The storm that capsized The Aegre has passed; we’ve baled the boat out, set up a jury rig, and are underway again. The crisis of the capsize and immediate survival is over. But where are we, and what course should we steer for land? We’ve lost our sextant. Without it, is it our fate to sail ever onward toward an empty horizon until we run out of food, then water, then hope? Was it Magellan who sailed right across the Pacific without seeing any land at all?
But we still had our chronometer, Nautical Almanac, other navigation tables, a chart of the Pacific, a good hand-bearing compass, and our brains.
We figured out our approximate longitude using sunrise and sunset times and an estimate of latitude from star declinations. How, is in the book. But then where to head for? This led to the plan to go ‘longitude sailing’, i.e. to get onto the line of longitude, well to the north or south of some mountainous islands that ran east-west over some distance, then sail along that line of longitude (ie north or south) until the islands appeared ahead. The Samoa group to the north fitted the bill. Except they were well over a thousand miles away. There’s more detail in the book.
31 days, more than four weeks, and about 1,600 miles later, still under our jury rig, now amidst heavy rain squalls and poor visibility, we sighted a high island headland through the clouds some miles away to the north-west, almost as expected. According to our calculations, it would be Upolu. Slowly, we closed with it, and that evening, as darkness fell, we hove-to still some miles to the southeast of where we’d seen the high land. In the darkness we searched the coastline for the faintest glimmer of light, a sign of people. But there was nothing, just darkness.
However, much later that night, we did see a tiny light, not to the northwest from the coast ahead but far out to the west, on the ocean. It had to be a ship. In the book, I tell of what happened next and how that night, with the help of that ship, we made it into the nearby sheltered harbour of Pago Pago, American Samoa.
But things might have played out differently if the paths of that ship and The Aegre hadn’t crossed that night.
Our plan was to approach the south coast the next morning in daylight; we expected there would be a coral reef, but not that far offshore (this not being a coral atoll). Closing with the coast, we planned to sail westward a little outside the reef, looking for a break in it, a pass, and signs of people. Possibly somewhere sheltered, where we could bring The Aegre in close to shore. But we had no chart and no anchors; we’d ditched all our ground tackle immediately after the capsize to increase buoyancy.
Without an anchor, we might have no way of stopping The Aegre from being swept onto a coral head. Would that be how it all ended? Moreover, I worried that if we made it to the beach, we might find it deserted and have to survive for days or weeks alone. Modern-day Crusoes.
Twenty-five years later, most remarkably, I met someone who was on that very coast that night. He has become a good friend, and we sometimes chuckle about how close we came to meeting all those years ago. We speculate about what might have happened if that ship hadn’t come along the coast that night and towed The Aegre into nearby Pago Pago. In our imagining it goes something like this…
By the time it became light, the rain had eased, and the clouds had lifted. We could see we were at the eastern end of an island, the land disappearing to the north. Ahead and extending out to the west, dark green forested hills rose steeply from the southern coast. Was it Upolu, where our navigation estimate would put us, or the more westerly Savai’i island?
With nervous anticipation, I reset our jury rig in the early morning light and, catching the westerly breeze, we steered a course northwest towards the still distant coast. We crept closer, anxiously scanning the seas ahead for breakers, even for the slightest sign of a swell building, breaking or being reflected, indicating a reef ahead. But there was nothing, just the waves endlessly rolling forward. Nervously, we sailed on.
A few anxious hours later, we could see the beach and outlying lagoon. It seemed deserted. Then, we turned west to sail parallel to the south coast. I felt growing pressure to find somewhere to put The Aegre ashore. Was this Upolu or Savai’i island? If the latter (westward) island, we had to find somewhere before we came to the western end. After that, there’d be no more islands for hundreds of miles.
Desperately, we scanned the coastline, but it was just empty sand and coral beaches backed by palms; it seemed lifeless.
Then we saw them. Far ahead on the beach, tiny stick-like figures were moving; wait, now we could see them more clearly; they were waving and launching pao pao (small outrigger canoes) into the lagoon. Then they were paddling their way seaward, they must be in a pass, a channel out through the reef. Emerging, they turned east towards us, paddling, waving, shouting.
We were as excited as they were, shouting and waving. Soon they were lifting on the swell alongside us.
We spoke no Samoan, and they little English, but somehow we communicated that yes, we’d love to come ashore to their village. They pointed excitedly to follow them. Now we could see the pass in the reef, the channel they had come out through, leading to a beach with small houses clustered back in the shelter of the trees. The light westerly held, and we could follow their lead. Julie stood on the bow as we entered the pass, nervously watching the coral drawing closer in the clear water, the sea now smoother flowing outward. Still, we had enough wind on the beam to follow the leading pao pao, the crew pointing excitedly to coral heads we should avoid here and there. The water was shallowing now; ahead, almost on the beach, the crew of the leading pao pao leapt into the water and waded back to The Aegre, easing us up onto the coral sand. A small final wave helped us in. We’d arrived.
So had the whole village. Everyone talking excitedly, looking at us and The Aegre. A landing of aliens from outer space would have been no more exciting. But as the aliens, it was equally enthralling as we were surrounded by men, women, and children in multicoloured lava lavas, talking and laughing excitedly.
Some supports were found to hold The Aegre upright, and a little unsteadily, we were led up the beach into the shade of a small open-sided meeting house beneath the palms. In a rough mixture of English, Samoan and sign language, we learnt we were on Upolu island, in the village of Lotofaga, and to gasps from the assembled people, we drew a map in the sand showing Tahiti, the Marquesas, and Panama, where we’d come from.
