"Live Long and Prosper"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2000, All rights reserved)

Chapter 1 - "Roughing It Easy"

"Land ho!" my beautiful lookout called.  The joy in her voice said 
there was more than just a coral rock somewhere ahead.

     "Where away?" I called back.  Okay, so it was kind of artificial to 
be so 'nautical' when there was just the two of us.  So what?  We enjoyed 
it.  

     My lookout walked back to the cockpit of our boat to report.  Once 
again, I was torn between two alternatives when I saw her.  On the one 
hand, she was a perfect example of the justification that all women should 
be blonde, and fit, and tanned.  It oughta be a law or something.  On the 
other hand, it would make my blushing bride of 30+ years a little less 
special if everyone were so blessed.  

     And once again I reached the obvious conclusion.  All the women in 
the world that mattered to me *were* blonde and fit and tanned.  For that 
matter Lainey, my wife, might was well be all the women in the world 
anyway since we were way out of sight of all others, and had been for a 
week on this leg of our trip.

     Her report was a lot less formal than her hail, but she was so 
excited that neither of us minded a bit.  "There's a cloud out there, 
about 30 degrees to starboard.  It must be at an island."

     "You sure?"

     "Pretty sure," she confirmed. "There aren't any other clouds anywhere 
near it, and it looks low to the horizon.  It just has to be a mountain 
holding back enough of the trades to trigger a nice, continuous rain."

     That was a pretty good argument.  Clouds like that have been used for 
navigation among the islands since before recorded time.  

     Lainey continued with the real reason she was so excited.  "You know 
what I really want to do?  I want to find a sparkling clean waterfall, and 
just stand under it for a whole day.  Unlimited fresh water, and free!"

     "You already stand under the shower for an hour, most days," I 
laughed.

     "I do not!" she insisted.  "Ten minutes at most.  Oh, what I wouldn't 
give to be able to wash my hair three times in a row, and let it soak 
completely clean each time."

     "Now that *would* take a lot of water," I agreed.

     "Ha!  You're one to talk," she countered.  "Yours is as long as 
mine."

     "A deal is a deal," I said smugly, pulling idly at the ponytail 
that hung almost to the middle of my back.  "Besides, you like it."

     "I do," she said, grabbing a handful for herself and yanking it - but 
gently.  "And you love mine, too.  So let's not hear about having too much 
hair."  

     "Deal," I said with a grin.  Despite being 'middle-aged' my hair was 
a full and thick as a teen-ager's and we had found a mutual enjoyment 
during our year-long voyage in brushing each other's hair - long, slow 
strokes that were incredibly sensual for two such 'old' people; a pleasure 
that became ever greater as our hair grew out.  We matched in length, if 
not in color.  Lainey's hair was very blonde, a perfect match for eyes
the bottomless blue of the sea a thousand miles from any land.  Her hair 
was becoming blonder all the time, in fact.  The warm honey hue she had 
displayed so proudly as the young girl I married was now so, um, sun-
bleached that it looked platinum in color.  Not white, mind you, and not 
gray at all.  Nosirree.  Just really, really blonde.  
 
     I had enough gray for both of us, actually.  My hair had once been a 
medium brown, not very remarkable at all when I was growing up.  If 
anything, it made my own medium-blue eyes look out of place.  With a bit 
of, um, maturity, my hair had turned gunmetal gray, almost as dark as it 
had been when brown, but the last 'color' had disappeared years before.  
Still, like I said it was thick and full and it had grown out to a length 
that had enough weight to be noticeable, especially if it got wet.    

     Thinking of wet hair made me admit that I was looking forward to the 
idea of a long waterfall shower myself.  Only in my case, I had plenty of 
other hair that could stand a really thorough cleansing as well.  Lainey 
called *me*, 'Bear' for a reason. 

     Since man first sailed out of sight of land, there have been two real 
problems with staying at sea.  Food was not one of them.  The ocean teems 
with edible life.  A little patience, a bit of perseverance, an open-
minded attitude about matters of taste, and food is not a problem.  The 
first real problem, recognized from the beginning of seafaring, was fresh 
water.  The second, not recognized until the 17th century, was fresh fruit 
or some other source of the vitamins required to prevent scurvy.  In the 
industrial age steam replaced sail and a bit of the power of the fuel used 
in the engines could be used to solve the water problem.  Napoleon's 
commissary service solved the problems of food preservation, and there 
seemed to be no limit to the ability for man to go where he would upon 
the World Ocean.  

