Tenth Day: Breakdowns and Departures

The end draws near of my time in paradise. We pull up anchor off one of the remote "motus" of Rangiroa and set sail back to the Kia Ora in preparation for my departure the next day.

I try to do some work on the novel, but rather than writing in a new chapter, do a chronological breakdown of what has happened, when, and to whom. I find that I need to move a few chapters around to make sense to the reader and will probably need to break up the chapters a bit more in the next draft. I also map out what needs to happen and the chapters I expect them to happen in. Chapter-wise, I am halfway through the book, although I think that the chapters will be getting shorter as the action begins to speed up. I'm currently at 40,000 words, so it will probably end up being around 70,000 when all is said and done. If I can get the battery on the laptop fully charged before I leave for the airport, I can hopefully do another chapter on the plane before my power runs out.

Not long after we anchor, we discover that part of the de-salination equipment has broken. It's a plastic, threaded bottle that has had it's bottom blown out from the pressure. Bill tries to repair it with epoxy and a strange stretchy kind of duct tape, but after letting it dry and harden, we find that it's no go. Creola is no longer making fresh water.

Gene and Jennifer from the Emelia swing by to invite us to a gathering that night on their boat. Gene finds out that he'll be playing the guitar while they float off our stern and accepts his fate with good humor. They take the broken part back with them to see if they have a replacement part Creola can borrow until a permanent solution can be acquired.

Linda continues to astonish me with the game hens she presents for dinner, although with a stunning puree. I have to ask if she's pulling out the stops for the guest, or if they always eat this well. Bill confirms that she spoils him terribly, and it's not because of me. Given the scarcity of supplies, and how long they've been at sea, I'm at a loss to understand how they are able to keep their provisions as well as they do.

Not long after the sky has exploded with stars, we take the dinghy over to Emelia, where we are shortly joined by the folks who gave me ride to Creola from the dock a few days earlier. There's a good deal of boat talk, but conversation frequently moves into other areas, including Gene's music. I knew that he had some success as a country songwriter, but I learn that he's been penning hits since the late 80's, if not before. I'm not familiar with his work, as I've never really followed country, but the names of the artists who have used his stuff are familiar. He plays a little James Taylor for us, but mostly we insist on hearing his own stuff. We hear some of his more popular tunes, as well as a song he just finished writing which is truly beautiful and a self-depreciating comedy song that he feels no country artist will ever buy, because they don't like to make fun of themselves. As the evening comes to a close, he invites me down to see what a "cheap boat" looks like, but a quick inspection reveals that this is another example of his quiet and dry humor as the boat is nicer than a lot of apartments I've been in.

He and Jennifer give me their card, as I express an interest in looking up more of his work online, and he jokes that I can write off my entire vacation as a business expense since I talked about Sweetie Tanya with him.

We motor back to Creola, the hour very late by sailing standards and my mind full of music and my stomach full of rum punch. The next day will be my departure from this land of sea and sky, and it will also be my thirty-seventh birthday.

Before I go below deck, I say a silent good-bye to the sky. I don't know when I will see the stars next.