Rock-ing Good Times
Our decision to spend the summer in French Polynesia this year was a smart one; the la Nina phenomenon was strong and the unseasonably cool waters of the pacific kept the few cyclones well west of the dateline. But it also gave us re-enforced trade winds, making windward passages difficult and limiting our area of travel. Our last few months in the Society Islands were terrific, but when you feed the monster named wanderlust as frequently as we do familiarity quickly feels stagnant. We were happy to get on the move and we were quite excited about our next stop; the mid- ocean bound island of Niue.
It had been several months since we’d put any serious miles under the keel, the Societies being mostly day sails and a few overnighters. The passage to Niue took slightly more than expected, both in physical and mental effort. It seemed to take an extra couple of days to find our rhythm, and then as soon as we felt settled in, we had several windless days. The days almost adrift were followed by three days of gale force winds and 4M seas. Within sight of the island of Niue, and close to dusk, we lost our GPS and wind speed instruments when a rogue wave catapulted over the rail and seeped through the boards finding some electrics below before the cockpit swimming pool had a chance to drain. Both tired and without our plotter or small scale paper charts for the entrance to the harbour we decided to hove to and wait until morning to make our approach. Six hours later we tore the mainsail clear in half above the third reef point when we gybed. Then it started to rain. Daylight brought the 30kt + winds back with it and we had no choice but to sail with a headsail only straight into it to make landfall. After taking twelve days to cover 1000nm we were happy to finally put Kate on a mooring in Alofi Harbour, take off our rather soggy wet weather gear and sit down to a proper meal, and a stiff drink.
Aptly nicknamed “The Rock of Polynesia”, the island measures 100 square miles and is an ancient up- heaved coral atoll jutting out of an uninterrupted horizon in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, 400 nautical miles east of Tonga. The great monolith was pushed skyward during tectonic activity millions of years ago and scientist believe the it has only another 10-15 million years before it falls back into the deep crevasse on the ocean floor known as the Tonga trench; it is a good thing that we arrived when we did! Captain Cook gave it the moniker of “The Savage Island” when he visited it some 250 years ago. Although it could easily have been for it’s dramatic and unforgiving coastline, legend has it that the natives greeted him on the cliffs shaking raised spears and war clubs before turning their back on him, parting their grass skirts and giving him the universal sign of bare buttocks. Needless to say, Captain Cook did not make land in Niue.
It took a couple days to pick ourselves up and dust ourselves off, but we had all systems back up and running and the sail repaired by mid week. Our cozy anchorage was on the lee side of the islands and well protected from the prevailing winds, and we shared it with only one or two other boats. But, if an unseasonable westerly set in it would create dangerous fetch pushing us onto the ragged reef only 50Mtrs away and an immediate departure would be necessary. However, it seemed it wind blew itself out while we were underway giving us a clear weather window to explore the island worry free.
Everything about Niue is unique; its geography, language & culture shaped by its remote location. We are keen to explore but first we have to get ashore. Here, no one leaves their boats in the water, locals included. The tides are too high, the reefs too sharp and the ocean too rough to risk it. Instead, on the large town wharf, a cement jetty that is used by fisherman and containerships alike, they have installed a giant electric crane. When you come ashore you attach your three point bridle to the steel hook that is left dangling over the water, and with a push of a button and a bit of effort to manually rotate the crane, deposit your dingy onto the dock, out of the way and safe from harm. No need to worry about anything being stolen, like most small pacific islands the people are honest and the community is small; theft is rarely tolerated or concealed when the population is less than 1500. After a few trips ashore we both agreed it was a great system and wished more locations thought to install one.
As we walk through town people are warm and friendly; everyone greeting you with a Good Morning and a smile, every car waving as they drive by. With only one flight a week arriving from New Zealand and the supply ship arriving maybe once a month the island is far from over crowded with tourists. Instead it has found the balance of vibrant local town with the few amenities to cater to visitors. You won’t find an ATM here but there is a very well stocked supermarket, a scattering of restaurants, a tourist bureau, a hair salon, internet café and an art gallery. When I do go to the bank to exchange money I notice the bank books are still filled in by hand and the cash draw is little more than a strong box. It is a simple modern life without too many technological frills; it is a pace and attitude that suits us just fine.
We were adopted by the Commodore of the Niue Yacht Club, Keith, who kindly gives us an impromptu tour slash history lesson and helped us find our feet ashore. We are just in time for a community “Show Day” promising to be a gathering of food, fun and cultural events, but it is on the opposite side of the island. After asking around we are offered a ride by Ira and her husband Brian, owners of the Niue Backpackers. The Niue Yacht Club shares their roof so Ira is also the smiling face and welcoming committee when you visit the Club House/book exchange. Expecting just to jump in the back of Brian’s flatbed we are surprised on Saturday morning to find he has loaded a whole picnic table into the back of the truck. We scoot across the island in style and comfort, seated at the table with a young couple on holiday from NZ. The Show Day is a success; we enjoy the exhibitions of weaving, sewing and handicrafts, seeing what the local food booths have to offer and watching the kids play lawn bowling games for fun prizes. Like any Show or Fair they have an agricultural exhibition showcasing the local produce, complete with weigh- in competitions. There are huge stalks of bananas and the largest manioc measures up to 1m long. When the live coconut crabs are led out and tied to stakes in the ground by their “leash” to await the scales, I am flabbergasted. This burrow dwelling, tree climbing relation to the hermit crab have a diet of mostly coconuts, which they husk with their strong claws, no easy feat believe me. Highly sought after for their very tasty meat they are on the endangered list for most of the South Pacific. But in Niue the “Uga”, as they call them, are alive and well and these specimens measure the size of dinner plates. Whether they end up on one later that day is anyone’s guess. Over the week we treat ourselves to a few meals in town; heading to the Fala Lafa restaurant in search of the fabled “best fish & chips in the South Pacific”, not a completely unfounded claim, and a buffet night that included a bit of a floor show. The local girls switch from servers to dancers and again we get a chance to see some Polynesian dancing that seems done more for their own enjoyment than for the tourist dollar.
