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CHAPTER
- 16 -
For Auld Lang Syne
CHAPTER
- 16 -
For Auld Lang Syne
The day was Easter Sunday, 1948. A fine Ha-
waiian day with fresh trade winds chasing
broken white clouds across a blue sky. Outside
the harbor, as sails were hoisted, the strong
wind, taut sheets and a ship come to life wiped
away all nostalgia. Lang Syne heeled under
full sail, took a bone in her teeth and raced as
though rejoicing to be in her elements again.(1)
AND NOW IT IS JUNE 1972. IN A NARROW, DEEP, AND QUIET
cleft rent from barren, uninhabited Todos Santos Island on the
lonely coast of Baja, Mexico, there lies quietly at anchor a rugged,
hefty Block Island schooner. Although almost forty years old, she
looks not more than ten. Her cosmetics are fresh, her rigging taut,
her superstructure well-kept. The same might be said for her crew,
Bill and Phyllis Crowe, who a quarter century before had been the
second couple in history to have made a circumnavigation in a dream
ship built with their own hands. Time has been kind to both ship
and crew....
Lang Syne's story began, like many of her kind, in the depression-
ridden 1930s in balmy Southern California, long before the smog, the
freeways, the crowded suburbs, the race riots, and the frantic millions
all getting into each other's way; when a Sunday drive in a Model A
roadster from L.A. to Long Beach took you down orange and palm-
lined roads with cozy little five-acre haciendas, and occasional oil
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derricks and pumps, and open-air fruit and grocery stalls run by Japa-
nese-American families, to the enormous harbor protected from the
open sea, where about the only activity at times appeared to be the
Catalina ferry landing, and the friendly people building dream boats
on rented waterfront lots.
Like most Californians of that genre, the Crowes originated some-
where else. Phyllis had been born in Iowa (where in those days all
good Californians were said to be from), birthplace of many a sailor,
such as Harry Pidgeon; while William was an authentic "prune
picker," since he was second generation his parents having reached
the promised land via prairie schooner across Death Valley before he
was born.
Bill ran a refrigeration business, which in those depression years
was more of a migraine headache than a business, and after their
marriage, Bill and Billie (as he called Phyllis) escaped from their
problems as often as possible in an ancient 34-foot cruiser which they
had patched together. Selling this, they acquired a sailing canoe, then
a 19-foot skipjack, and finally built their first real dream ship, a 25-
foot Sea Bird type, the original and smaller version of Harry
Pidgeon's Islander, which had also been built right here at Los
Angeles harbor.
They named her Corvus (which means "crow," naturally), and for
two years sailed the yawl on coastal waters and back and forth to
Catalina and other channel islands. These short voyages, as is usually
the case, rather than satisfying their restlessness, only increased it.
They sold the business, their car and house, and all other unneeded
possessions, and shoved off for Hawaii a week ahead of that year's
TransPac Race fleet. They would have entered, but their ship was too
small to qualify. As it was, they arrived, after a 20-day passage spent
"laughing all the way," days before the fleet, including the 85-foot
scratch boat.(2)
Once in prewar Hawaii, all thought of returning to the mainland
disappeared. They had found the life they wanted. They made new
friends, went for short cruises among the islands, and took up perma-
nent residence. In those days, Hawaii was a semitropical paradise, a
world crossroads for sea wanderers. In port at the time were such
vessels as Viator, a little schooner en route from Tahiti; the 32-foot
ketch Te Rapunga, in from Amsterdam via Australia with George
Dibbern, the eccentric who renounced all citizenship ties and created
his own flag (and who had dominion over his own cell when World
War II broke out); the catamaran Kaimiloa, bound for France; the
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34-foot ketch Hula Gal, headed for Seattle and none other than the
Islander with Captain Harry Pidgeon himself living aboard.
But the winds of change were already blowing, even in languid
Hawaii, where Waikiki was still a tropical beach with palm trees and
beachcombers and bare-breasted native girls doing laundry. The
Japanese attack on December 7, 1941, was perhaps in the planning
stage when Bill and Phyllis decided that their Corvus was too small.
With a set of borrowed blueprints of Howard I. Chapelle's updated
version of the Block Island schooner, they set about building their
ultimate dream ship on the beach at Waikiki on a lot they rented for
$5 a month.
