The plastic bags added to our tree-water collection, and we now had multiple funnels keeping us hydrated even if the rain was sparse. Even the green fishing net had been repaired and untangled, cutting our spear fishing time in half.
Conner was the one who wielded the net, wading out to the reef and dragging it behind him as he swam for shore. Sometimes, he failed to catch anything, but most of the time, he scooped up enough fish, an occasional handful of prawns or a squid or two, that we never went to bed hungry and even had leftovers to salt and preserve.
Estelle continued to sample leaves, seeds, and the occasional beach nut for allergic reactions, and she and Pippa slowly built our larder to resemble a fully stocked pantry rather than a sparse island habitat.
Some nights, we’d even vary our seafood diet with an occasional lizard. However, nothing could beat the beauty of figuring out how versatile ash was.
Ash from our constant fire dotted the campsite from popping wood and swirling winds. Slowly, we noticed ants stopped claiming our food as often. Before, we’d leave an open coconut or fish ready to smoke by the fire, and within minutes, it would be black with damn ants. However, with the white ash sprinkled around, they avoided the temptation.
I had no idea why.
We also noticed (completely by accident—thanks to the kids rolling around in a game of wrestle) that smearing ourselves with ash at night kept the mosquitoes away.
Estelle became obsessed with finding other uses. Trial and error showed if she steeped and strained the ash, it became a natural laundry and stain detergent. She used the liquid to wash her and Pippa’s hair and even sprinkled the stuff in our home to prevent as many creepy crawlies as possible.
And it worked.
The bugs had been a constant pain in the ass, but who knew ash was a natural repellent?
Along with nature slowly giving up her secrets, the imminent scare of not having enough to eat faded. Our injuries were no longer a detrimental deterrent, and being free from such a harsh master like hunger meant our time was free to try other things.
Things we hadn’t dared attempt because of injury, uncertainty, and frankly...the impossibility of such a task.
A life raft.
Estelle and I had had many conversations about what was attemptable and what was not. Estelle played the Devil’s Advocate—pointing out how suicidal it would be to bob around with no compass or destination. She pointed out lack of water and food and shade. She layered complication upon complication: We weren’t just two people; we were four.
The raft would have to float securely with no chance of tipping over.
The children could swim, but if we capsized, the life-jackets had holes and wouldn’t inflate.
What would we do if we were washed out farther to sea with no islands to cling to?
There were so many unknowns.
It terrified both of us.
But on the other hand, I played Promoter of the Cause:
We weren’t two people; we were four. Therefore, we had more hands to paddle, more chance at travelling farther, more hope at finding civilisation.
The raft would have to float securely, and I wouldn’t leave our island until I was sure it was seaworthy. I would create storage for food and water. I would build a canopy for shade. (I didn’t utter how heavy such a vessel would be or that I had doubts it would float).
As for not having life-jackets—that was a drawback but not a deal breaker.
The only thing that sat in my gut like undigested rocks was the thought of losing against the tropical currents and being claimed by the ocean just as Estelle said.
If a rip took us, we wouldn’t be strong enough to stay in the archipelago of Fiji. However, that chance only existed if we lived on the outskirts of the three hundred plus islands and weren’t (by some slim chance) slap-bang in the middle of other inhabited homes.
Despite our many discussions, the drive to protect my family never left, and one day, I couldn’t wait any longer.
I enlisted Conner’s help, and together, we hacked as much bamboo as we dared (leaving plenty to regrow) and spent our time shredding the stringy bark found on the creeping yellow flowers by the beach line and knotting vine and flax rope to build with.
I was an architect not a boat engineer. I didn’t know buoyancy requirements or how to make wood watertight. As much as I hated to admit it, I wouldn’t be able to build a yacht. But I could build a floating platform. And with transportation, we might be able to unlock the vast prison gates keeping us stranded and find something that could save us.
Conner and I worked steadily but not stupidly.
Some days, we worked from sunup to sundown. But some days, we took off, swimming in the ocean, indulging in naps beneath our umbrella tree. And not once did anyone mention the unmentionable that if we did this; if we willingly sailed away from our island, we would never come back.
If we found rescue, we wouldn’t know the coordinates to return to. If we didn’t find rescue...we’d die a lot sooner than we would if we stayed.
Those thoughts kept me up far too many nights.
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