Cook's Time
by Dave & Jaja Martin

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It is an inspiration to read about Captain James Cook. He is, without a doubt, one of the greatest navigators ever to sail. Imagine setting off from your home port for the deep Pacific without any charts to guide you. I can't even imagine going to sea without two GPS's, not to mention detailed charts of every harbor we may or may not visit.

Reading about Cook's voyage up Australia's Great Barrier Reef, aboard the ENDEAVOR, reminds me of our voyage up the inside of the Barrier Reef aboard DIRECTION. There are thousand of reefs upon which one could lose a boat in those waters. Even with our full set of charts, which detailed the numerous aides to navigation, we had to pay strict attention at all times. I find it miraculous that Cook--who had no charts--only hit bottom once during his trip up the Reef.

Charts or no charts, I envy Cook for being able to voyage in the mid 1700s when the shorelines of the Pacific were practically untouched by other Europeans. My thoughts turn naturally to another of Cook's landfalls: Tahiti. What a thrill it would have been to set foot in a Polynesian culture untouched by missionaries and mass tourism.

I recall the morning in 1989, when Jaja and I made a landfall in Tahiti aboard DIRECTION. Cook would have seen the same lush, green peaks materialize with the first rays of tropical sunlight. He would have seen the surf crashing on the outer reefs. If Cook had any human feelings mixed-in with his seafaring genius, he would have felt his stomach tighten when he wondered where the heck the opening in the reef was. Reef entrances are tricky. You can't see them until you are exactly in the right place. We had a chart. He didn't.

Except for my Casio watch, we didn't have navigational electronics on DIRECTION. Our approach to the reef entrance at Papeete was oriented on a sextant-derived DR that was as old as the night which had proceeded the dawn. As we neared what we hoped was the entrance, I wondered what it would be like to make a landfall in 1769.

In my imagination I saw a canoe filled with loin-clothed Polynesian men pulling at their paddles. I envisioned their hearty reception upon seeing DIRECTION, which to them would seem exotic. I also imagined naked women standing on the beach waving flowers at us. I mentioned my complete Polynesian vision to Jaja. She said that her preconceived notion of our landfall in Tahiti was similar to mine, except for one fact: in her vision the women were waving flowers, but they were covered by colorful pareos. The men, Jaja went on to say, were only covered by a crown of flowers.

Two stout buoys marked the reef entrance to Papeete harbor. As we sailed between these green and red aides-to-navigation, the churning seas subsided. The calm lagoon swallowed DIRECTION, and the wind ceased. The sails hung limp.

I was busy looking for the naked women when out of the corner of my eye I spied an Airbus jet taking off from the airport. The aluminum beast came nearer and nearer, but didn't seem to be gaining much altitude. From our perspective it looked as if the jet was going to shave DIRECTION'S mast head with its retractable landing gear. At the point when the metallic bird soared directly overhead, the thrust from his fiery engines forced us to thrust our fingers into our sunburned ears. I tipped my head back and saw the pilot giving us a thumbs up. Passengers were waving from behind their tiny windows.

On the tail of the jet was a huge mural of a quintessential Polynesian Beauty. Her teeth gleamed white, a lei crowned her ebony hair, and a flowery pareo covered her supple breasts.

Jaja noted my disappointment and shouted over the blast of the jet engines. "Don't take it so hard, Dave. I'll bet you anything that pilot is wearing a uniform."

 

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