PASSAGE TO NEW ZEALAND

Reality rarely meets expectations.  We left New Caledonia with a so-so forecast.  We knew there would be large southerly swells, which there were, but we expected to pass through a cold front a couple of days out, and then be pressed to get in to Opua before another cold front.  The reality, besides the swells, was mostly light head winds, a trivial cold front with no punch at all, and then more light headwinds all the rest of the way.  And we had no trouble making it in before the second front, which also turned out to be trivial.

In short, it was mostly a boring motorboat ride.  We did have some excellent sailing the first day, and again late on the last day, but that was it.  The rest was motoring.  Of seven and a half days on the passage, a full six days — 142 hours — was spent motoring.  Good thing we carry so much fuel.  Oh, well, there are worse things than motoring.  This patch of ocean has a deserved reputation.  Most people get spanked pretty hard at some point, either approaching or leaving New Zealand.  We have been very lucky.

The motoring conditions do deserve a few comments.  Typically, such motoring is done on a pretty flat sea.  Maybe gently rolling, as the sea is rarely truly flat, but maybe not that far from it, either.  This time, there were swells up to ten feet or more in height rolling up from the south that we had to climb up and over.  Such swells are actually quite impressive, vaguely evoking the image of endless rolling grasslands.  They are not waves as you might think of waves — they have no crests, and their faces are anything but steep — but endless smoothly rounded ridges rolling up and under us from a faraway storm south of New Zealand.  They were also a bit of a nuisance as the wind was too light (as well as on the nose) to generate enough sail power for us to sail up and over them — we do weigh thirteen tons.  Had the seas been truly flat with such light headwinds, we might well have sailed some, but the addition of the huge swells meant we had to either motor over them or sail parallel to them (i.e. perpendicular to our course).

About fifteen miles out from Opua on the afternoon of the last day, we picked up a following breeze.  It wasn’t strong, but it was enough to use, and the tidal current was with us, too, so we happily shut the motor down and enjoyed a delighful, quiet ride in.  It was also useful in that we didn’t want to have to deal with customs until the next morning.  As it was, we arrived at the quarantine berth just before sunset, well after the authorities had quit for the day.  So, by the time they came aboard in the morning, we were clean and well rested, and the boat was all clean and tidy, too.

After checking in, we moved over to an anchorage in the Bay of Islands near the house of some old friends, Dave and Jane Saunders.  We’ve known them for over a decade now.  Dave crewed for me up to Tahiti a while back, and they store our car for us when we are out of the country.  So, anyway, we hung out with them over the weekend, then headed on down the coast towards Whangarei.  One stop along the way, with a long, deserted beach to walk on, then a last day on the open sea, partly motoring, partly a pleasant sail, to reach the lower harbor.  We typically anchor there the night before going up the river to the Town Basin, as we need to catch the tide right.  The tidal current can be strong, so we want it with us, and the upper river is shallow, so we want at least the middle of a rising tide.  Getting ready to get under way the next morning, we were pleasantly surprised to see another old friend on his boat there, about to head up the river, too.  Graeme is a professional photographer, which is always a treat to have sailing next to us, it being surprisingly difficult to get good photos of one’s boat under sail.

Sailing Up the Harbor

So, we’re back home in our slip in the Town Basin Marina in Whangarei, now.  Time to clean up, fix a few things, socialize with old friends, and get ready for a summer cruise up the coast.

VUREAS BAY FESTIVAL

The festival here this year turned out to be a bust because the organizer, a chief from up the coast a bit who had asked for the job months before, for some reason never did anything.  Our friends in Vureas Bay only found this out when they asked him a couple of weeks ago.  They felt obligated to put something together, and even though it was rather short notice, they organized a one-day affair.  As it was, only one other boat showed up.  If we had been the only boat there, we would have told them not to bother, but ….  The result was a little low key, but quite nice anyway.

