great seamanship
my plan, we’d raise Tarawa sometime before noon. So
much for optimism.
At 9am we spot the fronds of coconut trees in the
distance. Ninety minutes later another tiny islet appears
on the horizon. I think I can identify Betio and the inner
range for the entrance channel.
“I can’t believe it,” I say. “We must have had a little push
to the south—maybe three or four miles. I hate to be
too optimistic, but it looks like we’ll be at anchor for a
late brunch.”
Nancy and Craig are both cheered. My uncertainty has
disturbed them; but now that land is in sight, all’s right
with the world. Nancy is glad not to have to make a
breakfast in the rough sea that’s running, and I’m excited
enough to ignore my own hunger. But as we approach, I
begin to realise something is wrong. Tar awa, government
centre and port of entry for the Gilbert Islands, is a fairly
active port. We should begin to spot some boats. The
breakwater and the port complex should be coming into
view. My heart sinks as I realise that it can’t be Tarawa. No
doubt, however, it’s Abaiang, only five miles north of the
tip of Tarawa. Betio can still be ours before nightfall.
Instinct versus instruments
The ocean calms as we approach the lee of the atoll. The
wind has been gradually heading us for an hour, and is
now coming conveniently from the east. We tack and head
for the southwestern tip.
“What if it isn’t Abaiang?” I ask Craig [Herb’s son], half
joking. “How can you explain the fact that after sailing
eight hours nearly due south and eight hours nearly due
east that we are now north of our last night’s fix?”
Craig shrugs his shoulders. In the morning, with land in
sight and clear weather, there is really nothing to worry
about, even if you don’t know where the hell you are.
“We should be able to see the north tip of Tarawa from
the south tip of Abaiang,” says Craig. “It’s only separated
by five or six miles.” Five or six miles is a sure thing for
raising an atoll in clear weather. We’ve raised our still-
unidentified atoll from more than ten miles away.
We reach the boundary of the reef and now Craig,
standing on the pulpit rail and looking south, should be
able to see any palm-covered island for 15 miles. Nothing.
“It can’t be Abaiang,” he insists. “It’s well known that you
can see Abaiang clearly from the north tip of Tarawa. So
you should be able to see Tarawa from Abaiang.” Craig’s
logic is superb.
I read the sailing directions. Again. There’s no way, from
the description, to positively identify Abaiang from
Maiana. One coral atoll looks much like another. Abaiang
is five miles north of Tarawa. Maiana is 15 miles south. We
have no small scale charts of either – only lower Tarawa
and its entrance. I suddenly feel that either place is
possible. I snapped a quick sun shot, ignoring my usual
practice of taking three sights as a check, and the line that I
plot shows we might be south of Tarawa. This, plus Craig’s
insistence, makes me fly in the face of logic. If the current
could push us 30 miles north, it might alternatively have
pushed us south instead. Having suddenly accepted the
pos sibility of the latter, I become confused.
“We could sail north for an hour, and if this is Maiana,
we should definitely spot Tarawa. If we don’t see anything,
we’ll turn around and head south again.”
Craig looks at me with misgiving. “OK. But if this is
Abaiang, why can’t we see Tarawa?”
We come about. I’m feeling discouraged. If my decision
to head north is wrong, it means another night at sea – a
night of heaving to off Betio light and the nervous frets
that current and reefs will be sure to engender.
“It’s almost time for the noon shot,” says Nancy.
“For whatever it’s worth,” I reply, glumly. “I’m at the
point where I want to see something. I have no faith left in
sun lines.”
I take the noon shot anyway. I sit for 20 minutes, making
sure I catch the sun at full height. I worked the ridiculously
simple math. It places our latitude at 1 degree 56 minutes
north, right at Abaiang. And still I head north!
“I think you should believe the sextant,” says Nancy.
“Why couldn’t we see Tarawa?” I ask her. “And what
about the shot that showed we might be south of Tarawa?”
“I think you should believe the noon shot,” she says.
I have to agree. No matter how inaccurate the sextant or
its user, it stretches credibility to entertain an error of 50
miles. And still I head north.
“If we don’t see something in an hour, I’ll turn around.
The only way I can believe it’s not there is to prove it.”
“I think you should believe the sextant,” says Nancy, and
rolls over with her book, ending the conversation.
I rework the math from my earlier sun shot, the only
indication (other than Craig’s point) that we might beThe island group
in the Pacific that
caused Herb such
confusion with
navigationLeft: Sea Foam,
the Payson
family’s 36ft
ketch. Below: Herb
shows his
musical prowess