At no time in history was there a better opportunity to build one's
dream ship than in Hawaii in the late 1930s. Labor was cheap and
plentiful, and top-quality materials such as Philippine mahogany were
abundant. Even in Hawaii, they were able to obtain prime vertical-
grained Douglas fir planks from the Pacific Northwest for one-piece
full-length strakes. With the help of friends, they set up the keel,
steamed the frames, and planked the hull, taking about two years for
the project. At one point, not having received a bill from suppliers for
months, Crowe went to the Honolulu office to inquire why not. The
office manager seemed surprised. It was customary, he said, to send
statements only on January 1, unless there was some pressing reason
to do otherwise.(3)
Before the hull was completed, they moved aboard and "lived
with" each arrangement before making it permanent. The ship was
launched during an earthquake, and christened with a bottle of beer.
For a name, they thought of Auld Lang Syne, in memory of all the
good times they had had so far and expected to have in the future,
but because this was too long to go on the nameboard, they
shortened it to Lang Syne.
Lang Syne was a luxury cruise ship compared to Corvus. She was
39 feet overall, 34 feet on the waterline, with a beam of 14 feet and a
draft of 6 feet. She was double-ended with a salty sheer line, and
rigged with a gaff-head main and jib-headed foremast. The first
engine was a small Scripps gasoline mill.
In July 1938, the shakedown cruise was made to California via the
northern circle to avoid the trades. Lang Syne proved to be a real
seagoing home fast, seaworthy, and comfortable. They made a land-
fall on familiar San Nicolas Island within minutes of their E.T.A.
Later they cruised back to Hawaii, where Lang Syne was moored at
the yacht club in Honolulu when the sneak attack came on the
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morning of Sunday, December 7, 1941. The war years were spent on
the beach, working in the defense facilities, saving up for the bright
new postwar world everyone hoped they were fighting for.
In May 1946, the Crowes set off on their first long voyage in more
than four years. Now Lang Syne was 10 years old, but as good as new
and her Scripps had been replaced with a new 37-horsepower Her-
cules-Kermath diesel. In nine days, they sailed half the distance to
California, and then were becalmed. During the calm, they noticed a
large black buoy with spikes on it nearby a loose mine but were
able to motor out of the way. The crossing took 33 days, compared to
their first crossing of 47 days on the Lang Syne's maiden voyage. It
was the first yacht crossing in five years.
In Los Angeles, they bought a car and spent two months sight-
seeing, camping, hiking, and visiting relatives. Then they went back
to their schooner home, intending to return directly to Hawaii and
build a home on land they had purchased during the war. But
because a shipping strike was on and there were shortages of every-
thing, the Crowes decided to return via the Marquesas and Tahiti.
Before leaving, they installed a clutch arrangement on the engine
shaft which was linked with a generator to keep batteries charged
while under sail, and would hopefully reduce propeller drag.(4)
In April 1947, they departed Los Angeles harbor for Guadalupe
Island, the remote rock owned by Mexico some two hundred miles
south of Catalina. They spent several days beachcombing and photo-
graphing the sea elephants, although the island was a refuge and off-
limits. Just as they were departing, they were boarded by a govern-
ment boat, but allowed to continue.(5)
In the Marquesas, they were met by trader Bob McKittrick, still
the unofficial greeter of yachts and sea wanderers since the days of
Muhlhauser and Stock. They were given a sack of mail to deliver to
Tahiti by the administrator, and reached Papeete via the Tuamotus
on June 3. At dawn, the pilot boat appeared outside the pass. Bill
refused its services, but was told it was compulsory. In the harbor,
they tied up to the quay where the port doctor, police, and other
officials crowded aboard to find out why they were without visas or
passports. Crowe told them he did not want to come in, but the pilot
had told him it was required. The pilot, a Captain Bailly, who was
also the harbormaster, and obviously a man with a sense of humor,
confirmed this.
There were already two American yachts in Papeete, the Island
Girl and Tere. The Crowes spent two months here and at Moorea,
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where a Belgian couple managed the small hotel.(6) On the way north
to Hawaii, they called at several island ports in the Tuamotus where
they were welcomed with much hospitality.(7) They stopped again in
the Marquesas to drop off some supplies, much to McKittrick's sur-
prise, who thought that, like most yachts that made promises that
were not kept, they would never return. At the Marquesas, they
learned that the Kon Tiki raft was nearing the area, but declined to
cover the event for the waiting world press. The passage to Hawaii
was made in the record time of 14 days, beating the previous record
of 16 days set by the 48-foot ketch Altair for the 2,100-mile run.
Home again and recapping their odyssey with friends, it occurred
to them that they had already gone a third of the way around the
world.
"Let's go the rest of the way," Phyllis blurted.