Despite all this relaxation we had a mission. Our friends Jeff, Todd, Shev & Dan on board “Full House” had departed French Polynesia before us after getting some unexpected news from home and were on a fast track to Australia. They stopped in at Niue for just a few days and somehow found the time to set out an elaborate treasure hunt for us. We received a text on our sat phone while underway with the first clue:
The wharf walk is long and steep
But before it ends be sure to have a peep
Below the first red & white design
Will be a bag filled with the starting sign
It took us most of our week to find and decipher the next five clues; Steve had to go for a dive on a mooring ball to find one sealed in an empty powdered milk tin tied to the line 6M below the surface, thankfully it was the mooring we happened to choose. We had hiked up the hill to find the ramshackle rugby club and poked about in the scrub, and carefully made it down the stairs of death to a beach at low tide to dig among the rocks. It all lead back to Ira at the Yacht Club who had been interested in our quest all along but never gave us a hint that she was in on it. She had been entrusted with our treasure and was ever so excited to find out what was wrapped in the blue dish towel; a set of hand carved fishing lures made by Dan, served in a personalized coconut treasure cup. It was a great bit of fun but made us wish the boys had been able to share in our adventures on the island, we missed our friends.
Steve got a Niue drivers license (required by law) and when the local rental agency was out of cars it seemed a perfect excuse to save a few bucks and rent a motorcycle instead. We spent few days circumnavigating the island, each morning we packed a picnic lunch and headed out in a different direction. With lots of marked trails and spots to stop it was a wonderful few days of hiking and exploring, mostly by ourselves. The landscape reminded us a lot of the Galapagos and the Tuamotus; we happily perched on the rocks and listened to the roar of the ocean, sat in the quiet of the ancient caves and enjoyed the smells of the lush green forest. Steve was thrilled to be riding a motorcycle and I was happy to be lugging around my heavy film cameras. It was like many of our previous motorcycle adventures we’d had over the years and it made us reminisce a little about land travel. We realized how luck we are to have seen so many interesting places via so many interesting modes of travel, we were getting the bug to get moving.
Niue is definitely the kind of place that you could get stuck, it seems to have just the right amount of everything; friendly people, dramatic landscapes, a nice town and a few amenities. The only thing in short supply was the beer that the supply ship forgot to bring this time around. Our few days exploring caves and chasms, and hiking trails with only the birds and lizards to keep us company, and swimming with Sea Snakes, recharged our batteries and got us excited to be in the South Pacific again. The cold drinks and the beautiful views we shared with Keith and his wife Sue on the high cliffs over looking an endless expanse of ocean made us want to go sailing. So after eleven days, and with itchy feet, we tossed the mooring ball and headed west. Tonga here we come.
Love,
H&S
Notes On Sailing
The Oxford English Dictionary defines ‘at the mercy’ of as: “Wholly in the power or subject to”. I cannot think of a more apropos way of describing being at sea; of sailing the open ocean. Putting yourself at the mercy of the sea is one thing, accepting that you are powerless over it is quite another. In our highly advanced world where we wield power over so much technology (or so we think), it is difficult to acquiesce control over most things, especially over nature. When sailing, however, you must accept your complete and utter powerlessness over a few, slightly essential, things; the wind and the sea. This is usually done with some reluctance as it is difficult to acknowledge that the forces that so completely surround you, the ones you are dependant on for power and transportation, are those which you have no effect on, despite how hard you try. Eventually you realize that doesn’t matter how much you yell at, curse, scream into, want, wish, pray or will the wind and seas to change they will not; at least not on your schedule.
At first this realization comes to you slowly. It seeps into your consciousness without you knowing and with a great weight, happily rests upon your mind until, sometime on watch, in the dead of night, you begin to feel very alone. Not only are you alone, in the dark, on watch as your partner is getting some much needed sleep below, but you become aware that you are alone on a very large ocean, thousands of miles from any point of land. And that little speck of land that you are not very close to is actually a sparsely populated island, a very long way from any major centre. Your mind races with possible problems that could arise and the potential outcome that will result from your decisions to solve them. You begin to realize the gravity of your decisions, and, although you’d rather not, you can’t help but morbidly obsess about all the things that could go wrong. Suddenly the veil between you and eternity seems gossamer thin and the ocean becomes a very overwhelming thing to be surrounded by. Thinking back over the last few weeks you wonder whether you may have said or done anything to piss off the omnipotent and all mighty Mother Nature and her aquatic accomplice, King Neptune. At this point you start to search for a small animal to sacrifice, and in lieu of that you check that your tether is indeed attached to both your harness on your life vest and the boat itself. And then you check it again, just to be sure.