     However, there were certainly problems with an individual man going 
where *he* would.  Or even a couple like my Elaine and myself, Adam 
Bridger.  That limitation was money.  Paying for the fuel to 'drive' 
around the world takes lots and lots of money.  It's a snowballing 
problem, because hauling the fuel itself takes a bigger boat, which in 
turn requires bigger engines, which in turn . . . 

     The alternative is of course a return to sails for motive power -  
which is especially attractive if you aren't in any particular hurry to 
get somewhere.  That alternative, however, results in a very Spartan life 
of few and precious showers in an ordinary sailboat - which was a problem, 
a big one.  If my lady wife went more than a day without a decent shower, 
her life was hardly worth living.  That problem had to be solved, and 
solved without the expenditure of huge amounts of unrecoverable money (a 
bit of investment in something we could sell later was not as bad a 
problem), or our retirement dream of an around-the-world cruise in our own 
boat would die stillborn.  

     We had retired early, only in our mid-50's, and we were quite fit and 
vigorous for that so-advanced age.  My EKG showed a ticker that was still 
keeping pretty good time, and as for Lainey, well, she would have had a 
lot easier time convincing someone she was 35 than 55, less than that if 
you weren't close enough to see the laugh lines around her eyes.  My 
pension from a mundane job at which I had soldiered for 30 years was 
enough to meet basic expenses, and Lainey's royalties from a line of 
illustrated children's books lifted us into 'comfortable', at least 
relative to our tastes.  So, we had sold our home and all our possessions 
and bought a Vagabond 47 ketch, the 'Twilight Breeze', that we couldn't 
really afford, second hand but just 'perfect' nonetheless.  

The original owner/builder had apparently had the same tastes we did, 
because one whole stateroom in the normal design had been made into a 
full-sized bathroom with an enormous fresh water tank.  Lainey could have 
her daily shower and we could still be independent of the land for weeks 
at a time.  Then I had gone even further, with a pedal-pumped 
desalinization unit that combined a bit of at-sea exercise with a modified 
reverse osmosis filter to generate enough water to live on indefinitely.  
The good news was that we would never run out of water to pump through the 
filter system. The bad news was that it took about 2 hours of steady 
pedaling on our stationary bike to give Lainey her daily ten-minute 
shower.  Still, it solved the water problem.  Canned vegetables and fresh 
fish took care of the rest of the logistics problem and we were ready to 
'rough it smoothly' for as long as our health held out - with the 
assurance of several doctors that would be a satisfyingly long time.

     The leap from the West Coast to Hawaii is a daunting one even for 
experienced blue-water sailors.  We had some experience - a dozen cruises 
in the Caribbean, the last several on our own - but for the first journey 
in a new boat it seemed obvious that we should start through familiar 
territory.  The choice of a Southern route a little above the Equator or  
the North Atlantic even in the spring was a, 'well, Duh!' situation, so we 
ended up cruising down the Leeward Islands and just kept going southeast.  
That led to South America, and from there our first really long leg to the 
Cape Verde islands.  Everything worked perfectly, Lainey showered happily, 
and we ended up in better shape physically after two weeks at sea then 
when we had started.  That set the standard for the rest of our trip 
through the Mediterranean, except after that the time between visits to 
exotic ports of call was measured in days, not weeks.  

     We never actually crossed the equator until we got to Indonesia, but 
that memorable occasion was overshadowed by a continuing wariness about 
pirates in that part of the world.  We were more than happy to convoy with 
any ships that we found, though all were much faster than our little boat, 
seemingly littler every day.  When we got to Australia, almost a year 
after starting out, we decided a break was in order and we spent their 
winter in and around Darwin.  Then it was off again, to islands of legend 
in the history of a world at war, then further yet to islands that might 
have been born the day before, for all that the world knew of them.

     The cloud that we hoped was hugging an island mountain was one of 
those unknown to the world at large.  It wasn't even shown on the GPS 
database that supposedly had the very latest in navigation data - which 
didn't surprise us all that much.  If anything it was good news, offering 
at least the hope that we had found our own private paradise.  

