A small boat on a big sea
By Mary Lois Detweiler Miller ’50

I found my interests at Goshen College centered around music and art; my husband Don Miller ’50 pursued courses in science at Goshen and, by 1955, graduated from Jefferson Medical School. I taught sixth grade and music in Telford, Pa.; Don then practiced medicine in Middlebury, Goshen and Elkhart.
The two of us discovered not only a joy with each other, but also, a shared curiosity about nature with a certain willingness to seek adventure. We raised our four children, exposing them to camping, hiking and sailing on Lake Michigan, and germinated this idea of sailing great distances. I must admit my fervor for crossing a big ocean lagged behind that of Don’s passion.
We set sail from Fort Lauderdale Jan. 5, 1987. Our 37‘ sailboat, Horizon, embraced spare parts, staples, cans of veggies, items for barter (fish hooks, paint brushes, bright cloth) and a closet that held a very basic wardrobe. Ready to start the journey, we pushed through the gates of the Panama Canal to find, revealed, geography we never knew existed, and different cultures sharing common values. With the small space Don and I shared, it soon became evident that collecting crafts and art from these cultures would have to be limited. We do enjoy a small collection of canoes, outrigger and dugouts that now travel across our living room wall. Small carvings, pottery and weavings also remind us of this voyage that has so enriched our lives.
We have no way of knowing whether we are the first Mennonites to sail around the world on a small boat, all alone; we’d love to hear from others about sailing and particularly, information about Mennonites and circumnavigation.
As Joseph Campbell expressed so well on a PBS special the defining sum of our parts, “When you’re addressing yourself to the horizon, to the world you’re in, then you’re in your place in the world. It’s a different way to live.”
Life on a small boat is simplicity . . .

