Voyage of Liki Tiki Too
By Bob Webb
June 1968 - In the Darien Jungle of Panama, on a deserted white sand beach, my two Indian guides and I were dashing to the ocean.
Offshore, Indians in a dugout canoe, powered by an outboard motor, were rushing toward
shore. The surf pounding hard, we all had one thought, can we save it? My dugout
flipped upside down it the breakers that were pounding it and the outboard into
the hard sand. Visions of having to spend weeks or months here in the jungle
flashed through my mind. My only means of getting back to civilization looked
hopeless. The motor could never run again with all that sand and salt water
ground into it, or so I thought. The Indians quickly righted the dugout, pushed
it out beyond the breakers and bailed it out. We all gathered the tools and
equipment that littered the beach. Soon our rescuers towed us along the coast to
the nearest Indian House.
I motored the 170 miles from Panama City in this 20 foot
dugout canoe to inspect a much larger dugout canoe that these people were
building for me, one that would cross the Pacific Ocean. After arriving in the
Darien, I hired Pedro and Daniel, who were highly recommended as expert boatman in
these waters. They also knew the location of my new boat. After going
ashore through the surf, Pedro anchored the dugout in deeper water. I found out
later he did not know how to swim, so he anchored far enough out so he could wade
ashore. It then drifted into the breakers.
Along the desolate rocky coasts, cliffs climb out of the
ocean into the mountains. Our tow, staying near shore, went between towering
rocks that were piercing the water on one side and breakers slamming into the
rocks on the other. Soon we came to an isolated cove with a small sand beach.
Here the Indians dragged my canoe up the beach above the high tide level. Then
they took the outboard motor back in the jungle a short ways. They do not talk
much and not knowing what their plans were, I followed.
We passed the only house I could see. It only provided
shelter from the rain with coconut leaf thatched roof, no sides. The floor was
dirt with a section raised, with boards laid to provide a place to sleep. Then
we came to another long low thatched shelter. Under it was the largest dugout
canoe I have ever seen. They mounted the motor inside the hull and told me, I
could work on it here.
While taking the motor apart, I could not help admire the
workmanship that went into its construction. The tree must have been mammoth,
over 5 feet diameter. The hull, 36 feet long and decked over except the cargo
hatch that is now my work station. The small cabin aft looked cramped but built
to keep supplies dry. The deck holes for the mast and mast steps, still in place, revealed this
canoe had a schooner rig. I became less interested in what I was doing and more
interested in the boat. There were about nine people watching me. This
was a show for them, so had to keep at it.
The point and coil assembly came off as a unit. I put the
assembly into a cooking pot with a cover. Put the pot over a wood fire until the
assembly inside became hot to the touch. This evaporated the water in the unit.
Cleaned the sand and water out of the parts I could get to, put it back together
and it started on the second pull of the starter cord. By this time the sun went
down.
Fried eggs, rice and strong black coffee for dinner ended the day. I watched
the embers of the cooking fire die out, then looking out to sea from the
thatched house; I watched the waves roll gently in. I sense a call
to me saying; "your dream of adventure is waiting, explore, discover, you
have been chosen, don't let us down." The call is like a lover, so
romantic, teasing, knowing there is trouble ahead, but who cares. The excitement
of adventure is more appealing, like today, when she rolled my boat over and
another lesson learned of the laws of the sea.
Respect must continue, wanting to challenge it's mighty winds
and waves some more, the lessons must go on. While crossing the Pacific Ocean,
snuggled in a small boat, which is at the whim of mighty roaring seas or ghostly
calms, the glamour of adventure will vanish. In the past, the sea betrayed many
men who slipped beneath the surface and never heard from again. Like many of
those in the past, I must go to sea, hoping the call is honest and that I
learned the lessons' well.
While laying on hard boards, which was my bed for the
night, I ask myself, " Is the canoe behind the house the one I will sail
across the Pacific?" I liked this one, but another is under construction.
Tomorrow I should see it.
I woke in the morning with a sore back. Black coffee only, was served for
breakfast. My guides decided to walk to the construction sight of the canoe.
When starting, all the kids in the area followed us trudging through the jungle.
