Log of Sloop Red Wolf 
5/10/36

Moored snugly at Hammock Cove, Sacred Island, Spontoon Archipelago.  All quiet as usual, except for some drumming about daybreak up in the hills.  The natives are restless?

You won’t find  “Hammock Cove” in any map or chart of the Spontoons that I’m aware of.  Even if you did, it wouldn’t be under that name.  The natives may have a name for the little place, but I’ve never asked one for it.  Hammock Cove is my own name for my own particular harbor, and I like it.

Around the south west coast of Sacred Island a high waterfall had cut back into the surrounding cliffs and formed this little patch of beach and flat ground inside a deep cove. It was just the right size to slip RED WOLF into the small river & moor her to some of the huge palm trees that formed a shady grove between the beach and the cliff walls.  Seemingly a little island all in itself, I have reason to believe there is some way of passing from there into the interior of Sacred Island, but I’ve never had the ambition to search for it.  I more than half hope it doesn’t even exist.   Cut off from the outside winds, there is always a mild, cool breeze in the Cove, carrying the song of the waterfall and small of wild orchids and gardenias.  The calm little lagoon has some of the best fishing in the Islands.  Best of all, though, is the old canvas navy hammock slung in the deep shade of the palms.  Over the years I’ve found that a few hours of rocking in it here can relieve the stresses of the worse sea passages, or of dealing with the dumbest of damnable landlubbers!

It was way back in ’12 that I first made landfall in this spot, after some old shipmates from Rain Island had asked me to lend them a hand moving some cargo and passengers.  The Cove is difficult to approach through the surrounding reefs and shoals.  All the more so on a dark, moonless night!  Still, we made our landfall safely.  It was while waiting for dusk to shove back off to sea again that I fond myself taken with the beauty and deep peace of the little place.  Barely two full acres at the most, I still felt more attracted to it than I’ve ever felt about any plot of dry land before or since.  I somehow found I was talking out loud to myself about how, if I was ever able to make it back there, I’d like to sling my hammock between these two ancient palm trees and just let the breeze rock me peacefully off to sleep!

Silly, and I was glad no one seemed to have heard me going off like that.  Still, I think someone did have sharper ears than I suspected.  It was nearly 10 years later; my wife had passed away, and I’d sold everything else I owned to buy RED WOLF.  I’d written away to the Spontoons to request a 6-month cruising permit, thinking to spend some time there before having to continue on, probably around the world.  The application came back approved, but also without any expiration date.  There was also an unsigned note enclosed saying that, if I still wanted it, I could find a hammock slung just where I’d asked for it to be.  And so it was, and so it still is.