(A selection of the following journal entries was published in a story for SAIL MAGAZINE in 2025. Below are the comprehensive and original entries, or follow the link to read the article.)
1/23/2020
Blue marching hills and valleys everywhere and a heavily laden ship that rolls back and forth, making steady progress south. Sometimes on the top of a wave, sometimes so low that we look up at walls of blue blue water. Two days of sustained 20 + knot wind has built up the sea state, and the ocean washes over the boat as well as surrounds it. We are lucky we are in the tropics! The boys took baths in the leeward scuppers, and when we hear the occasional wave break over the back deck we all automatically lift our feet while sitting at the table and watch the water race across the deck below us. Myself and Mira had great plans to exercise every day, but have found (along with everyone else) that the daily motions of moving around the boat are exercise enough. Jane, the cook, is praying to Poseidon for the winds to come down by throwing freshly baked muffins out the porthole. We are all very jealous of Poseidon, but are mollified by last night’s fudge. And James and Arioka are supplementing with midnight snacks of fresh flying fish. Knot and whipping classes are held in the bridge, where, after many hours of radio exploration and contemplation, Willy the engineer and Captain Anika have gotten the single side band radio working again. We are able to receive news, and send out blog posts. Hurray!
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2/4/2020
They say a picture is worth a thousand words but, well, I don’t have the internet capabilities to upload pictures, so here are some words. (Added pictures in later)
I am in the Kiribati (pronounced Kiriboss) Line Islands in the middle of the Pacific. I am here as the first mate on the sailing cargo ship Kwai, which runs cargo down from Hawaii to the Kiribati and Northern Cook Islands. The ship is 178 tons, 140’ish, and as opposite from a yacht as could possibly be. I finish every day absolutely filthy. Not just sweat, but dirt sticking to every sweaty bodily surface (which is every surface, period. We’re a degree from the equator and don't have ac), and then grease on top of the dirty sweat (to keep the boat running and not coming to a rusty stop every conceivable thing on deck is coated in grease: cables, stays, ratchets, hatches— and therefor, throughout the course of the day, it gets all over me). Mix into this enviable skincare routine massive amounts of sunscreen and saltwater, and this combination is me at the end of every day. The good news is we have a water maker and can take daily showers. The other good news is I look in the tiny mirror about once a week.
We are on a breakneck schedule of 12+ hour days, and here in Christmas Island I have been bouncing between overseeing discharging and stowing cargo and sewing the massive rip in our mizzen sail that happened on the 8 day trip down from Honolulu. The captain; German. Supercargo; was Dutch is now French Canadian. Cook; Irish. Engeneer; my buddy Willy, American. And the crew….. Kiribati guys, who have been working aboard the ship in a loose rotation for years. They are the guys with the cool job, the job that takes them to distant Honolulu America where, they spend their time…. shopping! SO much shopping! For living in what, to Westerner’s, appears abject poverty, they do an immense amount of shopping while in Hawaii. For themselves, for their families, taking orders for extended family and loosely connected friends of extended family and… you get the idea.
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2/12/2020
Kiribati Line Islands. There are three, right above the equator, outliers from the rest of the island nation of Kiribati that lies nearly 2,000 miles to the west (That weird kink in the international date line in the Pacific? That’s to keep all of the Kiribati islands in the same day). We are 1,000 miles due south of Hawaii.
Christmas Island, spelled Kiritimati. (In the Kiribati language they don’t have the letter “s”. The sound is written with a “ti.” Read ‘Kiritimati’ again with that in mind. This also informs the pronunciation of Kiribati— “Kiriboss”.) where the airport (flights once a week to Honolulu) is in a town called Banana, but London is right down the road and Paris is just across the bridge. If you feel like a drive you can hit Tennessee and Poland on your drive around the island. Pool is very big here, and, I shit you not, karaoke. As I write I am on the aft deck right now, (we are underway from Washington Island back to Fanning, before departing tomorrow back to Honolulu) and the Kiribati have a mic hooked up to a speaker and are doing karaoke. They found some Imatang (white person) songs for me earlier; I had rousing renditions of Mama Mia, Hotel California, and, with Willy, You’re the One That I Want from Grease to thunderous applause.
Fanning Island (or Tabuaeran). On Fanning Island a few days ago the guys took me to a cava/karaoke bar and tried to get me to sing…. but they didn't actually show the words! All the guys had their songs so down pat they just close their eyes and mournfully and passionately sing what they told me are mostly Kiribati love songs. And by guys…. we show up at the bar and I look around…. 8 or so tables of 6-8 men…. maybe sixty total…. and not a woman as far as the eye could see. It was a good moment, standing there wondering what sort of cultural faux pas I was about to make. A few women did show up a bit later, but we were in the lower 5%, and probably being at that time the only tall female imatang running around on the entire island— I stood out a bit. Someone brought me a coconut as a present, and endless baby cups of cava, and I was whooped resoundingly at pool. I slept ashore that night at the ‘hotel’— my room a little woven enclosed raised platform in the front of Kabi’s cousin’s aunt’s brother’s fiancé’s yard. In the morning I walked back to the boat, lagoon on one side, ocean barely more than a stones throw on the other, the colors more vivid than I can describe.