Soon we started climbing a mountain, my lack of physical condition soon showed
and I fell behind. The kids were falling behind then running ahead, not knowing
about the steep mountain and the guides kept their pace. I was expecting to go
over this mountain into the valley on the other side.
Click on image for large view.
When we neared the top, there lay the enormous tree, the
canoe carved in the middle, branches still attached. Cutting the ends from the trunk would finish the
carving. Easing the three tons of hull down the mountain looked impossible but
they must have that problem solved too. The workmanship was the best I have ever
seen. The lines were even with graceful curves. Taking its measurements, I found
it to be smaller than the one I saw yesterday.
On the way down I thought, would they let me have the old
canoe instead of the new one? I had already paid them for it with an
outboard motor, the one used to rescue my canoe out of the breakers. Back at the
house, the Indians agreed to let me have the older one. Back in Panama City, I
arranged for a banana boat to tow the canoe to the Canal Zone.
With the arrival of the now named "LIKI TIKI TOO"
in the Canal Zone, my dream of sailing the Pacific in a dugout canoe,
became a reality. More work went into the boat to make it ready for the wild and
vast ocean. Small decked over dugout canoes, one on each side, became outriggers.
Also rudder, mast and sails were made. Over the cargo hatch, a second small
cabin added for protected living space. The original aft cabin became storage of
food and water.
Work slowed when criticism began to cut deep. My pride of the
boat and dream of adventure; deflated by people who really meant no harm. To them,
the whole idea was crazy and would mean my death. All those who saw the boat or
heard about it, acted like experts. The outriggers, that are to keep the canoe
stable and upright, will snap, letting it roll over and sink. Second, only
someone off their rocker would want to try a stunt like this. This was the
hardest to take. I often thought, am I really off, to do what no one else has
done before. While people were telling me, "you will never make it," that voice from
the sea was calling even louder to a life of adventure. The pull is so great, I
must go.
A boat like this should have a crew. I know there are other
people with dreams like mine, but could not find anyone. Just before I left, a
friend gave me a silver gray kitten that I named Salty. She jumped overboard the
first time on board the Liki Tiki Too. Even the cat seemed to protest.
At 0900 on February 27, 1970, many friends came to wish me
bon voyage and I was on my way to Hawaii. I motored along the Panama Canal,
Passing a ship coming in, a pilot waved, wishing me good luck. Passing the
Balboa Yacht Club, an yachtsman from his boat was waving with both hands and I
waved back. Passing the last point of land, friends blew their car horns and
waved. Leaving land behind, I was all alone except for my cat, Salty.
The wind from the north picked up. Wanting to go south, I set
the square sail and adjusted the trim tab for self steering. The excitement of
the voyage quickly died. The wind blowing hard and the seas were like riding a
roller coaster. There I wash leaning over the sides seasick, wishing I were
dead, asking myself, "Why would anyone want to cross the Pacific in a
canoe?" The trim tab would not hold the boat on course. Every hour, I had
to bring the boat back around so the sails would fill again. This meant staying
near the tiller 24 hours a day. For three days and nights I slept in the aft
hatch with only four feet of space to lay in. Sometimes wishing the boat would
go under and end it all. Then the wind died.
For the next five days, conditions were the opposite. No
wind, flat glassy sea, glade to be alive and at sea. Supplies were organized and
adjustments to the self-steering were made. After two days of calm, the craft
looked more like a log than a boat. The sun's hot rays beat on the decks,
heating the interior like an oven. I
washed the hot decks down so they would not burn my feet. The hot steamy air was
almost more than I could take. The water looked so cool but there are sharks in
theses waters. I wanted to cool off and felt I had as much right to swim in the
sea as the fish did. Diving off the bow and just before hitting the waters I saw
a dark object under me which may have been my shadow. Coming out almost faster
than I went in, I left the swimming to the fish.
One evening I was sitting on deck, watching the red sun sink
into the calm ocean. A light breeze began to blow from the south southwest. I
quickly raised the sails. In a couple of hours, there was a good sailing wind.
LIKI TIKI TOO headed west, steering herself. Being well south of Panama and the
shipping lanes, I could
now sail for Hawaii.