Sometimes this realization wetly slaps you in the face, rudely bringing you out of your “everything is going my way, man CAN triumph over nature” state of mind. You’re having a lovely day out sailing; the wind is coming from the right direction and blowing just the right amount, the swell of the ocean is not too big and, after a long trip, it looks like you will finally make landfall with plenty of light to spare. Then suddenly the winds dies, leaving the sails hanging limply, making sharp “POP” and “THAWHAP” noises while the boat rolls in an old, lazy sea. Your plans for sunset cocktails and quiet level bunk to sleep in are quickly slipping away. You optimistically believe that the wind will fill in again and so you leave the sails set, ignoring all the clanking and banging of the rigging. An hour later you know that have entered into a war of patience in which you will never triumph, you reluctantly take down all your canvas and drift in the hot afternoon sun. It suddenly seems to be a struggle to simply eat, sleep and sail; to exist. All you can do now is try to keep the sweetness of your voice from turning into a dull worn out tone as you resign yourself to the change of circumstances and spend another night at sea.
However this epiphany comes to you, you will wrestle with it for a short time and then realize that even though you cannot control the elements you are not completely powerless. In fact, you understand that your fate lies not in the hands of nature but in your skills and ability to react to it. You see that you may have only yourselves, your knowledge and your vessel to get you to your destination alive but with these tools you have the power to manipulate the outcome of any circumstance. There is almost something spiritual to reaching these conclusions; not in an “I found the face of God in the clouds” kind of way but in an “I found calm and peace in an unruly situation” kind of way. You reach a state of serenity, similar to that achieved when practicing yoga and, I imagine, when mediating or perhaps repetitive chanting of an incantation. You find the ability to turn off your expectations and simply be where you are, to enjoy the moment. Even if, at that particular moment, you are being tossed out of your bunk in an uncomfortable, rolly sea. The only trouble is that like all states of euphoria, it does not last; you have not yet discovered how to hold onto it. And returning to it is no easy task either.
And so each passage starts out the same way; as a leap into the, somewhat, unknown. But, you take with your new found faith. Faith in your vessel, faith in the accuracy of the weather forecast, faith in your partner and most of all faith yourself that you will have the fortitude to accept, endure and overcome both your obstacles and yourself along the way. Sailing, therefore, is a journey not only into the exterior world around you as much as it is a passage into your own interior landscape.
Love,
H&S
Huahine to Niue- Passage into the “Dangerous Middle”
Day 1, May 24th:
Finally left Huahine after a few false starts. Trying to get so much done onboard I failed to realize the Post Office closed early on Friday afternoons so we had to stay the weekend so we could post the last bits of mail. Then Monday, packing away the dingy, Steve tweaked his back. Seeing it was already lunch time we deferred departure so he could rest for the afternoon, no sense in heading out already hurting. At 1000 we crawled through the reef break at Fare under sail and found a little wind and a confused sea waiting for us outside. Steve took the first watch (perfectly in sync with our regular watch schedule) and I went below to rest only to smell diesel. We thought perhaps the tank fitting leaked a little after our topping up in Tahiti (this has happened before) so I pumped the bilge and thought it best to spray so degreaser around just to sop up the rest. What a bad idea-it made the smell even worse. Both unable to stand it any longer I poured two gallons of fresh water into the bilge at 0200 then scrubbed and pumped it out again. Seems to be better. We have been unable to steer our direct course all day as it is directly down wind and winds are rather light at the moment. So we are tacking to keep close to the rhumb line. It is a little rolly until we can get clear of Raiatea and get out into the open water, until then the headsail is popping occasionally making it a little noisy for the person trying to rest below. As a result of all this we are a little weary already. We had to run the engine this afternoon to make power but also ended up turning the fridges off half way through the night as well. I hope this is not a trend.
Day 2, May 25th:
Not much sleep last night. We are sailing on a broad reach with the boom paid almost all the way out to port. With light winds and this sloppy sea it is making for some very loud crashing and banging now and then. Had to run the engine for and hour this morning; not enough wind for Twirly (the wind generator) to keep up with both of the fridges and all the instruments over night. I had to clean the bilges again today, still a lingering diesel smell down below. By Steve’s afternoon watch we finally discovered that it was not, in fact, the main tank that was leaking (thank goodness!!) but one of the older style jerry cans in the lazarette. It had a faulty air vent and was seeping fuel. The lazzarette drains into the bilge. So, at 1730, just as the light was fading and in true Kate fashion, the entire contents of the lazarette were strewn about the cockpit. I held everything from rolling around (jerry jugs full of diesel, propane tanks, snorkel gear, dingy anchor, box full of miscellaneous solvents, you get the idea) as Steve scrubbed the laz free of diesel. After packing everything away we pumped the bilge again. The smell has almost disappeared. However, the patch job on the heat exchanger did not hold so the engine bed was full of water. This would also account for some of the water in the bilge and the smell too. Topped the header tank back up and tried to run the engine this afternoon but with the fuel tank on the starboard side, us on a starboard tack and the boat rolling around so much the fuel pick up kept sucking air. Maybe if we add some fuel to the tank when it settles down a bit. Until then we’ll just have to turn off the fridges again tonight. By the time we cooked dinner, ate, did the dishes and I had a quick shower to rinse away the day I was starting to feel poorly from all the fumes and uneasy motion of the boat. I was needing a rest, too bad it would be another rolly night.
