Outfoxing Japan's Guardian Winds by Tere Batham continued...
the ashy hills to gaze at the steaming volcano and later to wander amongst the twisted propellers of Zero fighters next to the old airstrip.  On the top of a hill a small Shinto Shrine had been raked with machine gun fire.  In a nearby bay a Japanese memorial toppled dangerously, about to slide into the sea, so that it was difficult to read upon it the sand inscriptions.  Ghostly remains lay everywhere, though at times it seemed voices still echoed in the sunny hills.
North of Pagan, past Asuncion, is the drowned crater of Maug. The steep and narrow rock walls of this extinct volcano are all that remain above sea level: three sheer and curving rock islands; breeding grounds for thousands of sea birds.  Only in the calmest of weather can boats venture into this enchanted circle, but finding a place to anchor is testing.  The shoreline drops to 600 feet in a matter of yards.
A volcanic plug rises to around 100 feet deep in the middle of the crater but is dangerously fissured.  Shortly before our arrival a U.S. Naval Supply Vessel had visited and lay their anchor on the plug. When the weather abruptly changed they made haste to get out. But their anchor would not budge, wedged as it was within the cracks of the basalt plug.  Finally, as the swells began to build, the crew had no choice but to unshackle the chain and drop the ground tackle to the bottom.
After skirting the crater perimeter we found a narrow shelf on which to lay our anchor extending about one hundred feet from the shore.  But gravity alone held Sea Quest, for the shelf was as smooth as a billiard table. We lay close under the cliff face with the frigate birds wheeling high overhead.  We all donned scuba gear for a dive on a reef of plate coral that glided down and down and down in huge steps as though we were being led into Neptune's palace by the two huge parrot fish that escorted us.
The next day when a breeze rose that barely fluttered our red ensign, we were alarmed to discover that a swell sucked and heaved through the crater.  We could not stay.  The slightest tug of the anchor would send it from its narrow shelf to plunge into the fathomless deep. But away from the land the wind died away again leaving us motoring through an oily calm. When we could stand the heat and noise no longer we shut the engine down.  I hung our freshly scrubbed laundry and then went below to fire up the Primus oven and bake some bread, making the most of the peaceful conditions.
When the wind returned we coasted along under MPS on a course of 340° with fluky easterly wind that eventually grew steadily stronger until it began to veer to the southwest when we found ourselves beset with violent squalls.  Twenty-one ton Sea Quest, normally so comfortable, tumbled as though in a washing machine.  A glance at the chart showed us to be crossing over the Bonin Trench where the ocean floor fell steeply thousands of meters, creating a Niagra Falls-like effect on the surface, but reversed. The combination of turbulent, confused seas and a half-a-gale made the boat very uncomfortable until we cleared the undersea trench. We swore that in future we would avoid such areas.
The wind continued to veer right around to the NW, eventually rising to a gale, forcing us to sail under reefed main and staysail only.  Twenty-four hours later the low had blown through so that we had a clear view in the late afternoon of our first landfall in Japan, rugged Ha Ha Jima. Near the of-lying rocky island, like a sleigh ride we rode big glassy overfalls.  Outside crowded fishing harbor, Sea Quest anchored for the night. Early next morning the fishermen powered past very close, staring hard at us with barely a wave.
At the main island of the Ogasawara group, Chi Chi Jima, we entered the little