All night the wind blew and the seas picked up. The waves
banging on the hull like a base drum and I inside. Then I worried about the boat
coming apart. Went topside to take down the sails, but the seas were not bad, so
left them up. It was noise inside and had to learn to live with it. In the
morning it was calm again with a black cloud to the south. Leaving the sails up,
I went below for breakfast. All was at peace until a 20 knot wind hit the sails
like a cannon shot. My coffee and breakfast sliding across the deck below and I
leaping out of the hatch, yanked the sails down. As soon as the sails were down,
the wind stopped blowing and it started to rain. Not being able to do anything more
topside, I went below to finish breakfast. An hour later, the squall blew over
and left a nice sailing wind.
For the first two weeks. I could not get the navigation
problems to agree. Sometimes I was in the middle of South America and some times
in the Atlantic Ocean. Each problem but the boat in a different part of the
ocean. At first, I was not using all the sight corrections. Taking sights on the
sun, I was not allowing enough time between shots to get a good fix. Today I
tried it different. Took three sights at 9 AM. All three problems came within
five miles of each other. That was my longitude, 84O 15' West. At noon, I took
three more sights, same success. That was my latitude, 40O 10' North. For the
first time in the trip, I knew where I was.
The next morning, just before sunrise, I saw lights on the
horizon. When the sun came up, I saw it was a trawler. They went south and
disappeared. I was wishing I had a note ready to give them to let the folks back
home know I was all right. Just before dark, I saw the trawler again. I quickly
wrote a note, put it in a plastic bag alone with some nuts ant bolts so as to
give it weight to throw on board the ship. Getting out a parachute flare, I
turned cold, afraid to call them over. They may not like being called or we
might have an accident that would end the trip. After a little bit, I felt it
was more important that a message get through than my fear, so up went the
flare. They came right over and I asked if they would send a radio message,
which they answered "yes". I throw the plastic bag, it went over the
ship into the water on the other side. Being very difficult to recover anything
that goes into the sea, I told them the message. They asked if I needed food or
water to which I said "no".
After dark, the wind died to a light breeze with rain. The
boat was staying on course and heading west, so went to bed. During the night I
woke up and could hear that the boat picked up speed. Turned on the light to
check the cabin compass, we were going back east. The wind had shifted to the
north taking the boat around too. Crawled out of a warm bunk, the rain still
falling, I put on the wet suit. Bringing the boat back around, set the course to
west and reset the sails. Sat at the helm for a while to see if the wind would
change. It held, so back to the cabin, put the wet suit up and back in the warm
bunk. No sooner had I pulled the blanket up, the sails were flopping. The wind
died. A little later, we were moving again. Checking the cabin compass, we were
headed east, the wind moved back around to the south. Same procedure, out of the
warm bunk, on with the cold wet suit, came about to a west direction and reset
the sails. The south wind held the rest of the night, and I slept good.
For five days, before entering the trade winds, there was one
black squall after another. It seemed that all I was doing was taking down the
sails and pulling them up again and not going any place, the wind always blowing
from a different direction. With a over cast sky, I could not navigate, so did
not know where I was. Then the trip almost ended.
To the south was another black cloud, the sight of, I have
always disliked. I was sailing west in a light wind, then to the rear, a water
spout came out of the sky. Not seeing a water spout before or knowing what it
would do if it hit a boat; I put everything below and closed the hatches. The
winds being light and sailing away from it, I left the sails up. The spout was
rapidly coming towards me, sounding like a fright train, and I did not like it.
Water being
whipped into the air like an eggbeater. My only chance of dodging this
spout was with the outboard motor. For the first time it would not start. I yanked on
the starter cord until I thought the motor would come apart. Then I looked up,
another water spout was coming down on me. The sails still up, the wind began to
circle around the boat. I dropped the sails and lashed them to the deck before I
really knew what was going on. I looked up again; the circling black cloud was
going back up and blew out. Tried the outboard again, it started, so motored
until I felt it was safe.