P.S. Dinner was vegetable curry for the third day in a row; I apparently thought we had a crew of 6 hungry men with us for this trip when I was cooking a few days ago.
Day 3, May 26th:
Low winds and overcast skies are keeping the batteries low. We tried to run the engine again but still rolling around too much. Steve decided to put 22 litres in the tank but thought it would be too difficult to lift the jerry can and pour it into the deck fill in this sea without spilling too much. So he used the hose from the dinghy tank fuel line, using the bulb to pump diesel from the jerry can into the tank-what a great problem solver!!! Unfortunately as soon as the tank fill on deck was opened we rolled hard and dipped the rail, fortunately only a little water found its way into the tank. Unbelievably the decks were dry all day (it was of course 1700 when we decided to do all this). I sent Steve for a shower (his third day of smelling like diesel, he’s over it) and started dinner, foregoing trying to make bannock on the stove top we had a nice homemade batch of baked beans instead. We both needed a good hot meal. And after all this we couldn’t even be bothered to listen to the engine! We dropped the main and poled out the headsail this afternoon so we’ve been sailing in the right direction, all be it slowly. The wind picked up at dinner time and lasted until about 0100. We are both sleeping fitfully with the boat wallowing and rolling in this sea. When the wind drops and the boat speed dips below 4kts we roll even worse. Thankfully our SOG=VMG so every inch forward is directly to Niue. Also with the wind this evening came power generated by Twirly so the fridges remained on most of the night. The 48 hour forecast remains the same: 10-15kts East, 2M seas.
SOG- Speed Over Ground: the speed the vessel is traveling over the surface of the earth, taking into account currents, waves, tides etc…
VMG-Velocity Made Good: the speed the vessel is traveling towards a certain target, which is not necessarily the same direction that the vessel is actually heading. Calculated by vectors (a magic number that shows up on the chart plotter).
Day 4, May 27th:
The wind eased at 0100 so we had to turn the fridges off again. Checked the freezer today, everything is still frozen, good. I finally got some sleep between 0200-0600, the first two consecutive hours so far this trip. It was a VERY rolly morning, the headsail poled out adds to the pendulum effect, sometimes when you get a wave just right it really gets swinging. The new Crew T-shirts will read: (front) Gunnel to Gunnel (back) Thats how WE roll! It is a nice bright sunny day so the solar panels are doing their thing but the battery voltage is slow to come up. We are seeing a difference in the out put of the solar panels with the low winter sun, it never quite gets directly over head where they are most efficient. Steve bled the engine again today and since we are now on a port tack we were able to run the engine for an hour late this afternoon and lend a hand to the batteries. And, this tack is a much smoother ride meaning we both got a little rest this afternoon and we are also directly back on our rhumb line again, so everything is happy! We averaged 4kts today, it feels really slow, so it looks like it might be a 12 day trip. NOAA forecast is unchanged for the next 72 hours.
Day 5, May 28th:
I managed a few hours sleep in the vee berth last night, haven’t slept there underway in over a year, it is usually Steve’s hide out. The wind is clocking ESE-SE so we’ve got a little more heel, which makes sleeping a little easier, you don’t feel like you’ll be rolled out of bed so easily. Fairly quiet and consistent day- SOG edging into the 5-5.5kt range…finally! We’re in the groove now; not feeling so worn down and finally adjusted to our sleep/watch schedules. That took a little longer than normal. Besides a freighter off Raiatea we have had no other boat traffic out here. The sky is incredibly clear tonight, brilliant stars and the most vivid meteorites I’ve seen yet, so bright that they make you turn your head when you catch them out of the corner of your eye. One flashed so bright and lasted so long I thought it was lightening at first.
Day 6, May 29th:
Tried trolling a BIG lure today, a real chugger and jumper, but still no bites. It seems like we haven’t caught a fish in forever!! But we haven’t seen much marine life this trip, the odd flying fish and one spectacular show of spinner dolphins a few days ago-boy they can leap! The wind has filled in and we are doing 20nm in a four hour watch again, broke 120nm in 24hours as well. We officially passed the half way mark today; 550NM in 5.5 days, not bad but not great. Compared to our passage last year from the Galapagos to the Marquesas this trip seems so slow. A real tortoise and the hare story. A little rain this morning but a clear sunny day after that. Our SPOT is still not working…they said a few hundred miles from Tahiti it should turn on, it would be nice if it worked soon then I wouldn’t have to drag the satellite phone out into the cockpit to send a position report, you never know when you might get splashed.
Day 7, May 30th:
Population Rolly Town: 2
It feels like we are the proverbial cork in a bathtub today. Just not enough wind to keep us wallowing in this small but annoying swell. 25 degrees roll to port and starboard are the norm. We are both tired today; tempers short and the day long. I have been sleeping on the floor again, the only place that you can “relax”, that is to say, not feel like you’re going to fall when the boat rocks, but as a result I am very sore this morning. The vee berth is too hot during the day and of course if you opened the hatch some rogue wave or splash would surely invite themselves in. Besides, the headsail pops and snaps when we roll, despite it being furled tight against the pole. We are making just barely 100nm a day. If the GPS wasn’t telling me that we were moving you’d swear we weren’t-everything looks the same; the sky, the sea, everything is still. If this was your first open ocean passage you’d probably wonder what all the fuss was about.