I never even got ashore to Washington Island (Teraina), the most recent one we discharged cargo at. We floated just offshore (anchor wouldn’t hold in the coral) for two days while small boats ran the cargo to and from, our crane man lifting drums of oil and pallets of cargo from the moving ship to the bouncing small boats, without smashing cargo or people. My position for the day was catching and receiving lines, signaling the crane guy and keeping both cargo and empty hook under some sort of control as it went from Kwai to bobbing small boats and back. Absolute chaos, but…. these guys are good. And safety standards are, ahh, less than they are elsewhere.
I would like to have more time off. I would like to explore the islands more, get to snorkel and check out the coral reefs, spend meet more of the people onshore and see how they live. This time around, our breakneck schedule didn’t really allow that. But the little moments I have managed to snatch are all the more poignant, and the work, while exhausting, is rewarding.
We’ll see if I manage to post this tomorrow… internet on Fanning is slow and inconstant at best. I thought I would be in the Atlantic this spring, but… Pacific adventure! Life is nuts yall!
3/1/2020
Aaaaaand we’re off! It feels like hardly a week ago that we arrived in Honolulu, battered, salty and limping slightly with our three torn sails after our dogged fight to get north from Fanning Island. The wind kept both increasing and turning more north on us, and we had to really fight to end up in Hawaii and not Siberia. The last day about summed up Voyage 52— ten miles away from beautiful sheltered Oahu, the island a coy mirage playing peek-a-boo from behind rainstorms while loftily refusing to come closer with anything resembling alacrity or even reasonable quickness, we fought our way into a headwind gusting sometimes to 50 knots, our speed a sad and grueling 3 knots. And then a jib sheet block straight up exploded, adding a torn up jib clew to our list of repairs. We were initially hoping to arrive that day at 1400. 1500 crept around, then 1600… we made it in before dark finally at 1800, gave a round of high fives, a toast to Captain Anika and breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was a hard trip north. Funnily enough, it was hardly a week ago!
And the week since flew past, charged and urgent like a seagull after fish scraps at Kewalo Basin, full of loading, repairs and what personal time could be snatched for internet and shopping. After arriving we had most of a day off, and then woke at 0400 the next day to head over to Pier 19 for loading. We loaded the entire hold (346 cubic meters of cargo) as well as 240 empty drums on deck in a record 7 hours, managing to finish by 1400. This was the only day we could load, and the double rush was because the stevedores (dock side cargo handler guys) had a union meeting at 1400. We got all the cargo onboard by the deadline (slipping away one at a time for a hurried lunch), spent the next few hours organizing and lashing, and headed back over to Kewalo Basin at sunset. It was a long day.
The following days were spent in a frenzy of repairs and maintenance. We took the Mizzen and the Jib off and brought them over to the warehouse where they made the acquaintance of the ancient and industrial sewing machine. Myself, Iakobwa, Ieie, and Frank spent two days wrestling massive areas of canvas through the small runway of the sewing machine, the unstoppable forward march of the needle stemmed depressingly often because we couldn't get our thread tension right and it kept breaking. We managed eventually. Meanwhile back on board our resident welder Kabi set to work on some deck projects— freeing the rust-frozen freeing ports, fixing small holes and replacing tangs along the deck rail. Banu and Arioka replaced halyards and blocks, Captain Anika found time to replace the shattered window in the wheel house, Cook Jane rushed about buying massive food orders for us and for customers, Supercargo Chantale did lots of mysterious and important paperwork, Engeneer Willy replaced steering tubes, machined an aluminum main clew reinforcement, did oil changes… it was a busy few days, (I barely skimmed the surface here on the project list!) culminating yesterday morning in replacing the slewing gear (steel cables that help control the cargo boom) and finishing minutes before we cast off. Willy barely made it back on board after last minute shopping for outboard spares.
Aaaaaand we are back at sea. (Bye Honolulu! Did I dream your shiny buildings and rainbows?!) The Jib, Staysail, Pilot sail and Mizzen are set, though we are currently rolling more than we would like with slightly floppy sails; the wind should fill in when we are out of the wind shadow the Big Island. Meanwhile the crew keeps the ship thrumming steadily back south and people catch up on sleep and projects. When the rain stops I will go back to work lashing and sewing the Main clew back together, swaying high on my platform 20 feet above the deck, and soon we will be able to switch out the Pilot Sail for the Main.
