At a party, celebrating the passage of the Phoenix through the Panama Canal, the master of ceremonies introduced our group as follows:. First we have Jessica Reynolds, who is the first little girl, to my knowledge, to have attempted this feat.
Then there is Ted Reynolds, probably the first teen-age navigator of a globe-circling sailing yacht. The third member of the crew is Nick Mikami, from Hiroshima—the first Japanese yachtsman to sail around the world. Beside me is Barbara Reynolds, surely the most charming circumnavigating yachtswoman I have yet had the pleasure of meeting.
Finally—here is Dr. Earle Reynolds, whose sole claim to distinction is that he is the first, and only , skipper ever to sail around the world with all these wonderful people. Fellow yachtsmen, both deep sea and dry land, both cockpit and armchair, here we are—all in the same boat. The yacht Phoenix stood poised on the launching cradle. The ways were greased, the tide at spring high, and only a single wedge restrained our newly built ketch from sliding into the waters of the Inland Sea of Japan.
Standing on deck, I looked at the crowd below, at the Shinto priest chanting a blessing at the bow, and at Yotsuda-san, my long-suffering shipbuilder, waiting alongside for my signal. Across the bay I could see the mountainous island of Miya Jima, green and beautiful in the bright May sun. Over there, in her famous shrine which at high tide seems to float upon the surface of the sea, sleeps the goddess, Itsukushima-hime-no-mikoto, famed and feared for her jealous nature.
I could only hope she would not begrudge us our brief moment of glory. When the priest had finished, I made a short speech, and then mochi—pink and white rice cakes of ceremonial significance—were tossed to the crowd. The moment had come: it was high noon. He smiled, bowed, and signaled to a workman. Then everything happened very fast.