The only other couple to have made a circumnavigation alone was
Roger and Edith Strout in Igdrasil, a Spray copy, back in the 1930s.
So it was decided. They found a secondhand sailmaking machine,
rented the armory for a loft, and made a new set of sails. After acquir-
ing another dinghy, they made a cockpit shelter, and installed extra
butane tanks.(8) Diving gear, a brazing outfit, a war surplus radio
transmitter, pilot books, light lists, charts, and sailing directions went
aboard.
Among their friends in Hawaii were the Irving Johnsons, who were
in port with the new Yankee and crew of amateurs on their fourth
circumnavigation. The Johnsons prevailed on them to meet in Pago
Pago for the annual Samoan festival. The Crowes still had their car to
dispose of and no buyers, but, at the last moment, a friend came
along and offered to trade a beach lot for it. The deal was made on
the spot, sight unseen. A beach lot in most parts of Hawaii in the
1970s would be worth enough to make one independently wealthy,
which indicates that sea wanderers don't necessarily have to be poor
businessmen.
They departed on Easter Sunday, 1948, for Samoa. The passage
was a rough one with towering seas and gale winds. Billie was seasick
for the first few days. On this passage, they encountered the phe-
nomenon of tidal overfalls marking the meeting of equatorial cur-
rents near Fannings Island, which appeared like a line of breaking
surf. The last few days to Samoa were spent motoring in a calm. They
crossed the equator on April 6, and on the afternoon of the seven-
teenth, anchored at Tutuila, one day before their rendezvous with
the Yankee.
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The stay in Samoa included a round of parties and sightseeing,
mostly with the Yankee's crew. The visit was marred, the Crowes
complained mildly, by bothersome natives the usual complaint of
visitors ignorant of Samoan customs. Here, also, the Johnsons con-
fided to the Crowes that the responsibility of managing a big 98-foot
brigantine sometimes left them wishing they could get back to the
simple life.
Leaving Pago Pago, the Crowes encountered a violent gale which
snapped the gaff boom, and Bill was nearly lost overboard getting in
the headsails, which would have been more than disastrous, since
Billie had not yet learned celestial navigation. But once safely hove-
to, Lang Syne rode the gale easily.
On the way to the Fijis, calls were made at several out-of-the-way
places, such as Niuafoo, the Tin Can Island in the Tongan group. At
Suva, they were made honorary members of the yacht club. One
evening at anchor, a beautiful little half-caste girl swam out to Lang
Syne and pulled herself up on the rail. She wanted to sign on as a
crew member. Bill told her there was already one woman aboard.
"Wouldn't two be better7" he was asked.
In Suva, Bil1 also had a molar extracted by an Indian dentist who
spoke fluent English and was surprised to find that Crowe still had all
his teeth at age fifty. The extraction was made without Novocain and
without Bill knowing it until the dentist showed him the molar.
Apparently the dentist had hypnotized him. The next stop was for a
haircut by an Indian barber. The extraction had cost $1.25; the
haircut, 20 cents.
On the way to Australia, they passed remote Walpole and Kunie
islands near New Caledonia, and received news on the radio that
Captain Harry Pidgeon was shipwrecked only four hundred miles
away on his third circumnavigation aboard Islander. Before leaving
Hawaii, Crowe had asked Pidgeon if he were not leaving too early to
avoid the hurricane season, and was told, "Those things always
happen somewhere else. They don't worry me."
With his wife, Pidgeon had anchored in Hog Harbor, Espiritu
Santo, in the New Hebrides, a harbor normally well protected, and
had been blown up on the beach.
They called at Brisbane, covering the 1,600 miles in only 13 days,
on the way nearly colliding with a large pod of whales. After a wild
tow up the river by the pilot boat, they were invited to use the
private mooring of Eric Dalby at his waterfront estate. They were
~ 168 ~
given an honorary membership in the Royal Queensland Yacht Club
and Billie became the third woman in the history of the club to be
invited to the commodore's luncheon.
The long trip around behind the Great Barrier Reef was one of
their most enjoyable and fascinating passages. Nights were spent
anchored in remote creeks, days with visiting people ashore in iso-
lated settlements, skindiving, fishing, and hunting on shore. They
prowled the reefs from late June until September, and came very near
to remaining in this region permanently. They stopped at Cairns
before this port became world-famous as a game-fishing center, and
traveled inland on a switchbacking railroad to the town of Lareeba at
3,000-foot elevation. At one stop, in Cook's Passage, Bill was skin-
diving when a large octopus grabbed his leg. He managed to get loose
with a tire iron. They passed Sunday Island in Torres Strait, went
around Cape York, and picked up their mail at Thursday Island.
