“For he will order his angels to protect you wherever you go.” –Psalms 91:11
Makogai, Fiji, July 2003
Often during our world circumnavigation, we believe we were protected by angels on board. This story tells about one of those times.
We clean our yacht Pacific Bliss and provision for the passage back to Denarau. From there, we will depart Fiji for the islands of Vanuatu. We’re now more than halfway into our world circumnavigation. Anchored near the island, sheets of rain have pelted us for a miserable two days.
On the morning of the third day, we behold a rainbow that is solid and stout. We take it as a clear sign from God that this relentless driving rain is finally over. The rising sun sneaks between the clouds, casting her beam toward the stern of our 43-foot catamaran.
Gunter turns toward me as I clear the breakfast dishes from the cockpit table. “Quick! Let’s get outta here before this horrible weather system moves back in.”
I stack the dishes in the galley and rush to the bow to haul anchor. Gunter takes the helm. “The anchor line is wrapped around a coral head!” I yell back to Gunter. “Gun the engine forward. Maybe we can work it loose.”
We rock back and forth, round and round. It refuses to come loose.
“I don’t believe it,” Gunter groans. “This is…was…our last chance to get out of here, and now we’ve got an anchor problem. I’ll dive down.”
He’s already donning his snorkeling mask. I hand him his fins. He jumps off the stern ladder and swims toward the anchor. Fortunately, it’s not a serious problem and, experienced at this by now, he frees it within minutes.
Soon we are motoring through Dalice Bay toward the dangerous pass, the only safe exit through Makogai’s protective reef.
The pass is deep enough—20 feet. No problem. But, in places, it’s less than 32 feet wide. With her 24-foot beam square in the middle, Pacific Bliss will have less than four-foot leeway on either side. One mistake and it’s all over. We are the only yacht in this area. Occasional workers do arrive by boat to the fishery here that tends Makogai’s giant clams, but I doubt they would have the equipment to pull us off.
We are on our own.
To make matters worse, our computer died while we were waiting here for the weather to clear, the last of a long list of equipment malfunctions. I’m forced to navigate the old-fashioned way—by sight—without access to our incoming GPS track. If ever navigation demanded absolute concentration, this is the time. I use the back of my hand to swipe the sweat from my forehead. This hot air is suffocating!
We slow down to enter the passage, with the sun at our back. Perfect! I’m standing at the bow, calling directions to Gunter at the helm, as Pacific Bliss painstakingly winds her way through the reefs. I stare at them through the clear water; they are zigzagged and sharp—gigantic saws that could cut our hulls to smithereens.
We continue to inch forward. I bend over the bow, looking from one side and then the other as Gunter carefully guns both engines. My tongue is dry as sandpaper. My heart pounds like I’m running a 10k.
About halfway through, I straighten to direct Gunter the rest of the way.
Suddenly my stomach knots.
No-o! We have lost the sun. The clouds have closed in tight. I can no longer make out the reefs.
Too far to the left or right, and it’s curtain time.
“Stop!” I shout.
“I can’t!” Gunter shouts back. “I’m going as slow as I can. If I stop now, we might turn sideways. All 43 feet of us. We’re longer than the channel is wide.”
Things happen quickly at sea. Any lapse in judgement could cause our boat to break on the reefs. There is nothing to do now but pray. But I know that my answer from God must come quickly. There’s no time to kneel, no time to plead. Only time to ask and believe.
“God, please send your angels to move those clouds…over there, blocking your sun. Now!”
Incredibly, the answer is immediate. God parts the clouds as clearly as he parted the Red Sea back in Moses’ day. Yay God! I raise my hands to the sky in praise.
The sun is back over my shoulders again, almost overhead now, showing the way. I feel the delicate touch of an angel on my shoulder. I’m calming down now. Focus.
Through my polarized sunglasses, I can see that Pacific Bliss is still positioned exactly in the middle of the two reef walls—they are separated like an underground chasm. But jagged rocks and coral still threaten her on both sides.
Ever so slowly, while maintaining steerage, Gunter nudges Pacific Bliss forward, as I shout warnings and directions. “A little to port…straighten her…that’s it…coral at the starboard now…careful…careful…”
Every foot is treacherous and uncertain but, after what seems an eternity, we finally make our way through the remainder of the channel.
Back into safe seas again, there is no need for a lookout at the bow. I breathe a deep sigh of relief and walk toward the cockpit to stand next to Gunter. “It is a miracle…a real miracle…”
Gunter nods. His face relaxes, releasing its frown and furrows.
I look back to our wake. White froth over navy blue. Slowly I gaze at the sky, upwards towards the clouds. Those clouds have closed in again, as tightly as one of Makogai’s giant clams. A chill runs up my spine. The sun has disappeared!
“Thank you God,” I murmur. “Thank you for sending your angels to keep us safe.”
“Your angels are always on board,” He responds softly.
___________________________
We unfurl the jib and sail onward, content with our speed of five knots on a beam reach, too overcome with joy to bother with the main. The sky remains overcast but the wind dries the sticky dampness of my clothes and hair. Four hours later, we anchor near the sandy beach of Naigani, well beyond a patch of coral.
After our chores, we sit in the cockpit, sipping our wine and enjoying the Light Show, pinks and mauves deepening to reds and maroons. The sun slowly slips into the ocean like a squashed golden gourd.
Gunter turns toward me. “Do you think we’ll see the green flash?”
“Nah, the sun is pressed too flat. I’ve seen it only when the sun is full and round, with absolutely no clouds on the horizon.”
“Could happen. There’s no haze now. That might lead to a refraction of light because of the squashing.”
He is right, as usual. He’s a physicist, after all. For a fraction of a second, an iridescent green light surrounds the gold, right after the sun sinks into the sea.
“Thanks, God, for having your angels watch over us,” I toast to the glowing horizon. I’m truly grateful.
And yet, I’m beginning to have a few misgivings:
Were today’s events just another example of God sending his angels to watch over us, as we’d asked Him to do when we began this voyage around the world? Or were they warning signs to “cool it?” Perhaps God is telling us that sailing half-way around the world is enough, already.
Is it right to ask Him to protect us for yet another 18,000 miles?
Dare we ask God for the strength to go on?
Adapted fromSailing the South Pacific, pages 248-250
About the Author: Lois and Günter Hofmann lived their dream by having a 43-foot ocean-going catamaran built for them in the south of France and sailing around the world. Learn more about their travel adventures by reading Lois’s award-winning nautical adventure trilogy. Read more about Lois and her adventures at her website and stay in touch with Lois by liking her Facebook page. Lois’s books can be purchased from PIP Productions on Amazon and on her website.
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