Elena and Sally rowed the dinghy to the island for a little walking tour. We hiked carefully past the coconut-eating hermit crabs who we had watched earlier in the day, over to the windward side of the island (a grand total of maybe 100 yards.)
The windward side of the island has an easterly face. The surf, pushed by the westerly flowing current and westerly blowing winds crashes and smashes against the reef that surrounds this little motu. These waves can be ferocious; no land has slowed them down for thousands of miles.
As a point of reference, Tor Heyerdahl and his crew crash-landed the Kon Tiki when they sailed their raft thousands of miles across the Pacific. We were on a island totally uninhabited by people.
We picked our way across the rocks to reach the windward side. The palm trees leaned away from the prevailing winds, and a curious white bird flew around us, just checking out the newcomers.
As we ventured down the beach we kept our eyes pealed for plastic floats, the kind fishermen use to hold up their nets. We had read that these floats can be attached to anchor chain to keep the chain up and off the bottom of the lagoon to protect the coral heads, as well as keep the chain from getting tangled around said coral heads. (Side note, this works).
We swiftly found five floats that had been washed up on shore. We probably could have picked up a dozen. And then we started noticing what else was on the beach. Plastic. Everywhere. Plastic bottles -- water bottles, pop bottles by the hundreds. Plastic food bags. Plastic garbage bags. Detritus of all kinds -- a little kid's Hot Wheels. Had all of this been thrown or blown off passing boats, or did some of it actually float from South America, the next big land mass to the east? Wherever it came from, it was on this motu for years to come.
Our first response was to start picking up the beach....but where would we put all of it? Pax could hold only a fraction of what we saw. And what would we do with bags of plastic once we got somewhere that might be able to handle the trash? Dump it on the next big island?
So very sad. And such a reminder that not unlike diamonds, plastic is forever. Or nearly so.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Monday, August 11, 2008
Pax on the Hard
August 11, 2008
On the morning of August 7, we slowly motored Pax over a shallow coral reef into the tiny artificial harbor of CNI and Raiatea Caranage, the only two French Polynesian boatyards outside of Papeete that offer dry storage for yachts. Starting in the Marquesas with Pierre of K'ea who would give us so much good advice, we had been told repeatedly that CNI was the good yard, and that we should avoid Raiatea Carenage. Even the Port Captain in Papeete, the one official who clears all yachts into and out of French Polynesia, told us that CNI was the shipyard with the good reputation. So, it was to CNI we went.
As directed by three CNI workmen, one of whom was swimming about Pax with a dive mask, we maneuvered over a submerged steel cradle while the men ashore got lines to us. After we shut down the engine, the linemen held Pax steady as the man in the water repeatedly dove into the greenish-brown muck to position the cradle struts snuggly against Pax's garboards. A tractor then pulled our 14 ton cutter up a ramp, inch by inch, until she came to rest in a dusty parking lot next to the yellow shipping container that had been made into the CNI main office. Now she sits there, for once still, on a frame of heavy steel painted the same yellow as the office, inactive, patiently waiting for us to put her to sea again. Here she will be through the South Pacific summer until next April when, with the cyclone season over, we will return to begin the long journey home to Seattle.
From 8 AM to 4 PM the shipyard is all activity. Sparks fly from a welding torch threatening to ignite the aluminum particles and the fiberglass shards that fill the air and that will soon lightly cover every horizontal surface. Owners and crewmen climb up and down onto their boats; rigging, stripping, and painting; getting them ready for sea or getting them ready for storage. The high pitched whine of power sanding mixes with the groan of metal grinding, and men can often be heard yelling to one another over the mechanical din. The language is unimportant - French, English, and Tahitian all sound the same when yelled across a busy boatyard.
But quiet descends in the evening. Then it is easier to notice that on the edges of the yard lay berms of broken concrete, small piles of used up boat parts, scattered old bottles, odd pieces of oily wood and other trash. When it rains, as it often does here with a vengeance, some of this debris migrates to the once pristine lagoon. My old home was like this. In the grand fishing port that was Gloucester, Massachusetts in the 60's the environment was something to be used, not preserved. Half sunken fishing boats lay seeping fuel oil, still tied to old crumbling piers that were coated decades earlier with heavy black creosote. Industrial and sanitary waste was pumped untreated directly into the harbor at the submerged end of a half mile long pipe, and good upstanding people threw empty bottles and cans off their boats on sunny Sundays, secure in the knowledge that they would sink and be a bother to no one. The smell of the Gloucester mud flats of my youth is still with me, and once experienced, the smell of the old gurry plant on Five Pound Island can never be forgotten. Here in Raiatea, amid the coconut palms and the hyacinth blossoms, the fragrance is sweeter than it was in my old home, but the sights and sounds of this dirty third-world shipyard have filled me with nostalgia. How powerful memories are that they can be fondly recalled by a place like this.
We have spent our last few days ashore in a hotel while we got the boat ready to survive the next seven months without us. A week ago we were ready to migrate ashore, to experience once more grown-up size beds, hot showers, dishwashers and restaurant meals. Then on our first morning ashore we gazed across the breakfast table to see a chartered sloop go by inside the reef, headed for Tahaa, an island we now know well. And we felt left behind. We knew that absence would make our hearts grow fond for the sailing life again, but are we so smitten that it could happen in a single day?
We have memories of our adventure on the high seas and amidst the exotic isles that will carry us deeply into our dotage. We have learned so much about ocean sailing, about the stars and planets, about the dolphins, the flying fish, and the shearwater, about the Marquesas, the Tuamotus and the Societies, about the people who are living in these exotic islands, about their food, their music, their dancing and their religion. But the fondest memories are of those with whom we shared the adventure, the other cruisers we befriended and who befriended us, our various crewmates who were acquaintances once and who are now good friends, and most of all of each other.
Sal and I have closely shared virtually every minute of these last eight months. Our living space was less than 200 square feet. We had no hot water, no TV, no movies, little contact with the outside world, and few meals out. Others came and went, but it was just us more than half the time. The exhilarating times were easy, under the Golden Gate at midnight, crossing the equator, first landfall in Nuka Hiva, as were the quiet times, reading books and gazing at the stars. But there were difficult times, the hot humid weather, the bug bites, the occasional longing for home and a real bed, and worst of all there were the stressful times, when Pax rolled hard to a large wave and threw Sal across the cabin bruising half her body, when a spinnaker pole block exploded one dark night going downwind in a 25 knot northeasterly, and when the refrigerator quit 700 miles from the nearest mechanic. But we handled the bad times; always with mutual respect, never assigning blame, often with good humor, and occasionally with grace and style.
Growing up I often heard the story of my mom's brother, my Uncle Jack, and his best friend Freddy Osier. One summer when they were young men, they embarked on their great adventure. They sailed a small boat from Gloucester to Florida mostly down the Intercoastal Waterway.
After several weeks they arrived in Miami; Freddy stepped on the dock and turned one way; Jack stepped up and turned the other; and they never spoke to each again for the rest of their lives. This was a cautionary tale of a type popular in New England, of the dangers of getting too close. Happily, Sal and I ignored the warning. Close we were, but now we are closer. This is the grandest gift of our grand adventure.
Pax Vobiscum
On the morning of August 7, we slowly motored Pax over a shallow coral reef into the tiny artificial harbor of CNI and Raiatea Caranage, the only two French Polynesian boatyards outside of Papeete that offer dry storage for yachts. Starting in the Marquesas with Pierre of K'ea who would give us so much good advice, we had been told repeatedly that CNI was the good yard, and that we should avoid Raiatea Carenage. Even the Port Captain in Papeete, the one official who clears all yachts into and out of French Polynesia, told us that CNI was the shipyard with the good reputation. So, it was to CNI we went.
As directed by three CNI workmen, one of whom was swimming about Pax with a dive mask, we maneuvered over a submerged steel cradle while the men ashore got lines to us. After we shut down the engine, the linemen held Pax steady as the man in the water repeatedly dove into the greenish-brown muck to position the cradle struts snuggly against Pax's garboards. A tractor then pulled our 14 ton cutter up a ramp, inch by inch, until she came to rest in a dusty parking lot next to the yellow shipping container that had been made into the CNI main office. Now she sits there, for once still, on a frame of heavy steel painted the same yellow as the office, inactive, patiently waiting for us to put her to sea again. Here she will be through the South Pacific summer until next April when, with the cyclone season over, we will return to begin the long journey home to Seattle.
From 8 AM to 4 PM the shipyard is all activity. Sparks fly from a welding torch threatening to ignite the aluminum particles and the fiberglass shards that fill the air and that will soon lightly cover every horizontal surface. Owners and crewmen climb up and down onto their boats; rigging, stripping, and painting; getting them ready for sea or getting them ready for storage. The high pitched whine of power sanding mixes with the groan of metal grinding, and men can often be heard yelling to one another over the mechanical din. The language is unimportant - French, English, and Tahitian all sound the same when yelled across a busy boatyard.
But quiet descends in the evening. Then it is easier to notice that on the edges of the yard lay berms of broken concrete, small piles of used up boat parts, scattered old bottles, odd pieces of oily wood and other trash. When it rains, as it often does here with a vengeance, some of this debris migrates to the once pristine lagoon. My old home was like this. In the grand fishing port that was Gloucester, Massachusetts in the 60's the environment was something to be used, not preserved. Half sunken fishing boats lay seeping fuel oil, still tied to old crumbling piers that were coated decades earlier with heavy black creosote. Industrial and sanitary waste was pumped untreated directly into the harbor at the submerged end of a half mile long pipe, and good upstanding people threw empty bottles and cans off their boats on sunny Sundays, secure in the knowledge that they would sink and be a bother to no one. The smell of the Gloucester mud flats of my youth is still with me, and once experienced, the smell of the old gurry plant on Five Pound Island can never be forgotten. Here in Raiatea, amid the coconut palms and the hyacinth blossoms, the fragrance is sweeter than it was in my old home, but the sights and sounds of this dirty third-world shipyard have filled me with nostalgia. How powerful memories are that they can be fondly recalled by a place like this.
We have spent our last few days ashore in a hotel while we got the boat ready to survive the next seven months without us. A week ago we were ready to migrate ashore, to experience once more grown-up size beds, hot showers, dishwashers and restaurant meals. Then on our first morning ashore we gazed across the breakfast table to see a chartered sloop go by inside the reef, headed for Tahaa, an island we now know well. And we felt left behind. We knew that absence would make our hearts grow fond for the sailing life again, but are we so smitten that it could happen in a single day?
We have memories of our adventure on the high seas and amidst the exotic isles that will carry us deeply into our dotage. We have learned so much about ocean sailing, about the stars and planets, about the dolphins, the flying fish, and the shearwater, about the Marquesas, the Tuamotus and the Societies, about the people who are living in these exotic islands, about their food, their music, their dancing and their religion. But the fondest memories are of those with whom we shared the adventure, the other cruisers we befriended and who befriended us, our various crewmates who were acquaintances once and who are now good friends, and most of all of each other.
Sal and I have closely shared virtually every minute of these last eight months. Our living space was less than 200 square feet. We had no hot water, no TV, no movies, little contact with the outside world, and few meals out. Others came and went, but it was just us more than half the time. The exhilarating times were easy, under the Golden Gate at midnight, crossing the equator, first landfall in Nuka Hiva, as were the quiet times, reading books and gazing at the stars. But there were difficult times, the hot humid weather, the bug bites, the occasional longing for home and a real bed, and worst of all there were the stressful times, when Pax rolled hard to a large wave and threw Sal across the cabin bruising half her body, when a spinnaker pole block exploded one dark night going downwind in a 25 knot northeasterly, and when the refrigerator quit 700 miles from the nearest mechanic. But we handled the bad times; always with mutual respect, never assigning blame, often with good humor, and occasionally with grace and style.
Growing up I often heard the story of my mom's brother, my Uncle Jack, and his best friend Freddy Osier. One summer when they were young men, they embarked on their great adventure. They sailed a small boat from Gloucester to Florida mostly down the Intercoastal Waterway.
After several weeks they arrived in Miami; Freddy stepped on the dock and turned one way; Jack stepped up and turned the other; and they never spoke to each again for the rest of their lives. This was a cautionary tale of a type popular in New England, of the dangers of getting too close. Happily, Sal and I ignored the warning. Close we were, but now we are closer. This is the grandest gift of our grand adventure.
Pax Vobiscum
Monday, August 4, 2008
Guest Blogger
On the road to Haamene Bay
By Eric Laschever, esq.
Special to Pax Vobiscum
August 4, 2008
After snorkeling at Coral Gardens, we proceeded to Apu Bay, beyond which lay Haamene Bay. Fellow travelers, Dave and Jan on Baraka extolled the many virtues of Haamene, where they had lingered for several days. Long hikes, vanilla farms, and a tortoise rescue center featured prominently in accounts of this storied bay. The chart promised a restaurant, Restaurant Taaha Maitai in the village which shared the Bay's name.
The weather report predicted high winds from the east, southeast. The steep hills fringing Haamene Bay creates a Venturi that magnifies the wind, rendering Haamene Bay unacceptably lumpy at anchor. So we made ourselves comfortable for a spell in Apu.
Yet, Haamene beckoned. So on our third day we assembled our navigational resources, (chart and harbor guide) to find an alternative route.
One of the first things one learns upon stepping aboard is the difference between a map and a chart. The first difference is the name itself. Shipside, maps simply do not exist. On vessels more sternly captained than fair Pax, reference to a map will result in keelhauling or at least a pointed correction.
Second, and perhaps more importantly for this entry is the focus of the two. In contrast to a map (with its landward orientation), a respectable chart depicts considerable detail from the water line sea ward. Landward of that demarcation line, the markings leave much to the imagination.
For example, Pax's chart of Tahaa Island tells you that there is a fringe of coral near the head of Apu Bay and 3-4 meters of water at Haamene Bay's head. The chart however is silent on whether a road connects the two Bays. A small dotted line depicting a drainage route down the valley suggests a road's possibility, but no more. The chart's contours also suggest that any land connection between the two bays would likely follow the drainage.
With this hint of pass-ability, we boarded Virginia Hope and dinghied for a half hour up Apu . A short walk later in the direction of the drainage rewarded us with a road sign. To the right, Haamene. To the left, Pouturo.
The road to Haamene was about fifteen feet wide and well paved. Banana and papaya trees, orange and red bougainville and frangipani lined our way.
Less than ten minutes into our walk towards Haamene the sign caught our eye, Maison de Vanille Pouturo. Soon the young proprietor was proudly showing us drying racks loaded with vanilla pods as his shy daughter looked on. After purchasing some fresh pods, we proceeded uphill to the top of the pass. We were soon on the downward side to Hameene.
Soon after, we were comfortably seated at the Restaurant Taaha Maitai, bowls of ice cream rewarding out endeavor. Haamene Bay was ours.
By Eric Laschever, esq.
Special to Pax Vobiscum
August 4, 2008
After snorkeling at Coral Gardens, we proceeded to Apu Bay, beyond which lay Haamene Bay. Fellow travelers, Dave and Jan on Baraka extolled the many virtues of Haamene, where they had lingered for several days. Long hikes, vanilla farms, and a tortoise rescue center featured prominently in accounts of this storied bay. The chart promised a restaurant, Restaurant Taaha Maitai in the village which shared the Bay's name.
The weather report predicted high winds from the east, southeast. The steep hills fringing Haamene Bay creates a Venturi that magnifies the wind, rendering Haamene Bay unacceptably lumpy at anchor. So we made ourselves comfortable for a spell in Apu.
Yet, Haamene beckoned. So on our third day we assembled our navigational resources, (chart and harbor guide) to find an alternative route.
One of the first things one learns upon stepping aboard is the difference between a map and a chart. The first difference is the name itself. Shipside, maps simply do not exist. On vessels more sternly captained than fair Pax, reference to a map will result in keelhauling or at least a pointed correction.
Second, and perhaps more importantly for this entry is the focus of the two. In contrast to a map (with its landward orientation), a respectable chart depicts considerable detail from the water line sea ward. Landward of that demarcation line, the markings leave much to the imagination.
For example, Pax's chart of Tahaa Island tells you that there is a fringe of coral near the head of Apu Bay and 3-4 meters of water at Haamene Bay's head. The chart however is silent on whether a road connects the two Bays. A small dotted line depicting a drainage route down the valley suggests a road's possibility, but no more. The chart's contours also suggest that any land connection between the two bays would likely follow the drainage.
With this hint of pass-ability, we boarded Virginia Hope and dinghied for a half hour up Apu . A short walk later in the direction of the drainage rewarded us with a road sign. To the right, Haamene. To the left, Pouturo.
The road to Haamene was about fifteen feet wide and well paved. Banana and papaya trees, orange and red bougainville and frangipani lined our way.
Less than ten minutes into our walk towards Haamene the sign caught our eye, Maison de Vanille Pouturo. Soon the young proprietor was proudly showing us drying racks loaded with vanilla pods as his shy daughter looked on. After purchasing some fresh pods, we proceeded uphill to the top of the pass. We were soon on the downward side to Hameene.
Soon after, we were comfortably seated at the Restaurant Taaha Maitai, bowls of ice cream rewarding out endeavor. Haamene Bay was ours.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Running Chain Cove
July 31, 2008 Apu Bay, Tahaa Island
In the last two weeks we have explored several anchorages at Tahaa Island, sailed to Borra Bora for a few days, and then returned to Tahaa, where we now sit on a mooring at Marina Iti, also known as Taravana Yacht Club.
Bora Bora is the real world backdrop for the mysterious Bali Hi of the movie musical South Pacific. While we never did see the exotic boar's tooth ceremony that drew Luther to the Island, it is not hard for us to imagine why Lt. Joe Cable fell in love with the beautiful young daughter of Bloody Mary here - it is a place that inspires romance. A tall central spire surrounded by jagged secondary peaks, often shrouded in clouds, and surrounded by a deep blue lagoon that is itself enveloped by white sand beaches, coral reefs and some of the world's most colorful fish. Unfortunately, Bora Bora is also a place that is being loved too much. Resort hotels are sprouting up from the coral sands with the frequency of Starbucks coffee shops on Seattle's street corners. Cruise ships frequent the main lagoon and their passengers cover the ground during their 12 hours in port. Jet skis, fast ferries and dive boats are our noisy companions. Yet, despite it all, this is a place worth visiting - its majesty outweighs all distractions.
We were joined here by our last crewmember of 2008, Eric Laschever - lawyer, sailor, maritime scholar and spouse to Lal Sullivan who helped us get to the South Pacific last spring. Eric endeared himself to the Captain immediately upon arrival by pulling a fine bottle of single malt scotch from his one modestly-sized duffle bag - a crewmember cannot introduce himself more perfectly than this.
We stayed on moorings in Bora Bora, the first two nights at the Bora Bora Yacht Club. It is essentially a bar with mooring buoys out front. However, it also has a shower with heated (!!) water. Sal and I took our first hot showers since mid-April - what a treat. But, that was now five days ago, so we are back to room temperature sponge baths now. The next three nights we were moored off "Bloody Mary's" a tourist oriented restaurant, where we had drinks and hors d'oerves one night. This is a place that suits the new Bora Bora. It is generally well done (the large carved wooden penis with which one flushes the john in the men's room excepted) and it was pricey, although not outrageously so. A sign out front proudly listed the many celebrities who had dined there, including James Michener - we wonder if he appreciated what has happened to his Bali Hi (and if he used the men's room).
Two days ago we sailed back to Tahaa, 25 miles up wind. It was a delightful sail, but it took all day. We anchored that night inside the reef in a little spot that we have named "Running Chain Bay." We had anchored there before heading to Bora Bora in 80 feet of water. When we departed our anchor chain jumped out of its gypsy and only our safety line attached to the bitter end of the chain saved us from losing our main anchor and 250 feet of chain over the side. Twists that had developed in the chain were the cause of the problem. Fortunately for us, our good friend Dave Pryde was anchored next to us in Baraka. With his help we eventually recovered anchor and chain, unkinked it, and stored it back below. This is the second time this cruise that Dave has given hours of his time to trouble shoot a problem we have had. Thank you Dave, we will be forever grateful.
