We had already been nine days at sea tacking east from Belau across the lonely reaches of Micronesia. We sailed in a region that stretched for thousands of miles between Hawaii and the Philippines among islands of such insignificant size that if all were pushed together like jigsaw pieces, they would form a landmass only a fraction larger than Rhode Island. On this particular late afternoon in April a mere smudge on the horizon marked the location of one of the tiniest of them all, an atoll with a landmass of only 0.09 square miles. This island, Eauripik, we would be forced to bypass, for its reef had no break through which a boat could navigate. It was only out of curiosity that we steered near enough to pick out the thickly growing coconut trees on a narrow strand of sand gathered at the spit-end of the six-mile reef.  Suddenly breaking the silence a heavily accented native voice blared loudly into the cabin from the VHF radio.
"Yacht, yacht. Yacht sailing! This is Eauripik Atoll. Would you like to rest here awhile?"
I don't think Captain Cook could have been more surprised than we were to hear this voice on the air! Miki, our young Japanese crewmember grabbed the binoculars. My husband Michael jumped down the hatch to the radio below.
"This is the Yacht Sea Quest back to Eauripik Atoll. We sure would like to stop over but understand that the atoll has no entrance through the reef."
"Shore back. There is

no entrance but in this weather you can anchor outside. The boys will show you where. You are welcome to stay."
Taking the binoculars from Miki I could make out two men carrying a small yellow outrigger canoe across the dry reef to where they launched it into the surf.  Rounding up in the lee we let our sails flutter down; soon the tiny canoe with its upturned ends bumped alongside. A loincloth clad native who introduced himself as David scrambled aboard while his canoe and its lone paddler struck off into the distance. Under David's guidance we carefully closed the reef. In a crook lay a narrow submerged shelf extending perhaps two hundred feet at best. Getting in as close as we dared we anchored Sea Quest while the young man in the canoe dove down to check that our anchor was properly set, by which time the sun hovered close to the horizon. As the two men climbed back into their canoe waving their good-byes they promised return for us the next morning.
True to their word, as soon as the tide lapped over the reef they motored out with the island's fiberglassed longboat to fetch us, bringing with them Tino who would prove to be such a stalwart friend to Michael. In the light east-nor'easterly the weather was calm enough to leave Sea Quest on her precarious perch and allow us to visit ashore. To cross the reef, even the longboat's shallow draught was too great, so that sometimes we all had to get out and heave it across the shallow places. Though only about a 140 people live on the atoll, this bountiful fish and shellfish-filled lagoon has sustained untold generations. Seafarers spreading out of Taiwan and Indonesia peopled the area at least three thousand years ago. Today's inhabitants are the descendants of Polynesians who returned to the area in a back-migration from the south more than a thousand years ago. As we motored the final distance to the island itself the intense turquoise of the lagoon's bright shallows gave the illusion that we had just dropped into another world completely.
Stepping ashore we were greeted formally by a middle-aged man. In the shaded space beneath the eaves of a huge canoe shed, the wizened frame of High Chief Lewis silently waited as the three of us quietly seated ourselves on a coconut log amongst tree litter. We were not sure what to expect on this still traditional island, but had an idea that brazen video-toting tourists would not be welcome. The chief spoke through an intermediary as is customary, although his own English was quite adequate.
"You are aware of the new policy to pay $25 to anchor the yacht and $20 each to land?"