Day 8, May 31st:
Quiet day; not much wind & by afternoon not much swell. Less that 400nm to Niue. Heard this on a Sinead O’Conner album while on watch tonite:
“Grant me the serenity to accept what I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can, and
The wisdom to know the difference”
I Must remember that.
Day 9, June 1st:
Had a very low day yesterday-sleepless, annoyed and the inability to change our windless situation boiled down to almost no pleasant conversation and bare minimum, necessary activities. But this morning brought a new bright sunny day and with it a new attitude. Since we’ve been chasing our tails trying to keep the batteries charged since we left Huahine, Steve decided to do a mega charge with both the engine and the generator to try and equalize the house bank. Seemed to have worked but then the voltage dropped signifigantly within an hour of turning off the generator. Looks like we might have a bad battery that is stealing power. Will try another super charge tomorrow and see what happens. The wind dropped even more today pushing our SOG under 3kts, but at least the seas have flattened out as well so it is a comfortable, slow ride. While we sat and enjoyed the melodious hum of the generator this afternoon we shared a cold beer and a bowl of spicy popcorn together-what a difference a day makes! Cooked the last of the eggplant today-that leaves us with a few carrots, a cabbage, 4 onions and 5lbs of potatoes (white and sweet) for fresh veggies. It is looking like we might spend the weekend out here, we will consider it a romantic get away!
Day 10, June 2nd:
Such and incredible sunrise this morning- as it slowly hoisted itself over the horizon it brought the most spectacular rainbow of colours. For a few brief moments the ocean to starboard was a magnificent shade of pink. I didn’t bother to take a photograph, it would never look as beautiful on film-you could never see the colours in the air like I did-all that light!! The sky has been full of whisps and mackerel clouds all day, looks like we might find that fickle wind yet again. There wasn’t a cloud overhead all day or night yesterday save for a few cotton ball puffs at the horizon. If you were on holiday somewhere this would be the weather you would be wishing for. The second super charge looks like it did the trick, the batteries are happy once again. At 1900 we doused the pole and were able to carry the headsail fully unfurled. Almost in the blink of an eye the wind and seas picked up and it was back to sleeping on the floor again. Poor Steve isn’t getting much rest, he hates the floor. Glad the boat is moving again, 200nm to Niue.
Day 11, June 3rd:
The wind and seas went from good to too good overnight and by my 0600 watch we were running with a 3m swell, a steady 25kts of wind, gusting 30kt and a third of the headsail furled away. We surfed down a big wave and got hit with a string gust all at the same time, burying the starboard rail by a foot. She popped up right a way but all that water had to go somewhere and so it got dumped into the cockpit. Unfortunately I was in the path and so got soaked to the bone. Pulled some of the headsail in and she was much happier. It was a wet, sloppy ride. Steve got up and made me a hot bowl of oatmeal with maple syrup and a mug if earl grey tea, just what I needed! By evening it was a steady 30kts, gusting to 35-40kts with 4M seas. It is back to eat, sleep, sail: lather, rinse, repeat. With this much wind we have reduced the headsail even more so are only doing 5-6kts, sometimes surfing up to 8 or 9, but still on course. Looks like another day or so to Niue. Forecast is for 15kts out of the east for today and tomorrow.
Day 12, June 4th:
Longest. Day. Ever.
The wind did not abate, even though at dawn it seemed to threaten so. By my morning watch we had 70nm to Niue- we stupidly started racing the clock. On Steve’s watch we took a mega wave on the port quarter, it flooded the cockpit so Steve was standing mid calf in warm ocean water. Although we had all the boards in some also streamed down the companion way into the cabin and behind the stairs. What a horrible bang those big waves made when you are down below! Everything seemed ok…at first. We made landfall at dusk and rounding the southern tip at 1900 the GPS dropped out, along with the wind instruments. The wind instruments came back on line but not the GPS (a connection got wet fromt eh mega wave, we have since sorted it out and are up and running again). Steve navigated by radar and I went down below to boot up the computer with out backup GPS navigation software. By 2200 we decided since we were tired and the harbour range lights had not been replaced since they were taken out by a hurricane in 2004 that we would hove to for the night, get a little rest and make our approach at first light. We hoisted the main with the second reef tucked into it and hove to but were still doing 1kt or so towards land. After few hours we headed back out to sea and this time when gybed to hove to again the main ripped leech to luff, just below the third reef points. We quickly pull it down and I tie it best I could to the boom, we are both disappointed, tired and frustrated. It is now 0400. At 0500 the rain start so I sent Steve to get a few hours rest, he’s been up since morning, and standing watch, literally, hopping around trying to stay warm and alert. My wet weather gear is aptly named and my tea is cold but the wind seems to be dropping off. At 0815 we start up the engine and unsuccessfully motor into what is now 30kts on the nose. We pull out half the headsail to sail in but with out the main we cannot point to windward very well. Instead we sail in as close to the island as we dare in the pouring rain and although we are further south than we’d like we find we are suddenly in the lee of land and protected from the wind. We motor the remaining 2 miles to the mooring field. I have never been so happy to tie a line around the bow cleats. We are safely bobbing on the mooring by 1000-12 days exactly from when we left.
Love, H&S
Tahiti Ink...
“Patience is a wondrous virtue.”
“The best laid plans of mice and men are meant to be mislaid.”
“Good things come to those who wait.”