Our second stay in Running Chain Cove was uneventful. The next morning we motored the mile out to the nearby reef and anchored on its fringe. We then took the dinghy to a nearby motu and drift snorkeled with the current between two motus. The water was three or four feet deep and we were in and out between coral heads planted like giant mushrooms on a white sand bottom. The reef fish were of many shapes and colors, the sea urchins were in abundance, and the water was warm - it was a unique and effortless dive in what the locals call the coral gardens. Sal and Eric did it twice.
After the dive we walked and waded to the next motu for lunch at a hotel that lives up to its billing as exclusive and secluded. The nearest town is about ten miles away, the resort sits on its own island without any road access. The rooms are bungalows out over the water on pilings, and all buildings and landscaping are new and tastefully done. The guests arrive by either boat or helicopter. Later, we learned that the rooms start at $1100 per night. We walked in from our swim in our wet bathing suits, well-used t-shirts and grubby baseball caps, but that did not phase our waitress. She served us a lovely fish lunch, refreshing beer and rich, cold ice cream. They do not get walk-in guests here often. The restaurant did not know how to take our money, it deals on in charges to the room, so we had to hike over to reception to pay for our lunch.
After lunch we motored to Marini Iti where we had dinner with Baraka and with Pros Per Aim, a French boat that we had met in Toau in the Tuamotus. More fish was on the menu, including mahi mahi that Guy and Isabelle of Pro's Per Aim had caught that afternoon. It was excellent.
As this is being written the wind is piping up and it is expected to be windy and rough the next few days. We are done now with passages, so we will see this weather from inside the reef. Still, sitting an anchor can be a fretful time when the wind blows. We hope it dies done quickly so we can enjoy some tranquility during our last days here. A week from tomorrow we haul Pax out of the water and start on our trek home.
Pax Vobiscum
In the last two weeks we have explored several anchorages at Tahaa Island, sailed to Borra Bora for a few days, and then returned to Tahaa, where we now sit on a mooring at Marina Iti, also known as Taravana Yacht Club.
Bora Bora is the real world backdrop for the mysterious Bali Hi of the movie musical South Pacific. While we never did see the exotic boar's tooth ceremony that drew Luther to the Island, it is not hard for us to imagine why Lt. Joe Cable fell in love with the beautiful young daughter of Bloody Mary here - it is a place that inspires romance. A tall central spire surrounded by jagged secondary peaks, often shrouded in clouds, and surrounded by a deep blue lagoon that is itself enveloped by white sand beaches, coral reefs and some of the world's most colorful fish. Unfortunately, Bora Bora is also a place that is being loved too much. Resort hotels are sprouting up from the coral sands with the frequency of Starbucks coffee shops on Seattle's street corners. Cruise ships frequent the main lagoon and their passengers cover the ground during their 12 hours in port. Jet skis, fast ferries and dive boats are our noisy companions. Yet, despite it all, this is a place worth visiting - its majesty outweighs all distractions.
We were joined here by our last crewmember of 2008, Eric Laschever - lawyer, sailor, maritime scholar and spouse to Lal Sullivan who helped us get to the South Pacific last spring. Eric endeared himself to the Captain immediately upon arrival by pulling a fine bottle of single malt scotch from his one modestly-sized duffle bag - a crewmember cannot introduce himself more perfectly than this.
We stayed on moorings in Bora Bora, the first two nights at the Bora Bora Yacht Club. It is essentially a bar with mooring buoys out front. However, it also has a shower with heated (!!) water. Sal and I took our first hot showers since mid-April - what a treat. But, that was now five days ago, so we are back to room temperature sponge baths now. The next three nights we were moored off "Bloody Mary's" a tourist oriented restaurant, where we had drinks and hors d'oerves one night. This is a place that suits the new Bora Bora. It is generally well done (the large carved wooden penis with which one flushes the john in the men's room excepted) and it was pricey, although not outrageously so. A sign out front proudly listed the many celebrities who had dined there, including James Michener - we wonder if he appreciated what has happened to his Bali Hi (and if he used the men's room).
Two days ago we sailed back to Tahaa, 25 miles up wind. It was a delightful sail, but it took all day. We anchored that night inside the reef in a little spot that we have named "Running Chain Bay." We had anchored there before heading to Bora Bora in 80 feet of water. When we departed our anchor chain jumped out of its gypsy and only our safety line attached to the bitter end of the chain saved us from losing our main anchor and 250 feet of chain over the side. Twists that had developed in the chain were the cause of the problem. Fortunately for us, our good friend Dave Pryde was anchored next to us in Baraka. With his help we eventually recovered anchor and chain, unkinked it, and stored it back below. This is the second time this cruise that Dave has given hours of his time to trouble shoot a problem we have had. Thank you Dave, we will be forever grateful.
Our second stay in Running Chain Cove was uneventful. The next morning we motored the mile out to the nearby reef and anchored on its fringe. We then took the dinghy to a nearby motu and drift snorkeled with the current between two motus. The water was three or four feet deep and we were in and out between coral heads planted like giant mushrooms on a white sand bottom. The reef fish were of many shapes and colors, the sea urchins were in abundance, and the water was warm - it was a unique and effortless dive in what the locals call the coral gardens. Sal and Eric did it twice.
After the dive we walked and waded to the next motu for lunch at a hotel that lives up to its billing as exclusive and secluded. The nearest town is about ten miles away, the resort sits on its own island without any road access. The rooms are bungalows out over the water on pilings, and all buildings and landscaping are new and tastefully done. The guests arrive by either boat or helicopter. Later, we learned that the rooms start at $1100 per night. We walked in from our swim in our wet bathing suits, well-used t-shirts and grubby baseball caps, but that did not phase our waitress. She served us a lovely fish lunch, refreshing beer and rich, cold ice cream. They do not get walk-in guests here often. The restaurant did not know how to take our money, it deals on in charges to the room, so we had to hike over to reception to pay for our lunch.
After lunch we motored to Marini Iti where we had dinner with Baraka and with Pros Per Aim, a French boat that we had met in Toau in the Tuamotus. More fish was on the menu, including mahi mahi that Guy and Isabelle of Pro's Per Aim had caught that afternoon. It was excellent.
As this is being written the wind is piping up and it is expected to be windy and rough the next few days. We are done now with passages, so we will see this weather from inside the reef. Still, sitting an anchor can be a fretful time when the wind blows. We hope it dies done quickly so we can enjoy some tranquility during our last days here. A week from tomorrow we haul Pax out of the water and start on our trek home.
Pax Vobiscum
Sunday, July 20, 2008
THE FAKARAVA INITIATIVE
July 20, 2008
On our way to Taha'a, near Bora Bora.
The best part about our time in French Polynesia has been getting to know other cruisers and meeting new friends from the islands we visited. When we were in Fakarava last month in the Tuamotos, we met Chantal Fauura who heads the local elementary school. After meeting Chantal and learning about the plight of very young children on that island, we joined Chantal and other cruisers and decided to do something about it. With the help of the local Fakarava mayors, a plan was hatched. We submitted the article below to our favorite sailing magazine in San Francisco, Latitude 38. We understand it will be published in September and we are pleased that others are interested in what we call the Fakarava Initiative.
KEEPING THE KIDS AT HOME: THE FAKARAVA INITIATIVE.
Imagine you are the proud parent of an 11-year-old girl in the small village of Rotoava at the northeast corner of Fakarava atoll in the Tuamotus. It's a small island about 16 degrees south of the equator. You have lived here all your life, as have your parents and their parents before them. While you did not get far in school yourself, you are proud that your oldest daughter is interested in learning, and that she already knows something about computers and the Internet, subjects that are so foreign to you. You are pleased that it looks like she will have more opportunities in this life than you ever had.
But tragedy looms. After the 5th grade, the only government-funded schooling available in Fakarava to your daughter and her 10-12 year old classmates is off island. Hundreds of miles away in Rangiroa, the largest island in the Tuamotus, your daughter will be billeted in a dormitory with nearly a hundred other kids from outlying islands. You've heard the stories: there is insufficient adult supervision, and at her young age, she will have to learn to fend for herself in a strange new environment. You will see her only a few times a year when she is sent home for holidays and vacations.
Your family will never be the same. You are torn between wanting her to stay in school and wanting to protect and nurture her while she is still only a child. She will cry when she goes away, you probably will, too.
But, if an energetic elementary school principal, the head of the parent-teacher association, a few dedicated local officials, and a handful of visionary parents have their way, you will have an alternative that lets your daughter get her education at home for at least another year, perhaps more, until she is older and more mature. It may be the difference that allows her to see it through to the end of her schooling, to realize the opportunities you hope she will have. But, you need some help, because there is just not enough money available locally to make this dream come true. The blue water cruisers who visit your beautiful island every May and June have become your best hope.
Fakarava is on a line between the Marquesas and Tahiti. As many cruisers have discovered, its passes offer some of the best snorkeling and diving in the world, and Rotoava offers convenient reprovisioning and other activities, all of which have made Fakarava a popular spot for the North American and European cruisers who make the annual trek from Mexico or Panama to the South Pacific.
The crew from two boats got involved with education in Fakarava due to the efforts of Chantal Fauura, the elementary school principal. It is her oldest pupils who would be shipped off to Rangiroa soon.
S/v Pax Vobiscum and s/v Casteele from Seattle, Washington had come to French Polynesia as part of the 2008 Pacific Puddle Jump from Mexico. One day in May we, its crew, were on shore in Rotoava doing laundry by hand in a shed attached to a small locally-owned pension. Our arms were elbow deep in the wash bucket when up walked Chantal, full of friendly energy. Soon in her halting English and in our impossibly childish French, we were discussing her school, her kids, and her dream to keep her 5th graders out of that impersonal dormitory in Rangiroa.
"Our kids are not prepared to leave home when they are only ten or twelve years old," Chantal explained. "It's too young. They cry and cry when they leave, and feel so sad and alone. Most of the parents cry too. They want them to stay in Fakarava."
Chantal added, "The children need to study here at home. They need to know how they can care for their own island and its waters. It's theirs to save or destroy."
Chantal (who proudly told us "I've seen Al Gore's movie!") showed us the island's new "Biosphere Center", a clapboard shack near the school where they displayed materials about local fish, and ways to keep their water and marine life healthy. "Teaching this generation how to care for their island is so very important," Chantal said echoing words we have heard so often about Puget Sound and San Francisco Bay.
The livelihoods of most Fakarava families depend on the resources from the lagoon and the sea. They catch the fish, seed the pearl oysters, and make jewelry and utensils from the black pearls and shells. The Biosphere's materials were printed in the local language, as well as in French for the few incoming tourists.
Chantal invited us to meet with local teachers and parents and key island leaders, including the adjunct mayors and Guy Lai, president of the parent-teacher association. Over the following weeks, we attended numerous meetings with our new friends building a plan.
The Fakarava adults were touched by the interest cruisers were showing in them and their community. "Most cruisers just pass through," Chantal said, "never trying to get to know us."
Keeping their young children on the island is so important to the Fakarava people. As one parent told us, "We want our kids to learn, but they are too young to go so far away. They learn bad things. Many of them don't finish school, and they don't come home."
The community drafted plan. A French home-schooling curriculum called CNED, acceptable to the French Polynesian government as an alternative to boarding school, is available for Fakarava students. CNED is a challenging correspondence program similar to the course work many cruising boats use to home school their own children. With CNED, the young children of Fakarava could stay home until they are 15 or 16.
But they would need a new teacher, because many of the parents are admittedly ill-equipped to help home school their children. They would also need a computer, a building, supplies, and transportation. If the program worked here, it could be expanded to the other islands. If it becomes a proven success, there is a good chance it could be paid for next year out of local government funds.
Guy Lai and the Fakarava parents association have assumed the leadership role for this pilot project; they will manage it with milestones and measurable goals. Three local parents agreed to be the CNED teachers/supervisors, monitoring the students and program and communicating with the CNED center in France. The seven mayors of the Fakarava community support this alternative program and the local adjunct mayors are providing a space for the pilot class at reduced rent and with free electricity, free transportation, and free connection to the otherwise prohibitively-expensive internet.
Many families on Fakarava want to be part of this alternative program but the full cost is too much for most. They could pay for part of it, but not all. That's where the cruising community comes in, and why we have stepped up to help.
The community needs $20,000 more than they have right now, to help pay the teachers, rent the space for the classroom, obtain the CNED curriculum, and add their own special curriculum focusing on the health of their atoll and its marine life. Many boats from the 2008 Puddle Jump have agreed to donate and to date we already have thousands of dollars of contributions.
Supporting this project is an opportunity for those of us who cruise to and through these islands to get to know the people and to support them from the inside out. This is their project for their kids, but it is our chance to leave this part of the world a little better place than we found it. To date over 20 other boats are adding their names to this project, and we welcome involvement from all sectors.
Pax Vobiscum
July 20, 2008
On our way to Taha'a, near Bora Bora.
The best part about our time in French Polynesia has been getting to know other cruisers and meeting new friends from the islands we visited. When we were in Fakarava last month in the Tuamotos, we met Chantal Fauura who heads the local elementary school. After meeting Chantal and learning about the plight of very young children on that island, we joined Chantal and other cruisers and decided to do something about it. With the help of the local Fakarava mayors, a plan was hatched. We submitted the article below to our favorite sailing magazine in San Francisco, Latitude 38. We understand it will be published in September and we are pleased that others are interested in what we call the Fakarava Initiative.
KEEPING THE KIDS AT HOME: THE FAKARAVA INITIATIVE.
Imagine you are the proud parent of an 11-year-old girl in the small village of Rotoava at the northeast corner of Fakarava atoll in the Tuamotus. It's a small island about 16 degrees south of the equator. You have lived here all your life, as have your parents and their parents before them. While you did not get far in school yourself, you are proud that your oldest daughter is interested in learning, and that she already knows something about computers and the Internet, subjects that are so foreign to you. You are pleased that it looks like she will have more opportunities in this life than you ever had.
But tragedy looms. After the 5th grade, the only government-funded schooling available in Fakarava to your daughter and her 10-12 year old classmates is off island. Hundreds of miles away in Rangiroa, the largest island in the Tuamotus, your daughter will be billeted in a dormitory with nearly a hundred other kids from outlying islands. You've heard the stories: there is insufficient adult supervision, and at her young age, she will have to learn to fend for herself in a strange new environment. You will see her only a few times a year when she is sent home for holidays and vacations.
Your family will never be the same. You are torn between wanting her to stay in school and wanting to protect and nurture her while she is still only a child. She will cry when she goes away, you probably will, too.
But, if an energetic elementary school principal, the head of the parent-teacher association, a few dedicated local officials, and a handful of visionary parents have their way, you will have an alternative that lets your daughter get her education at home for at least another year, perhaps more, until she is older and more mature. It may be the difference that allows her to see it through to the end of her schooling, to realize the opportunities you hope she will have. But, you need some help, because there is just not enough money available locally to make this dream come true. The blue water cruisers who visit your beautiful island every May and June have become your best hope.
Fakarava is on a line between the Marquesas and Tahiti. As many cruisers have discovered, its passes offer some of the best snorkeling and diving in the world, and Rotoava offers convenient reprovisioning and other activities, all of which have made Fakarava a popular spot for the North American and European cruisers who make the annual trek from Mexico or Panama to the South Pacific.
The crew from two boats got involved with education in Fakarava due to the efforts of Chantal Fauura, the elementary school principal. It is her oldest pupils who would be shipped off to Rangiroa soon.
S/v Pax Vobiscum and s/v Casteele from Seattle, Washington had come to French Polynesia as part of the 2008 Pacific Puddle Jump from Mexico. One day in May we, its crew, were on shore in Rotoava doing laundry by hand in a shed attached to a small locally-owned pension. Our arms were elbow deep in the wash bucket when up walked Chantal, full of friendly energy. Soon in her halting English and in our impossibly childish French, we were discussing her school, her kids, and her dream to keep her 5th graders out of that impersonal dormitory in Rangiroa.
"Our kids are not prepared to leave home when they are only ten or twelve years old," Chantal explained. "It's too young. They cry and cry when they leave, and feel so sad and alone. Most of the parents cry too. They want them to stay in Fakarava."
Chantal added, "The children need to study here at home. They need to know how they can care for their own island and its waters. It's theirs to save or destroy."
Chantal (who proudly told us "I've seen Al Gore's movie!") showed us the island's new "Biosphere Center", a clapboard shack near the school where they displayed materials about local fish, and ways to keep their water and marine life healthy. "Teaching this generation how to care for their island is so very important," Chantal said echoing words we have heard so often about Puget Sound and San Francisco Bay.
The livelihoods of most Fakarava families depend on the resources from the lagoon and the sea. They catch the fish, seed the pearl oysters, and make jewelry and utensils from the black pearls and shells. The Biosphere's materials were printed in the local language, as well as in French for the few incoming tourists.
Chantal invited us to meet with local teachers and parents and key island leaders, including the adjunct mayors and Guy Lai, president of the parent-teacher association. Over the following weeks, we attended numerous meetings with our new friends building a plan.
The Fakarava adults were touched by the interest cruisers were showing in them and their community. "Most cruisers just pass through," Chantal said, "never trying to get to know us."
Keeping their young children on the island is so important to the Fakarava people. As one parent told us, "We want our kids to learn, but they are too young to go so far away. They learn bad things. Many of them don't finish school, and they don't come home."
The community drafted plan. A French home-schooling curriculum called CNED, acceptable to the French Polynesian government as an alternative to boarding school, is available for Fakarava students. CNED is a challenging correspondence program similar to the course work many cruising boats use to home school their own children. With CNED, the young children of Fakarava could stay home until they are 15 or 16.
But they would need a new teacher, because many of the parents are admittedly ill-equipped to help home school their children. They would also need a computer, a building, supplies, and transportation. If the program worked here, it could be expanded to the other islands. If it becomes a proven success, there is a good chance it could be paid for next year out of local government funds.
Guy Lai and the Fakarava parents association have assumed the leadership role for this pilot project; they will manage it with milestones and measurable goals. Three local parents agreed to be the CNED teachers/supervisors, monitoring the students and program and communicating with the CNED center in France. The seven mayors of the Fakarava community support this alternative program and the local adjunct mayors are providing a space for the pilot class at reduced rent and with free electricity, free transportation, and free connection to the otherwise prohibitively-expensive internet.
Many families on Fakarava want to be part of this alternative program but the full cost is too much for most. They could pay for part of it, but not all. That's where the cruising community comes in, and why we have stepped up to help.
The community needs $20,000 more than they have right now, to help pay the teachers, rent the space for the classroom, obtain the CNED curriculum, and add their own special curriculum focusing on the health of their atoll and its marine life. Many boats from the 2008 Puddle Jump have agreed to donate and to date we already have thousands of dollars of contributions.
Supporting this project is an opportunity for those of us who cruise to and through these islands to get to know the people and to support them from the inside out. This is their project for their kids, but it is our chance to leave this part of the world a little better place than we found it. To date over 20 other boats are adding their names to this project, and we welcome involvement from all sectors.
Pax Vobiscum
July 20, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Leewards Ho!
July 15, 2008
Our sailing for the year is nearly done. Last Wednesday we made our final night passage of the year. We departed Moorea to the Leeward Islands, leaving Opunohu Bay at 4 PM to allow for a daytime arrival in Huahine, the closest of the Leewards. We anchored outside the town of Fare at about noon the next day after a very pleasant sail in 10 knot winds and four to six foot seas that were spaced for comfort. We will explore this island and the neighboring islands of Raiatea, Tahaa and Bora Bora over the next three and a half weeks, then we will put the boat on the hard at a shipyard in Raiatea until next April. The sails between the Leeward Islands are straightforward; they can all be started and completed between sunrise and sunset of the same day. Indeed, as we arrived in Huahine all of four of the main Leeward Islands were visible on the horizon.
