Leadership 100

It is 35 miles across the Alenuihaha Channel between the northernmost end of the Big Island of Hawaii and the easternmost end of Maui. Wind blows 2,500 uninterrupted miles from California across the open Pacific into the channel. California is the closest land east of Hawaii. Usually the wind howls, shrieks, and builds large waves as it squeezes through the channel into the islands. The Alenuihaha seemed to me like a good place to learn something about ocean sailing.

Some years ago I answered a magazine, Classified Ad that read: “Learn To Sail with a Pro. Master skipper will take small crew of five through the Hawaiian Islands, from the Big Island in the south to Kauai in the north. Learn by doing! No experience required.”

I had had some experience—racing sailboats on San Francisco Bay, and I knew a bit about the ocean from eight years in the U.S. Coast Guard Reserve. But I had never sailed a boat out beneath the Golden Gate Bridge into the Pacific where the big boys play. I answered the ad with my check for $500.

The 37-foot sloop, our training boat, was moored in the harbor at Kailua Kona about mid-way down the west coast of the Big Island. The other four crew members were both younger and greener than me. Our captain was straight out of Hollywood Central Casting—a bearded, skinny guy with burnt skin, ragged shorts, and bare feet Hawaiian style. The first night I slept on the beach; it was too warm aboard. Six people on a 37-foot sloop (one mast) is cozy, at best.

The next day we did a gentle, warm-up sail south from Kailua Kona about twenty miles to the beach where Captain James Cook was killed in 1779 by Hawaiian natives in a confrontation over a relatively trivial matter. (Cook had discovered, explored, and mapped much of the Pacific Ocean in his three voyages there from England.) We returned to our mooring for the night.

The next day we headed north along the Big Island. The objective was a stop for the night in the small harbor at the Mauna Kea resort. The day after that we would head out across the Alenuihaha Channel for the town of Lahaina on Maui—the first leg of our sailing journey up the chain of Hawaiian Islands. Adventure was just ahead!

We left the Mauna Kea harbor next morning buoyed with anticipation. There was no wind so we motored north to Upolu Point on the tip of the Big Island. Maui was faintly visible in the far distance. The famed NE winds were expected any time as we crawled away from the Big Island and saw it recede behind us. On and on we put-putted on our boat’s small diesel engine. Minutes turned to hours and by noon it seemed we were a long way from the Big Island and hardly closer to Maui. There was plenty of sun….but no wind, which meant our sailboat had very little propulsion power.

Our captain seemed to show a little anxiety. By three in the afternoon the reason became known: He announced that, expecting wind, he had neglected to fill the fuel tank and that we had insufficient diesel fuel aboard to motor to Lahaina in the middle of Maui. So, he explained, we were going to head for the isolated hamlet of Hana on the very eastern tip of Maui. It was closer than Lahaina. We nodded; it wasn’t as if we had a vote in the matter. My intrepid adventurers and myself, instead of hanging on to a heeling sailboat for dear life in the face of high winds and seas, were about to melt in the breathless, mirror-like ocean in the middle of the Alenuihaha.

By six PM, we could see occasional headlights on cars a long way off on Maui, and we received a new revelation. Our captain informed us he did not have a chart (map) of the entrance to Hana, if there was such an entrance. (He had never been there.) Hana is not situated in a place that would be attractive to boats looking for a harbor. And—this went unsaid—we would not reach Hana until well after dark, assuming we could find the place in the dark. No one had much to say after that.

One of my fellow trainees rummaged around in the cabin and, by chance, found a U.S. Western States Coast Pilot in the bottom of a drawer. In it there was a tiny paragraph on Hana. The essence was: Hana had a short, fishing jetty extending into the ocean. There was a street light on it. And there was a very large, exposed rock just north of the jetty that also had a small—like 100 watt—light on it. “The two lights were not meant for navigation.” This information was gingerly passed along to our somber captain.

I can’t recall all the details any more, but we sighted the jetty around nine PM and lined up the boat to ride the reasonably flat, beach waves in alongside it, keeping the large rock and its lonely light to starboard. As we approached with trepidation, we saw that a few people had gathered on the jetty beneath the one light to watch the drama unfold…and probably to help in some way if they could.

Slowly, slowly we crept in; there would be no second chance. At last we heaved two lines up to people hanging over the rail. They quickly secured us to the jetty. Our crew of five levitated up and over the rail onto the solid planks. The audience applauded and cheered. Aloha! We had made it to Maui. Our captain remained aboard.

Ravished, we were able to buy a few sandwiches to eat in Hana. That night we all slept on the beach. I had brought my duffel bag onto the jetty with me. The next morning it was raining. I walked and hitch-hiked the 52 winding miles to Lahaina. I had learned something about ocean sailing.