     We retrimmed for what had turned out to be the Breeze's easiest point 
of sailing, a broad reach just far enough to the beam that we didn't have 
to worry about an unintentional jibe in a gust.  Not that there were any 
real gusts.  In these trade winds we hardly needed a compass.  The wind 
blew steady, day after day, at 20 knots or so, from which we could push 
the Breeze at a steady 6 knots under main, mizzen, and two jibs.  Still, a 
broad reach was a lot easier sailing than pushing upwind and we settled 
back to wait for more of the island to show.  

    And wait.  Sailing is *not* for those in a hurry.  Lainey's cloud must 
have been piled up pretty high, because after 3 hours on that reach we 
still couldn't see any more than the cloud itself.  At the time I was 
thinking it was lucky we had seen it so early in the day.  Much later and 
we'd have had to reduce sail and make an approach the next morning.  But 
finally, after almost 6 hours of chasing that wisp of nothing, we were 
able to get a good look at the island that anchored it.  

     "Oh, Bear, look, there IS a waterfall!" Lainey said, her excitement 
rekindled.  She had seen a ribbon of water that seemed to pour in stages 
down the side of a terraced cliff.  My first impression was that a volcano 
had either blown out a side or had one slide off into the water in an 
earthquake because it looked like half a mountain remained.  What was 
there made a perfect trap for the moisture-laden trade winds, forcing them 
to climb to continue, and in the process leaving a lot of their water 
behind.  

     And perhaps leaving a lot of rocks under the water, too.  

     "Time to get the sails in, gorgeous," I said, putting the wheel down 
and luffing up into the wind.  We were pretty practiced at that sort of 
thing and in a few minutes resumed our forward progress, this time powered 
by the diesel auxiliary.  Lainey took her station at the bow looking for 
anything that poked up an unusually long ways from the bottom while I 
conned us slowly toward the little bay, watching the depth finder.  

     "Adam, look, there's a dock!" Lainey called.  So much for our 
private paradise.  I could hear the disappointment in her voice too, but 
there wasn't much we could do about it.  I could see immediately that the 
dock was in fairly good repair, certainly not abandoned though there were 
a few missing planks in a hundred yards of platform.  I really appreciated 
that hundred yards, too, since the Breeze drew almost 6 feet and we needed 
to stay pretty far off the beach.  Lainey had the fenders over the side by 
the time we eased to a stop and it looked like that had been our plan all 
along.  

     "I suppose you're going to do your normal 'pay before play' thing, 
aren't you?" Lainey whined.  I just smiled.  She wasn't really 
complaining.  Wherever we had been, we had made a point of ensure we 
would be welcomed before anything else.  In this case, the need to fix a 
few planks in the dock was an obvious way to 'earn' a brief stay.  At 
other times our fee had ranged from helping a shipwrecked mariner patch 
a hole in his boat to that most mundane of methods, paying with money.    

     This time, I got out the axe and headed up the dock toward the 
beach.  It turned out not even to be necessary to cut the lumber, though.  
There were boards already piled under a lean-to shed just inside the tree 
line.  

     "Now, that's what I call a gift horse," I said cheerfully.  It's hard 
to cut a reasonably neat board with an axe, and the thought of ripping 
half a dozen ten-foot boards by hand saw had been intimidating to say the 
least.  

     Lainey went exploring to see if we could pay our respects as well as 
pay with our labor to whomever our host was while I started repairing the 
dock.  I had the old boards out of the way and the new ones laid ready to 
hand when it got too dark to work an hour or so after I started.  Lainey 
was just then returning from her exploration anyway.

     "What'd you find?"

     "Nothing, really," she reported.  "The trail dead-ends in a cave half 
a mile or so up the valley.  I didn't go in, but there weren't really any 
signs of life."  

     "That's odd.  There's a dock in fairly good condition, and a stack of 
good lumber under a shed, and that's all?"

     "All I could find," she confirmed.  

     "Well, maybe we'll find something else when we look for a path to the 
waterfalls in the morning."

     She nodded, looking thoughtful.

     "Is something wrong?" I asked.

     "No, not really.  I guess it's just like you said, 'odd'."

**********************

Log of the Twilight Breeze
15 October 2004
Long 143.24 deg. W
Lat 12.17 deg. S

Today we made landfall at an uncharted island.  That sounds so romantic.
And in many ways it is.  The island is beautiful, green and lush with 
vegetation, yet surprisingly cool.  That must be because of the rain that
seems to cascade continually down a moderately large mountain.  Adam was
surprised that an island this prominent, especially one with a good little
bay to anchor in, was unidentified in his precious GPS database, but I 
don't mind.  Or at least I didn't.