We continue to socialize most evenings with other cruisers, but the group is changing. Most obtained three month visas to visit French Polynesia and the first arrivals have run out of time. We would be out of time ourselves but for going through the lengthy process of getting six-month visas before departing Mexico. Now we hear our old traveling companions on the shortwave radio; they are at sea as we all were when we first learned their boat names. But now they are now discussing the approaches to the Cook Islands and to other destinations further west that we will not see.
We can't help but feel left out and a little sad. We had originally planned to continue on to New Zealand as most of them are doing, but we are getting to the point where we have had enough of this for now. Being on a small boat is much like camping out, the creature comforts are few, and being on a passage is hard, exhausting work. It is all in all a great adventure, but it is not a novel adventure any more for us. We both feel that it is getting to be time to take a vacation from this vacation, and to move on to something else. So, while we are sad to see our cruising friends disappear over the horizon to see new lands without us, we are content with our decision not to join them.
We are seeing more boats now that came through Panama and the Galapagos Islands and fewer that started in Mexico. Being within day-sailing range of all the Leeward Islands also means that we now have quite a few charter boats in the anchorages. These are predominantly catamarans chartered from Moorings or Sunsail on Raiatea. There has not been much mixing between the cruisers and the charterers. They are only here for a week or two, and often there are two or three couples on each boat. They have plenty to do learning about the boat, the anchorages, the islands and each other, and not enough time to reach out to other boats they meet along the way. We were the same when we chartered.
Huahine has been a fun island to visit. The island-wide dance competition last Friday was a feast of colorful homemade costumes featuring woven palm fronds, decorative shells, and bras made of half-coconuts. Each village distinguished itself with its costumes, but most were variations on a theme. Tall decorative head gear, grass skirts, and coconuts, some polished some not, were the order of the day. The dances were all about making the grass move, and move it did. Almost everyone seemed to participate enthusiastically, like a high school football game but with the whole class, boys and girls, everyone on the team.
On Bastille day the dancing was to more eclectic music, heard were non-traditional Polynesian favorites like "there she goes walking down the street, dowah diddy diddy dum diddy do . . ." as well the theme to the Lone Ranger (yes, you can dance to that, at least on Huahine). There were no grass skirts on Bastille Day, but hip movement still seemed to be the name of the game, even for one young man in a Michael Jordon jersey who was dancing East Coast swing, and doing it very well. A vertical expression of a horizontal desire aptly describes his dancing, as well as the dancing of several others who appeared to have hit the Hinanos (Tahitian Budweiser) early in the day, and who were having a very good time when we observed the dancing at 11 AM.
After the dance we met Mark, a fixture at Joe's place right behind the main Fare dock. Mark arrived decades ago after a stint in the U.S. Army and he never left. He is sixtyish, he has tattoos covering both arms, he hates violence of all kind, and he looks like a fair piece of his budget goes for beer. His daughter will be a college senior next year in Sweden and she is majoring in physics and math and Mark proudly reports that she is an A student. He reunited with his daughter last year for the first time since she was a baby when her Swedish mother took back to Sweden away from Huahine and from Mark. In the meantime, Mark married a local girl who doesn't read or write, and they make their home up a jungle valley about ten miles from the dock. We would not be surprised to learn that there was a little illicit horticulture going on in that valley, but there was no evidence of jungle weed in town.
Mark, like so many retired seniors, is pursuing his education. He is trying to learn quantum physics so he can keep up with his daughter. She has sent him several books by Roger Penrose, but he is having a tough time getting started. When he learned I had a physics background he wanted to talk, so over a couple of Hinanos that he furnished (it was a holiday, after all) we discussed the uncertainty principle, the EPR paradox and other popular topics in quantum mechanics. Mark enjoyed the conversation, but remained pleasantly bewildered as it ended. I'm afraid I failed as his physics teacher. The beer was good, though.
Vive La Polynesia.
Pax Vobiscum
Our sailing for the year is nearly done. Last Wednesday we made our final night passage of the year. We departed Moorea to the Leeward Islands, leaving Opunohu Bay at 4 PM to allow for a daytime arrival in Huahine, the closest of the Leewards. We anchored outside the town of Fare at about noon the next day after a very pleasant sail in 10 knot winds and four to six foot seas that were spaced for comfort. We will explore this island and the neighboring islands of Raiatea, Tahaa and Bora Bora over the next three and a half weeks, then we will put the boat on the hard at a shipyard in Raiatea until next April. The sails between the Leeward Islands are straightforward; they can all be started and completed between sunrise and sunset of the same day. Indeed, as we arrived in Huahine all of four of the main Leeward Islands were visible on the horizon.
We continue to socialize most evenings with other cruisers, but the group is changing. Most obtained three month visas to visit French Polynesia and the first arrivals have run out of time. We would be out of time ourselves but for going through the lengthy process of getting six-month visas before departing Mexico. Now we hear our old traveling companions on the shortwave radio; they are at sea as we all were when we first learned their boat names. But now they are now discussing the approaches to the Cook Islands and to other destinations further west that we will not see.
We can't help but feel left out and a little sad. We had originally planned to continue on to New Zealand as most of them are doing, but we are getting to the point where we have had enough of this for now. Being on a small boat is much like camping out, the creature comforts are few, and being on a passage is hard, exhausting work. It is all in all a great adventure, but it is not a novel adventure any more for us. We both feel that it is getting to be time to take a vacation from this vacation, and to move on to something else. So, while we are sad to see our cruising friends disappear over the horizon to see new lands without us, we are content with our decision not to join them.
We are seeing more boats now that came through Panama and the Galapagos Islands and fewer that started in Mexico. Being within day-sailing range of all the Leeward Islands also means that we now have quite a few charter boats in the anchorages. These are predominantly catamarans chartered from Moorings or Sunsail on Raiatea. There has not been much mixing between the cruisers and the charterers. They are only here for a week or two, and often there are two or three couples on each boat. They have plenty to do learning about the boat, the anchorages, the islands and each other, and not enough time to reach out to other boats they meet along the way. We were the same when we chartered.
Huahine has been a fun island to visit. The island-wide dance competition last Friday was a feast of colorful homemade costumes featuring woven palm fronds, decorative shells, and bras made of half-coconuts. Each village distinguished itself with its costumes, but most were variations on a theme. Tall decorative head gear, grass skirts, and coconuts, some polished some not, were the order of the day. The dances were all about making the grass move, and move it did. Almost everyone seemed to participate enthusiastically, like a high school football game but with the whole class, boys and girls, everyone on the team.
On Bastille day the dancing was to more eclectic music, heard were non-traditional Polynesian favorites like "there she goes walking down the street, dowah diddy diddy dum diddy do . . ." as well the theme to the Lone Ranger (yes, you can dance to that, at least on Huahine). There were no grass skirts on Bastille Day, but hip movement still seemed to be the name of the game, even for one young man in a Michael Jordon jersey who was dancing East Coast swing, and doing it very well. A vertical expression of a horizontal desire aptly describes his dancing, as well as the dancing of several others who appeared to have hit the Hinanos (Tahitian Budweiser) early in the day, and who were having a very good time when we observed the dancing at 11 AM.
After the dance we met Mark, a fixture at Joe's place right behind the main Fare dock. Mark arrived decades ago after a stint in the U.S. Army and he never left. He is sixtyish, he has tattoos covering both arms, he hates violence of all kind, and he looks like a fair piece of his budget goes for beer. His daughter will be a college senior next year in Sweden and she is majoring in physics and math and Mark proudly reports that she is an A student. He reunited with his daughter last year for the first time since she was a baby when her Swedish mother took back to Sweden away from Huahine and from Mark. In the meantime, Mark married a local girl who doesn't read or write, and they make their home up a jungle valley about ten miles from the dock. We would not be surprised to learn that there was a little illicit horticulture going on in that valley, but there was no evidence of jungle weed in town.
Mark, like so many retired seniors, is pursuing his education. He is trying to learn quantum physics so he can keep up with his daughter. She has sent him several books by Roger Penrose, but he is having a tough time getting started. When he learned I had a physics background he wanted to talk, so over a couple of Hinanos that he furnished (it was a holiday, after all) we discussed the uncertainty principle, the EPR paradox and other popular topics in quantum mechanics. Mark enjoyed the conversation, but remained pleasantly bewildered as it ended. I'm afraid I failed as his physics teacher. The beer was good, though.
Vive La Polynesia.
Pax Vobiscum
Monday, July 14, 2008
Happy Bastille Day!
July 14, 2008
At anchor at Huahini
It's July 14 here on the island of Huanini, something akin to the 4th of July without the firecrackers. A short parade on the town's main street started the festivities early this morning that lasted roughly an hour including food for all comers and mayoral speeches. And my, do those mayors know how to get into their speeches.
Huahini is about 100 miles north of Tahiti and within eye sight of Bora Bora. It is one of our favorites so far and we can imagine hearing choruses of "Bali Hai" in the background as we look at the hills behind this anchorage. It has a great grocery store (a very big thing for us sail boaters and something not seen between Cabo San Lucas and Papeete, Tahiti) and although it has a few small hotels, the island is removed from the heavy tourism of Bora Bora. Why it is not overrun like Bora Bora with Club Meds and giant hotels remains a mystery. (If you're looking for a great get away next winter, this may be it).
This island is really two small verdant ones separated by a salt water river. About 5000 people live here, somehow making a living off the land --they are famous for their vanilla -- and what they harvest from the sea. We came here because our fellow sailing buddies recommended its great snorkeling/diving "like you were inside an aquarium" on the south end of the island, and we heard there was some good Polynesian dancing this past Friday night in the main village of Fare.
Last Friday night we went to one of the best events we've experienced since traveling. The island held a local dance competition. If you happened to grow up in Boise, Idaho (like some of us), you'll remember what a big deal the drill team/dance team competitions were there. In Huahini, dance teams have practiced for much of the year for local bragging rights. This was a serious competition with giant trophies the size of small missiles and significant prize money, held at what must be the local equivalent of a county fairgrounds. All seven districts from this island participated, with programs of traditional polynesian dance choreographed by someone from within the district. Phenomenal costumes were made by each team, and the dancers were probably 14 - 18 years old, both girls and boys. Each team had a backup drum band and singers who sang and drummed their hearts out.
The dancing was energetic and beautiful, and the community turned out for this. Probably 1000+ spectators, and maybe 10 of us from sailboats. There were at least 50 drums and drummers providing the backdrop for the singers, and even after 4 hours some of us were ready for more. The best part was that it was not an event for tourists, but rather an expression of the local culture for themselves that we lucked upon. What a night.
Pax Vobiscum
At anchor at Huahini
It's July 14 here on the island of Huanini, something akin to the 4th of July without the firecrackers. A short parade on the town's main street started the festivities early this morning that lasted roughly an hour including food for all comers and mayoral speeches. And my, do those mayors know how to get into their speeches.
Huahini is about 100 miles north of Tahiti and within eye sight of Bora Bora. It is one of our favorites so far and we can imagine hearing choruses of "Bali Hai" in the background as we look at the hills behind this anchorage. It has a great grocery store (a very big thing for us sail boaters and something not seen between Cabo San Lucas and Papeete, Tahiti) and although it has a few small hotels, the island is removed from the heavy tourism of Bora Bora. Why it is not overrun like Bora Bora with Club Meds and giant hotels remains a mystery. (If you're looking for a great get away next winter, this may be it).
This island is really two small verdant ones separated by a salt water river. About 5000 people live here, somehow making a living off the land --they are famous for their vanilla -- and what they harvest from the sea. We came here because our fellow sailing buddies recommended its great snorkeling/diving "like you were inside an aquarium" on the south end of the island, and we heard there was some good Polynesian dancing this past Friday night in the main village of Fare.
Last Friday night we went to one of the best events we've experienced since traveling. The island held a local dance competition. If you happened to grow up in Boise, Idaho (like some of us), you'll remember what a big deal the drill team/dance team competitions were there. In Huahini, dance teams have practiced for much of the year for local bragging rights. This was a serious competition with giant trophies the size of small missiles and significant prize money, held at what must be the local equivalent of a county fairgrounds. All seven districts from this island participated, with programs of traditional polynesian dance choreographed by someone from within the district. Phenomenal costumes were made by each team, and the dancers were probably 14 - 18 years old, both girls and boys. Each team had a backup drum band and singers who sang and drummed their hearts out.
The dancing was energetic and beautiful, and the community turned out for this. Probably 1000+ spectators, and maybe 10 of us from sailboats. There were at least 50 drums and drummers providing the backdrop for the singers, and even after 4 hours some of us were ready for more. The best part was that it was not an event for tourists, but rather an expression of the local culture for themselves that we lucked upon. What a night.
Pax Vobiscum
Saturday, July 5, 2008
July 5, 2008 Moorea
July 5, 2008
Opunohu Bay, Moorea Island
We left Papeete a week ago amidst the pomp and ceremony of the Tahiti-Moorea Cruising Rendezvous, a much publicized event sponsored by the Port of Papeete and the sailing magazine Latitude 38 to celebrate the annual arrival of the offshore cruising fleet to Tahiti.
The event started Friday night on one of the quays in downtown Papeete with a “blessing of the captains” and with traditional Polynesian song and dance. Pax’ Captain was blessed, as he must admit since despite strenuous efforts he has been unable to find and erase the jpg file showing him hatless while holding hands with the other captains during the ceremony. The blessing was followed by a very nice cocktail party where the blessed could forget their woes for a time.
On Saturday morning Pax and the other boats gathered in Papeete Harbor amidst hundreds of outrigger canoes who raced counterclockwise around the harbor. The 25 or so cruisers who participated then paraded out of the harbor to a starting line just outside Papeete Pass. Right after the 10 minute preparatory signal sounded, a four hundred foot long ferry emerged from the harbor to weave its way through the fleet, honking its impressive horn in a futile attempt to scatter the slow-moving crowd jockeying for starting position. The wind was light and as the start gun sounded we all drifted across the starting line heading slowly for Moorea, just 10 miles away. Halfway across we were told to start our engines because the festivities on the beach in Moorea were soon to begin, and with the wind so light we were all about to miss the party that was being thrown for us. Pax acquitted herself well that morning. She had moved up into second place by the time the race was called.
Later, on the beach in Moorea, we were treated to a Tahitian style cook-out featuring a bounty of pork, chicken, poisson crue, curried clams, minced bananas and taro root. After lunch, some of the bolder cruisers piled into six-place racing canoes, each already manned with two natives, for a canoe race. Two of the canoes capsized well out in the bay causing a few anxious moments ashore, but all participants eventually returned to dry land. The winning canoe was lead by Ken, a former Alberta police officer whose boat is appropriately named “Cop-Out.” The canoe races were followed by a contest to see who could impale a spear in a coconut suspended on top of a 25 foot high pole. One athletic local managed this remarkable feat. The contests concluded with the “fruit race,” a foot-race around the perimeter of a field between participants who each shouldered a log to which was tied coconuts and bananas. Several athletic Americans and Europeans did their very best, each collapsing in a wheezing pool of sweat at the finish line, but the clear winner was a fleet-footed 15 year-old native boy who ran without showing any signs of strain. He was suitably rewarded by the gaggle of young native girls. Ah, to be young.
Then followed the native music and dancing. Drums, drums and more drums, accompanied by rhythmic hip motions from the girls and energetic jumping and knee wobbling from the guys, all performed in colorful clothes, grass skirts and leaf-woven crowns. A number of the visitors were compelled to join the festivities, the Captain among them. He proved beyond all doubt that Yankees were not intended to move in this way, as is evident from several unfortunate pictures taken by a loving spouse barely too polite to laugh outright.
The dancers hung around for the ceremony during which Pax’s crew was awarded a night in a resort hotel and a carved commemorative oyster shell for their second place “finish.” The vessel Warm Rain, a Hylas 43, eked out first place by being a few yards ahead of Pax when the race was called, and it was awarded the grand prize - a model of a sailing canoe. But Warm Rain got no hotel night. Captain Tom proposed a trade as soon as Pax’s prize was announced, but this was promptly refused by the crew of Pax, who already had visions of hot and cold running water and a real bed with sheets. Then followed more dancing, and the Captain was caught again, knees wobbling, wrists flapping, looking like a string puppet whose strings had come too loose.
That night back on Pax, we had a nice dinner with old friends Jan and Dave of Baraka and new friends John and Mary of Horizons. John is a long time pilot recently retired from the FAA where he created the innovative Capstone Program that is responsible for saving the lives of more than a few Alaskan bush pilots. Mary met John when he was a young flight instructor and she a new private pilot student. They were married before the lessons ended – John reports that after the wedding the student-instructor relationship became more difficult for him. But that was 40 years ago and here they are together, so he has obviously learned a thing or two along the way. We had much to discuss with John and Mary, and what fun it was to talk flying again. The next night we dined with Ken and Wendy of Cop-Out. Ken is not only an ex-cop (and a new ace Tahitian-style canoe racer) but he is also an ex-minister, and he had many insightful thoughts about crime and how it should be controlled. Wendy was originally a New Zealander and is full of energy. They have sold their home in Alberta and will make their new home on Salts-Spring Island in B.C., where they have for many years had a vacation cabin.
Yesterday, on July 4, Pax proudly flew the stars and stripes in honor of our dads, William Paul Geisler and James Holmes Bagshaw, two patriots who served their country in “the time of the big trouble” as the latter often called World War II. We dedicated the day to reminiscing about them. Today we learned that Dorthy Hansen, our good friend and widow of our flight instructor Elmer Hansen, died on July 1. Rest in peace Dorthy, we will miss you.
Pax VobiscumJuly 5, 2008
Opunohu Bay, Moorea Island
Opunohu Bay, Moorea Island
We left Papeete a week ago amidst the pomp and ceremony of the Tahiti-Moorea Cruising Rendezvous, a much publicized event sponsored by the Port of Papeete and the sailing magazine Latitude 38 to celebrate the annual arrival of the offshore cruising fleet to Tahiti.
The event started Friday night on one of the quays in downtown Papeete with a “blessing of the captains” and with traditional Polynesian song and dance. Pax’ Captain was blessed, as he must admit since despite strenuous efforts he has been unable to find and erase the jpg file showing him hatless while holding hands with the other captains during the ceremony. The blessing was followed by a very nice cocktail party where the blessed could forget their woes for a time.
On Saturday morning Pax and the other boats gathered in Papeete Harbor amidst hundreds of outrigger canoes who raced counterclockwise around the harbor. The 25 or so cruisers who participated then paraded out of the harbor to a starting line just outside Papeete Pass. Right after the 10 minute preparatory signal sounded, a four hundred foot long ferry emerged from the harbor to weave its way through the fleet, honking its impressive horn in a futile attempt to scatter the slow-moving crowd jockeying for starting position. The wind was light and as the start gun sounded we all drifted across the starting line heading slowly for Moorea, just 10 miles away. Halfway across we were told to start our engines because the festivities on the beach in Moorea were soon to begin, and with the wind so light we were all about to miss the party that was being thrown for us. Pax acquitted herself well that morning. She had moved up into second place by the time the race was called.
