Free Maiden Voyage by Tania Aebi Page A

silicon never stuck to it. He just went and made a bad leak worse.”
    Together, we scraped away all the compounds around the chain plates and started all over again with a super-strong flexible polyurethane bedding compound. The screw on the engine cover was removed with proper tools and lubricated. I still didn’t know where the air leak in the engine came from, and Mike couldn’t find it either, so after bleeding the fuel line, we decided that all systems were go. I saw a dark brown Jade off at the airport. The lockers were filled with fresh vegetables, long-life juices and more cat supplies and, on July 18, 1985, Varuna , Dinghy and I sailed out of the harbor.
    Except for missing Jade, I shed no tears over leaving the busy port of Charlotte Amalie, with its five cruise ships a day of tourists swarming the streets in a mad rush of duty-free shopping, and its fast-food joints, Shop Rite and boutiques. Our next destination was Panama, the funnel into the Pacific, and except for the prospect of the lonely passage, I was eager to be under way and log some real miles between Varuna and the commercialism of home.
    Upon leaving the Virgin Islands, we were once again in the trade winds, but this time running with them. This was Varuna’s most glorious point of sail; with the wind at her back, her jib poled out on one side and her main let all the way out on the other, she went herfastest and the motion was the most comfortable. Because this was the beginning of hurricane season, I began to steer a course that skirted south of their stomping grounds toward the coasts of Venezuela and Colombia. The first night, I sat in the cockpit and watched the glimmer of Puerto Rico, St. John and St. Croix disappear under the inky horizon. With the sails and Monitor set, I stretched out under the stars and enjoyed our speed. We were making 6 knots, sometimes 10, as we surfed down the waves. In the first twenty-four hours, Varuna logged 129 miles into the 1,056 miles to go. “Wow,” I thought, “at this speed, I’ll be in Panama in no time flat.”
    The trip was promising so far except for one unfortunate situation: poor Dinghy was terrified and frantic, trying to figure out why our home was sloshing around like a washing machine. He hid inside the cabin meowing, his legs splayed out in all directions as he tried to minimize the motion. With eyes like saucers and ears straight up in a state of panic, he was probably wishing he were back in New York at the ASPCA. “It’s OK, Mr. Dinghy,” I consoled him, “this is how it’s supposed to be.” Hearing the sound of my voice, he would hesitantly venture out of the cabin and sniff the air. Every little wave would send him meowing back inside. Feeling responsible and guilty for his misery, I was reminded of myself on that first day out of New York, and I had to laugh.
    â€œDon’t worry, little buddy,” I said, “you’ll get used to it in a hurry. Just be glad you came aboard in the trades.”
    I was happy to have another living being on Varuna upon whom I could lavish attention. I felt ridiculous talking to myself, but now there was somebody who would at least perk up his ears at a noise. There was a warm body to cuddle up with at night and with whom to share a meal. After a while Dinghy began to acclimatize himself to his new lifestyle. On July 19, I wrote in my logbook, “Dinghy finally ventured outside and even stayed a while. With his black and white coat, he looks like a dinner guest in tie and tails. I’m finding little fish stranded on deck and offer them to him, but he turns up his nose. I awoke this morning to find him in good spirits, mutilating all my rolls of toilet paper.”
    With the trade winds, Varuna’s motion was steady and swift and she remained upright. I thanked God for small favors and enjoyed living aboard a level home, no longer having to sleep, eat, write or change sails in a vessel that