The local agent, who was holding their mail, grinned as he handed
them a notice from Uncle Sam's Collector of Internal Revenue.
Next came the New Guinea coast. They enjoyed a brief stay in
Dili, the capital of Portuguese Timor. The East Indies were then in
the early stages of postwar political turmoil. Worse yet, the un-
charted waters and misplaced navigational aids were complicated by
bands of armed natives with itchy trigger fingers. But they kept
another appointment with Yankee at Bali, and then went on to
Batavia, Singapore, and Ceylon. They had one tense period in the
Java Sea, when boarded by a band of armed natives, whom Crowe
met with a calm and bold front and just the proper degree of indig-
nation. It was a close call.
Before leaving Singapore, Bill bought a Christmas tree marked
"Made in England" to have aboard when the day came. After Billie
had gone to sleep on Christmas Eve, Bill got out the tree and fixed it
to the cabin table. When Billie awoke, she gasped with delight.
They made heavy weather on the passage to Ceylon. After a short
stay there, they went on to Mombasa by way of the Maldives. One
evening, clipping along at eight knots, they collided with or were
attacked by a whale, one of several sleeping on the surface. The
encounter broke their bobstay.
At 3 A.M. on the morning of January 25, they smelled the burning
sugar cane on the mainland of Africa. The American consul at
Mombasa presented them with a new national ensign, replacing the
one they had won in a 1940 race and carried to four continents.
~ 169 ~
There was quite a lively American colony here, including a vivacious
young girl named Margery Passmore who managed the Ritz Hotel.
The Lang Syne was the first American yacht here after the war.
At Zanzibar, 120 miles down the coast, they were directed to an
unprotected anchorage, and in a blow Lang Syne went aground. This
nearly ended the voyage, but the Crowes, in their usual competent
way, kedged off while the port authorities stood by, wringing their
hands but not helping. They beached the vessel for repairs among the
fleet of Arab dhows, and became guests of the governor for the rest of
their stay.
On the 1,700-mile passage to Durban, South Africa, Billie caught a
kingfish on "Alfonso," the battered feather jig they had dragged
halfway around the world. On March 4, after reef crawling the Afri-
can coast, they arrived at Durban. Here, of course, they found a
warm welcome from local yacht clubs and were invited to lecture.
They showed movies of Hawaii, and during one presentation in the
crowded hall, someone suddenly shouted, "With all that at home,
what in the world are you doing in Durban?"
Leaving on St. Patrick's Day, they hugged the coast and had a fair
passage around to Cape Town, where the Royal Cape Yacht Club
had the welcome flag up for them. Some of the yachts that came out
to meet them beat the harbor officials, somewhat to the Crowes'
embarrassment.
Picking up their first mail since Singapore, the Crowes made a few
minor repairs including a new photocell for "Pete," the automatic
pilot, and, on July 10, departed with an escort of dozens of yachts
and press boats.
Instead of the usual route, they followed the coast up to the mouth
of the Congo, crossing the bar to the old town of St. Paul de Luanda.
Gracious local officials made arrangements for a native pilot to take
them upriver. They met a local doctor who told them he had treated
Alain Gerbault years before, at Dili, while they had been prisoners of
the Japanese.(9)
Lang Syne was taken about twenty-five miles upriver to Zenze
Creek, where the Crowes anchored in front of the Katala village.
They spent several days here, bartering with the natives, listening to
the jungle sounds at night, and watching the crocodiles play. Bill
made the downriver run himself without a pilot, a tense but master-
ful piece of small-boat handling.
From the Congo, the Crowes wandered the Atlantic, putting in at
Rio de Janeiro, where some difficulty was experienced with local
~ 170 ~
officials who seldom saw an American yacht. They quickly made
friends and fell in with the local social whirl. Here they found a letter
from Herbert Stone, publisher of Yachting, waiting at the yacht club.
He extended an invitation to come to New York and also asked for a
series of articles on the voyage. They also received another notice
from I.R.S. saying their payment made from Cape Town was $14
short, and please remit with interest.
The long, hard uphill beat was made to Recife, capital of Pernam-
buco. After some difficulties over papers, they managed to escape and
had six days of easy sailing to the mouth of the Amazon. Then came
Port of Spain, the Antilles up to Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands,
Bermuda, and through the Sargasso Sea to the United States, arriving
off Sandy Hook, New Jersey, in late May. They sailed up the
Hudson, past the Statue of Liberty, and put in at the Seventy-ninth
Street Landing, where a buoy was assigned to them. From the deck
of Lang Syne, the Crowes looked up at the solid rows of apartment
buildings and the traffic on the parkway, and then looked at each
other, reached across the boom, and shook hands.