Later, on the beach in Moorea, we were treated to a Tahitian style cook-out featuring a bounty of pork, chicken, poisson crue, curried clams, minced bananas and taro root. After lunch, some of the bolder cruisers piled into six-place racing canoes, each already manned with two natives, for a canoe race. Two of the canoes capsized well out in the bay causing a few anxious moments ashore, but all participants eventually returned to dry land. The winning canoe was lead by Ken, a former Alberta police officer whose boat is appropriately named “Cop-Out.” The canoe races were followed by a contest to see who could impale a spear in a coconut suspended on top of a 25 foot high pole. One athletic local managed this remarkable feat. The contests concluded with the “fruit race,” a foot-race around the perimeter of a field between participants who each shouldered a log to which was tied coconuts and bananas. Several athletic Americans and Europeans did their very best, each collapsing in a wheezing pool of sweat at the finish line, but the clear winner was a fleet-footed 15 year-old native boy who ran without showing any signs of strain. He was suitably rewarded by the gaggle of young native girls. Ah, to be young.
Then followed the native music and dancing. Drums, drums and more drums, accompanied by rhythmic hip motions from the girls and energetic jumping and knee wobbling from the guys, all performed in colorful clothes, grass skirts and leaf-woven crowns. A number of the visitors were compelled to join the festivities, the Captain among them. He proved beyond all doubt that Yankees were not intended to move in this way, as is evident from several unfortunate pictures taken by a loving spouse barely too polite to laugh outright.
The dancers hung around for the ceremony during which Pax’s crew was awarded a night in a resort hotel and a carved commemorative oyster shell for their second place “finish.” The vessel Warm Rain, a Hylas 43, eked out first place by being a few yards ahead of Pax when the race was called, and it was awarded the grand prize - a model of a sailing canoe. But Warm Rain got no hotel night. Captain Tom proposed a trade as soon as Pax’s prize was announced, but this was promptly refused by the crew of Pax, who already had visions of hot and cold running water and a real bed with sheets. Then followed more dancing, and the Captain was caught again, knees wobbling, wrists flapping, looking like a string puppet whose strings had come too loose.
That night back on Pax, we had a nice dinner with old friends Jan and Dave of Baraka and new friends John and Mary of Horizons. John is a long time pilot recently retired from the FAA where he created the innovative Capstone Program that is responsible for saving the lives of more than a few Alaskan bush pilots. Mary met John when he was a young flight instructor and she a new private pilot student. They were married before the lessons ended – John reports that after the wedding the student-instructor relationship became more difficult for him. But that was 40 years ago and here they are together, so he has obviously learned a thing or two along the way. We had much to discuss with John and Mary, and what fun it was to talk flying again. The next night we dined with Ken and Wendy of Cop-Out. Ken is not only an ex-cop (and a new ace Tahitian-style canoe racer) but he is also an ex-minister, and he had many insightful thoughts about crime and how it should be controlled. Wendy was originally a New Zealander and is full of energy. They have sold their home in Alberta and will make their new home on Salts-Spring Island in B.C., where they have for many years had a vacation cabin.
Yesterday, on July 4, Pax proudly flew the stars and stripes in honor of our dads, William Paul Geisler and James Holmes Bagshaw, two patriots who served their country in “the time of the big trouble” as the latter often called World War II. We dedicated the day to reminiscing about them. Today we learned that Dorthy Hansen, our good friend and widow of our flight instructor Elmer Hansen, died on July 1. Rest in peace Dorthy, we will miss you.
Pax VobiscumJuly 5, 2008
Opunohu Bay, Moorea Island
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Winter Solstice - Tahiti
Papeete - June 22, 2008
We arrived in Papeete, Tahiti, the capital of French Polynesia, on Thursday morning. Two very squally days at sea from Toau atoll left us off the main pass through the barrier reef into Papeete about an hour before dawn. We hove to waiting for daylight, and it began to rain once more. We waited for two hours for the downpour to end, and at 8 AM we motored through the reef into Papeete Harbor and then we continued inside the reef past the main airport to the small boat anchorage outside the Tahina Marina. After securing the boat there was finally time to sleep.
Last night Tahiti celebrated the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year down here. There were festivals and singing all over the island and we decided to observe them in the big city. We bussed downtown on "Le Truck," one of a few remaining small busses originally constructed out of old flatbed trucks. We sat in a passenger compartment fashioned locally out of wood and bolted to the truck bed. Le Truck is small, there is no standing headroom, and when it is full or nearly so one must climb over fellow passengers to enter and to exit. The tariff is 130 Overseas Francs, about two U.S. dollars, as announced in hand lettering on a panel behind the driver, and it is collected by a driver's helper who makes change and keeps no fare box. The route conveniently runs right by the marina to the downtown waterfront. The windows are always open and the engines are loud and belch diesel smoke, and it is hard not to bump your head or bruise your thighs entering and exiting, but Le Truck is patronized by locals of all ages - riding it presents a colorful slice of real life in today's Tahiti. These antiquated vehicles are in the process of being replaced by real buses made in real factories, and that is too bad.
We got into town about 5:30 planning for an early dinner to be followed by music and perhaps by watching some Polynesian dancing. The early dinner turned out to be impossible - none of the restaurants open before 7 PM. So, we stopped at a waterfront bar for a few very expensive drinks and we chatted until 7 PM, after which we had a pleasant dinner of Italian pasta and wine. Sal liked her beef cannelloni and Julie liked her spinach pasta with pesto, my puttanesca was bland and a little creamy, an unwise French misinterpretation of the spicy Italian staple.
After dinner we set out to find music and came upon a crowd in front of L'eglise de Notre Dame - a large catholic church that dated from 1875 - old by Papeete standards. Papeete was not even a settlement until the Europeans recognized the value of its harbor, and it initially grew slowly, having a population of less than 5,000 in 1900. This church towered over its small square. The church was pale yellow with white trim, had two large stained glass windows facing forward, and was topped with a bell tower reaching four stories into the sky. The small square in which it sat was of red brick surrounding a central white brick cross. It was bordered by palm trees and by filigreed wrought iron light-poles. We had walked by before dinner and observed a service about to begin. A half-dozen Polynesian men in full length white robes that were worn over blue jeans milled about while the priest in a green cassock greeted parishioners. The priest was thin and tall and wore long shoulder-length uncombed brown hair. He bore more than a passing resemblance to the carpenter from Bethlehem.
As we walked by after dinner a crowd of several hundred was listening to the amplified singing of various performers on a makeshift stage consisting of the steps leading up to the main entrance to the church. A banner to the side informed us that the singing was being broadcast on a number of radio stations throughout French Polynesia. We stopped and listened for an hour or so, sitting on three of the hundreds of red-plastic chairs that had been arranged about the square.
Most interesting of the singers was a quartet lead by an outgoing gay man in his thirties or forties. Sal and I had learned in the Marquesas that it was not uncommon there for a younger child in a family of male children to be raised as a girl, and we both thought that this might have been the case for this singer. We were told that the community was quite accepting of this tradition, and that it was rare for these individuals to be treated unfairly.
The music was pleasant and upbeat, and the crowd sang along with many of the songs. We all held hands for some - I had Sal on one side and a large Polynesian gentleman who knew the words to most of the songs on the other. It was all in French, of course, and we could not understand hardly any of the lyrics, which made the experience richer for this non-believer. The men and women in the square were obviously drawn closer by the music and by whatever it meant to them. There was a sense of oneness here that I could feel, but that I might have missed if I had focused on the words. It was not hard on this night to appreciate the good that religion can sometimes do in uniting a community.
Our winter solstice religious encounter ended as the main doors of the church were thrown open and the crowd, all hands raised to the sky, began to move slowly into the church. Our happy sing-along was rapidly turning into a revival meeting. Julie, born to a non-practicing Jewish family, threatened to tackle me if I headed for the church, so I prudently stepped back. The three of us left the square, we found the Le Truck stop and were soon motoring out to Pax where she lay at anchor on a flat sea under a nearly full moon.
With the new dawn winter has officially begun - but it is again in the 80's today, and I have had to close the portholes twice for squalls while composing this. So much for the change of the seasons.
Pax Vobiscum
We arrived in Papeete, Tahiti, the capital of French Polynesia, on Thursday morning. Two very squally days at sea from Toau atoll left us off the main pass through the barrier reef into Papeete about an hour before dawn. We hove to waiting for daylight, and it began to rain once more. We waited for two hours for the downpour to end, and at 8 AM we motored through the reef into Papeete Harbor and then we continued inside the reef past the main airport to the small boat anchorage outside the Tahina Marina. After securing the boat there was finally time to sleep.
Last night Tahiti celebrated the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year down here. There were festivals and singing all over the island and we decided to observe them in the big city. We bussed downtown on "Le Truck," one of a few remaining small busses originally constructed out of old flatbed trucks. We sat in a passenger compartment fashioned locally out of wood and bolted to the truck bed. Le Truck is small, there is no standing headroom, and when it is full or nearly so one must climb over fellow passengers to enter and to exit. The tariff is 130 Overseas Francs, about two U.S. dollars, as announced in hand lettering on a panel behind the driver, and it is collected by a driver's helper who makes change and keeps no fare box. The route conveniently runs right by the marina to the downtown waterfront. The windows are always open and the engines are loud and belch diesel smoke, and it is hard not to bump your head or bruise your thighs entering and exiting, but Le Truck is patronized by locals of all ages - riding it presents a colorful slice of real life in today's Tahiti. These antiquated vehicles are in the process of being replaced by real buses made in real factories, and that is too bad.
We got into town about 5:30 planning for an early dinner to be followed by music and perhaps by watching some Polynesian dancing. The early dinner turned out to be impossible - none of the restaurants open before 7 PM. So, we stopped at a waterfront bar for a few very expensive drinks and we chatted until 7 PM, after which we had a pleasant dinner of Italian pasta and wine. Sal liked her beef cannelloni and Julie liked her spinach pasta with pesto, my puttanesca was bland and a little creamy, an unwise French misinterpretation of the spicy Italian staple.
After dinner we set out to find music and came upon a crowd in front of L'eglise de Notre Dame - a large catholic church that dated from 1875 - old by Papeete standards. Papeete was not even a settlement until the Europeans recognized the value of its harbor, and it initially grew slowly, having a population of less than 5,000 in 1900. This church towered over its small square. The church was pale yellow with white trim, had two large stained glass windows facing forward, and was topped with a bell tower reaching four stories into the sky. The small square in which it sat was of red brick surrounding a central white brick cross. It was bordered by palm trees and by filigreed wrought iron light-poles. We had walked by before dinner and observed a service about to begin. A half-dozen Polynesian men in full length white robes that were worn over blue jeans milled about while the priest in a green cassock greeted parishioners. The priest was thin and tall and wore long shoulder-length uncombed brown hair. He bore more than a passing resemblance to the carpenter from Bethlehem.
As we walked by after dinner a crowd of several hundred was listening to the amplified singing of various performers on a makeshift stage consisting of the steps leading up to the main entrance to the church. A banner to the side informed us that the singing was being broadcast on a number of radio stations throughout French Polynesia. We stopped and listened for an hour or so, sitting on three of the hundreds of red-plastic chairs that had been arranged about the square.
Most interesting of the singers was a quartet lead by an outgoing gay man in his thirties or forties. Sal and I had learned in the Marquesas that it was not uncommon there for a younger child in a family of male children to be raised as a girl, and we both thought that this might have been the case for this singer. We were told that the community was quite accepting of this tradition, and that it was rare for these individuals to be treated unfairly.
The music was pleasant and upbeat, and the crowd sang along with many of the songs. We all held hands for some - I had Sal on one side and a large Polynesian gentleman who knew the words to most of the songs on the other. It was all in French, of course, and we could not understand hardly any of the lyrics, which made the experience richer for this non-believer. The men and women in the square were obviously drawn closer by the music and by whatever it meant to them. There was a sense of oneness here that I could feel, but that I might have missed if I had focused on the words. It was not hard on this night to appreciate the good that religion can sometimes do in uniting a community.
Our winter solstice religious encounter ended as the main doors of the church were thrown open and the crowd, all hands raised to the sky, began to move slowly into the church. Our happy sing-along was rapidly turning into a revival meeting. Julie, born to a non-practicing Jewish family, threatened to tackle me if I headed for the church, so I prudently stepped back. The three of us left the square, we found the Le Truck stop and were soon motoring out to Pax where she lay at anchor on a flat sea under a nearly full moon.
With the new dawn winter has officially begun - but it is again in the 80's today, and I have had to close the portholes twice for squalls while composing this. So much for the change of the seasons.
Pax Vobiscum
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Mal de Mer
June 19 0130 UTC
Position: 16 degrees 57 min. S, 148 degrees 38 min. W
We continue on to Tahiti planning to arrive tomorrow morning. Last night was fairly exciting as squall after squall descended on Pax, each bringing heavy rains and gusts to 30 knots. Our friend Julie has been suffering from mal de mer and stuck in bed, so Sal and the Captain have been managing the sailing alone. We are tired and will be glad to reach port.
Pax Vobiscum
Position: 16 degrees 57 min. S, 148 degrees 38 min. W
We continue on to Tahiti planning to arrive tomorrow morning. Last night was fairly exciting as squall after squall descended on Pax, each bringing heavy rains and gusts to 30 knots. Our friend Julie has been suffering from mal de mer and stuck in bed, so Sal and the Captain have been managing the sailing alone. We are tired and will be glad to reach port.
Pax Vobiscum
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Breaking for Tahiti
June 18, 2008 0300 UTC
Position: 16 degrees 10 min. S, 146 degrees 49 min. W
We left Taou atoll this morning at 8:15 local time bound for Tahiti, a 220 mile sail. The wind is a brisk 15 to 20 knots and the seas about eight feet. The ride is a little rough. We are now under full main and staysail on a broad reach. A few hours ago the shackle holding up the big jib let go and it is too rough to go up the mast and fix it at present. Nevertheless, we are making good progress and expect to be in Tahiti during daylight on Thursday.
Pax Vobiscum
Position: 16 degrees 10 min. S, 146 degrees 49 min. W
We left Taou atoll this morning at 8:15 local time bound for Tahiti, a 220 mile sail. The wind is a brisk 15 to 20 knots and the seas about eight feet. The ride is a little rough. We are now under full main and staysail on a broad reach. A few hours ago the shackle holding up the big jib let go and it is too rough to go up the mast and fix it at present. Nevertheless, we are making good progress and expect to be in Tahiti during daylight on Thursday.
Pax Vobiscum
Friday, June 13, 2008
Your Money or A Life
June 13 - Toau Atoll
Two Beautiful Americans
Our friend Jan was assaulted at knifepoint a few months ago.
She was walking with her partner Joan on Santa Cruz Island in the Galapagos. They were just leaving the Charles Darwin Research Center when a 16 year-old approached Joan looking for what she thought was a handout. Joan, a veteran of New York City, dismissed the young man with street-wise confidence and walked along. Jan, a Seattleite through and through, stopped to ask in her broken Spanish what the young man wanted. He nervously mumbled something that she could not understand. He did not directly face her and looked only downward, so she could not see into his eyes. Finally she followed his gaze and saw that he was holding a knife with a blade five or six inches long, and a worn wooden handle that looked homemade. He pressed the blade-point lightly into Jan's belly; no blood was drawn, but now she could feel it.
"Joan, he has a knife," Jan said calmly. Joan turned and without thinking unleashed a verbal tirade. "Help! Help!" she yelled, in a voice that could not be ignored. They were alone, but Joan finally drew the attention of a park authority who called the police.
Later that day Joan saw the young man on a crowded public dock and grabbed him. The young man broke away from her with a sneer, losing one sandal along the way. Joan yelled for the police and gave chase. Soon the young man found himself surrounded by passers-by and staring into the face of the still angry New York street veteran. The police arrived, and perhaps to his relief the young man was taken into custody.
But this is not the end of the story.
Jan and Joan pressed charges and several days latter appeared at the young man's arraignment. His name was Jerson, and at the hearing he was defiant, he thought himself macho, he played the smart ass. The police told Jan and Joan that Jerson had come from a troubled family. His father was not around. His mother had kicked him out of her home. He was fending for himself in the only way he knew. Jerson was not yet an accomplished robber, that was plain enough. Might he be redeemed, Jan and Joan asked? "How?" The police responded. He needed a foster home, he needed to finish school, he needed a tutor, they said.
Jan and Joan stayed a while in the Galapagos. They talked to the two Ecuadorian social service agencies on the island of Santa Cruz, one public, one private. They found a helpful member of the Seventh Day Adventist church who volunteered to translate, and a Peace Corps worker who volunteered to follow up. They drafted a one-page trust agreement - if Jerson would finish school and stay with a foster family, Jan and Joan would pay for it all. With all this attention, the police too treated Jerson with unexpected kindness. Finally, they spoke directly to Jerson and made their offer, they would pay only if he really wanted it, only if he would commit to see it through. The money would be deposited with a trustee, but the deal was off and the money would be returned if he did not stay the course. And there was one more thing. Jerson was a computer whiz the police had said, he had fixed their computers from his jail cell. If he finished school, Jan and Joan would top it off by buying Jerson the computer of his choice.
Jerson was overcome; he was no longer the macho smart ass the sneer was gone. Now he was a teenage boy with a chance for a future. He would do it, he promised. A computer of his own; he could hardly believe it. He embraced Jan and Joan, he hugged them good bye. By this time, everyone on Santa Cruz Island knew of the women they had come to call "the two Juanitas" and of the wonderful thing they had done for this young man. The social service agencies were inspired by Jan and Joan's kindness, and began to treat Jerson like doting aunties.
Jan and Joan continued on from the Galapagos to the Marquesas in their 44 foot cutter where they met up with us on Ua Pou Island, and now they have continued on to the Tuamotus and done so in the face of some pretty nasty weather. This kind of sailing alone is challenging enough for anyone, let alone for two women who are nearing 60.
But it is obvious that the great sailing adventure is not enough for Jan and Joan. Next week they will be donating two weeks to teach English to a class of adults on Fakarava atoll, and they may well be taking the lead on a project to give Fakarava's fifth graders a better option than being shipped off to boarding school at the tender age of 12.
Why are they donating time teaching during their vacation? Why did they give a young man who pulled a knife on them a future rather than insist on retribution? We doubt their goal is to break the stereotype of the ugly American; like us and so many we meet, they are outraged at our President and his war in Iraq. Perhaps they just think that their way is the way to a better world for all of us; perhaps their greatest gift is to teach the rest of us this lesson by their example. We know for sure that they believe fervently that the best part of cruising is sharing resources, and this they are doing at every turn.
So here's to Jan and Joan; we salute you.
Pax Vobiscum
Two Beautiful Americans
Our friend Jan was assaulted at knifepoint a few months ago.
She was walking with her partner Joan on Santa Cruz Island in the Galapagos. They were just leaving the Charles Darwin Research Center when a 16 year-old approached Joan looking for what she thought was a handout. Joan, a veteran of New York City, dismissed the young man with street-wise confidence and walked along. Jan, a Seattleite through and through, stopped to ask in her broken Spanish what the young man wanted. He nervously mumbled something that she could not understand. He did not directly face her and looked only downward, so she could not see into his eyes. Finally she followed his gaze and saw that he was holding a knife with a blade five or six inches long, and a worn wooden handle that looked homemade. He pressed the blade-point lightly into Jan's belly; no blood was drawn, but now she could feel it.
"Joan, he has a knife," Jan said calmly. Joan turned and without thinking unleashed a verbal tirade. "Help! Help!" she yelled, in a voice that could not be ignored. They were alone, but Joan finally drew the attention of a park authority who called the police.
Later that day Joan saw the young man on a crowded public dock and grabbed him. The young man broke away from her with a sneer, losing one sandal along the way. Joan yelled for the police and gave chase. Soon the young man found himself surrounded by passers-by and staring into the face of the still angry New York street veteran. The police arrived, and perhaps to his relief the young man was taken into custody.
But this is not the end of the story.
Jan and Joan pressed charges and several days latter appeared at the young man's arraignment. His name was Jerson, and at the hearing he was defiant, he thought himself macho, he played the smart ass. The police told Jan and Joan that Jerson had come from a troubled family. His father was not around. His mother had kicked him out of her home. He was fending for himself in the only way he knew. Jerson was not yet an accomplished robber, that was plain enough. Might he be redeemed, Jan and Joan asked? "How?" The police responded. He needed a foster home, he needed to finish school, he needed a tutor, they said.
