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Boat journeys are
lessons in winging it

Every time I set sail, I remember the problems I had on previous voyages and work to avoid the same pitfalls. But then something else goes wrong, and I find that, as usual, I have worried about the wrong things.

This week, two Hawaii friends flew to Tahiti and joined me on my sailboat, Honu, in Moorea. The plan was to sail to Bora Bora, where I would drop them at a charming bungalow hotel to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary.

It was all arranged, even down to getting permission from the exclusive hotel to anchor off their over-the-water rooms. We had 30 hours, a generous amount of time I figured, to make the 140-mile trip.

Oh, were my friends excited.

And oh, was I worried. The night before we left, I lay in my bunk going over one past breakdown after another, wondering what I'd forgotten.

My friends were horrified when I confessed my fears, and assured me that if they missed their hotel rendezvous, it would be OK. For them, the trip was about an adventure with a friend, not the destination. Still, I wanted their experience to be a good one.

But how could I have predicted that the foot pump to my inflatable dinghy would break? We joked about swimming groceries and luggage to the boat, but when the joking was over, I had to fix the pump. I didn't have a clue how those pumps worked, but I do now. My repair, I'm proud to report, is better than the original.

Then, for the second time, my new outboard motor wouldn't start. Earlier that day, we'd accidentally let the motor tip to one side while hauling it up on a rope. OK, I was getting the message: This motor will not tolerate even the tiniest tilting.

I rowed us ashore and we went to dinner.

The next morning, the motor was over its sulk, we loaded the sailboat and left for Bora Bora. Darn, not enough wind. We motor-sailed most of the 29-hour trip while I inspected boat systems day and night. Honu behaved perfectly.

We cheered as we entered Bora Bora's breathtaking lagoon, then congratulated ourselves for successfully threading our way through a nerve-wracking reef area 7 feet deep. (Honu draws 6.) Then we spotted the hotel.

Excited and exhausted, I drove up to the place -- and ran aground. Nuts. The area was either very deep or very shallow. When I finally found a suitable place to anchor, the windlass didn't work. Nuts again.

Eventually, we got the anchor set, launched the dinghy and lowered the motor, careful to keep it perfectly upright. I pulled the starter cord, and during one of several pulls, I struck a suitcase in the crowded dinghy and injured my hand. But, hey, the motor started.

Today, my friends are snug in their romantic bungalow, and I'm content in my nearby anchorage. Yes, I have a coral kiss on my keel, a windlass that works only part time, a motor with position issues, a jury-rigged foot pump and a busted-up hand. But when it comes to boat troubles, I'm learning to wing it.

For me, that's the journey.