TONIGHT - AS IT HAPPENS ...

There are some instances where typing a report as the event is in progress would be inappropriate: one's wedding night, for example, or getting blotto with the boys at the sports bar footy final night, riding a motorcycle at 200 K or having a shower. But sometimes it is possible to not only think, to wonder about the thing that is actually happening but to write about it - in the present tense. The tension here and now as I sit in the cockpit, navigating and keeping watch as our vessel comes closer to the coral atolls of Aratiki, Apataki and Toau is - in my mind - like a single note agitated continuously by the orchestra violin section. You know, that part in the movie where the soundtrack is subliminal but it winds you up just the same.

Why is it that we like to read about, watch movies of, danger, disaster and deeds of derring-do on the deep sea? Fear is great entertainment. What's happening to me now is the temptation to indulge in fear, because we're flying blind, sailing ourselves into a corner, with reefs to the left and to the right. You can't see anything. The night is warm, and the breeze pushes us steadily at 5 knots. The sea is dark, the sky lit by stars. You hear only the rush-slop-gurgle of the water passing, and the wind by your ears. No breakers. But in your imagination - ah! in your imagination! - lie all sorts of interesting SCARY images: the island is only a quarter of a mile away or less, the reef is dead ahead, or the instruments will fail at a critical moment. Dreams have ended here, yachts have been wrecked.

For that is what we are relying on: the GPS, the charts and the radar. Flying blind, on instruments. Flying by the seat of your pants. Now, the captains of the 19th century in these waters sailing their wooden square-riggers - just like us, at night - had no GPS no radar, and like as not had incomplete charts. Or, like Capt. James Cook, MADE the charts. They called the Tuamotus the Dangerous Archipelago.

Time to pull myself away now from the four screens of the computer, the wind indicator, the chart plotter, the radar, and look out into the darkness, time to use my eyes.---

--- I see the warm dark of the sky pointed with stars, merging with the cooler dark of the ocean, no horizon as yet, now my eyes distinguish the horizon, see the wind-pulled boat nodding and pushing, sails filled, I see no dangers, no ships or yachts, no lighthouse, no lighted windows, but only the romantic warm night filled with stars - romance must be dangerous! I think, as I turn from (on the port side) the Southern Cross, lying on its back, to the starboard side now, not recognizing the constellations, and I see Adrienne's underwear all pegged in a row along the rail, and more darkness.

I pick up my little laptop and talk to you again; do you feel sometimes fear hanging around like some flashy, noisy old friend, whispering: come out, we'll have a great time, don't sit around the house! Wow! This "dangerous archipelago" has got me going. There are narrow passes through the reefs of these low atolls where the current runs at 9 knots! Wind against the ebb tide makes standing waves! Once in the pass you can't turn round! Your anchor and chain can wind itself on a coral head and that's it - can I dive in forty OR FIFTY feet? OMIGOD!! Friends on other boats reassure me on the radio. But right now I have to choose whether or not to go out with me ole mate Fear or stay close to the knowledge all is well, to calmly check the instruments, have a cup of tea. Sounds good to me, real good. Bye for now.