Jan and Joan stayed a while in the Galapagos. They talked to the two Ecuadorian social service agencies on the island of Santa Cruz, one public, one private. They found a helpful member of the Seventh Day Adventist church who volunteered to translate, and a Peace Corps worker who volunteered to follow up. They drafted a one-page trust agreement - if Jerson would finish school and stay with a foster family, Jan and Joan would pay for it all. With all this attention, the police too treated Jerson with unexpected kindness. Finally, they spoke directly to Jerson and made their offer, they would pay only if he really wanted it, only if he would commit to see it through. The money would be deposited with a trustee, but the deal was off and the money would be returned if he did not stay the course. And there was one more thing. Jerson was a computer whiz the police had said, he had fixed their computers from his jail cell. If he finished school, Jan and Joan would top it off by buying Jerson the computer of his choice.
Jerson was overcome; he was no longer the macho smart ass the sneer was gone. Now he was a teenage boy with a chance for a future. He would do it, he promised. A computer of his own; he could hardly believe it. He embraced Jan and Joan, he hugged them good bye. By this time, everyone on Santa Cruz Island knew of the women they had come to call "the two Juanitas" and of the wonderful thing they had done for this young man. The social service agencies were inspired by Jan and Joan's kindness, and began to treat Jerson like doting aunties.
Jan and Joan continued on from the Galapagos to the Marquesas in their 44 foot cutter where they met up with us on Ua Pou Island, and now they have continued on to the Tuamotus and done so in the face of some pretty nasty weather. This kind of sailing alone is challenging enough for anyone, let alone for two women who are nearing 60.
But it is obvious that the great sailing adventure is not enough for Jan and Joan. Next week they will be donating two weeks to teach English to a class of adults on Fakarava atoll, and they may well be taking the lead on a project to give Fakarava's fifth graders a better option than being shipped off to boarding school at the tender age of 12.
Why are they donating time teaching during their vacation? Why did they give a young man who pulled a knife on them a future rather than insist on retribution? We doubt their goal is to break the stereotype of the ugly American; like us and so many we meet, they are outraged at our President and his war in Iraq. Perhaps they just think that their way is the way to a better world for all of us; perhaps their greatest gift is to teach the rest of us this lesson by their example. We know for sure that they believe fervently that the best part of cruising is sharing resources, and this they are doing at every turn.
So here's to Jan and Joan; we salute you.
Pax Vobiscum
Thursday, June 12, 2008
To Build a Fire
June 12, 2008
At anchor in Fakarava Atoll
We spent a lot our time these past weeks looking for gas - cooking gas. Like most US boats, Pax cooks with propane. The morning coffee depends on it. So do baked biscuits and soup for lunch, and spaghetti for dinner. Without propane, it would be crackers, peanut butter and canned peaches. It would be as if the Captain did all the cooking.
Pax carries two aluminum propane cylinders. When one cylinder empties, we switch to the second and refill the first at the next opportunity, reserving the newly filled tank as a backup. This works very well in the U.S. and can be made to work in Mexico, where propane is available with some effort.
We drained our first cylinder a few nights before reaching the Marquesas, so we were working on the second when we landed in Nuku Hiva. Upon arrival we learned to our surprise that there is no propane in French Polynesia. They just don't sell it here. But, we learned that butane, which was available, could be substituted for propane so long as we didn't mix the gases in the same cylinder, so we had Cylinder #1 filled with butane in Nuku Hiva. When the second cylinder ran out a month later, we connected our butane-filled bottle into the proper fitting, and held our breath. No fireballs, no explosions, and the critical morning coffee water heated nicely, so far, so good.
A few days later we returned to Taieho Bay on Nuku Hiva to refill Cylinder #2 with butane before we left for the Tuamotus. We did not want to be without a backup when our first cylinder ran out - possibly while we were in some remote atoll or at sea. To our dismay we learned that the island was now out of butane. No more butane until the next supply ship came in. "When would that be?" we asked. "Maybe next week, maybe not," came the unhelpful reply. We were marooned in island time of the worst kind - French island time.
We weren't willing to wait. We put in a hefty supply of cold food for emergency backup and off we sailed, resolved to search for butane along the way. A dozen or so sailboats chose instead to wait in Taieho Bay. As of this writing there is still no butane for sale there we are told. If any sailboats are still waiting, they are no doubt by now getting sick of eating cold canned tuna and crackers.
At our first stop in Ua Pou, with French-English dictionary in hand, Elena and Sally asked for butane at every turn. Although some butane was available in European bottles with metric fittings, no one had the connections to fill an American tank. With amateurish French and hopeful smiles, the Pax crew pointed to the empty propane cylinder. The problem was clear, the solution was not. Store owner after store owner simply shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders. Quelle domage.
Fortunately, our cousins Lincoln and Patti Rutter had given us the "Boat Owner's Mechanical and Electrical Manual" which explained how to refill cylinders by the "drip method." The Captain determined that the hose connecting Pax's deck barbeque with the propane tanks might be used to jury rig a connecting hose if the right metric fitting could be found.
In Fakarava atoll the crew attacked the problem again. To their delight Sally and Elena found full European-fitted butane tanks standing like soldiers in a row. With the barbeque hose connection cut off and our empty tank in hand, Sally and Elena went from door to door, searching for help from anyone who would talk to them. They talked to the dive shop owner in their best French ("This is a dive shop, we service oxygen tanks, not propane tanks"), the boulangerie clerk ("We don't sell anything like that"), the owners of the two magasins that sold the butane (shrugs and sighs), and the local mechanic (a kindly smile and an unhelpful shrug). The attitude was the same everywhere - no can do.
Finally a glimmer of hope came in a conversation with a young California couple sailing the boat "Gaviota". They had been trying unsuccessfully to solve it themselves, and they invited the Pax crew over to look at their bag of parts. As he peered into the bag the Captain smiled -there was what appeared to be the elusive European fitting.
Back to the magasin with the barbeque hose, Gaviota's fitting, and a pirated clamp from Pax's water maker. With many concerned looks from the workers at the magasin, the Captain confirmed that the fitting was a clean connection to the European butane bottle. The magasin owners expressed great doubt and shook their heads over the project. They predicted a great explosion and made it clear that "you can't do it here." They lent us a hand truck to wheel the heavy bottle to the dinghy, and some kindly
Australians helped load the bottle in.
Back at Pax, we rigged the halyard to the French tank and hoisted it from the dinghy part way up Pax's mast, where we hung it upside down. We connected up our new hose to the French tank and to our empty cylinder that we set upright on the deck. We opened both valves and held our breath. Although it looked like something out of L'il Abner, butane flowed, nothing blew up, and after many hours we filled the empty bottle and then we topped our other bottle off. Voila, we could now cook, we would not be relegated to crackers and peanut butter, and most importantly, we would have hot coffee every morning.
Pax Vobiscum
At anchor in Fakarava Atoll
We spent a lot our time these past weeks looking for gas - cooking gas. Like most US boats, Pax cooks with propane. The morning coffee depends on it. So do baked biscuits and soup for lunch, and spaghetti for dinner. Without propane, it would be crackers, peanut butter and canned peaches. It would be as if the Captain did all the cooking.
Pax carries two aluminum propane cylinders. When one cylinder empties, we switch to the second and refill the first at the next opportunity, reserving the newly filled tank as a backup. This works very well in the U.S. and can be made to work in Mexico, where propane is available with some effort.
We drained our first cylinder a few nights before reaching the Marquesas, so we were working on the second when we landed in Nuku Hiva. Upon arrival we learned to our surprise that there is no propane in French Polynesia. They just don't sell it here. But, we learned that butane, which was available, could be substituted for propane so long as we didn't mix the gases in the same cylinder, so we had Cylinder #1 filled with butane in Nuku Hiva. When the second cylinder ran out a month later, we connected our butane-filled bottle into the proper fitting, and held our breath. No fireballs, no explosions, and the critical morning coffee water heated nicely, so far, so good.
A few days later we returned to Taieho Bay on Nuku Hiva to refill Cylinder #2 with butane before we left for the Tuamotus. We did not want to be without a backup when our first cylinder ran out - possibly while we were in some remote atoll or at sea. To our dismay we learned that the island was now out of butane. No more butane until the next supply ship came in. "When would that be?" we asked. "Maybe next week, maybe not," came the unhelpful reply. We were marooned in island time of the worst kind - French island time.
We weren't willing to wait. We put in a hefty supply of cold food for emergency backup and off we sailed, resolved to search for butane along the way. A dozen or so sailboats chose instead to wait in Taieho Bay. As of this writing there is still no butane for sale there we are told. If any sailboats are still waiting, they are no doubt by now getting sick of eating cold canned tuna and crackers.
At our first stop in Ua Pou, with French-English dictionary in hand, Elena and Sally asked for butane at every turn. Although some butane was available in European bottles with metric fittings, no one had the connections to fill an American tank. With amateurish French and hopeful smiles, the Pax crew pointed to the empty propane cylinder. The problem was clear, the solution was not. Store owner after store owner simply shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders. Quelle domage.
Fortunately, our cousins Lincoln and Patti Rutter had given us the "Boat Owner's Mechanical and Electrical Manual" which explained how to refill cylinders by the "drip method." The Captain determined that the hose connecting Pax's deck barbeque with the propane tanks might be used to jury rig a connecting hose if the right metric fitting could be found.
In Fakarava atoll the crew attacked the problem again. To their delight Sally and Elena found full European-fitted butane tanks standing like soldiers in a row. With the barbeque hose connection cut off and our empty tank in hand, Sally and Elena went from door to door, searching for help from anyone who would talk to them. They talked to the dive shop owner in their best French ("This is a dive shop, we service oxygen tanks, not propane tanks"), the boulangerie clerk ("We don't sell anything like that"), the owners of the two magasins that sold the butane (shrugs and sighs), and the local mechanic (a kindly smile and an unhelpful shrug). The attitude was the same everywhere - no can do.
Finally a glimmer of hope came in a conversation with a young California couple sailing the boat "Gaviota". They had been trying unsuccessfully to solve it themselves, and they invited the Pax crew over to look at their bag of parts. As he peered into the bag the Captain smiled -there was what appeared to be the elusive European fitting.
Back to the magasin with the barbeque hose, Gaviota's fitting, and a pirated clamp from Pax's water maker. With many concerned looks from the workers at the magasin, the Captain confirmed that the fitting was a clean connection to the European butane bottle. The magasin owners expressed great doubt and shook their heads over the project. They predicted a great explosion and made it clear that "you can't do it here." They lent us a hand truck to wheel the heavy bottle to the dinghy, and some kindly
Australians helped load the bottle in.
Back at Pax, we rigged the halyard to the French tank and hoisted it from the dinghy part way up Pax's mast, where we hung it upside down. We connected up our new hose to the French tank and to our empty cylinder that we set upright on the deck. We opened both valves and held our breath. Although it looked like something out of L'il Abner, butane flowed, nothing blew up, and after many hours we filled the empty bottle and then we topped our other bottle off. Voila, we could now cook, we would not be relegated to crackers and peanut butter, and most importantly, we would have hot coffee every morning.
Pax Vobiscum
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Leapin' Prey, Ray
June 8, 2008
At anchor - Fakarava Atoll
The last three days have been blustery ones here at anchor. The skies have been mostly blue and the wind has been mostly 15 to 20 knots, but every hour or two a squall has come by with gusts to 30 knots and occasional rain. When the wind blows, the rigging sings. In the harder gusts the forestay with its heavy rolled up jib starts to oscillate and the whole boat vibrates. The wind builds and builds, everything shakes, and we wonder whether the anchor will hold. Then, in a minute or two, it is over. The wind has been from the east mostly, but when it clocks around to the southeast a chop travels up the 30 miles of the lagoon providing us with more roll at anchor than we would like, but still much less than we had gotten used to in the Marquesas. Yet, all in all, the blue skies, the warm but not hot temperatures, and the soothing views make this a very pleasant place.
And life has been easy for us compared to what our friends at sea have experienced these last few days. Jan and Joan from "Casteele" anchored to starboard of us this morning after a four day passage in 20 to 30 knot winds and 8 to 10 foot seas that were too close together for comfort. They arrived exhausted but justifiably proud of having conquered the seas in difficult conditions. Two days ago another boat not far from them reported 12 to 15 foot seas, conditions much too harsh for any kind of comfort. We are glad that all are now safely in port.
Last night we had an Australian couple, Jeffery and Karen from the Jeanneau "Sea Otter 2," over for a few beers. We had managed to put together a jury rig setup to fill our propane bottles with local butane and we offered to fill their empty bottle. They came over with a few beers to say thanks. It does seem to be true that all Australians drink beer, although we were surprised to learn that Jeffery's favorite brand is Moosehead Ale from Canada. We had a great time with Jeffery and Karen. As is the norm, they knew all about U.S. politics. We learned about the warm feelings the Australians have for us that still stems from World War II when many Australians feel they were abandoned by the British and saved by the U.S. They said this feeling remains strong today with most Australians, although Jeffery thinks that the Aussies have gotten even by following the U.S. into Vietnam and Iraq. Why did we go into Iraq, they ask? We are still looking for an explanation to that question that passes the straight-face test.
We are exploring ways to help the residents of Fakarava deal with a difficult reality of life on lightly populated island. The kids here go to school on this atoll until they are 11 years old, then they are flown to a larger atoll 150 miles away for the remainder of their public schooling. They live in dormitories and get home to see their families only two or three times a year. An enterprising teacher and the island's doctor think that 12 years old is too young to leave home and family, and they have proposed to the French government that the 12 and 13 year olds be allowed to join a French internet study program that would keep them here. They need $50,000 for a pilot program that could be a model for all of these islands and they have asked us for help. We have met with them and with the mayor once and will do so again on Tuesday to see if we can organize some assistance.
The sea life has been a lesson in survival biology. All day long boobies and other seabirds dive from on high for fish, often entering the water after expertly flown half rolls in maneuvers that resemble a split-s or part of a Cuban eight. Sometimes we don't see them coming until they land with a slash a few feet from the cockpit, usually emerging from the water with a three inch-long scale-covered, silver cylinder that they expertly flip end over end to swallow head first. Last night, right before sunset, a six foot manta ray leapt completely out of the water 30 feet off to starboard. He made an impressive splash and a loud slap as he reentered the water. Ten seconds later he did it all over again. We dread to even think about what might have been chasing that big fellow. Yesterday in the dinghy we were splashed as we rowed off the beach when a swift foot-long fish came charging at us and turned abruptly, just in time to avoid a collision but not in time to avoid kicking a quart of seawater into the dinghy and onto us. A second later the explanation for this frantic behavior appeared in the form of a four foot-long reef shark that made the same turn at the dinghy but in a more leisurely fashion. Often as the sun is rising or setting we see whole schools of small fish leap out of the water in unison, escaping some unseen predator while making a sound like a garden hose sprayed on the surface. We all have our daily challenges and frustration, but we humans at least get to live our days without the constant fear of being eaten.
Pax Vobiscum
At anchor - Fakarava Atoll
The last three days have been blustery ones here at anchor. The skies have been mostly blue and the wind has been mostly 15 to 20 knots, but every hour or two a squall has come by with gusts to 30 knots and occasional rain. When the wind blows, the rigging sings. In the harder gusts the forestay with its heavy rolled up jib starts to oscillate and the whole boat vibrates. The wind builds and builds, everything shakes, and we wonder whether the anchor will hold. Then, in a minute or two, it is over. The wind has been from the east mostly, but when it clocks around to the southeast a chop travels up the 30 miles of the lagoon providing us with more roll at anchor than we would like, but still much less than we had gotten used to in the Marquesas. Yet, all in all, the blue skies, the warm but not hot temperatures, and the soothing views make this a very pleasant place.
And life has been easy for us compared to what our friends at sea have experienced these last few days. Jan and Joan from "Casteele" anchored to starboard of us this morning after a four day passage in 20 to 30 knot winds and 8 to 10 foot seas that were too close together for comfort. They arrived exhausted but justifiably proud of having conquered the seas in difficult conditions. Two days ago another boat not far from them reported 12 to 15 foot seas, conditions much too harsh for any kind of comfort. We are glad that all are now safely in port.
Last night we had an Australian couple, Jeffery and Karen from the Jeanneau "Sea Otter 2," over for a few beers. We had managed to put together a jury rig setup to fill our propane bottles with local butane and we offered to fill their empty bottle. They came over with a few beers to say thanks. It does seem to be true that all Australians drink beer, although we were surprised to learn that Jeffery's favorite brand is Moosehead Ale from Canada. We had a great time with Jeffery and Karen. As is the norm, they knew all about U.S. politics. We learned about the warm feelings the Australians have for us that still stems from World War II when many Australians feel they were abandoned by the British and saved by the U.S. They said this feeling remains strong today with most Australians, although Jeffery thinks that the Aussies have gotten even by following the U.S. into Vietnam and Iraq. Why did we go into Iraq, they ask? We are still looking for an explanation to that question that passes the straight-face test.
We are exploring ways to help the residents of Fakarava deal with a difficult reality of life on lightly populated island. The kids here go to school on this atoll until they are 11 years old, then they are flown to a larger atoll 150 miles away for the remainder of their public schooling. They live in dormitories and get home to see their families only two or three times a year. An enterprising teacher and the island's doctor think that 12 years old is too young to leave home and family, and they have proposed to the French government that the 12 and 13 year olds be allowed to join a French internet study program that would keep them here. They need $50,000 for a pilot program that could be a model for all of these islands and they have asked us for help. We have met with them and with the mayor once and will do so again on Tuesday to see if we can organize some assistance.
The sea life has been a lesson in survival biology. All day long boobies and other seabirds dive from on high for fish, often entering the water after expertly flown half rolls in maneuvers that resemble a split-s or part of a Cuban eight. Sometimes we don't see them coming until they land with a slash a few feet from the cockpit, usually emerging from the water with a three inch-long scale-covered, silver cylinder that they expertly flip end over end to swallow head first. Last night, right before sunset, a six foot manta ray leapt completely out of the water 30 feet off to starboard. He made an impressive splash and a loud slap as he reentered the water. Ten seconds later he did it all over again. We dread to even think about what might have been chasing that big fellow. Yesterday in the dinghy we were splashed as we rowed off the beach when a swift foot-long fish came charging at us and turned abruptly, just in time to avoid a collision but not in time to avoid kicking a quart of seawater into the dinghy and onto us. A second later the explanation for this frantic behavior appeared in the form of a four foot-long reef shark that made the same turn at the dinghy but in a more leisurely fashion. Often as the sun is rising or setting we see whole schools of small fish leap out of the water in unison, escaping some unseen predator while making a sound like a garden hose sprayed on the surface. We all have our daily challenges and frustration, but we humans at least get to live our days without the constant fear of being eaten.
Pax Vobiscum
Thursday, June 5, 2008
No Long Goodbyes
June 5, 2008
At anchor in Fakarava
We waved goodbye to our Elena Leonard today, as she left in a "taxi" from a "hotel" in Fakarava. The taxi was a next-door neighbor's pickup truck, and the hotel a small pension where the hotelier offered grass shacks with clean beds and communal showers to cruisers and divers who come from thousands of miles away to enjoy this atoll. Elena was a wonderful addition to the Pax Vobiscum crew and we sent her back to her family in Seattle with mixed feelings of gratitude and loss.