They spent the summer cruising Long Island Sound, visiting with
the Johnsons, who had beaten them home by a year, and with their
son, Steve, who had married one of the crew, Mary Booth, and now
lived in Larchmont.
The Crowes had never seen television. Yacht-club friends arranged
for them to see a replay of their arrival in New York, which had been
covered by a battery of cameras. New York fascinated them mainly
because it proved to be the yachting capital of the world. They also
enjoyed a stay in New England waters. In August, they set sail for the
south via the Intercoastal Waterways, traveling with other snowbirds
heading for Florida. Along the way, they received word that they had
been awarded the coveted Blue Water Medal of the Cruising Club
of America.
From Florida, they made a leisurely visit to the Bahamas, then
sailed for Jamaica, and on to Panama. Like many others before them,
they complained of the rough treatment in the locks. They stopped
at the Balboa Yacht Club, beached the vessel for a bottom painting,
loaded supplies aboard for the last leg of the cruise. They got clear-
ance for Los Angeles, visited ports in Central America and Mexico,
Las Perlas Island, and Cocos. At the latter place, they anchored in
Chatham Bay alongside a large diesel yacht from Gulfport, and
loafed for several days. At Acapulco, where they put in for fuel, they
encountered difficulties with authorities, but with the assistance of
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Enrique, their friend who had sailed the Barco de Oro around the
world the first Mexican yacht to do so they overcame.
On June 5, they saw their first North Pacific albatross. On June 12,
they passed Santa Catalina and ran into the San Pedro Channel.
They did not want to be "in" yet, until they could clean up the ship
and get organized. An enterprising Examiner reporter, however,
discovered Lang Syne anchored by using one of those pay telescopes
at Point Fermin Park, and came out in a water taxi.
The next few months were spent in the Los Angeles area with
family members, and cruising their old waters around Catalina.
Finally, on March 15, 1952, they cut loose again and headed home to
Honolulu. After a rough passage, they put in at Hilo for a few days,
then went on again to Lang Syne's birthplace on the beach at
Waikiki.
In the lee of Diamond Head, sails were furled, a string of flags of
all countries visited was run up, and the schooner was escorted into
the basin by a parade of yachts with horns and whistles blowing, and
leis of orchids, ginger blossoms, and fragrant carnations draped on
the rigging.
The story of the Crowes' circumnavigation in Lang Syne is one of
quiet competence by friendly, outgoing people, who planned and
prepared thoroughly, had few untoward incidents, never took unnec-
essary chances, but never passed up an interesting port or anchorage.
As the CCA put it in the Blue Water Medal citation:
"They cruised the waters of the world with no heroics and a
minimum of misadventures. In its preparation and execution, the
Crowes' voyage has exemplified outstandingly the meritorious sea-
manship to which the Blue Water Medal is dedicated."
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- end Chapter 16 -
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AUTHOR's NOTES
Chapter Sixteen
1. Heaven, Hell and Salt Water by Bill and Phyllis Crowe (London:
Rupert Hart-Davis, 1957) .
2. One of the entries was the Arcturus, the black-hulled yacht of
General George Patton, the controversial leader of the Third Army in World
War II.
3. How times have changed. In 1973, when I tried to cash a small
check in Honolulu, I was regarded as a member of an international smuggling
ring. I had to produce three credit cards, leave my thumb print, and pose for a
mug shot before my request would be considered.
4. The Crowes used this system for the entire voyage around the
world. Tests in the Stevens Institute tank, however, have more recently shown
that there is less drag when the prop is not rotating.
5. With his disarming manner Bill Crowe, who spoke Spanish fairly
fluently, had little trouble talking himseif out of such situations. The Miles
Smeetons, about a decade later, also visited the island illegally and barely escaped
a boat sent out to intercept them.
6. The Belgian couple was probably the L. G. Van de Wieles of
Omoo fame.
7. Hospitality in French Oceania has become a thing of the past,
current voyagers report.
8. The Crowes were among the first bluewater voyagers to use the
cheap and efficient propane for cooking. Their two tanks lasted them all the
way around the world. Properly installed and used, butane has proved to be
safe, clean, and entirely practical aboard yachts.
9. This little-known pearl of information seems to authenticate
Gerbault's internment as a war prisoner, and his death from a tropical disease.
Unfortunately, Crowe does not give the name of the doctor.