For the first part of the voyage, Salty and I did not get
along to good. When squalls would be coming up, I would hurry about the deck,
taking down the main sail and prepare for the storm. This is the time Salty
would want to play. She would grab my legs with her claws and bite. I still have
scars from her claws. She was wet most of the time and would sleep in my
bunk. Not having anyone to talk to for several weeks, she became company and I
didn't mind her rough playing or her habit of always getting in my way.
Click on image for large view.
One evening, I was sitting below, looking up through the
hatch; watching the moonlight shining on the main sail. The white sail looked
majestic as it reached into the black sky. The stars were bright with an
occasional silver lined cloud sailing by overhead. The night was peaceful until
Salty put her head into the hatch and dropped something into my lap. It wiggled,
I coming out of a half dream land, leaped, trying to move the cabin top with my
head, which would not move. It set me back into the chair. Then I sat on it, it
was still wiggling. Up I went again, the cabin top was still there. Salty had
caught her first flying fish. She was so excited, she kept going in and out of
the cabin purring loudly. I held her still for a while, hoping she would calm
down and eat it. That did not work, so I cut it into small pieces, put the fish in her dish and went to bed.
I slept on an air mattress on the floor. In the morning, when
I woke, there were squid and small flying fish all around and in my bunk. Salty
caught many during the night, she ate all she could and was playing with the
rest. This happened often during the voyage. At night, they would hit the sail
and fall on deck. Flying fish were a common sight.
Note: The deck was only one foot above the waterline. This makes it easy for
jumping sea life to land on deck. I have sailed in boats where the deck was only
two feet above the waterline. With this small difference in height, the quantity
of sea life, landing on deck, is drastically reduced.
When I lay in my bunk, I sometimes think of the two inches of
wood between me and the deep Pacific Ocean. I put my ear next to the hull and
listen to the sound of the water rushing by. A shot of fear goes through me. These
two inches of wood is all that is keeping me from the bottom of the ocean, three
miles down. It may point it's bow down and go under, leaving me on the surface
or I may follow. Then I think, I will not let the sea steal this boat from me.
It may not be much; its survival means my survival.
The northwest trades kept Liki Tiki Too in the doldrums for
two weeks. When reaching the north east trades, the winds were steady and
sailing was pleasant. No rain or black squalls, only light fluffy clouds
drifting by. I spent most of theses pleasant days sitting aft by the tiller. It
was a day like this I was playing with Salty, when suddenly; the sail fell from the top of
the mast into the water. For a moment, I was stunned, what happened? Pulling the
sail back aboard, I found the halyard broken. There was no way to raise the sail
until a new rope was replaced. That meant having to climb to the top of the
mast, which was whipping around, nigh above the deck.
To make the job as easy as possible, I made up a new line
with new blocks on deck. All I would have to do was to undo the shackle, drop
the old block and install the new one. After all was ready, I looked up at the
whipping mast, I didn't want to make the trip, but it had to be done. The climb
up the main part of the mast to the end of the stays took most of my energy. I
had three more feet to go and I felt myself slipping. Pass the stays, there was
nothing to hold to but the small part of the mast itself. My hands were wet with
sweat; it was all I could do to keep from being whipped off. In shear fear I
closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I found myself rapped around the top
the mast. To this day I do not know how I got there. Now I was wondering if this
small piece of wood would snap off with the added weight and through me to the
deck. It took several trays to find a way to stay rapped around the mast and use
two hands required to change the block. Back on decks with the job done, I
passed out. When I woke, sails were raised.
I spend most of my time reading, navigating, cooking and
pumping the bilge." What I enjoyed doing the most was riding the outrigger.
The roll of the boat would cause it to ride high, then take a dive through a
wave. The cool water was refreshing as the wave rolled over me. Salty, always
wanting to be where I am, was walking cautiously out to the outrigger. Then it
was making another dive. Salty seeing the water coming made a dash back on deck. There she sat looking at me from the cabin top. So she could get in on
the action, I gave her a bath, which she did not like.
For the first few weeks, the boat would cover only 20 to 50
miles a day. Now the trade winds were picking up, also I was adjusting the self
steering, trying to get more efficiency out of the sails. The next day, when
finding our position, the boat covered 100 miles, a record. The next few days,
the boat covered 110, 120 miles a day. This was the beginning and last of the
110 mile day. The winds blew harder which forced me to reduce sail. The waves
were building up which further slowed the craft.