We of course would have enjoyed a full festival, but it was enough to spend the time with our friends in the village there.  After a few days, though, it was time to head south again.  The season was progressing and we had a long way to go upwind to Port Vila, before we could even think about departing for New Caledonia.  

Our first stop was back at Lakona Bay, a convenient stop for the night.  We probably wouldn’t have gone ashore, since we were leaving early the next morning and we had already said our goodbyes.  We were anchored in full view of the village, though, and we didn’t want to be rude, so we did go ashore, not intending to stay long.  They don’t fully understand our desire to be back on board before dark, and it’s sometimes impossible to get away, especially when they insist that we stay to drink some kava with them — this being a somewhat significant ritual.  We’ve been through this before, and it’s always been meaningful, but we were somewhat taken aback by the level of ceremony this time.  This was more of a formal acceptance of us into their community, well more than as just casual visitors as we’ve experienced in other places.  The kava was prepared strictly according to tradition, pounding in a stone mortar, soaking and squeezing, with multiple repetitions, a time-consuming process.  When it was ready, Chief Starr and his wife Susan each filled a shell, asked us to stand before them, and gave a brief speech.  We replied as best we could in Bislama, whereupon they handed us the shells simultaneously, which we then downed together in one motion as per custom.

We were touched.  I don’t know if we will ever return to either Lakona Bay or Vureas Bay, but we hope to, and we know that if we do, it will be to rejoin a community which we feel somewhat a part of, and which we are sure they feel much the same.

We are in the final preparations for departure from New Caledonia to New Zealand, planning to leave early tomorrow morning, so I’ll leave you here for the time being.  I’ll be back after we get this passage behind us, and fill in more gaps.  It looks like this passage might be a little more “interesting” than we would like, but the potential for cyclones is increasing, so we need to take this opportunity.  It should be safe enough, but maybe not very comfortable.

LAKONA BAY FESTIVAL

We had only been to one other festival in Vanuatu, in Vureas Bay on nearby Vanua Lava two years before.  It was colorful and exotic to us, and we have very fond memories of it and the people there.  There are other, much more elaborate (and both more publicized and more expensive) festivals in Vanuatu, though, of which we had only seen pictures and heard stories.  Our expectations, then, in such a remote and less traveled place, were modest, based on our limited experience.

Well, were we ever surprised.

The morning of the first day, we were met on the beach by hostile warriors wielding clubs and bows and arrows.  After an initial threatening display, a chief came down holding a tabu leaf (a symbol of his authority), called off the warriors, and escorted us up to the festival grounds where we were welcomed with song and flowers by the entire village. 

Festivals in Vanuatu are typically spectator affairs, but not this one.  There were activities in which we could participate, such as a bow-and-arrow competition and a tug-of-war between married men and single men.  We got to paddle in a dugout-canoe race, one yachtie and one local in each canoe — Robyn’s canoe won!  Besides the activities, there were demonstrations of traditional cooking and weaving.  There were magic shows (pretty well done, even if not believable).  Mock war and peace making.  A mock wedding ceremony.  Lots of high-octane bamboo-band music.  Traditional “water music”.  And eye-popping custom dances.  All of this was terrific, but the dances were the highlight.

We had arrived a few days early (actually, our second visit there), and had already gotten to know a number of the people, including the head chief, John Starr, and the anglican minister, Father Levi.  The latter was the organizer for this year’s festival, and he deserves a great deal of credit.  Being known somewhat already, and having some modest ability speaking Bislama — English is not a strong point here — Father Levi announced that I would be his liaison with the yachties.  Oh, joy.  Robyn could have done just as well, but it is a male-dominated culture.  Anyway, the job didn’t amount to much, other then taxing my language abilities, but they did present me with a gift at the end of the festival, a walking stick carved with a seahorse motif.  Cool!

I have numerous video clips from the festial, as well as a short movie that I made, but I have not been able to upload any of them from here.  If and when I succeed with that, I’ll put links on the blog.  But it’ll have to be just still shots for now.

From here, we made the short crossing back to Vureas Bay on Vanua Lava for their festival, and the next blog entry.