“And I have felt a presence that disturbs me with joy whose dwelling is the light of setting suns and the round ocean and the living air and the mind of man.”
This paraphrase from Wordsworth’s Tintern Abbey in some way encompasses my feelings about the journey I have shared with my husband, Don.
As the enormous doors of the Panama Canal close behind us and the vast blue of Pacific Ocean stretch ahead, doubts about the circumnavigation ahead swirl through my thoughts.
The Horizon seems so small sailing across the cobalt blue sea. After seven years honing our sailing skills along the Eastern seaboard, we set out to see the world as few have opportunity to do. Our sturdy boat, seaworthy and comfortable for the two of us, becomes home. Thirty-seven days sailing across the Pacific becomes a test to all the knowledge we have acquired about the effects of wind on the sails and the response of waves to the boat. The few glitches encountered as we continue west are surpassed by the exhilaration at the sight of those peaks of Fatu Hiva and the accomplishment of our first ocean crossing. Perhaps it’s the first ocean crossing that makes a landfall special, or perhaps it’s truly the connection we share with these Polynesian folk. The French Polynesian Islands become the opening chapter for Don and I as pages are added to our log detailing the discovery of new cultures as we rejoice in shared values.
Studying the nautical charts provides valuable information for safe passage. We discover oceans are dotted with small islands and atolls that act as stepping stones for us to hopscotch our way to new discoveries. We meet Doug and Jill Minter in Western Samoa, here on their Peace Corp assignment, teaching agriculture and nutrition. Doug’s dad, “Dr. Don,” was on the staff with my Dr. Don at Goshen General. We leave this home of huge men displaying tattoos as clothing and sail south to Tonga towards higher latitudes.
It’s midnight, the twinkling lights decorating the homes of New Zealand reveal our first Christmas as we make our way to the anchorage. I have a touch of homesickness – family seems so far away tonight. We purchase a used car to cruise the highways of this country near the South Pole. For six months we revel in the pastoral beauty of the North Island and the snow covered peaks of the South Island.
Regaining our sea legs after such a vacation takes a few days as we sail the sea once more. We have our sights on a unique spot in the middle of the South Pacific Ocean. The chart’s only notation of this spot is a hazard to navigation. At daybreak we see breaking waves along a reef. There is no land visible. An undersea mount has risen until it just scratches the surface of the ocean to create Minerva Reef. At high tide there is no evidence of its presence – cause of countless shipwrecks. Here at this fragile refuge, we anchor in the center of the circular reef. For three weeks we snorkel and dive with the six sailboats that have found this special spot – here where the horizon spins a continuous line for 360 degrees.
Winds turning favorable, we sail on a “peace of a reef” towards the harbor at Suva Fiji. New customs, new ceremonies, firewalkers and the sevu-sevu ritual become a part of this country’s uniqueness. But still new cultures await as we begin our second year of this journey with 10,000 having passed under our hull. North across the equator we discover a 2,400 mile stretch of islands along its border called Micronesia. This U.S. Trust Territory embraces five countries, each with defining cultures. We are fascinated by the extraordinary sailing skills of the ocean navigators of Pulawat, who are using the stars, wave patterns, birds and clouds traveled great distances in their outrigger canoes. To the tiny atoll, West Fayu, all alone, we chafe through our two anchor lines at night and drift towards the reef. Awakened by the ominous thud we scramble for our lives. We haul out the third anchor to winch ourselves from danger. After four hours of sweat and strained muscles cranking the winch handle, we catch our breath before searching in our dinghy for those two anchors still dug deep in the sand. Lessons learned do bring confidence that these challenges can be met without panic or fear. The lagoon in Truk provides spectacular diving over the sunken Japanese warships which sunk here during World War II. And tiny Yap displays the unique stone money in yards along the dirt paths. A year sailing between these cultures rich in history and striving to keep true to this history, has blessed our voyage with images that “disturb me with joy.”
Another year spent with these island cultures offers a marked contrast to the countries ahead. Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia and Thailand treasuring their ancient history fills our senses with architecture, music, attire simple and elegant, to lifestyles expressed in villages and temples. A college course in history, on the spot.
The red tape involved in sailing to India, Don’s birthplace, finds us flying, instead, to Calcutta. Standing aside as I watch Don recapture his childhood haunts around Dhamtari gives meaning to the names and places he’s spoken of. We fly through the pass in the Himalayas to touch down in Kathmandu where we’re greeted by Ethel and Ed Metzler. A special aspect is added when we share the knowledge of friends residing at our destination.
A question most asked and easily answered is, “What is your favorite place?”
The tiny atoll in the Chagos Archipelago, 1,000 miles south of India, becomes this place. No one lives on these islands, just sailboats here. Food and fuel supplies for this place takes planning in order to enjoy such unspoiled beauty for three months before sailing on to Kenya.
Meeting Dr. Mary Oyer in Nairobi again adds a rich dimension to our visit. She helped shape many of my ideas about creativity. Observing the birds and beasts of the jungle while on safaris offers a different zoo experience. To continue south along the Mozambique Channel takes planning and shared information with other captains to complete this leg successfully. There is a strong current flooding south along the coast that can cause awesome seas when confronted with strong winds howling from the South Pole. Just a day’s sail from Durban we are suddenly challenged by this buster. It’s an exhausting night. The tools of knowledge gathered help us gain a blustery entrance to Durban.
South Africa is beautiful. 1991 emerged as a year of dialogue about apartheid. We observe the Codessa Congress as an instrument of discourse between the black and white leaders. Sailing around the Cape of Good Hope becomes an exercise of stamina. We are on a windless sea with our two sources for auto-steering not functioning. This finds us, for the first time in over five years, standing at the helm for five days and nights.
The Atlantic Ocean beckons. One more ocean and we’re home. Misgivings that filled those beginning views gradually faded from my journals, replaced with a new way to look at this world of ours.

This circumnavigation of five and a half years and 20,500 miles found the two of us better friends and having gained respect for the expertise we each brought to such a journey. Don shared medical knowledge generously, but also became an expert diesel mechanic, plumber, electrician and fish provider. My talents included being a good helmsperson, scraper of barnacles from the boat, gourmet fish chef and painter of pictures.

Return to December Bulletin contents
The journey of the magi, and travel journaling, editorial by Rachel Lapp
Lifelong learning: the long approach home by President Shirley H. Showalter
On service: Ireland, Indiana, Mali by Jacob Liechty ’02
Lessons from Africa by Sally Jo Milne ’67 with Rachel Lapp
Pole position: uncluttering down under by Greg Lehman ’93
Dear Diary: GC senior reflects on Dominican donation by Alicia Montoya ’01

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