At 1,500 miles from Hawaii, speed was down to 90 miles a day.
One day the wind was blowing hard and I was trying to force the boat into
another 120 mile day. The boat being under full sail, the waves were beating
hard on the bow. To listen to it, one would think the hull would split open. To
escape the pounding, I sat in the aft hatch where it was quite and the ride
smother. While reading, I heard a sharp crack on deck. Coming out of the hatch,
I found the main mast pulled over backwards. The boat had jibed, whipping the
sail from the port side over to the starboard side. The boom hitting the
backstay snapped the mast at the base.
I thought the main mast was wiped out. After taking in the
sail, I found the main mast would rise and stay put on its broken base. A fore
stay added kept it in place. I raised the sail again, the rigging held, but the
wind was too strong, so took it down. It proved that it could be used in light
winds. For the rest of the trip, the winds were 15 to 20 knots, sometimes
blowing to 30 knots. The boat covered 80 miles a day using only the two fore
sails. I should have reduced sail sooner. Under reduced sail, there was less
banging, which made sailing more pleasant.
The wind built up the waves to the height of a house. The
boat was fighting, what I called, "a sea of white capped mountains".
When the boat was caught in a breaking wave, it would submerge for a moment, the
white water going over the cabin and meeting with the wave again on the other
side, only the mast were above water. LIKI TIKI 'TOO was not built for submarine duty. Inside the cabin was like
a sieve, suddenly pushed under water. Water shooting through holes sprays the inside of the cabin, getting
everything wet. This seems to happen more at night when I am asleep. One night
an unusually large wave came. It rolled the boat on its side, the bilge water
rushed onto the bulkhead. I fell off the air mattress into the bilge water, then
the breaker hit, spraying the inside. That ended my sleeping for that night.
'The next day I stretched a hammock inside the cabin which kept me dryer than in
the past.
Three days before Hawaii, I was eating breakfast and telling
Salty that friends back home said you will never make it. You are going to fool
them; you are going to make it. She went out that morning as usual, searching
for flying fish on deck. She never returned and I never saw her again. This was
the saddest day of the trip. I had called "Salty" all that day, hoping
she would answer. I searched the boat again and again, but no Salty. She was
only a cat, but the only companion I had for the last 65 days. The boat seemed
to become empty, nothing around that would try to play or jump into my bunk
before I could get in. I had the empty boat to myself and did not like it. To
fill the vacuum, I turned the radio on and was able to pick up local stations
playing Hawaiian music.
I was less than hundred miles from the islands and sailing
parallel to them. Anxious to see land again, I changed tacks just before dark.
If my navigation and speed were right, I should be 20 miles off Maui, Hawaii in
the morning. Then I could sail to Honolulu with the islands in sight. All night,
the waves bang the boat unusually hard. I got up several times, trying to adjust
the sails or rudder so it would stop the banging. Nothing would work. Had to let
the boat bang and slept till morning.
My first job on topside each morning is to pump the water
out of the bilge While pumping this morning, my eyes almost popped out. I could
not believe what I saw. The starboard outrigger was missing. Then I looked to
see if was floating near by. It was not around, but land was less than five
miles away. If I slept another hour, the boat would have been on the beach. I
took down the sails and ate breakfast to think about the new situation and
decide what to do.
Kahului, Maui was only 30 miles away. Honolulu was yet two
days sailing away. The boat no longer stable and was afraid to raise sail again,
I motored. While motoring along the coast, I kept saying over and over again out
loud, I'm in Hawaii, I made it. I'm in Hawaii, I made it. Being so happy, tears
would come to my eyes or I would choke up. Then I would think of Salty, She
almost made it but didn't. I can thank God I did.
May 4, 1970 in Kahului Harbor, Maui, Hawaii the bow of LIKI
LIKI TOO was tied to a Coconut tree, the stern being held with an anchor. After
5,000 miles and 68 days at sea, I was once more on solid ground.
Someone sitting on the beach, asked me, "Did you just
come from Honolulu by yourself?"
