Why not sail down to French Polynesia once again? Like I did a dozen years ago with Pam aboard s/v Pamela.
Answer: because it’s a hell of a long way, 3000 nautical miles, a month of sailing to get to the Marquesas Islands, and two more months getting back home going north past Hawaii and nearly as far north as British Columbia, before finally getting around the great Pacific High and clawing my way back to California. And across the equator twice, with it’s incessant squalls followed by windless doldrums, so hot that you throw all your clothes overboard in a tropical tantrum.
And furthermore, now everything is different. I’m an old fart, a boomeranging boomer. I’m not the same Johnny Depp I used to be. And I would go solo this time.
On the other hand, if I don’t do it, I will always regret it. But if I do it, I will never regret it.
Simple enough, let’s go.
So here I am. Back in Hiva Oa, listening to the evening doves over the distant roar of surf, under the lee of Mt. Temetiu rising nearly a mile over the beach, just down the hill from the old bones of Paul Gauguin a-moldering in the ferrous clay.
Next time I will come sooner. 🙂
