Who Sailed the Boat Here? By WindyMUSKET COVE, FIJI

Not missing Dad.

A Musket Cove Yacht Club lifetime membership is quite possibly the best US$5 a cruiser can spend. Our plastic laminated member cards had entitled the girls and me to spend the past few weeks walking sandy paths, lounging on a shady veranda, chilling with friends on the picnic island, and soaking in the pool at the casually classy Musket Cove Resort on Malolo Lailai Island, Fiji. Now it was time leave our mooring and head to Port Denarau Marina on the main island, Viti Levu, to pick up Mike, flying in from the U.S. the next day. But I decided to first fill out a club membership form for Mike.

"He should already have one," said Bale the office manager.

"Why should he?"

"Because he's the most important."

I paused, then a realization dawned on me: crew cannot be members absent a captain. "Oh, Mike didn't arrive with us," I said.

"Who sailed the boat here?"

"I did," I said.

"Then you are the captain!" She smiled.

"Yes!" I said.

It wasn't a lie. There's no strict hierarchy aboard Del Viento, and with Mike gone there was no question who’d been captain these past few weeks. But that was new. The three hour sail from Nadi Bay to Musket Cove had been my first solo sail—though it wasn’t truly solo because I had my kid crew with me.

I thought back to that journey. I’d been nervous. Even though everything I’d be doing I'd done a hundred times before, I realized that I'd never taken total responsibility. Perhaps I'd never captained the boat before? Does Mike feel this responsibility? Or have we truly split the job, always sharing responsibility?

I realized how much peace of mind having backup had always given me. Countless times, two hands aboard had been better than one. Simply raising Del Viento’s huge old mainsail is usually a two-person job. I thought back to groundings that did not happen and collisions avoided because we had two sets of eyes on the job. Just recently I’d caught a sheet on a hatch. It was certainly something I could have dealt with alone, but it was helpful to have one of us on the foredeck to free the line and the other at the helm managing the boat.

Eleanor and Dillon (Sangvind) flying a kite.

In my experience, many singlehanders are extra careful, extra conservative, they take meticulous care of their vessel. My singlehander brain switched on. What could go wrong during this really short passage in protected waters? An injury could happen. If I were seriously injured would the girls be able to manage and seek help? I decided, yes, they could. What if I went overboard? Ditto.

What concerned me most was equipment failure, especially engine failure. Our raw-water engine pump was on its last legs. In fact, Mike was returning with a replacement. I was banking on squeezing a few more hours out of the old one. I came up with a plan in the event I lost the engine en route.

Having dropped Mike off at the airport, the day of departure was upon us. Together, the girls and I raised anchor and headed across Nadi Bay, weaving through the fleet of boats anchored off Port Denarau. Once underway, my nerves calmed. Winds were light and on the nose. We continued motoring toward Musket Cove. I kept an eye on the temperature gauge. When the wind later increased, still on the nose, I advanced the throttle. I could have raised the sails, but we'd have had to tack back and forth and I was eager to reach our destination.

Then I noticed the engine temperature needle creeping towards the red. I leaned over the transom. Water was spitting out of the exhaust, but the volume was diminished and was accompanied by a bit of steam. Alarmed, I throttled way back. While I watched the temperature gauge, I ran through my options in the event I lost the motor:

• sail
• drift and let the engine cool and try again
• anchor
• call for a tow

I decided my best option would be to raise sail and head back downwind to Nadi Bay, which is wide open and shallow. I would be comfortable getting there and anchoring under sail.

Fortunately, it didn't come to that. Throttling back did the trick. The engine temp returned to normal as did the water from the exhaust, the steam was gone. After an hour of slow motoring we entered the mooring field at Musket Cove. The moorings were full. Circling around, we found a spot behind our friends on Full Circle. Within minutes of anchoring I was sitting in the cockpit with a cold beer, watching Frances fly around the anchorage on a surfboard, towed by Sangvind's fast dinghy. I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back: this was definitely going to be worth the journey.

--WR

Eleanor on the Spit near Musket Cove.

Musket Cove resort life: learning to make pulisami.

All is good aboard (this is a selfie taken inside the head).

When's Dad coming home?