The pattern is shown in the log:
During night about a dozen mild squalls passed over, with or without clouds and rain. My sleep was governed by these visitors, as we had left the four lowers up, and I half expected something to carry away. Each time a squall passed, with no sound of smashing blocks or flapping canvas, and no call for help from the man at the tiller, I sank again into an uneasy sleep. But all held, and my lost sleep was wasted, for the night passed without incident and we made good time.
Our taffrail log was misbehaving, and I broke out the spare (which I had bought from a fellow yachtsman in Honolulu). For a while, we trailed them both—to port and starboard. The Big Log doggedly and steadily recorded that we were going 3 knots while the Little Log insisted that we were making 9. Making use of a Dutchman’s log, I determined that we were making about 5 knots, and Ted and I tried to work out the mathematics that would reconcile the two.
Also, we now had two sextants, as I had picked up an extra in a secondhand shop in the islands. It seemed to work fine—at least Ted and I, each shooting the sun at the same time with a different instrument, were able to get within five miles of each other, and this was quite good enough for us.
The weather, after its bad beginning, steadily improved until by the eighth day out it was perfect. Now, however, at about 10° North Latitude, we began to run out of wind. Each day it got a little lighter. My log asks one word, “Doldrums?”
The following day we ran the engine, on a course due south, for seven hours, to help us get into the southeast trades, and by the tenth day we picked up light but steady airs from the new direction. Slowly they increased, as we worked our way south.