This morning over breakfast we ceremonially burned the “Things That Went Wrong” list from last voyage. It included things like broken windows, torn sails, days of rain and mysteriously faulty radios… The ashes have scattered out to sea, and, (as soon as the sun comes out) we will be looking forward into the bright and cheery dawning of Voyage 53!
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3/15/2020
The world is a very weird place right now I think. And weirder still, my assumptions of this, my experience of it, is all through gossip traded among the crew of the emails we’ve gotten from family and others. We are affected in that our schedule keeps changing. As borders are shutting the day to day reality of being on a cargo boat in the middle of the Pacific stays the same, but our destinations change, and decisions as to whether or not to stay on the ship and continue to weather this changing schedule, or catch what might be the last flight (to Hawaii…. and from there home or… elsewhere? Anywhere?) are looming. It is a hard decision, because as I said… I don’t really know the reality in the States right now. In Europe. Pretty much everywhere and anywhere else in this very impacted very globalized world. Hearsay, and rumors, and emails and headlines. What’s happening out there? Do I want to know? Do I want to go back?
Meanwhile, my reality, the reality of sunrises and sunsets over tropical islands and endless horizons, the reality of the constant noise and music and laughter and singing of Kiribati culture, the reality of being so filthy at the end of each day I take my clothes into the shower with me to rinse them out (my work uniform consists of one pair of shorts, two shirts that I swap out, a buff, hat, sunnies, shoes, and massive amounts of sunscreen. My work clothes are a loss so I wear the same thing day in and day out), soap liberally to try to keep staff infection free, soap all of my injuries again, and then have all the still dirty spots on my body— grease streaks on the backs of my arms and such— chidingly pointed out to me upon leaving the shower. The reality of a cabin that is so hot that my chocolate stash is a melted ruin, and if I didn’t have a fan at night I would be in a puddle of sweat. The reality of rain showers and millions of stars. The reality of waking up each morning and being ready to spend the next 12 hours creating order out of chaos as myself and 8-12 Kiribati guys with varying levels of English who I’m in charge of play Tetris loading and unloading the ship of everything from USB cards to 40 tons of copra (dried coconut. Kiribati’s only export) to 300 drums of petrol to diapers. Flour. Soda. Car batteries. Oh but make sure the lumber is accessible for Fanning but the water tanks have to be lashed but the Totes cant be under the Copra and we need to access under the Focsle for when we get to Christmas but THOSE DRUMS CANT GO THERE THE PLYWOOD HAS TO BE ACCESSIBLE passengers coming in 10 make sure the tarps are up USE A STERN LINE you to the focsle please make sure everything’s lashed NO not those bikes those are Cook Island BOOM UP BOOM UP this water tank needs to be turned so we can fit those two pallets here but that clothing bale needs to be accessible tomorrow move it first DOWN DOWN DOWN when you have a sec change the block top block on the Mizzen Lazy Jacks USE A HOT KNIFE great hows everyone doing okay breath. Breath. Chug another full water bottle. Laugh. Tease the guys. Back to work.
They know the game and I’m learning the game and quite often Anika, the Captain, steps in if I’m flustered and overwhelmed but still…. its a lot. The reality of managing chaos, or playing stresstris, as Ive started calling it. I’m learning a ton, and think I’m getting better.
The reality of dolphins breathing around the boat at night.
3/22/2020
We were at Washington Island again today. The most remote and “uncivilized” of the Kiribati line islands, it has a reef ringing the island that is broken in one spot, and that one spot is the only place to get boats to and from the shore. ( It was dynamited.) We managed to anchor this time (last time the anchor wouldn’t hold and the Captain kept us drifting in place for two days while we unloaded cargo.) We lucked out— conditions were lighter this time (though still a lee shore), our anchor held and offloading the 150 rusty drums of petrol into bouncing small boats wasn’t near as sketch. I had a couple hours breathing time this afternoon and was given leave to go to shore— first time I’d set foot on Washington island, despite having delivered cargo here last trip as well. Its BEAUTIFUL. I took my fancy camera and hopefully some of the photos turned out and I’ll post them at some point…. but picture blue sea and reef giving way to a line of white beach which turns into dense verdant undergrowth. Green grasses in the clearings under arcing coconut palms. The palms were so dense in places it was almost dark under them, their roots drinking from canals of brackish water that reflect the sky. Washington has a freshwater lake at the center, someone told me the only Pacific Atoll to do so. A bumpy dirt two track runs right inside the tree line parallel the beach, and once and a while as I walked along Kiribati on bikes or motorcycles would ride past, usually two to a motorbike, and we smile at each other and say “Mouri!”. Back at the loading spot maybe 30 kids were playing semi naked in the water, a huge gang of them getting in the way of the boats, shrieking and having a great time. They all came running when I pointed my camera at them, and then climbed aboard my boat when I caught a lift back to the ship. I teased them that they were strong and would help us unload, and then had to deal with getting a mess load of flexing children who were very eager to help off the boat. Ooops! It was great.
