Manokalanipō

A puff of Voodoo fills the lagoon. Cackling in frenzied excitement, the gnarled crew of Manokalanipō emerges from the depths. Its Polka Dots understood as source of the shift. Yelping and scrambling upon the rigging, the sail is squeezed against the wind, lifting the Wa'a to new startling speeds. Angling for shore, Isaac skillfully cross steps the forward 'iako and flies the ama in perfect balance. James giggles sinisterly and yanks the sheet line, mast bending into a crescent. Hull vibrating beneath our feet, the Wa'a is prepared for land fall. Letting the rig run wide open down the shores of Ka'ōhao. Scintillating. Mysticating. Excellent. Poof! Manokalanipō disappears into a swirling cloud of spray paint. Yet a curious sense remains. In between specks of sand and driblets of water lapping against the shore. Pa'akai turns sweet and offshore trenches sing a crackling melody, calling the crew back into blue.