These are just a few of the inspirational quotations meant to give you a sense of calm and direction in situations that are not quite going exactly according to plan. Our favorite is from a Buddhist text;
“Everything is as it should be.”
Is it a sentence that we grappled with for most of the past summer (winter?! I’ll always be a northern hemisphere gal at heart). In fact, it became a kind of unofficial mantra onboard; a gentle reminder that if we just looked at the situation from another vantage point we might see that although things were not working out as we planned, they were, actually, working out quite well. Perhaps we came to a state of enlightenment, how appropriate!, and realized that you cannot dwell on what might have been but simply enjoy what is.
But the path to enlightenment is generally not an easy one and ours was strewn with 1400 bumpy, sleepless, teeth chattering miles to windward before we let go of the idea of sailing back to the Marquesas. Unseasonable strong easterly winds were making it not quite impossible but certainly uncomfortable. We finally decided that since we’d already been there once that the ride back would be unnecessarily stressful for both ourselves and the boat. It was a hard pill to swallow. We were looking forward to returning not only to one the most rugged and beautiful places we’ve seen yet, but to return to get to know the people a little more, to understand their fierce pride and gentle warmth a little better. So instead, we spent a few months enjoying the serene anchorages of the Leeward Society Islands with very few other boats interrupting our tropical horizons. It wasn’t the plan, but it was lovely.
In April we decided to return to Tahiti, we had one outstanding project to do on the boat, install a removable inner forestay, and wanted to get there before the onslaught of this year’s Puddle Jumpers arrived, congesting the anchorage and taxing the local marine industry to their max. We had a pretty successful week considering installing the inner forestay had to be worked around the wind and weather (Steve was up the mast 5 times in 4 days) and “island time”, a phenomenon that happens on any tropical island on the globe, best known for an inexplicable reduction in the speed of time and a carefree attitude towards work, deadlines and posted store hours, especially during the hot hours of the afternoon. Steve not only got the inner forestay installed but did it under budget, no small feat itself in good old French Polynesia. In between trips up the mast were trips into Pape’ete to restock some boat parts and get some quotes on jobs on our wish list.
On one tiresome trip into busy Pape’ete we were hot and frustrated as we had just spent the last few hours adding just one more errand to the “To Do” list, but most of our efforts were turning out unrewarded. We were getting hungry and cranky, not a very a good duo especially when combined with midday tropical heat, so we’d stopped at the Market to grab some lunch then decided to call it quits, we’d had enough. All our running about had delayed our departure from the city and it was now afternoon rush hour. After fighting our way onto the bus we finally found ourselves melting into a hard bus seat and huddling under the small air conditioning vent; we were both weary and spent. We idly watched the bus fill up, marveling at the colourful crowd, the ladies with flowers in their hair and at the children with such curiosity in their eyes, when a man passed us to sit in the back row. Steve and I both do a double take.
Now, as I may have mentioned before, everyone here seems to have tattoos, and a man sporting a full sleeve, or even two, is a common sight. So it is not that we are taken aback by this man’s tattoos (they totally cover his right hand and arm and his whole left leg) but he has a particular motif on his forearm that we recognize; two sets of concentric circles that are joined together in the middle like a link of chain. From what I can gather it means fearlessness and tenacity. It denotes that you are a fighter, not of the literal kind, but strong in spirit, resilient. It is the kind of motif that a tattooist will only give you if they know you; if you embody the “power” that the symbol implies. We first saw this tattoo last July on the island of Nuku Hiva, in the Marquesas. It was worn by the man who gave me my first tattoo. By a man that looked suspicious like the one who just walked onto our bus in Tahiti.
We ride most of the way home in silence, me periodically nodding off beneath sun glasses, and Steve keeping an eye on our man in the back. We are getting close to the end of the route and have been craning our necks so much in the last few minutes that we are starting to draw attention. Finally Steve gets up, turns around and walks towards him, “Brice?”(Pronounced Breese) he asks tentatively. “Oui”, the man replies as the bus comes to the last stop. As we all file off it is obvious that he doesn’t really know who we are, he’s got that same look on his face as we had on ours half an hour ago. Once on the sidewalk Steve lifts up his left sleeve, revealing a large tattoo. Brice’s eyes light up, he recognizes his work, he recognizes us. With my bad French I get the gist of the story; he recently moved to Tahiti, his house is just down the road and, yes, he is still tattooing. I take out a slip of paper and he writes down his mobile number. We shake hands and go our separate ways.
On the way home Steve and I are in wonder. We discuss all these past months that we’d been beating ourselves up about not being able to get back to the Marquesas; how disappointed we’d been not just because we wanted to see the islands but because we really wanted to find Brice and get another tattoo. We debated what would have happened if we’d gone all the way to Nuku Hiva and he’d already moved to Tahiti. We considered how strange it was that we kept getting delayed that day and how, only an hour before he walked onto our bus, we’d been to another tattoo studio that a friend recommended in Pape’ete to check out their work (we didn’t like it, like the work of so many other tattoo artists we’d checked out over the last few months). What were the chances of meeting him not only on a different island but some 1200 miles from his home, on a bus!? And not only that, but he is just next door to the marina we were anchored by and we could have never even known he was there.
We finish up our work and decide to head to Moorea for a little vacation; a week back in the busy city is just that, too busy and too much city for us. This goes a little pear shaped because it is Easter weekend and on Good Friday our anchorage of 2 boats swells to 20. But here is better than there and we’d both like to get in the water again before getting inked when we will have two weeks of staying dry and especially staying out of salt water while our tattoos heal.