Other fun experiences. Ooh! My list of injuries. ( I seem to always have one of these.) The cracks on the bottoms of my toes finally healed— they were bad enough I couldn’t swim at the beach in Hawaii or wear my Birkenstocks. The burn on my thigh that I got in Hawaii hot knifing the clew on the main aloft is finally scabbed over. Hurray! It was infected for a good week at least. Another few days and I think it will be good. The various nicks on my shins were showing signs of staff infection— between them and the burn I haven’t been allowed to swim which yes, you’re right, has sucked. I broke that rule yesterday and the med officer yelled at me. Worth it, assuming the staff doesn’t come back. I had a really bad cold in Hawaii that I thought I was over, and then I either got another cold a few days ago or relapsed. Currently coughing a lot but my energy is good at least. Hocking up a lot of signature Shanan lugies. Corona hasn’t come to Kiribati yet or people would probably be running for the hills whenever I cough. What else. I gave myself a black eye and an eyelid cut when my handheld radio ricochet on its string yesterday. Takes skill ladies and gents. And today I elbowed the side of a metal boat. Funnily enough, funny bone wasn’t and still isn’t funny and my elbow still hurts. Otherwise hale, happy, blonder by the day (I assume) and while my cardio is zilch (like, I get out of breath walking) every day has been a lifting day so there is that.
I love the music. Everyone here sings, everyone. And that is the go-to social activity. Karaoke at the bar, music while they work, grab a guitar or a ukulele on a work break or a cava night and everyone will join, filling in the bass parts, altos, leads seconds and harmonies. I love to sing and love being in a culture where it is enjoyed and appreciated when I do— better yet, I can sing songs they don’t know the words to— and they don’t know that I don’t either! The Kiribati on the other hand all know all the worlds to any Kiribati song that any of them start to sing, and quite a lot of lyrics to Imatang songs as well. It is perfectly acceptable to listen to a Karaoke song over and over again so that you can sing it perfectly. Or, just over and over and over again because you like it. (Like, over and over and over. For the whole boat to hear. Over and over.)
The sexism dynamic is fascinating to me. Kiribati culture is definitely male dominated. The men run the families, do all the physical work, and the women do a lot of childbearing, cooking and cleaning. Typically it is only the men who go out drinking (as I suspected when I went to the cava bar the first time) and when a girl gets her period there is a town wide celebration advertising that she's on the market. The tasks are also very strictly divided— there is women’s work, and men’s work. Boy’s chores and girl’s chores. It is getting more liberal slowly, especially with the women who have some sort of contact with/work with the Kwai, but you don’t see Kiribati women working on boats except as the kitchen girls. And yet, the guys accept me as the mate and Anika as the Captain more than I think a group of Western men would accept two girls as their officers. If anything I think they like that I’m a girl— they like it when I tease them. And I think they’re proud of Anika as a captain— “Captain is smart lady!” I’ve heard them say admiringly. And me— I’m right there with them wrestling sails in and climbing the rig and throwing heavy ass cargo around the hold, and the only time they role their eyes and tell me to let them do it is when they’re genuine better at whatever it is we’re doing. (For instance, a 250 pound Kiribati crew guy is generally better than me at pushing a heavy ass pallet around on a pallet jack. I’m taller than a lot of them but much littler in terms of mass.) But they respect my deck abilities, know that I’m strong and tough and things that they wont let a Kiribati women lift they call me over to help with. Its fascinating. As an Imatang I seem to be a totally different category. I feel incredibly respected, and any issues I do have definitely are not based in underlying sexism. I asked at one point if it was weird having women as officers and taking orders from them, and the guy looked confused and said no. I’ve always loved working with guys, but usually run into sexism somewhere at some point. It is an unfortunate reality as prevalent on boats as elsewhere and I generally regard as one of my accepted challenges in the maritime world. But, I am extremely stoked not the have it in this case. And extremely curious.
The big worry here is not so much the virus, it is that they will run out of food. They rely on staples (rice, flour) being brought to Christmas Island by cargo ship, and then traditionally it has been the Kwai that distributes that food to Washington and Fanning. Yes there is fish and coconuts… but probably not at a level to support the current populations. The tourism on Christmas is completely gone, and while the rest of the world panics about the virus and the stock market here they worry about running out of food. At least there’s always something to talk about.
Cheers folks. I need to figure out if I’m staying on the boat or trying to catch what might be the last flight back to civilization. The world out there sounds like a crazy place. I hope you all and your families are safe and healthy. In Kiribati the traditional greeting is, “kowara,” meaning “how are you?” and the response is “Melalung” (spelled wrong…) which means, essentially, in good health. Stay in good health, everyone. Please. Much love.
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