I have to admit to some misgivings about the island, now that we are here.
There are things that just don't make sense.  There is a long dock, needing
some minor work though clearly in basically good repair, but nothing on the 
shore to justify the investment of a permanent dock.   Curious.

I explored a bit this afternoon, looking for a way to get to the waterfalls
we could see as we approached.  I'm sure there is a way to get there.  For
a fresh water shower I don't have to pay for with hours on the filter 
pedals, I'll climb right up a sheer cliff if I have to.  

Adam has almost completed some repairs to the dock so he can be satisfied 
we're not abusing anyone's hospitality.  Once upon a time, as an engineer,
he billed people a hundred dollars an hour for his expertise.  Whoever 
owns that dock is getting the equivalent of a dozen nights normal fee, 
just for an overnight and a shower.  Still, I wouldn't have him be any 
other way.    

End log entry
Elaine Bridger

*******************

     The next morning provided no immediate answers to the mini-mystery, 
so I finished the repairs to the dock and we headed inland.  Just in case 
we did meet someone, we dressed formally - shorts and matching tropical 
shirts, with a brightly-colored beach bag full of towels and shampoo.  
Lainey even wore a bra instead of a bikini top, though she didn't actually 
need either.  No sag on my bride, despite her years.  Of course, we won't 
mention she didn't really have enough *to* sag.  Definitely, we won't 
mention that.  I had made the mistake of suggesting a few times that she 
go topless, at least when we were at sea, and been told she wasn't going 
to have her bosom resting on her navel, thank you very much.  Praise be 
to God that I was not totally clueless and never made the obvious 
observation.  In any event, she always wore something to 'support' her, 
and I quit making inappropriate suggestions.  

     So we were a nattily dressed couple as we hunted around for another 
path up the side of the mountain.  It didn't take long.  Less than a 
hundred yards inside the tree line there was a clear path heading up the 
side of the little valley she had explored the evening before.  

     "I can't imagine how I missed that," she said in surprise.

     "Evening shadows make things look different," I said, offering her a 
convenient excuse.  But it did seem pretty obvious to me.  

     It wasn't quite a casual stroll.  There were a few places where you 
had to use handholds as well as footholds to climb, but there was never 
any real trouble and we reached a wide ledge after less than an hour's 
exercise.  And on the ledge was a nice little cottage, big as life and 
twice as inviting.    

     "Well, I guess that answers the question about whether the island is 
inhabited," I observed dryly.

     Lainey just sighed and nodded.  We did a quick, mutual inspection in 
a habit formed over most of a lifetime and decided we were presentable 
enough to go forward.  Before stepping up onto the broad verandah-style 
porch, I called out, "Hello, anybody home?"  (We save the nautical stuff 
for each other, don't you know.)

     We waited for a few minutes, hearing nothing that seemed like a 
response to my call, and I was just about to call again when I saw a 
shadow inside the screened doorway.

     "Hello?" I said tentatively, expecting someone to come outside.

     "Americans," I heard a scratchy voice say, dismissively.

     "Oh, no, another one," Lainey whispered to me.  We had heard that 
tone a lot in the area of Polynesia that used to be, or still was, French 
territory.  Though what justified the French looking down their haughty 
noses at anyone I'll never know.  In any event, we waited for another 
long, silent moment.  

     "Well, I expect you might as well come in," the querulous voice 
finally decided.

     "Thank you," I said, helping Lainey up the steps to the porch.

     "I warn you," the voice continued, "try anything with me and you'll 
regret it."  

     "You're right, ma'am," I agreed.  "But we don't need any external 
threats to make us behave.  I'd regret doing anything that harmed the 
harmony of this island."  

     "Smooth," I heard from inside.  It was not a compliment.  Then we 
were face to face through the still-closed screen door with something out 
of a Disney cartoon.  The ugliest old crone I had ever seen, complete with 
enormous hooked nose and a wart I swear was as big as a grape, peered out 
at us from the gloomy interior.  Despite the dim light, I could see that 
the rest of her face was equally misshapen, and so leathery that it wasn't 
possible to tell what her ethnic background might be. 