Father Levi (center), the Anglican Minister

One of the Spirits

Dugout-Canoe Race

Bamboo Band

Archery Competition

Traditional Cooking Demonstration

Chief Starr demonstrating weaving thatched roofing

Robyn loves to dance

Men's Dance

Chief Starr and Me

Robyn also loves baskets

Traditional dugout canoe

Village Men

Village House

Men's Dance

Open, Friendly People

Men's Dance

More Spirits

Bamboo Band

Basket Weaving Demonstration

Men's Dance

STILL AFLOAT, NEW CALEDONIA, NOVEMBER 19

Well, it has been a while.  The internet connectivity in Vanuatu was problematic, to say the least, and then one thing led to another ….  Sorry about that, but I’ll try to catch up a bit now before we launch off back to New Zealand.

So, where are we?  In a nutshell, we left Vanuatu on Friday, 30 September, for a magnificent two-and-a-half-day passage over to New Caledonia.  We’ve been here ever since, and are sitting at anchor now at Ile des Pins (Isle of Pines, the southeastern extremity of the southern lagoon), waiting for suitable weather for the passage to New Zealand.

We came down here a week ago, with a good forecast for departure earlier this week.  The weather gods changed their minds, though.  It then looked good for today, but that didn’t pan out either.  No idea now how long we might have to wait, but it looks like it might be another week or more.  Then again, considering the trouble and expense many people go to just to visit here briefly, I don’t expect much sympathy.  There are worse places to be stuck for a while.  There are a number of other boats waiting here with us, and we are friends with most of them, so it’s a rather social time.

I left you about to sail back to Lakona Bay on Gaua, in the Banks Group of northern Vanuatu, for their festival there.  That extraordinary event is the subject of my next post.

MOVING ON TOMORROW, 12 September 2016

I'm not caught up with posts from the past few weeks, but I'm out of time.  Currently at Luganville on Espiritu Santo, but heading to Ambae in the morning.  I'll catch up at the next opportunity.

BACK TO LOSALAVA, 21 August 2016

Losalava Anchorage

Chief Mika & Grandson

Lake Letas & Mt. Garet

Some unruly weather was predicted, so we chose to go back to Losalava on Gaua (the site of the Bamboo Band post), this being the most protected anchorage in the Banks.  There was a so-so cell signal here, so we could access the internet and Skype, but only from the airport, a half-hours walk away.  Did that walk quite a few times this week.

Met one of the local chiefs, Mika Moses, close to the airport — I should mention that the airport, as all in Vanuatu except Port Vila, consists of a grass strip and a tiny, unattended cement building.  We arranged to have Mica’s 11-year-old son, Jason, guide us on a hike the next day up to Lake Letas, high on the flank of the volcano here — pretty much all the islands in Vanuatu have volcanoes — and the largest lake in Vanuatu.  We were also invited to a birthday party afterwards for Mika’s first grandson, just one year old.  The first birthday is a big event here — huge party well into the night, friends and family from all around, lots of food and kava.  Robyn baked a cake to bring, and found some baby clothes in our stock of trade goods as a present.  

The morning dawned with foul weather, so we just wandered up to the airport to beg off with Jason.  That done, we sat at the airport for a while using the internet.  Mika came by to chat.  We discussed politics and the difference between parliaments and the American system.  Quite the challenge in Bislama.  Then we all went up to his house for lunch, where we also presented the cake and baby clothes, not expecting to just hang around all afternoon waiting for the party.  Mika wanted us to return at four o’clock, though, for kava.  Didn’t seem appropriate to refuse, so I resigned myself to killing the afternoon.  We walked further up the road for a while, then back to the airport for more internet.  Having a couple of hours yet to kill, we went in search of a cup of tea.  There is a small guest house next to the airport, so we tried there.  We weren’t one of their guests, but they are such nice people.  Had a nice chat with the woman there while we drank our tea.  Also met one of their guests, a film producer from Britain.

