• June 18, 1977: This morning we pointed our bow westward - toward Hawaii! With cheers and waves from numerous well-wishers - each brandishing a camera to memorialize the event, a couple of them even with the local newspapers - this send-off was far more elaborate than the one received last year when departing for San Francisco.

The sun was shining brightly, blue sky reflected on blue water. I held the wheel in my hands, sailing out of the channel in the direction of the Hawaiian Islands. Looking back, I watched friends and family on the jetty, continuing to wave farewells until morning mist and distance merged them all with the gray rocks on which they stood.

Moving seaward, breaking from the gravitational pull of Los Angeles, the feeling was exhilarating! And, the exhilaration was contagious. All four of us on board shared in it - Dave Edwards, Connie Julien, Mary Shanz and myself.

The wind has increased since this morning and we just put our first reef in the mainsail. We are cruising along swiftly with 120 percent jenny and reefed main. The wind is howling in our ears. Joshua - the name with which we have christened the new self-steering device (after the famous circumnavigator Joshua Slocum) - is working perfectly. It's even allowing me the freedom to be writing this as I am at the helm.

None of us four have ever crossed the Pacific before. It strikes me that this is a pretty gutsy thing we are doing, four blue water virgins braving the wide open ocean in a tiny sailboat! I can't even put into words the excitement I'm feeling.

• June 24 1977: Early this morning Connie, awakened from her sleep by a thumping noise, called out to me in the cockpit, "Mike, check to see what is thumping against the side of the boat. I think it may be a flying fish on the deck."

I checked and it was, in fact, a flying fish. I carried the fish over to the companionway for all to see, stretching out its wings.

"My, that's a big one!" exclaimed Connie.

We were all pretty excited. It seemed to us that this flying fish was some form of validation of our progress in crossing a vast expanse of ocean. Just then the fish, which I had assumed dead, gave a jerk, startling me into dropping it while emitting a loud shriek like a scared little girl! Everyone found that pretty amusing, Moby Mike the sailor startled by a little fish. With that, we decided the fish had earned its freedom and returned it to the sea.

• June 27, 1977: Danger Will Robinson, danger! This morning I pumped the bilge and to my horror, it took 120 pumps. Uh oh! Obviously, we had a leak!

"Oh God - we're sinking!" Mary moaned. Dave crawled into the engine compartment with some wrenches and tightened the fitting around the propeller shaft while I kept pumping out the water that was flooding in. This seems to have taken care of the leak, but a few tense moments were experienced by all of us - further illustrating why it is so important to make a daily inspection of the entire boat. Our very lives depend upon it!

One cannot be too cautious on this great ocean. I'm looking all around me and it's so incredible! One wave after another, ad infinitum. Sometimes it's such a jolt to realize that we are but the tiniest speck floating along in the middle of nowhere. Look in any direction and all one sees is sky and ocean. I tried the radio a little while ago and every station is totally dead. I'd say we are about as cut off from the civilized world as anyone could possibly be. We've even discussed, half in jest, half in earnest, what should be done if one of us were to die out here. We are days, maybe even weeks, from having contact with the outside world. A body would decompose quickly in these tropical climes. The only viable option would be to chuck the body overboard . . . fish food! A gruesome thought.

• July 2, 1977: Today is our fifteenth day at sea. It's been so beautifully warm that I've taken to sleeping outside in the cockpit at night. Watching the moon rise is an awesome sight. It begins as a bright orange light on the horizon. At first, I mistook it for the light of another boat, but soon it rose into the night sky. I've never seen the moon look so bright and clear before. It was absolutely beautiful. I fell asleep watching it.

We ran through a couple of squalls during the night and I was disturbed from my rest to make some sail changes. I didn't mind at all, it's part of the job description.

This morning, sitting through a brief rain storm, I watched as flying fish went soaring alongside about a foot above the water. Awesome!

• July 5, 1977: Today's position is 152 degrees 24 minutes West, 22.30 degrees North. We are closing in on Hawaii and should be able to spot its ten thousand foot peak anytime now. Soon I'll be breathing Hawaiian air for the first time. The anticipation of arriving under sail at an exotic, tropical port such as Hawaii is intoxicating.

In preparation for arrival, today I shaved off the beard that I've let grow since setting sail. It was an interesting project to shave, looking into a tiny mirror whilst the boat was bouncing all about. It took better than an hour to complete. Now I understand why so many men of the sea leave their beards grow; it's too tedious to shave on a moving boat.

My new clean shaven look got a thumbs up from the females. Not so from Dave the enduring hippie who, stroking his own whiskered face, pronounced me "disgustingly clean-cut."

One of my favorite television shows as a kid was Adventures in Paradise, starring Gardner McKay (who, by the way, in addition to being a handsome actor was a real-life sailor). The show was loosely based on the stories of James Michener and focused around a young guy who sailed his schooner around the South Pacific, each week finding new love and new adventure. Millions of males sat glued to their TV screens watching this weekly fantasy unfold, dreaming of tropical ports and exotic, dark-skinned girls. And now, here I am actually doing it! How extremely fortunate I am to be fulfilling this fantasy of sailing to a tropical island. Thank you God!

• Hawaiian waters - July 8, 1977: With morning daylight, the islands of Maui and Molokai became clearly visible. The sight and aroma of land was completely engulfing and stimulating our senses, the place smelled like a tropical island should, the flora was awesome!

We sailed the length of Maui to reach the Pailolo Channel. Sailing down the channel was something else - the funnel effect between the two islands creating gale force winds! These were the roughest conditions we'd experienced in many days - right here close to land.

Rounding Maui, the entrance to the harbor is a bit tricky if you are doing it for the first time, as we were. With Dave on the foredeck watching for markers, I sailed the boat into Lahaina Harbor. My God! We have finally arrived!

There are no words to adequately describe the elation which I know we were all feeling. Lahaina Harbor, our first landfall in 21 days . . . and the place looks precisely the way I had mentally envisioned: palm trees springing up along the sandy beach and a quaint little village with lush green mountains looming behind. A real tropical port of call . . . right out of Adventures in Paradise! Here we are in Hawaii! We've done it! Bitchin'! Bitchin'! Bitchin'!!

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