     "So, don't like my face, do you?" she challenged.
    
     Well, we had hesitated, I have to admit.  I was about to make up some 
polite lie, but for some reason that seemed even worse than silence.  So I 
moved on as though she had not spoken.

     "Ma'am, permit me to introduce us.  I am Adam Bridger, and this is my 
wife, Elaine.  We were sailing past your island and decided to visit it on 
a whim, really.  We don't mean to be any bother."

     "Already bothered me," she snapped.  "As I might have expected, 
considering all you Yanks just barge in whither or no you're invited."  
 
     "I'm sorry, ma'am," I said.  "We'll leave then."

     "Didn't say you had to leave.  Bothering's already been done.  Might 
as well stay a while, now."

     Then, abruptly, without warning she turned to Lainey and said, "Don't 
you talk, girl?"  

     "Of course, ma'am," Lainey said.  "But the two of you were getting 
along so well I didn't want to interrupt."  

     "Getting along?  Ha!  I just about kicked you off my island, and you 
say we're getting along?"

     "Well, my husband does have that affect on some people," Lainey said, 
showing the smile that makes the sun come up in the morning and the moon 
shine at night.  

     "Ha! Heh, heh, probably right," the crone cackled.  "Come in, sit 
down, we'll talk."  

     "Yes, ma'am," Lainey said, smiling despite the old woman's 
abruptness.  

     "I am not a 'ma'am'," she said as she pointed to chairs.  "I'm Tirce.  
Now you know it, don't wear it out, but don't call me ma'am."

     "Nice to meet you, Tirce," I said, trying to recover whatever good 
graces might be possible.  

     "No, it's not," replied Tirce.  "Been a long time since I tried to be 
nice to anyone.  And who can blame me?  Huh?  I ask you?"  

     "Not us," Lainey said.  "I'm sure you have your reasons."  

     "Indeed.  Now, sit."  

     Her furniture was probably old when she was born, and it had not made 
the transition to 'antique' in some sense of collectibility.  Her own 
chair looked reasonably comfortable, a woven reed contraption that might 
have been wicker if it were better organized.  Her visitor's chairs, 
though, were basically logs hacked off to length with a framework that was 
probably supposed to be a backrest sticking up unevenly behind.

     "So, other than a whim, what brings you to my island?"

     "The hope for a long, fresh water shower," Lainey blurted out.  I 
looked at her in surprise, though for some reason the absolute truth 
seemed right to me, too.  

     "You sailed for six hours in order to get a shower?" Tirce snorted in 
disdain.

     "How did you know . . .?" I began, but Lainey held my arm.  

     "It wasn't that far out of our way, actually, but why not?  We're not 
on a schedule."
 
     "Hmph," Tirce grunted.  "I suppose you want fresh food, too.  Well, 
you'll have to gather your own, same as I do."  

     "Thank you," I replied, then tried once again to build some sort of 
friendship.  "Are there any chores or other things we might do to help you 
while we're here?"  

     "You already fixed the dock.  What else are you offering?"  

     "Well, I can't claim to be the world's greatest anything, let alone 
handyman, but we get by.  I'll take a shot at anything you think needs to 
be done."  

     "I manage well enough on my own."

     "I'm sure you do.  Consider it a gift from us to you, to repay you 
for your hospitality."  

     "Told you, I quit being hospitable a long time ago."  

     What could I say to that?  Silence seemed the better part of valor 
so I did what I usually did in social situations gone bad.  I looked at 
Lainey for help.     

     She shrugged, and looked at the old woman again.  "If you're 
comfortable, then we'll try not to disturb you any more than we already 
have.  Would you mind if we do take that shower in your waterfall?"

     "Help yourself," Tirce said, something in her tone suggesting that 
she was never going to get close to that much water herself - a sentiment 
that had already been obvious.

     Taking her words for a dismissal, Lainey and I stood up.  Tirce just 
sat there in her rickety chair and watched us go toward the door.  Only 
when I was reaching to open it did she speak.  "I warned you fair.  Don't 
mess with me.  I'm a witch, you know."  

     "Um, no, I didn't know that," I said, trying hard to keep any sense 
of disbelief out of my tone.  I didn't really believe in witches and magic 
and all that stuff, of course, but I could imagine her idea of witchcraft 
including things like poisonous snakes in our bed or something.  So I just 
nodded respectfully and we made our escape.