Meanwhile, food was being pressed into our hands: baked green bananas, taro and breadfruit and ‘Palsumi’ they said, telling us to eat, with cups of a sweet chocolate-like drink, “Koko Samoa” they said, smiling broadly.
But what now? An older man seemed to be giving directions, and a youth jumped on a small motorbike and roared off along the beach eastward. He was soon back, now weighed down with a young, deeply tanned, long-haired Westerner on the back. He swung off, walking towards us with a big grin and his hand held out.
“Welcome to Upolu” he said with an American accent, “My name’s Gene Feldman, I’m a Peace Corp volunteer, how can I help?”
Gene suggested he could arrange for a small launch to come around the island from the main port and capital, Apia, on the northern side of the island, in a day or two and tow The Aegre back to Apia. Or we could sail under our jury rig. In Apia we could make the necessary repairs to The Aegre…
But of course, that’s not what happened. A Japanese freighter had come along the coast that night, and being anxious to confirm our position, I let off a flare to attract their attention. They saw it and altered course towards us. Soon, they were near alongside, and we were exchanging cryptic messages. Yes, we were just off the south coast of Samoa, the ship was heading to the nearby port of Pago Pago on American Samoa. They could tow us there if we liked. It wasn’t far.
What to do? We weren’t in any imminent danger. The boat was buoyant; the weather was reasonable, the jury rig that had brought us 1,600 miles since the capsize was holding up well, our sextantless navigation had proved correct, we still had food and water for a few days. Our plan for the next day was to sail west along the south coast, surely we’d find a village and fishermen who would guide us in through the reef?
But what if we saw no-one? And as I’ve already mentioned, we had no chart of Upolu or Savai’i, no anchor and our rig had poor windward ability. We might not find a pass in the reef, or the current flowing out might be too strong to sail into the lagoon, or we might go aground on coral far from the beach.
But still, we weren’t in any imminent danger. Nevertheless, to have said, “Thank you, we’ll make our own way in”, would have been a brave decision, our pride overcoming common sense. Tempting fate. Perhaps if we could have got a chart of the area from the ship, with our position marked, and had thought of the likelihood of severe damage to The Aegre under tow, we might have made a different decision.
But decisions made at 2 am, when one is tired, cold and frightened aren’t always the most considered. There seemed no time for Julie and I to discuss it anyway on that bleak black night somewhere off the southern coast of Samoa, pressed hard against the steel wall of the ship that smelt of diesel and safety. “We can tow you into Pago but you’ll have to come aboard the ship. We won’t tow The Aegre with you aboard her.”
I don’t think there was any further discussion. A rope ladder came rolling down the side of the ship, then a line that I secured around Julie’s shoulders and under her arms; then, on the top of a wave, she jumped for the ladder and was soon being helped over the ship’s rail high above. A wave of relief ran through me. She was safe.
I suppose I could have sailed on alone, determined to bring The Aegre in myself, but after 15 months sailing together, that was not going to happen, and with a tow line secured, I was soon climbing up that steel wall myself.
Do I regret taking their offer? Do I wish we’d sailed on under our own power to make the beach or a port unassisted?
No, there were too many uncertainties. We weren’t trying to break any records, we had no grand objectives, no sponsors to disappoint, we were just out sailing for fun, and this seemed the best thing to do. I was proud that unassisted, we had recovered from the mid-ocean capsize, swamping, dismasting and loss of our sextant, to sail on a further 1,600 miles, using the navigation resources and knowledge we had and had successfully found our way to land.
I’ve always felt we’d rescued ourselves. Self-reliance of the highest order. I thought my mentor, John Ridgway, back in Scotland, would have been proud of us. I mean, even cruise ships take on a pilot to guide them into harbour.
But there was a cost, and it was far bigger than I had imagined. As I write in the book, in the early morning while towing The Aegre, the weather deteriorated, and the seas built. The Captain slowed the Hokko Maru to 9 knots, but soon all I could see on the end of the tow line in the darkness was the dim outline of phosphorescence. Would The Aegre be lost by daylight?
Soon, the ship was anchored in the still water of Pago Pago’s huge natural harbour, a flooded volcano crater, its towering forest-covered walls rising around us.
The early dawn light showed The Aegre to be still there on the towline, sort of. Now completely awash, all her standing rigging gone, part of the jury mast remained, almost the last sign of the proud sailing boat she’d been. We didn’t know it then, but her hull was significantly damaged in the tow, and all our cruising equipment was lost or destroyed. She’d not be sailing anywhere for quite a while.
As I tell in the book, the Harbour Authority launch took us aboard and towed the wrecked Aegre to a deserted wharf, where they cast us off and left. Then, while I went back aboard The Aegre to start baling her out and look for our remaining cans of food, an early morning passer-by rushed off to get a Honda pump, another to get us some proper breakfast. Then a reporter from the Samoan Sun newspaper arrived…
We’d made it. But what now? Well, go and read Chapter 20 – High and Dry in Pago Pago.
But back to the alternative ending I’ve described above. Peace Corps volunteer Gene Feldman really was on the southeast corner of Upolu that day, and had we landed at the nearby village, he would surely have been called.
Twenty-five years later, Gene and I stumbled across each other and were amazed to discover how we had so nearly met on the southern shore of Upolu Island all those years before. Gene went on to play a bigger part in this story, as I tell in Chapter 20 of the book, and will expand on in the Notes, coming soon.