Our final goodbyes were abrupt, as the three of us had been leisurely chatting in the pension's garden with Maddy, a lovely teacher from New Caledonia and her husband Francois. We were stretching out our time with Elena until her flight, when a neighbor came bounding around the bougainvillea with a cell phone planted firmly on her ear and asked who was leaving par avion. Elena and our new friends raised their hands, and the neighbor said "Vite, Vite! The plane is leaving early". Indeed, the neighbor had received a phone call asking to round up the passengers, and they piled fast into her pick-up truck and drove the five minutes to the airport. Before the Captain and his first mate could finish a quick trip to the boulangerie for bread and push the dinghy off the sand, the plane took off and banked right over Pax's anchorage. Safe travels and thanks, Elena.
Pax Vobiscum
At anchor in Fakarava
We waved goodbye to our Elena Leonard today, as she left in a "taxi" from a "hotel" in Fakarava. The taxi was a next-door neighbor's pickup truck, and the hotel a small pension where the hotelier offered grass shacks with clean beds and communal showers to cruisers and divers who come from thousands of miles away to enjoy this atoll. Elena was a wonderful addition to the Pax Vobiscum crew and we sent her back to her family in Seattle with mixed feelings of gratitude and loss.
Our final goodbyes were abrupt, as the three of us had been leisurely chatting in the pension's garden with Maddy, a lovely teacher from New Caledonia and her husband Francois. We were stretching out our time with Elena until her flight, when a neighbor came bounding around the bougainvillea with a cell phone planted firmly on her ear and asked who was leaving par avion. Elena and our new friends raised their hands, and the neighbor said "Vite, Vite! The plane is leaving early". Indeed, the neighbor had received a phone call asking to round up the passengers, and they piled fast into her pick-up truck and drove the five minutes to the airport. Before the Captain and his first mate could finish a quick trip to the boulangerie for bread and push the dinghy off the sand, the plane took off and banked right over Pax's anchorage. Safe travels and thanks, Elena.
Pax Vobiscum
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Aground, not atoll
June 3, 2008
At Anchor - Fakarava atoll
We are now five days in the Tuamotus. We arrived last Thursday in Tahanea atoll after a slow passage from Ua Pou Island in the Marquesas. Tahanea was just as the Tuamotus have been advertised, a deserted blue lagoon surrounded by white sand beaches and palm trees. We anchored half a mile from the entrance pass on a coral and sand bottom in the lee of a motu, a narrow strip of sand atop an old coral outcropping topped with palm trees. Each atoll in the Tuamotus consists of a series of motus around an internal lagoon that varies in size from just a few miles across to as much as 40. The motus are the remnants of coral barrier reefs that once surrounded volcanic islands. They were created when the islands eroded to below sea level, leaving the reefs and a central lagoon. The lagoons are mid-ocean refuges for wildlife - living coral, colorful reef fish, crabs and the ever present reef sharks. The water at Tahanea is especially clear, the coral and sand on the bottom were plainly visible in 30 feet of water, and the sharks could be seen approaching from 100 feet away.
At Tahanea we met Rex and Louise, an Australian couple that has been cruising many years on their cutter "Six Pack". They hail from Lord Howe Island off the Australian coast, where they return home for half of every year to earn a living, leaving Six Pack behind in some exotic spot. Rex and Louise love to fish. They told us that they caught a barracuda on the way in and once at anchor they put it over the side. In seconds a half dozen sharks devoured it in a feeding frenzy, leaving nothing but the barracuda head and a foamy froth on the surface. The sharks now appear at their waterline every time they get in their dingy, always hopeful for a new meal. In the lagoon, Rex and Louise trolled for reef fish from their dinghy with much success. It was strictly catch and release, though. The reef fish here and at most other South Pacific atolls are contaminated with the toxin ciguatura and cannot be safely eaten. Rex and Louise also gathered coconuts for their juice and they generously gave three of them to us. Rum, orange juice and coconut milk make for an interesting sunset-time concoction.
Our last night at Tahanea we met Bjorn and Annika, a Swedish couple on the cutter "Lindisfarne". They had sailed their boat here by going around Cape Horn, where the sailing world's worst weather is to be found. They said it wasn't so bad though, as long as you were prepared to wait, sometime for weeks on end, for a weather window to open. While going around the Horn they decided to visit Antarctica since it was nearby. They told us that their charts could not be relied on as we normally would do elsewhere. What looked like a nice anchorage on the chart was often completely blocked by ice. They also reported that diesel fuel became a critical item for them because they used so much to heat their boat. They had a great time despite all the difficulties. Maybe being Swedish means you love, or at least tolerate, the cold. We found their casual dismissal of the hardships and dangers of rounding the Horn to be the nautical equivalence of Thomas Wolfe's "right stuff."
Annika is a computer engineer and she generously spent several hours getting our two portable computers into shape. I find myself cursing Microsoft less than usual this morning, thanks to Annika. Yet still, a special place in hell awaits the chief developer of Vista.
Rex, Louise, Bjorn and Annika were all familiar with American politics and interested to hear our take on this year's presidential elections. We continue to be amazed that most foreign cruisers know not just who George W is, but also know our main candidates and their stands on the big issues. They tell us that in their travels it is rare that they speak to an American who will admit to having voted for Bush. How did he get elected, they wonder? It is a mystery, we must often confess.
Last Saturday Sal and Elena rowed the dinghy off to the northwest and found a small pool in one corner of the Tahanea lagoon. There was beautiful live coral, totally calm clear water, and no sharks. Rumor has it that in the seclusion of this little piece of paradise they worked on perfecting the elusive all-over tan.
We left Tahanea early Sunday afternoon to exit the pass at slack water. The most dangerous part of cruising the atolls (aside from running into one at night) is getting into and out of the lagoons through narrow passes. The passes often have strong currents that empty and fill the lagoons with the tide. If the current runs against the ocean swell, a short and dangerous sea can form right at the pass entrance. We ran through a steeper sea than we had planned for on our exit from Tahanea, apparently because a brisk wind kept filling the lagoon's windward side, keeping the current in the leeward pass ebbing for much longer than the tide charts predicted. As we exited the narrowest part of the opening, Pax climbed and dove impressively on closely spaced waves drenching the deck and cabin-house in green water, but the discomfort was short-lived as we were swept through the danger zone on outgoing current. But my how we regretted forgetting to close all the portholes.
It was an all night 85-mile sail to Fakarava's northern pass. The wind freshened during the night to 20 knots with gusts to 25 and occasionally higher, while the seas built to six or eight feet. The wind was on our quarter, which resulted in a fast and rolly ride. We planned to enter the pass at Fakarava during the low slack tide at about 9 AM Monday, but by 2 AM we were only 20 miles off the pass, so we hove to and waited for dawn. While hove to we took a second reef in the main to more easily handle the increased winds. At dawn Sal was on watch and she got us sailing again towards Fakarava. More and more she is comfortable handling the boat on her own.
We entered the pass on schedule at 9 AM on a close reach in 20 knots. Our timing was good, though, and there were no steep seas this time. Fakarava is the second largest of the Tuamotus and the brisk wind had whipped up a three foot sea out in the middle of the lagoon, but it was nothing that Pax could not easily handle. As we approached the anchorage off the village of Rotoava a squall descended on us. For a few minutes we had 30 knot winds and driving rain that arrived just as we were maneuvering to avoid the numerous coral heads that guarded the beach-front. Under double reefed main and staysail Pax handled the wind nicely. However, just as the squall passed and we entered the anchorage, the boat lurched as the bottom of our keel grazed a coral head. We had our first grounding with Pax, but fortunately it was a glancing blow. The boat did not stop or even slow down. We were not initially sure we had gone aground, Elena felt nothing and the depth sounder never registered the obstruction, but as we looked afterwards we found a little blue dot on the chart with a depth of 4 feet at low tide - Pax draws 5.5 feet. Thankfully there is a lot of fiberglass covering Pax's internal lead keel so we have no leaks, but we are expecting to find a gouge in the fiberglass down there.
At anchor at Fakarava are our old friends from Seattle on "Hannah" and from Nottingham England on "Shilling." Last night we had cocktails with Dennis and Janet from Schilling and new friends Dawn and Tom from "Morning Rain," late of Blaine, Washington. The latter know our cousins Lincoln and Patti, whom they met when moored on the same dock with their graceful Camper and Nicholson "Zajal." Also at anchor here is "Baraka" from Richmond Beach. You cannot cruise for long in the South Pacific without meeting many other boats from Puget Sound, far more than from any other region of the U.S. Despite looking, we have yet to see a boat from Massachusetts Bay. Where are the Gloucester boats? Could it be they are all staying home to spend a summer watching the World Champion Boston Red Sox play?
Pax Vobiscum
At Anchor - Fakarava atoll
We are now five days in the Tuamotus. We arrived last Thursday in Tahanea atoll after a slow passage from Ua Pou Island in the Marquesas. Tahanea was just as the Tuamotus have been advertised, a deserted blue lagoon surrounded by white sand beaches and palm trees. We anchored half a mile from the entrance pass on a coral and sand bottom in the lee of a motu, a narrow strip of sand atop an old coral outcropping topped with palm trees. Each atoll in the Tuamotus consists of a series of motus around an internal lagoon that varies in size from just a few miles across to as much as 40. The motus are the remnants of coral barrier reefs that once surrounded volcanic islands. They were created when the islands eroded to below sea level, leaving the reefs and a central lagoon. The lagoons are mid-ocean refuges for wildlife - living coral, colorful reef fish, crabs and the ever present reef sharks. The water at Tahanea is especially clear, the coral and sand on the bottom were plainly visible in 30 feet of water, and the sharks could be seen approaching from 100 feet away.
At Tahanea we met Rex and Louise, an Australian couple that has been cruising many years on their cutter "Six Pack". They hail from Lord Howe Island off the Australian coast, where they return home for half of every year to earn a living, leaving Six Pack behind in some exotic spot. Rex and Louise love to fish. They told us that they caught a barracuda on the way in and once at anchor they put it over the side. In seconds a half dozen sharks devoured it in a feeding frenzy, leaving nothing but the barracuda head and a foamy froth on the surface. The sharks now appear at their waterline every time they get in their dingy, always hopeful for a new meal. In the lagoon, Rex and Louise trolled for reef fish from their dinghy with much success. It was strictly catch and release, though. The reef fish here and at most other South Pacific atolls are contaminated with the toxin ciguatura and cannot be safely eaten. Rex and Louise also gathered coconuts for their juice and they generously gave three of them to us. Rum, orange juice and coconut milk make for an interesting sunset-time concoction.
Our last night at Tahanea we met Bjorn and Annika, a Swedish couple on the cutter "Lindisfarne". They had sailed their boat here by going around Cape Horn, where the sailing world's worst weather is to be found. They said it wasn't so bad though, as long as you were prepared to wait, sometime for weeks on end, for a weather window to open. While going around the Horn they decided to visit Antarctica since it was nearby. They told us that their charts could not be relied on as we normally would do elsewhere. What looked like a nice anchorage on the chart was often completely blocked by ice. They also reported that diesel fuel became a critical item for them because they used so much to heat their boat. They had a great time despite all the difficulties. Maybe being Swedish means you love, or at least tolerate, the cold. We found their casual dismissal of the hardships and dangers of rounding the Horn to be the nautical equivalence of Thomas Wolfe's "right stuff."
Annika is a computer engineer and she generously spent several hours getting our two portable computers into shape. I find myself cursing Microsoft less than usual this morning, thanks to Annika. Yet still, a special place in hell awaits the chief developer of Vista.
Rex, Louise, Bjorn and Annika were all familiar with American politics and interested to hear our take on this year's presidential elections. We continue to be amazed that most foreign cruisers know not just who George W is, but also know our main candidates and their stands on the big issues. They tell us that in their travels it is rare that they speak to an American who will admit to having voted for Bush. How did he get elected, they wonder? It is a mystery, we must often confess.
Last Saturday Sal and Elena rowed the dinghy off to the northwest and found a small pool in one corner of the Tahanea lagoon. There was beautiful live coral, totally calm clear water, and no sharks. Rumor has it that in the seclusion of this little piece of paradise they worked on perfecting the elusive all-over tan.
We left Tahanea early Sunday afternoon to exit the pass at slack water. The most dangerous part of cruising the atolls (aside from running into one at night) is getting into and out of the lagoons through narrow passes. The passes often have strong currents that empty and fill the lagoons with the tide. If the current runs against the ocean swell, a short and dangerous sea can form right at the pass entrance. We ran through a steeper sea than we had planned for on our exit from Tahanea, apparently because a brisk wind kept filling the lagoon's windward side, keeping the current in the leeward pass ebbing for much longer than the tide charts predicted. As we exited the narrowest part of the opening, Pax climbed and dove impressively on closely spaced waves drenching the deck and cabin-house in green water, but the discomfort was short-lived as we were swept through the danger zone on outgoing current. But my how we regretted forgetting to close all the portholes.
It was an all night 85-mile sail to Fakarava's northern pass. The wind freshened during the night to 20 knots with gusts to 25 and occasionally higher, while the seas built to six or eight feet. The wind was on our quarter, which resulted in a fast and rolly ride. We planned to enter the pass at Fakarava during the low slack tide at about 9 AM Monday, but by 2 AM we were only 20 miles off the pass, so we hove to and waited for dawn. While hove to we took a second reef in the main to more easily handle the increased winds. At dawn Sal was on watch and she got us sailing again towards Fakarava. More and more she is comfortable handling the boat on her own.
We entered the pass on schedule at 9 AM on a close reach in 20 knots. Our timing was good, though, and there were no steep seas this time. Fakarava is the second largest of the Tuamotus and the brisk wind had whipped up a three foot sea out in the middle of the lagoon, but it was nothing that Pax could not easily handle. As we approached the anchorage off the village of Rotoava a squall descended on us. For a few minutes we had 30 knot winds and driving rain that arrived just as we were maneuvering to avoid the numerous coral heads that guarded the beach-front. Under double reefed main and staysail Pax handled the wind nicely. However, just as the squall passed and we entered the anchorage, the boat lurched as the bottom of our keel grazed a coral head. We had our first grounding with Pax, but fortunately it was a glancing blow. The boat did not stop or even slow down. We were not initially sure we had gone aground, Elena felt nothing and the depth sounder never registered the obstruction, but as we looked afterwards we found a little blue dot on the chart with a depth of 4 feet at low tide - Pax draws 5.5 feet. Thankfully there is a lot of fiberglass covering Pax's internal lead keel so we have no leaks, but we are expecting to find a gouge in the fiberglass down there.
At anchor at Fakarava are our old friends from Seattle on "Hannah" and from Nottingham England on "Shilling." Last night we had cocktails with Dennis and Janet from Schilling and new friends Dawn and Tom from "Morning Rain," late of Blaine, Washington. The latter know our cousins Lincoln and Patti, whom they met when moored on the same dock with their graceful Camper and Nicholson "Zajal." Also at anchor here is "Baraka" from Richmond Beach. You cannot cruise for long in the South Pacific without meeting many other boats from Puget Sound, far more than from any other region of the U.S. Despite looking, we have yet to see a boat from Massachusetts Bay. Where are the Gloucester boats? Could it be they are all staying home to spend a summer watching the World Champion Boston Red Sox play?
Pax Vobiscum
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Helpful Shark
Position: At anchor in Tahanea, Tuamoto Archipelago
May 31, 2008
The day started by our pulling up the anchor to assure the chain was not twisted around coral heads. This was important because the weather gurus forecasted a southeastern blow, and having a fouled anchor in such conditions is a truly bad idea. The other cruisers in this anchorage -- four Swedish boats and one from Australia -- explained to us how they had anchored, a trick using floats attached every 30' on their anchor chain, thereby allowing the anchor itself to bite but keeping the chain off the floor and off the coral.
Sal and Elena had found three washed up fishing floats on the beach yesterday, which were promptly put into service on Pax. This morning Sal got in the dinghy with her snorkel gear on, Elena stood at Pax's bow ready with the windlass, and Brad steered as directed by the crew. The anchor reset process was accomplished with all hands involved: Sal leaning over the dinghy with her head in the water, directing Brad to steer left, right, and straight ahead until the chain straightens and the anchor lifts. Elena stood ready to raise and redrop the anchor onto a designated sandy spot.
All proceeds well until.... SHARK!!! A warning shout from the captain and Elena, and Sal promptly pulls herself back into the dinghy as a curious reef shark swims underneath. This might have been a more worrisome problem, but for yesterday's introduction to the local fauna. Sal and Elena were scrubbing the grudge off Pax's waterline, and working back toward the skeg rudder when Sal decided it was time to get into the water and scrub from closer range. Brad was keeping a sharp eye out when he calmly said "There are three sharks heading this way like a military convoy." Rumor has it that Sal launched herself out of the water and fully into the dinghy in a nano-second, leaving the reef sharks wondering what happened. The subsequent photos taken of the beasts with Elena's underwater camera are impressive.
This afternoon while Brad worked on navigation planning and solar panel challenges, Sal and Elena headed toward a secluded blue lagoon with Elena's camera. Along the way they spotted hundreds of hermit crabs that love to eat coconuts left open on the beach by the kindly Australians. They rowed the dinghy over coral heads in water so clear that they could photograph the iridescent blue fish from above. Up the atoll a ways, Sal and Elena found a completely secluded and sheltered blue lagoon, surrounded by coconut palms. The bottom of this particular lagoon was covered with crushed white coral sand, allowing even the most timid swimmer to see if anything was coming. The two of them found this personal swimming hole to be perfectly peaceful and unencumbered by unwelcome albeit curious marine life.
Pax Vobiscum
-------------------------------------------------
May 31, 2008
The day started by our pulling up the anchor to assure the chain was not twisted around coral heads. This was important because the weather gurus forecasted a southeastern blow, and having a fouled anchor in such conditions is a truly bad idea. The other cruisers in this anchorage -- four Swedish boats and one from Australia -- explained to us how they had anchored, a trick using floats attached every 30' on their anchor chain, thereby allowing the anchor itself to bite but keeping the chain off the floor and off the coral.
Sal and Elena had found three washed up fishing floats on the beach yesterday, which were promptly put into service on Pax. This morning Sal got in the dinghy with her snorkel gear on, Elena stood at Pax's bow ready with the windlass, and Brad steered as directed by the crew. The anchor reset process was accomplished with all hands involved: Sal leaning over the dinghy with her head in the water, directing Brad to steer left, right, and straight ahead until the chain straightens and the anchor lifts. Elena stood ready to raise and redrop the anchor onto a designated sandy spot.
All proceeds well until.... SHARK!!! A warning shout from the captain and Elena, and Sal promptly pulls herself back into the dinghy as a curious reef shark swims underneath. This might have been a more worrisome problem, but for yesterday's introduction to the local fauna. Sal and Elena were scrubbing the grudge off Pax's waterline, and working back toward the skeg rudder when Sal decided it was time to get into the water and scrub from closer range. Brad was keeping a sharp eye out when he calmly said "There are three sharks heading this way like a military convoy." Rumor has it that Sal launched herself out of the water and fully into the dinghy in a nano-second, leaving the reef sharks wondering what happened. The subsequent photos taken of the beasts with Elena's underwater camera are impressive.
This afternoon while Brad worked on navigation planning and solar panel challenges, Sal and Elena headed toward a secluded blue lagoon with Elena's camera. Along the way they spotted hundreds of hermit crabs that love to eat coconuts left open on the beach by the kindly Australians. They rowed the dinghy over coral heads in water so clear that they could photograph the iridescent blue fish from above. Up the atoll a ways, Sal and Elena found a completely secluded and sheltered blue lagoon, surrounded by coconut palms. The bottom of this particular lagoon was covered with crushed white coral sand, allowing even the most timid swimmer to see if anything was coming. The two of them found this personal swimming hole to be perfectly peaceful and unencumbered by unwelcome albeit curious marine life.
