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Inspiring Singlehanded Cruiser: If Dustin Can Do It …

Two weeks in the heat of Apia Harbor, Samoa, dirty with the grit of construction around the bustling commercial port, put me in the mood for a fresh sea breeze and blue water. Up came the anchor, and soon our Pacific Seacraft 37, Pamela, was bouncing through a boisterous sea on her way to Niuatoputapu, a remote island in the Kingdom of Tonga, 180 miles to the southwest.

Not many folks visit Niuatoputapu, “the Sacred Coconut.” It’s the northernmost of the Tongan islands, far from Vava’u, which most South Pacific cruisers visit.

The wind was howling as we made our way through the pass and inside the reef. Our broken transmission cable made the anchoring procedure a nerve-racking trial. But what a relief to be gently swaying in flat water, protected by the reef of Niuatoputapu! We spent the following day drying out our clothing and the interior of the boat, then sleeping like a pair of fallen coconut palms.

Remote and spectacular Niuatoputapu is very welcoming to cruisers.
© 2024 Dennis Maggard

After a bit of rest, I dinghied ashore to meander through the village and explore the sacred coconut groves. I was returning to the dinghy landing when I met a young man who was just coming ashore. From a distance I saw him land, tie up his boat, then hop up onto the landing. He was putting on his knapsack as I approached, and something about his movements seemed asymmetrical.

“I’m Dustin,” he introduced himself. He had just arrived from Hawaii by way of Pago Pago and appeared to be going solo.

“Singlehanding?” I asked.

“Literally,” he replied.

It was then I noticed he didn’t have a left arm. Or a left leg, for that matter. Below his knee was a steel-rod prosthetic with a weather-beaten tennis shoe attached. His left shoulder pointed up and down in gesticulatory agreement when he waved his right hand. He was in his late 30s, solo-sailing his 35-ft Alberg 35 Rudis. Yet he had no problem stepping ashore and tying up his dinghy. His demeanor seemed completely at ease, calm, and remarkably self-assured. We chatted for a bit while I stared in utter disbelief.

“We’re on Pamela, the green Crealock. Once you’re settled, will you join us for dinner?” I asked.

“I’d love that,” he replied, then bounded away to explore the village.

“What does rudis mean?” I asked him during dinner on board Pamela, sitting down to a hearty Oaxaca mole with a loaf of whole wheat bread that my wife Pam pulled hot from the ship’s oven.

Continue reading here.

Tune in to our Good Jibes podcast to learn more about this story’s author Dennis Maggard, and about Dustin Reynolds.

Sailing

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