Jill Knight
Author © Scott D. Zachary

Fortune always tosses me into the right place at the right time, and when it doesn’t, I improvise as though it did. My life has been much like that—often resembling Agent 007. I was anything but that on this particular Wednesday morning in the spring of 1993.

I sat at my desk programming. Having worked the previous weekend developing software, I didn’t read Sunday’s Johannesburg Times travel section as I customarily did. I took a break and opened it up on my desk. Front and center, an article featured a gal named Jill Knight who circumnavigates the world in her 37-foot gaff cutter sailing yacht—all alone!

       Yeah—that’s my kind of gal!

Jill had embarked from Cape Town, South Africa, on Easter morning, heading to the Caribbean. Terrific winds flipped her boat over multiple times, and the South African Coast Guard did tow her back to port in the torrential storm, barely. Jill had dry-docked her sailing yacht, the Cooee, for major repairs.

Nothing short of the end of the world would stop me from visiting Jill Knight—pronto!

Reading Jill’s story spawned a head-over-heels sparkle. I longed to hear all about her daring feats from her lips. I snatched the phone, called the Times, and asked for the writer of that article. The reporter, a most helpful lady, told me that Jill docked her boat at Club Mykonos Marina in Cape Town. I expressed my gratitude and then called Club Mykonos. The marina attendant said they had received so many calls for Jill Knight since her story hit the Johannesburg Times that they had to wire a phone out to her boat, which had been repaired and was back in the water. He gave me Jill’s phone number, and I dialed it.

“Jill Knight.”

“Hello, Jill. My name is Scott Zachary. I’m an American systems analyst working here in Johannesburg. As one world adventurer to another, I would be truly indebted to you if you would allow me to take you out to dinner at the restaurant of your choice tomorrow evening so I can hear your fascinating stories about sailing the world.”

“I would love to share my sailing adventures with you, Scott! Dinner would be great, too. My meager budget doesn’t allow for much of that, especially with all the pricey boat repairs.”

“Where’s a good place for me to stay near the marina, Jill?”

“I recommend Club Mykonos. They have a great little village next to the marina where you can stay.”

“Thank you, Jill! See you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it, Scott!”

I hung up, called South African Airlines, booked the next flight to Cape Town, arranged to pick up a BMW Coupe at the airport, and then I called Club Mykonos. “Hello, I will be visiting someone at your marina for a couple of days. Can you please help me transform a fantasy into reality?”

“How may I help you with that, sir?”

“Do you have a suite where I can look straight down the beach from my bed with my head on the pillow and watch the surf splash the shore?”

“Is price a concern, sir?”

“No.”

“I believe we can fulfill your request precisely.”

“Great! I’ll see you this evening.”

I trotted past my boss’s open door. “See you next week, Sterling!” I hollered.

He laughed as though I was joking.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The cute blonde clerk handed me my BMW keys.

“How far is it to Club Mykonos?” I asked.

“One hundred and twenty-four kilometers, sir.”

“Can you give me directions?”

“We’re closing the shop now. Penny and I are heading out R27 past Langebaan where you’re going. Follow us,” she grinned, “if you can keep up.”

I had often traveled over 120 mph on the South African freeway to our mining clients in the Kalahari Desert—but not through a city! It was all I could do to keep that speed demon’s Mercedes Coupe in my sight. We drove 75 miles in just over half an hour. Whew! That thrilling ride would befit an exciting chase scene in a James Bond movie.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Conveying an air of stateliness, the classy Club Mykonos bellhop Bentley led me past the glassed-in gymnasium, through the old-world village alleyways to my suite perched on stilts above the shoreline. He unlocked the door and held it open, ushering me inside with a welcoming flourish. Bentley led me to the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator door displaying the case of Castle beer that I requested. He carried my suitcase farther through the spacious living room into the elegant bedroom where he opened the sheer curtains, materializing my fantasy beyond the glass doors. “Will this do, sir?”

I slipped off my shoes and toppled onto the king-size bed, laid my head on the pillow, and looked straight down the shoreline where the waves uncurled onto the sand. I smiled grandly. “It’s perfect, Bentley!”

“We strive to please, sir! Additional pillows and comforters are stored there in the linen closet. Please don’t hesitate to call if there is anything you desire, Mr. Zachary.”

I gave Bentley a superb tip, and he thanked me abundantly as he left me to my self-indulgence. I opened the glass doors overlooking the glistening white breakers. A crisp, fresh breeze engulfed my bedroom, so I retrieved another comforter and spread it out on the bed. I doubled the large puffy pillows, undressed, slid into the luxurious bed, and admired the beauteous fulfillment of my fantasy. I’ve never enjoyed a more poetic prelude to sleep as I listened to the waves unfurl.

I woke up at 7:00 a.m., dressed in my running gear, and jogged several miles along the shore. I showered and shaved afterward and then strolled to the marina. Sporty sailboats nosed along both sides of the wooden-planked pier toward Jill’s boat slip. Intending to introduce my arrival, I knocked on the forward hull of Jill’s sailboat. It was so rock-solid that it felt as though I was rapping on concrete—it made no sound. I followed the walkway that paralleled her boat and greeted Jill where she was eating breakfast in the morning sunshine at a table on the aft deck.

“Good morning, Jill! I’m Scott Zachary; permission to come aboard?”

“Well, hello, Scott! Permission granted.”

Jill lithely approached and shook my hand. Her eyes radiated confidence. Jill’s stance avowed her physical fitness. Her fair auburn hair shone in the sunlight. “Have you had breakfast, Scott?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Would you favor some bagels and cream cheese, mandarin orange juice, and tea?”