Pax Vobiscum
-------------------------------------------------
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Enfin Tuamotu
May 29, 2008 2100 UTC, 1100 Local
Position: 16 degrees 51 min. S, 144 degrees 42 min. W
Nous arrivons. We anchored in the Tuamotu atoll of Tahanea at about 9:45 local time this morning. Last night we made excellent time in a 10 to 12 knot northeasterly breeze. There was some tension as we weaved our way through a line of atolls in the pitch dark. Our GPS lead the way, but passing through and close to low, unlit islands that we could not see nevertheless got our full attention. We arrived off Tahanea at 7 AM and hove to for several hours waiting for the right tide and sun conditions to enter the pass into the atoll. The passes in the Tuamotus must be traversed on the correct tide. The current emptying into or out of the atoll can create seas that are dangerous for small vessels such as Pax when the current is running strong, especially if it is running against a sea. Once in the atoll, we can only safely travel in the daylight and with the sun at our backs because all these atolls contain uncharted coral heads that can only be seen if they are visible below the surface. Glare from a sun ahead in the direction of travel effectively blinds us to this danger.
Ironically, after a slow passage the wind is now whipping up at anchor. Our friends Jan and Joan are reconsidering their plan to leave the Marquesas tomorrow because of possible high seas on the route -- quite different from what we experienced in our week-long passage. Meanwhile, we are now in a sheltered spot, in the wind but out of the seas. Two hundred yards ahead is a deserted sandy motu covered by palm trees. The water, 30 feet deep under our keel, is a deep blue so clear that the sand and coral on the bottom are plainly visible. There should be great swimming and snorkeling once the wind calms down.
We as yet have not made plans on how long we will stay here. Our next stop will be the larger island of Fakarava, whose closest pass is about 45 miles away. For now we will enjoy a quiet day of relaxation.
Pax Vobiscum
Position: 16 degrees 51 min. S, 144 degrees 42 min. W
Nous arrivons. We anchored in the Tuamotu atoll of Tahanea at about 9:45 local time this morning. Last night we made excellent time in a 10 to 12 knot northeasterly breeze. There was some tension as we weaved our way through a line of atolls in the pitch dark. Our GPS lead the way, but passing through and close to low, unlit islands that we could not see nevertheless got our full attention. We arrived off Tahanea at 7 AM and hove to for several hours waiting for the right tide and sun conditions to enter the pass into the atoll. The passes in the Tuamotus must be traversed on the correct tide. The current emptying into or out of the atoll can create seas that are dangerous for small vessels such as Pax when the current is running strong, especially if it is running against a sea. Once in the atoll, we can only safely travel in the daylight and with the sun at our backs because all these atolls contain uncharted coral heads that can only be seen if they are visible below the surface. Glare from a sun ahead in the direction of travel effectively blinds us to this danger.
Ironically, after a slow passage the wind is now whipping up at anchor. Our friends Jan and Joan are reconsidering their plan to leave the Marquesas tomorrow because of possible high seas on the route -- quite different from what we experienced in our week-long passage. Meanwhile, we are now in a sheltered spot, in the wind but out of the seas. Two hundred yards ahead is a deserted sandy motu covered by palm trees. The water, 30 feet deep under our keel, is a deep blue so clear that the sand and coral on the bottom are plainly visible. There should be great swimming and snorkeling once the wind calms down.
We as yet have not made plans on how long we will stay here. Our next stop will be the larger island of Fakarava, whose closest pass is about 45 miles away. For now we will enjoy a quiet day of relaxation.
Pax Vobiscum
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Dipping South
May 28, 2008 1900 UTC, 9:00 a.m. local time
Position: 15 degrees 47 min. S, 143 degrees 52 min. W
We are within one day of landfall at the Tuamoto Archipelago or the Iles Tuamotu as our French charts state. Although our passage has been slower than expected, the time on the ocean away from sight of land has been splendid, with easy seas and deep friendships developing. We have seen only one other passing ship in a week, a freighter west bound, and the azure blue sky and deep blue water have surrounded us in very kindly ways during the thirteen hours of daylight.
Last night our watches were especially entertaining, as if the night sky was putting on a grand spectacle just for the three of us. Astronomers classify twenty named stars bright enough to qualify as "1st Magnitude," and eighteen of the twenty, plus Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars were visible during the night. The last waning quarter of the moon did not rise until midnight, giving us much time to see constellations rarely visible.
As we sail further south, the Big Dipper is getting lower and lower in the sky. Last night the scupper part of the dipper was seemingly scooping water below the horizon, and only the last three stars of the handle were visible to us. The midnight temperature was 79 degrees, and the soft salty air had a sweet expectant scent. We sailed on a port tack with a southeasterly heading of 195 degrees magnetic, and the Southern Cross was lighting up the sky just to the left of our mast. Crosby Stills and Nash sang about the Southern Cross, Richard Henry Dana wrote about it in his book Two Years Before the Mast, and now we too have sailed south by its coordinates.
Surrounding the Southern Cross and notably stretching north to south is the Milky Way. Without city lights or the moon to dim it, the Milky Way over the ocean provides a ribbon of light to guide our way. Surprisingly bright here, the Milky Way illuminates the night sky from one horizon to the other, and we could clearly see our way across the very pacific ocean in all directions. Sal has often found her dark night watches to be a bit scary when the seas are high and the wind is blowing hard, but those fears have dimmed this past week in the South Pacific.
Pax Vobiscum
May 28, 2008
Position: 15 degrees 47 min. S, 143 degrees 52 min. W
We are within one day of landfall at the Tuamoto Archipelago or the Iles Tuamotu as our French charts state. Although our passage has been slower than expected, the time on the ocean away from sight of land has been splendid, with easy seas and deep friendships developing. We have seen only one other passing ship in a week, a freighter west bound, and the azure blue sky and deep blue water have surrounded us in very kindly ways during the thirteen hours of daylight.
Last night our watches were especially entertaining, as if the night sky was putting on a grand spectacle just for the three of us. Astronomers classify twenty named stars bright enough to qualify as "1st Magnitude," and eighteen of the twenty, plus Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars were visible during the night. The last waning quarter of the moon did not rise until midnight, giving us much time to see constellations rarely visible.
As we sail further south, the Big Dipper is getting lower and lower in the sky. Last night the scupper part of the dipper was seemingly scooping water below the horizon, and only the last three stars of the handle were visible to us. The midnight temperature was 79 degrees, and the soft salty air had a sweet expectant scent. We sailed on a port tack with a southeasterly heading of 195 degrees magnetic, and the Southern Cross was lighting up the sky just to the left of our mast. Crosby Stills and Nash sang about the Southern Cross, Richard Henry Dana wrote about it in his book Two Years Before the Mast, and now we too have sailed south by its coordinates.
Surrounding the Southern Cross and notably stretching north to south is the Milky Way. Without city lights or the moon to dim it, the Milky Way over the ocean provides a ribbon of light to guide our way. Surprisingly bright here, the Milky Way illuminates the night sky from one horizon to the other, and we could clearly see our way across the very pacific ocean in all directions. Sal has often found her dark night watches to be a bit scary when the seas are high and the wind is blowing hard, but those fears have dimmed this past week in the South Pacific.
Pax Vobiscum
May 28, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Thinking, Remembering
May 27, 2008 2200 UCT, 1200 LCL
Position: degrees min. S, degrees min. W
Dawn found us motoring once more. With the wind gone and sails slatting, Sal started the engine at 4:30 AM. Pax had been drifting south in a two knot northeasterly, swinging her boom and banging her blocks every minute or two as a new series of small waves started her rolling. Elena had come off watch at 4 AM tired and frazzled. Trying to keep the boat moving and quiet in these conditions is an exercise in frustration.
Now Sal and Elena are asleep below and it is the Captain's watch. Small ripples cover the sea in all directions, heralding the arrival of a modest breeze that will allow sailing later in the morning. Shearwaters a mile or two to starboard hover over and feed on a school of small fish. No boats or land can be seen, no conversation is possible. The sun rises off the port quarter bathing the cockpit in an orange glow and streaming down through the companionway to light up the dark teak of the nav station and the hard black plastic of the main DC circuit board. Just above the panel and below an old barometer the warm morning light reflects off a shiny brass plate inscribed "James Holmes Bagshaw, In Loving Memory."
A 14-foot plywood runabout turns a bend in the Annisquam River as herring gulls swarm over the sandy clam flats in search of their evening meal. The warm glow of the late afternoon sun lights up the 40 horsepower Johnson two-cycle as a young father shows his 10 year-old son how to recognize the sandbars while the boy steers down river towards the dock in Smith's Cove near their Gloucester Harbor home. Then the engine sputters and dies, and the navigation lesson becomes a lesson in switching fuel tanks and restarting the engine without panic as the small boat drifts down the channel into the path of a tired old side trawler heading for market with a full load of cod and haddock.
At sea we are at such close quarters, yet at times we are so alone. These times allow the mind to wander down a river now far away, to be again with a father once so young, but now gone forever. A father sorely missed, and lovingly remembered.
Pax Vobiscum
Position: degrees min. S, degrees min. W
Dawn found us motoring once more. With the wind gone and sails slatting, Sal started the engine at 4:30 AM. Pax had been drifting south in a two knot northeasterly, swinging her boom and banging her blocks every minute or two as a new series of small waves started her rolling. Elena had come off watch at 4 AM tired and frazzled. Trying to keep the boat moving and quiet in these conditions is an exercise in frustration.
Now Sal and Elena are asleep below and it is the Captain's watch. Small ripples cover the sea in all directions, heralding the arrival of a modest breeze that will allow sailing later in the morning. Shearwaters a mile or two to starboard hover over and feed on a school of small fish. No boats or land can be seen, no conversation is possible. The sun rises off the port quarter bathing the cockpit in an orange glow and streaming down through the companionway to light up the dark teak of the nav station and the hard black plastic of the main DC circuit board. Just above the panel and below an old barometer the warm morning light reflects off a shiny brass plate inscribed "James Holmes Bagshaw, In Loving Memory."
A 14-foot plywood runabout turns a bend in the Annisquam River as herring gulls swarm over the sandy clam flats in search of their evening meal. The warm glow of the late afternoon sun lights up the 40 horsepower Johnson two-cycle as a young father shows his 10 year-old son how to recognize the sandbars while the boy steers down river towards the dock in Smith's Cove near their Gloucester Harbor home. Then the engine sputters and dies, and the navigation lesson becomes a lesson in switching fuel tanks and restarting the engine without panic as the small boat drifts down the channel into the path of a tired old side trawler heading for market with a full load of cod and haddock.
At sea we are at such close quarters, yet at times we are so alone. These times allow the mind to wander down a river now far away, to be again with a father once so young, but now gone forever. A father sorely missed, and lovingly remembered.
Pax Vobiscum
Monday, May 26, 2008
Cow Pie of the Sea
May 26, 2008
Position: 13 degrees 53 min. S, 142 degrees 32 min. W
Last night the wind piped up to 10 knots giving us a nice ride for about 12 hours. Unfortunately, it has settled down again and left behind a lumpy sea. Our destination is directly downwind, but heading off in that direction results in slow going and an unpleasant roll, with the sails pulling the boom to windward, to leeward, and back again, over and over. The lines, the blocks, and everything not tied down bang back and forth. Down below the hull magnifies all, and it sounds as if Pax is trying to shake herself apart; this is the least favorite point of sail for all cruisers. So, an hour ago we put our poor bruised vessel onto a quieter and faster reach, sacrificing progress for peace. This is proving to be a slow passage.
Last night right before sunset Sal's and Elena's fishing efforts bore fruit in the form of a 23" long 10 pounder identified by fishing master Sal as a bonito. He was quite an attractive fellow, looking like a small tuna, bright silver all over with iridescent side stripes, as if dressed in a tuna tux and all ready for Neptune's prom. Sal hooked the stylish fellow by rod and reel, and Elena hauled him aboard with her bare hands - no gaff needed by this hearty fishing crew. As soon as the rod began to flex, the Captain hustled to his fishing station down below, far away from the impending blood and gore, and began to read. Thankfully, his Bowditch is dense enough to distract him through a year's worth of fishing.
Sal dispatched her catch with a few hearty blows of the winch handle and immediately filleted the bonito right there in the cockpit. Elena busied herself cleaning up the considerable mess. It took her many, many buckets of salt water and the whole process took long enough for the Captain to get through two dense chapters of Bowditch before he dared show his head above deck.
The barbecue was then lit, and within an hour of the mayhem ending we were all settling down to a fresh fish dinner. Unfortunately, it tasted awful and we wound up feeding most of it to the sharks. Our friend and fishing guru Ken Ewing had warned us that bonito were not good eating (in his folksy Arkansas way he told us cow pies were tastier). We should have listened.
Tonight the Captain is hoping for clam linguini, secure in the knowledge that the clams are already in the can. He noted however that after studying the cruiser's fishing guide to make sure no mistakes in fish preparation had been made, fishing lines were quietly run out again today during his afternoon nap. Pax's fishing master and her formidable assistant do not easily give up.
Pax Vobiscum
Position: 13 degrees 53 min. S, 142 degrees 32 min. W
Last night the wind piped up to 10 knots giving us a nice ride for about 12 hours. Unfortunately, it has settled down again and left behind a lumpy sea. Our destination is directly downwind, but heading off in that direction results in slow going and an unpleasant roll, with the sails pulling the boom to windward, to leeward, and back again, over and over. The lines, the blocks, and everything not tied down bang back and forth. Down below the hull magnifies all, and it sounds as if Pax is trying to shake herself apart; this is the least favorite point of sail for all cruisers. So, an hour ago we put our poor bruised vessel onto a quieter and faster reach, sacrificing progress for peace. This is proving to be a slow passage.
Last night right before sunset Sal's and Elena's fishing efforts bore fruit in the form of a 23" long 10 pounder identified by fishing master Sal as a bonito. He was quite an attractive fellow, looking like a small tuna, bright silver all over with iridescent side stripes, as if dressed in a tuna tux and all ready for Neptune's prom. Sal hooked the stylish fellow by rod and reel, and Elena hauled him aboard with her bare hands - no gaff needed by this hearty fishing crew. As soon as the rod began to flex, the Captain hustled to his fishing station down below, far away from the impending blood and gore, and began to read. Thankfully, his Bowditch is dense enough to distract him through a year's worth of fishing.
Sal dispatched her catch with a few hearty blows of the winch handle and immediately filleted the bonito right there in the cockpit. Elena busied herself cleaning up the considerable mess. It took her many, many buckets of salt water and the whole process took long enough for the Captain to get through two dense chapters of Bowditch before he dared show his head above deck.
The barbecue was then lit, and within an hour of the mayhem ending we were all settling down to a fresh fish dinner. Unfortunately, it tasted awful and we wound up feeding most of it to the sharks. Our friend and fishing guru Ken Ewing had warned us that bonito were not good eating (in his folksy Arkansas way he told us cow pies were tastier). We should have listened.
Tonight the Captain is hoping for clam linguini, secure in the knowledge that the clams are already in the can. He noted however that after studying the cruiser's fishing guide to make sure no mistakes in fish preparation had been made, fishing lines were quietly run out again today during his afternoon nap. Pax's fishing master and her formidable assistant do not easily give up.
Pax Vobiscum
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Driftin'
May 25, 2008 0200 UCT, 1600 LCL (May 24)
Position: 11 degrees 48 min. S, 141 degrees 53 min. W
The flying fish launched at dawn across water as still as the most secluded pond. His first six feet were marked by dimples in the water left by the beat of his small winged fins. For 15 seconds he turned and banked silently within inches of the surface before plunging back in, to be constrained once again by the thickness of the water.
We have no wind. It died, completely died, about 11:30 last night towards the end of Sally's watch. There was no fair warning. We had eaten the Captain's favorite dinner of linguini with marinara sauce and mushrooms in the darkening dusk. Our now old friends Alpha Centauri, Beta Centaurus and the Southern Cross materialized with the setting sun, and as we were enjoying our dessert of fresh baked brownies a nearly full moon, swelled by the refraction from a hot earth, rose out of the sea. We talked with vigor and respect of prayer, spirituality and the scientific method. We each stated our case and, we each patiently listened as the others stated theirs. And, in the end, we each remained convinced of the opinions we had held at the outset. So it goes, in the South Pacific, and everywhere else. The off-watch turned in and all was right with the world; then, the wind died.
From midnight we motored. Motoring is good for charging the batteries, making fresh water, and stabilizing the boat when there is no wind holding the hull down against the water. Of course, motoring also moves the boat towards its destination, but at a price. Noise and vibration destroy the stillness, they build a barrier that walls off the natural world as effectively as the cabin of an air-conditioned car speeding down the highway. And motoring uses diesel fuel, a precious liquid that must be hauled in the dinghy two five-gallon jugs at a time - if a source for it can be found at all. So at 8 AM we turned the motor off and started drifting. First in no wind, now generally to the south pushed by the barest breath, but at least pushed, at least for now.
It is quiet. Sometimes when the wind dies everything not tied down bangs from side to side in a nasty roll left over by the forgotten breeze. Not today. The swell is gentle and we rise and fall so lazily to it that the boom rarely moves. Today we we have silent sunshine, no cooling breezes, but time for quiet talk in the shade and for books that had been put off to another day, a day that has now arrived. Tomorrow the computer forecast promises that a small wind will blow fair for the Tuamotus.
We will wait for it.
Pax Vobiscum
Position: 11 degrees 48 min. S, 141 degrees 53 min. W
The flying fish launched at dawn across water as still as the most secluded pond. His first six feet were marked by dimples in the water left by the beat of his small winged fins. For 15 seconds he turned and banked silently within inches of the surface before plunging back in, to be constrained once again by the thickness of the water.
We have no wind. It died, completely died, about 11:30 last night towards the end of Sally's watch. There was no fair warning. We had eaten the Captain's favorite dinner of linguini with marinara sauce and mushrooms in the darkening dusk. Our now old friends Alpha Centauri, Beta Centaurus and the Southern Cross materialized with the setting sun, and as we were enjoying our dessert of fresh baked brownies a nearly full moon, swelled by the refraction from a hot earth, rose out of the sea. We talked with vigor and respect of prayer, spirituality and the scientific method. We each stated our case and, we each patiently listened as the others stated theirs. And, in the end, we each remained convinced of the opinions we had held at the outset. So it goes, in the South Pacific, and everywhere else. The off-watch turned in and all was right with the world; then, the wind died.
From midnight we motored. Motoring is good for charging the batteries, making fresh water, and stabilizing the boat when there is no wind holding the hull down against the water. Of course, motoring also moves the boat towards its destination, but at a price. Noise and vibration destroy the stillness, they build a barrier that walls off the natural world as effectively as the cabin of an air-conditioned car speeding down the highway. And motoring uses diesel fuel, a precious liquid that must be hauled in the dinghy two five-gallon jugs at a time - if a source for it can be found at all. So at 8 AM we turned the motor off and started drifting. First in no wind, now generally to the south pushed by the barest breath, but at least pushed, at least for now.
It is quiet. Sometimes when the wind dies everything not tied down bangs from side to side in a nasty roll left over by the forgotten breeze. Not today. The swell is gentle and we rise and fall so lazily to it that the boom rarely moves. Today we we have silent sunshine, no cooling breezes, but time for quiet talk in the shade and for books that had been put off to another day, a day that has now arrived. Tomorrow the computer forecast promises that a small wind will blow fair for the Tuamotus.
We will wait for it.
Pax Vobiscum
Friday, May 23, 2008
Shark Bait
May 23, 2008. 2030 UCT, 1030 LCL
Position: 10 degrees 38 min. S, 140 degrees 55 min. W
We tired of waiting for the wind and set sail yesterday afternoon for the Tuamotu Islands. We have now been sailing for 21 hours in light but serviceable winds from the east, allowing us to beam reach at about four knots. We are pleased to be moving without needing to resort to the engine and hope this continues despite a forecast for very light air. We plan to stop first at Tahaena Atoll which is about 500 miles to the south southwest, a stop recommended to us several weeks ago by our new friend Pierre from the sloop Ke'a. Pierre and his crewmember Claude by now should be a third of the way to Vancouver. We hear that a clear blue coral atoll, white sand beaches and coconut palms await our arrival in Taheana. Thanks to Sandy Brown and our new crew member Elena Leonard, we can make our own cold drinks. No ice though, Chris.