This is bizarre.  A reality show in Britain was recreating the open-boat voyage of Captain Bligh, where, after the “Mutiny on the Bounty”, he and his few loyal crew rowed and sailed a small, open boat from near Tahiti to Indonesia, with very brief stops in Fiji and Vanuatu.  This was one of the most spectacular feats of small-boat navigation and seamanship in the by-gone age of sail, when “ships were wood, and men were iron”.  Well, Bligh and his men had no choice, but these fools volunteered.  Actually, there were over a hundred thousand volunteers.  It doesn’t seem like any of them had any clue as to what they were asking for.  Well, the producers were trying to do it right, with an accurate boat replica, and starting with the same food and equipment that Bligh had.  After weeks at sea, they landed only in uninhabited places, one in Fiji and then near here on Gaua, so as not to have any contact with the modern world.  They even had to forage for food and water at these places.  We did not meet any of “Bligh’s” crew, of course, but we did meet a number of the film and support crews.  The show should air in Britain (and on the internet) next February or March.

Back at the guest house, it was now four o’clock, so we walked back over to Mika’s house nearby.  Amid the preparations for the evening’s party, Mika prepared kava to drink with us.  This is a bit more elaborate than cracking a few beers, with quite a process of grinding the root, mixing with water, squeezing and straining, and multiple repetitions.  Finally, he hands us each a cup, which we drink in the prescribed non-stop manner.  Kava doesn’t do much for me, looking like dirty dish water, and tasting how I imagine the same would.  But it’s the social thing here.  We have drunk kava a number of times, and always gotten away with only one cupful.  This time, Mika handed us each a second cup.  Oh well, down the hatch.  I might also mention that the sanitary conditions make one wonder about the whole idea, but “when in Rome …”  Vanuatu kava is stronger than in Fiji or Samoa, and Gaua kava is one of the stronger strains in Vanuatu.  We still had the half-hour walk back to the dinghy, and it was getting near sunset, but we did manage to get there and back out to the boat.

We had rescheduled the hike for the next day, but Jason was tied up with a school project, so Mika guided us instead.  Almost three hours uphill through the jungle to the lake, fifteen minutes sitting on the shore, than over two hours back down, with the half-hour walk on either end.  I could have done without it, but Robyn was hot to go, and it did turn out to be a good experience.  At least, I can say that now that I’m clean and comfortable back on Mintaka.  The lake was beautiful, and we had a great view across to the volcano.

Almost time now for the big festival at Lakona Bay, around on the west side of Gaua, so that’s our next stop.

TIME TO MOVE ON, 5 August 2016

A week before in Sola

It has been said that the two constants in this cruising life are that you’re always lost, and you’re always leaving.  You’re always lost because by the time you know your way around, you leave.  A corollary to that saying is that you know it’s time to leave when you start running into familar faces.

Well, it’s hard not to run into familiar faces in a little village, but this was too much.  When we left Sola, we wanted to stop briefly at the Reef Islands.  These are a small group of uninhabited islands surrounded by a fringing reef.  The anchorage is on the outside of the reef on scattered sandy patches between the coral bommies.  It’s on the lee side of the reef,  but the wind was quite strong that day, causing a vicious wind chop.  Even though there was no ocean swell on the lee side, that wind chop made it difficult to see under the water to find a good spot to drop the hook.  It also made it hard to judge the water depth over the bommies, making me very nervous.  Anyway, we bailed and went on to the next island, Ureparapara.  We had a great time there for almost a week, as I hope you’ve read in the previous post.

We left Ureparapara this morning in company with friends Mark and Susan, bound for a second try at the Reef Islands.  The wind being much less today, and forecast for even less tomorrow, we thought we’d try again.  Found a great spot to anchor, went snorkeling around the bommies — saw two huge, spotted eagle rays, a turtle, one shark and lots of fish — and were enjoying “sundowners” on Erie Spirit in this wild and very remote place.