When we return to Tahiti we face the problem of calling Brice; he speaks very little English and I can’t understand much French over the phone. I duck into another tattoo place close by one afternoon in hopes that he is working there. No luck but I talk to the artist in broken French who is friendly and kind, but does he know Brice? Not really, but maybe he’s heard of him. I explain I have a phone number but can’t call as I find French difficult when not face to face. He assures me my French is fine but offers to make the call anyway. A few minutes later it is arranged that we are to meet Brice at the bus stop up the road. It all seems too easy but a plan is in motion. Half an hour of watching traffic and Steve and I are disappointed, no Brice. Maybe we have the wrong bus stop, did I misunderstand the directions? We’ve got things to do so we head back to town and decide to try again another day; it’s island time, he’ll understand. Saturday afternoon we find a friend of friend that speaks both English and French and pled our case. She makes the call and sets up an appointment for Monday morning; we spend the weekend debating our new tattoos.
8:30 Monday morning finds us waiting on the road side again, at another bus stop, hoping this time we got it right. 8:35, no Brice. We agree to give it a half an hour and try to find some shade from the already hot and sweaty day. Moments later a truck pulls up, the window rolls down and a guy with a smile and sun glasses peers out at us. Brice has arrived.
Now I have to say Brice is a man of few words, French or not. You’d probably classify him as the strong silent type. When we met him Nuku Hiva it was at the bar during the dance festival; Steve inquired with the bartender who is the best tattooist around. The bartender informed Dave the security guard we were looking for someone and Dave brought Brice to our table. He sat down with his Jack and Coke; spoke to us briefly in French and very broken English. He sat for five minutes more then excused himself, telling us to come by his house the next morning, his tattoo studio was there. He said if we had trouble finding his house we just had to ask anyone we saw, they’d point us in the right direction, as everyone knows where Brice lives.
And this morning is no different. He turns on his computer, brings up photos of his latest work and leaves Steve and me to consider our tattoos. But, like last time, Steve and I already know what we want; or rather already know where we want it and some idea of style. And also like last time, we will leave the rest to Brice. This may seem like a leap of faith but one look at an artist portfolio will let you know if you want him to draw on you…permanently. And we are not interested in simply picking a drawing out of a book and having it gunned into our skin; I do not want someone else’s tattoo. Quite frankly we don’t think Brice really enjoys this either. Give him some creative freedom and he’ll happily create a piece just for you.
Monday morning I was elected to go first and after establishing general location and idea we watched quietly as Brice methodically laid out his equipment and prepared his set up. It seems as much ritual as concern for hygiene; everything comes new out of the package, his tattoo guns and foot pedal are wrapped in plastic, work surfaces covered in foil, gloves, ink, needles and creams neatly laid out for future use. He spent a quiet 45 minutes sketching in a rough design, making notes on my skin, cues for his creation. He then took a photo and asked my approval. After answering a few brief questions he started. The only things he said were “Ready” when we first began and when I commented that it felt hot he replied “Very hot today, eh?”. I then spent three and a half hours in painful silence while he worked none stop. Finally he declared “OK, done!” Like I said, he is a man of few words.
Tuesday morning was Steve’s turn and I tagged along as translator. This morning he was a little more chatty and out of the blue asked if we had plans for the evening, and, if we didn’t he’d like us to come over for a BBQ. We were flattered and taken aback, he didn’t seem the type to invite just anyone into his home (even though his studio space is in his home, it’s a different feeling). Of course we accepted! That night, after Steve (and Brice) recovered from his four hours of tattooing, we enjoyed a lovely BBQ dinner with Brice, his girlfriend Myra, and his two sisters Isobel and Rose. We shared a few drinks, some tall stories (some in frenglish) and plenty of laughs. As we headed home Brice gave me a kiss on cheek and when Steve tried to give him a simple hand shake he grabbed him into a big bear hug, “Friends” he said as he smiled.
As we headed down the dock at the marina and climbed into the dingy we marveled at how life just seems to work out sometimes; try as you may you cannot force things to happen and that maybe there are greater powers in control. As we motored home to Kate we both nod our heads in agreement; Everything IS as it should be.
Love,
H&S
P.S. Here's what we got!
When it Rains it Pours!
Nothing could be truer this morning when at 5am I crawled out of my cozy warm bunk to check the already firmly dogged hatches and the position of the boat. A light pitter patter of drizzle was quickly building into a grand crescendo of rain that sounded more like we were driving Kate through a water fall then just another passing squall. The boat was tightly closed and, since we are on a mooring, in the exact same position we left it last night when we went to bed. However, the cacophony of feral dogs and roosters had already started up onshore so there is no point in crawling back into the bunk; there would be no more sleep for me this morning. The days are getting noticeably shorter here in the southern hemisphere, this early there is just a sliver of silvery blue light outlining the jagged mountain on the horizon as I open the computer to write. I love this time of day but it has been a while since I have had the opportunity to enjoy it, our usual quiet routine has had some very fun and social interruptions this past month. We caught up with some old friends who were “in town” working on a mega yacht, met four fun and young Aussie boys on a boat in Tahiti, and had our good friend Kim come and visit from New York for three weeks. But all good things must come to and end; people return to work, boats sail in different directions and old friends get on planes to return to their lives up north. We are left back where we started a month ago, just the two of us on a mooring at the Bora Bora Yacht Club trying to figure out our next move and catching up on some sleep.