Last night Sally put out the fishing line and around sunset she hooked a big one. After patiently reeling in and out for half an hour, something even larger swallowed the first catch. For 10 minutes Sal struggled and struggled, out went line and more line and the reel became quite hot, but there was no landing this one. Finally the 300 pound-test leader broke where it held the hook, leaving the two inch long steel hook with the fish, but the rest of the rig with us. We surmise that a large shark gulped down in one bite what was to be three or four meals of tuna for us. Those nasty hooks will give him indigestion, though.
This morning we had what will be a daily radio check-in with Jan and Joan on Casteele, with whom we have had a grand time these last few days. We left them yesterday at anchor in a lovely bay on Ua Pou Island. Today they set sail for Anaho Bay, our favorite, and in a week or so they will be following us to the Tuamotus. It was great to catch up with friends from Seattle, and it is great to have them listening for us should something go wrong. We were introduced back in Seattle by mutual friend and world-cruiser Nancy Erley.
Our new crewmember Elena, a sailing instructor at Windworks since sending her three kids off to college, has been a joy to have aboard. We are having fun showing her Pax and sharing with her our brand knew knowledge of the bluewater cruising life. She has blended into our little crew seamlessly and we look forward to learning from her as much as we can of the vast store of knowledge she has acquired in her sailing career.
We are now getting back into the routine of round-the-clock watches. With three of us on board we are each doing one four-hour day shift and two two-hour night shifts. The seas are low with swells under three feet, so the sleeping is easy. Today is full of sunshine, and I am typing this while cooling off after my 6 AM to 10 AM day watch. A cold Hinano awaits, followed by lunch and a little nap. There are worse ways to spend the day.
Pax Vobiscum
Position: 10 degrees 38 min. S, 140 degrees 55 min. W
We tired of waiting for the wind and set sail yesterday afternoon for the Tuamotu Islands. We have now been sailing for 21 hours in light but serviceable winds from the east, allowing us to beam reach at about four knots. We are pleased to be moving without needing to resort to the engine and hope this continues despite a forecast for very light air. We plan to stop first at Tahaena Atoll which is about 500 miles to the south southwest, a stop recommended to us several weeks ago by our new friend Pierre from the sloop Ke'a. Pierre and his crewmember Claude by now should be a third of the way to Vancouver. We hear that a clear blue coral atoll, white sand beaches and coconut palms await our arrival in Taheana. Thanks to Sandy Brown and our new crew member Elena Leonard, we can make our own cold drinks. No ice though, Chris.
Last night Sally put out the fishing line and around sunset she hooked a big one. After patiently reeling in and out for half an hour, something even larger swallowed the first catch. For 10 minutes Sal struggled and struggled, out went line and more line and the reel became quite hot, but there was no landing this one. Finally the 300 pound-test leader broke where it held the hook, leaving the two inch long steel hook with the fish, but the rest of the rig with us. We surmise that a large shark gulped down in one bite what was to be three or four meals of tuna for us. Those nasty hooks will give him indigestion, though.
This morning we had what will be a daily radio check-in with Jan and Joan on Casteele, with whom we have had a grand time these last few days. We left them yesterday at anchor in a lovely bay on Ua Pou Island. Today they set sail for Anaho Bay, our favorite, and in a week or so they will be following us to the Tuamotus. It was great to catch up with friends from Seattle, and it is great to have them listening for us should something go wrong. We were introduced back in Seattle by mutual friend and world-cruiser Nancy Erley.
Our new crewmember Elena, a sailing instructor at Windworks since sending her three kids off to college, has been a joy to have aboard. We are having fun showing her Pax and sharing with her our brand knew knowledge of the bluewater cruising life. She has blended into our little crew seamlessly and we look forward to learning from her as much as we can of the vast store of knowledge she has acquired in her sailing career.
We are now getting back into the routine of round-the-clock watches. With three of us on board we are each doing one four-hour day shift and two two-hour night shifts. The seas are low with swells under three feet, so the sleeping is easy. Today is full of sunshine, and I am typing this while cooling off after my 6 AM to 10 AM day watch. A cold Hinano awaits, followed by lunch and a little nap. There are worse ways to spend the day.
Pax Vobiscum
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Good Morning Sunshine
May 20, 2008 Hakahau Bay, Oa Pou Island
We finally left Anaho Bay last Friday after a marvelous three-week stay, and we sailed to Taiahoe Bay once more where we were to pick up our new crew member Elena on Sunday. At the appointed time Sal and I (well, Sal mostly) were doing our laundry in a bucket on the small boat quay. Miraculously, Elena arrived on schedule. She had just completed a 36-hour odyssey from Seattle to L.A., to Papeete, to the Nuku Hiva airport, and to the quay via a 90 minute 4-wheel drive taxi bumping along on a mostly unpaved road. We were surprised and delighted to see Elena step out of the taxi as we had no way to communicate with her in the likely event that she were to be held up somewhere along the way.
We had not met Elena before, but had no problem identifying her for she was the one carrying the refrigerator; yes, we now have cold beer again, and not a moment too soon. We are grateful to Elena for carrying the fridge 4000 miles, and we are especially grateful to Sandy Brown who on hearing that our onboard frige had given up in the tropics, researched the portable refrigeration options, got us the details, advanced the funds, purchased the frige and delivered it to Elena. Without Sandy's energy and enthusiasm we would be finishing this trip without cold beer, mayo, cheese, meat and many of the other items made possible by refrigeration that we all take for granted back home.
Yesterday we sailed 25 miles south to Oa Pou, a small volcanic island. From 20 miles out we can easily see the dramatic basalt spires created when magma welled up in the fissures of the young volcano that formed this island; one cruise book we have on board calls this the most dramatic landfall in the South Pacific. We had a lovely sail, close reaching in an 8-10 knot breeze all the way across the channel that separates this island from Nuku Hiva. We arrived in the late afternoon immediately behind a red-hulled cutter named Casteele that motored in from Tahuata. Casteele is crewed by our friends Jan and Joan from Seattle. We had communicated by e-mail from time to time and had hoped to meet up, but the coincidence of arriving here right behind them was a surprise. After we had each set both bow and stern anchors (to keep the boats pointed into the swell coming into the small harbor) we had cocktails in Pax's cockpit. If George Bush has ears in Oa Pou they are burning this morning.
At 6 AM the island freighter Aranui III woke us up with its booming fog horn as it neared the entrance to the little harbor we call home today. We and the crews of the other eight boats who were wedged into this tiny harbor bailed out of bed to watch the large freighter lower two launches from its main crane. The launches sped into the harbor to clear the way for the freighter which continued steadily towards us at two or three knots. We knew the Aranui intended to maneuver alongside the concrete dock a few hundred yards east of us to deliver the supplies that this island would need for the next several weeks. It looked to us like the harbor was too congested for this to happen and that we were all going to have to pull up our anchors in short order and clear out. But to our relief the launches left us alone to focus solely on a small sloop called "Sunshine" that had anchored 100 feet north of us, apparently too much in the narrow channel for the comfort of Aranui's captain. As the Aranui moved slowly into the harbor the two launches circled Sunshine, anxiously yelling and gesturing. Sunshine's master, a middle-aged American and his crew, a Polynesian girl of 12 or so, scrambled to get the boat moving. The master of the little boat launched his tiny dinghy and rowed frantically back to haul his stern anchor. When he could not get it up quickly, one of the launches came over and took up the heaving for him. Back rowed the master to Sunshine where he started pulling on the bow anchor, heaving hand over hand for he had no windless. Soon he was boarded by a crewmember from the other launch who scrambled up Sunshine's side to heave along with him. As Sunshine moved forward on its anchor chain she moved more and more into the channel. The Aranui, not willing to stop and wait for Sunshine to clear, rounded the small breakwater and moved into the channel from the sea. Then there was the loud clattering of huge chain links against a steel hull as the Aranui let go its main anchor, but she did not stop on the anchor; she kept coming right at Sunshine. From our vantage point only 100 yards away it seemed that Sunshine was against the high steel side of the freighter when Sunshine's anchor finally cleared the surface and the tiny sloop turned abruptly away, disaster seemingly averted at the last minute. The Aranui continued on at her steady, slow pace as she had throughout. Now her launches ferried lines to the quay that the ship used to winch herself alongside. The main anchor she had dropped on the way in would be her means of exiting the tiny harbor. With no tugs she had no other way to get pointed back out to sea after unloading other than to pull her bow around with the main anchor.
By 7 AM, on Pax's back deck, with coffee mugs now in hand, we were able to watch the Aranui beginning to unload. Meanwhile, Sunshine had anchored in shallow water near the head of the harbor, where her captain and young crew could recover from their morning's excitement.
Meanwhile, it looks like we will be in the Marquesas a little while longer. The usually steady tradewinds that we had counted on to carry us on to the Tuamotus have taken what we hope will be a short vacation. We are now planning to push on to the southwest by the end of the week.
Pax Vobiscum
-------------------------------------------------
We finally left Anaho Bay last Friday after a marvelous three-week stay, and we sailed to Taiahoe Bay once more where we were to pick up our new crew member Elena on Sunday. At the appointed time Sal and I (well, Sal mostly) were doing our laundry in a bucket on the small boat quay. Miraculously, Elena arrived on schedule. She had just completed a 36-hour odyssey from Seattle to L.A., to Papeete, to the Nuku Hiva airport, and to the quay via a 90 minute 4-wheel drive taxi bumping along on a mostly unpaved road. We were surprised and delighted to see Elena step out of the taxi as we had no way to communicate with her in the likely event that she were to be held up somewhere along the way.
We had not met Elena before, but had no problem identifying her for she was the one carrying the refrigerator; yes, we now have cold beer again, and not a moment too soon. We are grateful to Elena for carrying the fridge 4000 miles, and we are especially grateful to Sandy Brown who on hearing that our onboard frige had given up in the tropics, researched the portable refrigeration options, got us the details, advanced the funds, purchased the frige and delivered it to Elena. Without Sandy's energy and enthusiasm we would be finishing this trip without cold beer, mayo, cheese, meat and many of the other items made possible by refrigeration that we all take for granted back home.
Yesterday we sailed 25 miles south to Oa Pou, a small volcanic island. From 20 miles out we can easily see the dramatic basalt spires created when magma welled up in the fissures of the young volcano that formed this island; one cruise book we have on board calls this the most dramatic landfall in the South Pacific. We had a lovely sail, close reaching in an 8-10 knot breeze all the way across the channel that separates this island from Nuku Hiva. We arrived in the late afternoon immediately behind a red-hulled cutter named Casteele that motored in from Tahuata. Casteele is crewed by our friends Jan and Joan from Seattle. We had communicated by e-mail from time to time and had hoped to meet up, but the coincidence of arriving here right behind them was a surprise. After we had each set both bow and stern anchors (to keep the boats pointed into the swell coming into the small harbor) we had cocktails in Pax's cockpit. If George Bush has ears in Oa Pou they are burning this morning.
At 6 AM the island freighter Aranui III woke us up with its booming fog horn as it neared the entrance to the little harbor we call home today. We and the crews of the other eight boats who were wedged into this tiny harbor bailed out of bed to watch the large freighter lower two launches from its main crane. The launches sped into the harbor to clear the way for the freighter which continued steadily towards us at two or three knots. We knew the Aranui intended to maneuver alongside the concrete dock a few hundred yards east of us to deliver the supplies that this island would need for the next several weeks. It looked to us like the harbor was too congested for this to happen and that we were all going to have to pull up our anchors in short order and clear out. But to our relief the launches left us alone to focus solely on a small sloop called "Sunshine" that had anchored 100 feet north of us, apparently too much in the narrow channel for the comfort of Aranui's captain. As the Aranui moved slowly into the harbor the two launches circled Sunshine, anxiously yelling and gesturing. Sunshine's master, a middle-aged American and his crew, a Polynesian girl of 12 or so, scrambled to get the boat moving. The master of the little boat launched his tiny dinghy and rowed frantically back to haul his stern anchor. When he could not get it up quickly, one of the launches came over and took up the heaving for him. Back rowed the master to Sunshine where he started pulling on the bow anchor, heaving hand over hand for he had no windless. Soon he was boarded by a crewmember from the other launch who scrambled up Sunshine's side to heave along with him. As Sunshine moved forward on its anchor chain she moved more and more into the channel. The Aranui, not willing to stop and wait for Sunshine to clear, rounded the small breakwater and moved into the channel from the sea. Then there was the loud clattering of huge chain links against a steel hull as the Aranui let go its main anchor, but she did not stop on the anchor; she kept coming right at Sunshine. From our vantage point only 100 yards away it seemed that Sunshine was against the high steel side of the freighter when Sunshine's anchor finally cleared the surface and the tiny sloop turned abruptly away, disaster seemingly averted at the last minute. The Aranui continued on at her steady, slow pace as she had throughout. Now her launches ferried lines to the quay that the ship used to winch herself alongside. The main anchor she had dropped on the way in would be her means of exiting the tiny harbor. With no tugs she had no other way to get pointed back out to sea after unloading other than to pull her bow around with the main anchor.
By 7 AM, on Pax's back deck, with coffee mugs now in hand, we were able to watch the Aranui beginning to unload. Meanwhile, Sunshine had anchored in shallow water near the head of the harbor, where her captain and young crew could recover from their morning's excitement.
Meanwhile, it looks like we will be in the Marquesas a little while longer. The usually steady tradewinds that we had counted on to carry us on to the Tuamotus have taken what we hope will be a short vacation. We are now planning to push on to the southwest by the end of the week.
Pax Vobiscum
-------------------------------------------------
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Please Don't Pass the Freedom Fries
Anaho Bay - May 15, 2008
Vive La France!!
The Americans have moved on through and now we are with the Europeans. Pierre on KE'A has until recently been a manager with Sunsail Charters in Raiatea, recently merged with Moorings. He sailed single-handed to French Polynesia 16 years ago and stayed in sailing serving the charter trade. Now he again is free to set sail. He left yesterday for Vancouver, B.C. with crewmember Claude, now 60ish, but who as a young man sailed here from France on a 22 foot sloop. His lived through the experience, triumph enough for one lifetime.
Pierre spent hours with us annotating our cruising guides to tell us where to go and what to look for in the Tuamotu and Society Islands. His advice springs from genuine experience, and we will pay attention to it. He gave and gave of his time, wanting nothing to more than to tell us what he knows. We gave him a book of charts of Puget Sound and advice about dealing with our peculiar currents, and we invited him and Claude over for dinner the night before they departed. Pierre, the expansive extrovert came over in a clean pressed shirt that might have been worn by a Mayan sun-god, Claude, a substantial man of few words, arrived in a red tank top wearing a broad smile. They brought a pear custard dessert baked by Pierre that we inhaled after a lovely dinner of clam linguini prepared by Sal. KE'A was going straight to Vancouver rather than making the usual stop in Hawaii because Pierre had been unable to get a U.S. visa. For him to get a visa our country requires him to fly to Fiji, a substantial expense that he was not willing to undertake. We have a consulate in Tahiti, but it exists only to help U.S. citizens, not to make life easier for fine Frenchmen who would visit America. Pierre wants to see the wonders of Alaska, but will stay next winter in Victoria while he attempts to get his U.S. visa from there. The trip is more arduous without the stop in Hawaii, but they will make it; they are true sailors.
We heard from Pierre that the extraordinary single-hander Eric has decided to go to Japan rather that North America because he does not yet have a U.S. visa. He will try to get to Alaska next year because he too wants to see the great natural beauty of our greatest wilderness. We wish this extraordinary young man the best of luck.
The night before we met Pierre we had a French couple from the vessel SEA LANCE over along with a young couple from PANGEA, a Seattle boat owned by a French - U.S. citizen and a Seattle veterinarian. The French couple were as nice as nice could be. They told us of a cruise they had to Antarctica right after 9/11 on which they had wonderful times at the Russian station and with everyone else they met with one unfortunate exception. They needed certain supplies and asked for help from the NOAA Antarctic research ship. The Captain told them that he had surplus supplies that he would be happy to share, but not share with the French because that country had failed to support the U.S. adventure in Iraq, (All hail Freedom Fries.) Today this couple hiked two hours over the hill to the next village. Because they knew that Sal had done the hike yesterday only to find both stores out of bread, they brought us a fresh loaf. They refused all payment for this kindness, proving with their feet and their hearts that they do not hold a grudge.
Pax Vobiscum flies the American flag from its backstay, a tradition we began on the Fourth of July several years ago to honor our fathers, proud veterans both of the Second World War. We long in vain to find pride in the present as well as the past. Maybe next year.
Pax Vobiscum
Vive La France!!
The Americans have moved on through and now we are with the Europeans. Pierre on KE'A has until recently been a manager with Sunsail Charters in Raiatea, recently merged with Moorings. He sailed single-handed to French Polynesia 16 years ago and stayed in sailing serving the charter trade. Now he again is free to set sail. He left yesterday for Vancouver, B.C. with crewmember Claude, now 60ish, but who as a young man sailed here from France on a 22 foot sloop. His lived through the experience, triumph enough for one lifetime.
Pierre spent hours with us annotating our cruising guides to tell us where to go and what to look for in the Tuamotu and Society Islands. His advice springs from genuine experience, and we will pay attention to it. He gave and gave of his time, wanting nothing to more than to tell us what he knows. We gave him a book of charts of Puget Sound and advice about dealing with our peculiar currents, and we invited him and Claude over for dinner the night before they departed. Pierre, the expansive extrovert came over in a clean pressed shirt that might have been worn by a Mayan sun-god, Claude, a substantial man of few words, arrived in a red tank top wearing a broad smile. They brought a pear custard dessert baked by Pierre that we inhaled after a lovely dinner of clam linguini prepared by Sal. KE'A was going straight to Vancouver rather than making the usual stop in Hawaii because Pierre had been unable to get a U.S. visa. For him to get a visa our country requires him to fly to Fiji, a substantial expense that he was not willing to undertake. We have a consulate in Tahiti, but it exists only to help U.S. citizens, not to make life easier for fine Frenchmen who would visit America. Pierre wants to see the wonders of Alaska, but will stay next winter in Victoria while he attempts to get his U.S. visa from there. The trip is more arduous without the stop in Hawaii, but they will make it; they are true sailors.
We heard from Pierre that the extraordinary single-hander Eric has decided to go to Japan rather that North America because he does not yet have a U.S. visa. He will try to get to Alaska next year because he too wants to see the great natural beauty of our greatest wilderness. We wish this extraordinary young man the best of luck.
The night before we met Pierre we had a French couple from the vessel SEA LANCE over along with a young couple from PANGEA, a Seattle boat owned by a French - U.S. citizen and a Seattle veterinarian. The French couple were as nice as nice could be. They told us of a cruise they had to Antarctica right after 9/11 on which they had wonderful times at the Russian station and with everyone else they met with one unfortunate exception. They needed certain supplies and asked for help from the NOAA Antarctic research ship. The Captain told them that he had surplus supplies that he would be happy to share, but not share with the French because that country had failed to support the U.S. adventure in Iraq, (All hail Freedom Fries.) Today this couple hiked two hours over the hill to the next village. Because they knew that Sal had done the hike yesterday only to find both stores out of bread, they brought us a fresh loaf. They refused all payment for this kindness, proving with their feet and their hearts that they do not hold a grudge.
Pax Vobiscum flies the American flag from its backstay, a tradition we began on the Fourth of July several years ago to honor our fathers, proud veterans both of the Second World War. We long in vain to find pride in the present as well as the past. Maybe next year.
Pax Vobiscum
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