“Yes, please!”

“Have a seat and relax. I’ll only be a jiff in the galley.”

I sat down, and a silky black cat wound around my ankles. I scratched his ears. Jill returned moments later, carrying a mahogany tray laden with my breakfast. “I see you’ve met my shipmate, Lucifer. I adopted him in the Philippines as a kitten. He’s always been onboard ever since. I dry-docked Cooee for repairs after the Easter storm and set Lucifer down on solid ground for the first time. He hissed and clawed.”

“I’ve seen how terrified cats get when they’re in a car.”

“Lucifer is the opposite—he needs the motion of the boat to keep his balance; he’s a tried-and-true sailor.” Jill reached down and lovingly stroked Lucifer. “You couldn’t have timed your visit better, Scott. I need to take Cooee for a trial run. Would you like to go sailing?”

I lit up. “Sure! I’d love to, and I think your Australian accent is dashing.”

Jill smiled. “  ‘Dashing,’ hmmm. I have an errand to run first. My laptop took a bath when I flipped over three times in the storm. I set out for the Caribbean on Easter morning in gale-force winds. They were puffing sixty knots (69 mph). I thought if I can’t sail in this, then I might as well quit. Shortly after I set sail, the winds increased to ninety knots (103 mph), and I flipped all the way over three times. The South African Coast Guard was barely able to tow me back to port.”

“I admire your adventurousness, Jill! As soon as I read about your daring life, I had to meet you.”

“I’m honored. Are you ready to go for a stroll?”

“Sure.”

We walked out toward the end of the pier where a lady stepped off the gangway from a magnificent yacht, saluting, “Hi, Jill!”

“Hi, Audrey. How’s my laptop?”

“I have some bad news and some good news. The bad news is that your laptop is kaput. The good news is that we are just now preparing to set sail on the maiden voyage of our sparkling-new, sixty-seven-foot sailing yacht. We’ve stocked the ship with every imaginable drink and hors d’oeuvre, and we have three servants aboard to spoil us. Want to come?”

“Sure, but I have a guest—Scott.”

“Your friend Scott is welcome too.”

“Are you game, Scott?” coaxed Jill.

“Yes, of course! Sounds great to me!”

       “All aboard, then!” gestured Audrey.

Audrey’s husband Oliver introduced himself and proudly demonstrated the ship’s electronic prowess that enabled him to single-handedly sail the two-masted sailing yacht without ever leaving his captain’s chair.

It’s a flawless day: sunny, mid-70s, and a pleasant breeze to steadily billow the sails. I found a cozy spot on a side deck and reclined to enjoy our journey through the beautiful Saldanha Bay onto the South Atlantic Ocean. One of the servants took my order for champagne. Throughout the afternoon, I continually swilled from my fluted crystal glass, and it never emptied. The servants brought around heavenly hors d’oeuvres on silver trays every few minutes—the most delectable non-stop banquet of prawns, crab, oysters, scallops, caviar, prime rib, every imaginable fruit, and many unfamiliar treats for the tasting.

Ocean sprays sprinkle my face as I admire the snow-white sails that entice the ship’s bow to slice through the whitecaps toward the horizon. This unanticipated shower of blessings overwhelmed me. I didn’t ordinarily pay tribute to God at the time; nevertheless, I thanked my Creator for allowing me such enormous delight.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jill and I thanked Audrey and Oliver for a fantastic experience. Jill suggested that we meet at her boat slip later that evening and walk to dinner at the Bouzouki Greek restaurant. A perfect day must include a delicious nap, so I retired to my fantasy bed where the breakers lulled me to sleep.

That evening, I walked over to Jill’s slip, and she led the way to Bouzouki’s. We enjoyed a leisurely meal of authentic Greek cuisine while taking in a breathtaking view of the marina and the Langebaan Lagoon. Between courses, Jill shared many stories about her audacious solo seafaring adventures around the globe in her century-old New Zealand-built sailing yacht, Cooee. One that often echoes in my mind is her tale of sailing across the South China Sea. Jill received a radio bulletin warning that pirates lurked in the area, so she sailed through the night without lights, narrowly evading her potential captors. That’s bold!

I was entranced by Jill’s odyssey as she described her leap from a corporate psychologist to sailing the globe alone and how she paid her way by repairing boats and writing articles for sailing magazines. I was so mesmerized by Jill’s stories of harrowing storms, her mystical encounters with nature, and her unwavering determination to live on the edge that I can’t recall anything about the live entertainment that evening.

We happened to be at the Bouzouki restaurant on Greek night when the traditional plate-breaking ritual is observed. I was initially bewildered as I watched the children smash their ceramic plates on the floor. It looked like fun, so we joined in. I ordered a large stack of dishes for us to shatter. As Jill related her stories to me, I occasionally punctuated her exclamation by tossing a plate in the air. We had fun partaking in this unusual custom. After a while, the children had decimated their supply of plates into chips and the chips into powder. The hopeful little boys and girls began to eyeball the remainder of our stack. The children’s gloom instantly burst into glee when I gave them our dishes, and they happily smashed them to bits.

Jill treated me to a picnic the following day at a favorite spot of hers where the waves funneled into the porous rock formations along the shore yielding geysers whose spray precipitated vibrant rainbows. I could’ve contentedly stayed with Jill Knight and watched nature spout its glory all day; but alas, I had to return to my job in Johannesburg—if I still had one.

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 Jill – Thank you for one of my fondest memoirs!