In the last three weeks with Kim on board we covered seven islands; Tahiti through Bora Bora. We had incredible weather, the winter rains giving way to endless days of sun. For once we had fair winds and calm seas so our passages were flat and dreamy (mostly) and sailing in the lagoons fast and fun, just as you hope when you have guests onboard. However, not to give the impression that it is all umbrella drinks and sunsets and in true Kate style, we did show her a little of the excitement and drama that is involved in sailing. We planned a day sail from Huahine to Raiatea, it was a little rolly but all in all a nice day. Steve said he had something heavy on his mind all day and was wracking his brains doing sums about fuel consumption and diesel in the tank while we sailed. After navigating the passage in southern Raiatea and thinking we might be getting low on fuel (the fuel gauge is inaccurate) he put 25 litres in the tank, just incase. We were motoring our way through the narrow channel, approaching a tight corner strewn with coral heads when the engine over heat alarm went off. We made a tight U-turn and drifted with the current while we checked the engine. All seemed ok, plenty of coolant and water flowing in the exhaust, we must had spun an impeller. With the option of sailing rather impossible, too narrow a channel and the wind directly on the nose, we quickly we launch the dingy, mount the motor and tied it along side at midships. Once again our 10ft inflatable with (this time) a 15hp outboard saved the day. Rafted up we ever so slowly made it the remaining 2 miles through the channel without harm (although Kim and I got rather wet in the dingy) and threw anchor at our intended destination before sunset. It turned out that we only sucked up some seaweed; it clogged the engine cooling saltwater intake causing the engine temperature to rise. Thankfully it didn’t even make it to the strainer; it just got caught in the through hull. Finally an easy solution to a boat problem! But drama aside we did try our best to show Kim a little of the South Pacific; snorkeling, dingy tours, deserted islands, beach barbeques, sparkling blue water, fishing, local foods (picking fruit on the side of the road) and cold beers on hot afternoons, just to mention a few. We hope were successful in opening her eyes not only to this stunningly beautiful part of the world but to our modest lives onboard as well.
And having Kim onboard was eye opening for us in many respects. I realized how much knowledge I have gained about sailing in the last year; how far I have come, both literally across the globe and in my abilities onboard, it sounds like I know what I am talking about these days! I also became aware of the language that Steve and I share, both verbal and non-verbal, that is pivotal to the working of the boat. Over the last two years we have developed hand signals, working systems and a whole range of commands and responses that enables us to sail the efficiently and safely. In fact, most of the time we have already anticipated the other person’s thoughts and are ready before they even set into action.
Not only was Kim kind enough to volunteer her luggage as a courier service, devoting a whole suitcase to parts and pieces for us, but she thoughtfully brought us some treats and gifts as well; a really neat water bottle/solar powered light that she filled with toiletry goodies like nail files and lip balm, English tea for Steve, peanut butter and nutella for me and a whole stack of magazines that are current AND in English!!! Leafing through our new treasure trove of glossy magazine I realized how completely out of touch we are; global news stories we’ve yet to hear about, fashion trends, television shows and celebrity gossip I could care less about and technological innovations we never even dreamed of. I can’t count the amount of times we had to ask Kim what some article was referencing or to define some new techno term. We marveled at her everyday gadgets (I-touch etcc..) and hung on her every word when she explained things like the Nike chip that you put in our shoes that records all the info about your run, downloadable “apps” for your personal whatever you carry, barcodes in magazine you scan with your phone to download information or the proposed e-wallet that will soon enable people to have all their credit cards details digitally on their phone. It seems the world is spinning faster than ever, yet somehow we’ve managed not only to stay in one place but possibly even slow down.
We recently had an anniversary onboard, and such an occasion makes you stop and reflect on what exactly you’re celebrating. Two years ago we untied the dock lines and sailed out of San Diego harbour; destination, all points south and west. It is hard to believe we’ve made it this far or perhaps I should say hard to believe we’ve made it ONLY this far? Our recent acquisition of all this techno-babble and global information has confirmed our recent decision to slow down, enjoy our time sailing, exploring and living a simpler life, without all the encumbrance of “modern life”, ie. cell phone, television, car, a closet full of clothes. We are not sure where we are headed to next, we would still like to get back north to the Marquesas, but standing in our way is not traffic jams or phone calls or if we are up with the last trend and therefore “cool” enough. Our obstacles are the wind, the sea and our own determination. We may have realized that we are completely behind the times but when you slow down long enough to enjoy the view you realize how much you missed by traveling so fast. When we started sailing the question was “How will we cope working, sailing and living on a small boat together, just the two of us for long stretches of time and open ocean?” After two years and several thousand nautical miles I have to answer that it is at times difficult but that, perhaps, we’ve done better then I expected. I mean, something must be going right if we want to continue on sailing together. Is the question now “If we stay out here too much longer how will we cope with the busy modern world and all the changes in it?” I don’t know. What I do know is that right now we are in Bora Bora, sleeping soundly on a mooring, enjoying the sunshine and the rain, and to getting back to the routine of the two of us keeping the old girl ship shape. We are enjoying our private, quiet and slow life too much to even consider asking that question out loud. So, for now, the answer will just have to wait.
Love,
H&S