It’s pitch black out now, but we see a light approaching.  Now, no sane yachtie would be wandering around these coral waters at night, so we are floored when a small island boat pulls alongside with a crew of men to spend the night fishing here.  We all exchange greetings.  One of the men asks if we like pamplemousse — to which I heartily reply yes — and then hands up several bags of them.  In the process, one of the men looks up at Robyn and says, “I met you in Sola last week.”  Must be time to move on.

REUNION AT VUREAS BAY, 30 August 2016

Chief Godfrey & son John

Today was a special day.

After the wind came up and blew us out of the anchorage at the Reef Islands, we sailed on to Twin Waterfall Bay and then Vureas Bay, both on the west side of Vanua Lava, still in the Banks Group, and both of which we had visited two years ago.

Anyway, we came down here yesterday from Twin Waterfall Bay, but didn’t go ashore.  There was quite a surf running, so we joined Mark from Erie Spirit in his motorized dinghy to check it out.  The tide was low, exposing the rocks just below the beach, and the surf was high, and none of us liked the look of it.  We saw no activity on shore either, so we opted to wait till today at a higher point in the tide.

The surf wasn’t as rough today, certainly no worse than many other such landings.  We rowed in close, waited briefly just outside the surf line, watching the wave pattern, then chose a good wave to ride, and landed without mishap.  I should say, though, that I was wearing only my Speedo, with my clothes in a dry bag, just in case.  Susan, Mark’s wife, had just waded in from their dinghy, which is too heavy to carry up out of the surf, and Mark chose not to anchor off and swim ashore, so there was just three in the shore party.

We were met ashore by John, one of Chief Godfrey’s sons.  We had gotten to know him and his wife Christina two years ago, and it only took a moment for him to recognize us.  There had been no activity at the family compound on shore yesterday because they were now living up the hill in the main village.  Chief Godfrey had seen the two yachts from up there yesterday, though, so he and his wife Veronica, together with John and Christina, had come down to welcome us this morning.

We didn’t really know what to expect coming back here.  We had left with deep feelings of affection for the chief and his family, as well as for a number of others here, but we were just visitors then, and two years had gone by.  What kind of reception would we get this time?  Well, we needn’t have worried.  We were greeted like long-separated family.  These are such warm, welcoming people anyway, but this was special.

Christina speaks passable English, John less, Chief Godfrey very little, and Veronica none.  This is why we have been studying Bislama.  Yes, we enjoy languages in general, and yes, it opens doors here, but what we really wanted was to be able to talk with these people here, especially Chief Godfrey.  It’s hard to express my feelings for a man I really hardly know, but when we left two years ago, I felt in some small way that this was my village, and that he was my chief.  We had a delightful conversation, on a variety of topics, and almost exclusively in Bislama.  I didn’t understand everything perfectly, but there were few words that I didn’t recognize, and think I got the gist of everything.

One of the topics of conversation was “kastom”, their ancestral culture, and its gradual loss here, and this is where the day became truly special for us.  Their beliefs, involving spirits and magic and such, are alien to us and completely irreconcilable with our understanding of reality, but we are interested in them, and we respect them.  And they respond to our interest and respect.

Some background first.  Chief Godfrey is one of the two paramount chiefs on this (rather large) island.  Chief Kerely of Twin Waterfall Bay is the other one, but junior to Godfrey.  Initially, chiefs are elected by their communities, but once elected, they retain the title indefinitely.  It gets very complicated, and I understand only a little, but there are numerous grades to being a chief, each one requiring a certain level of kastom knowledge, as well as a pig-killing ceremony — what I wouldn’t give to see one of those!  Godfrey is of grade three.  Kerely, grade two.  All the other community chiefs are of grade one.  Godfrey’s son John was elected here a while ago and is also of grade one.

Somewhere in the conversation, Godfrey decides to show us his personal Kastom altar where he goes to speak with the spirits.  I’m not sure if he’s ever shown this to other outsiders or not — I think I caught the word “never” in Bislama, but I’m not sure.  At any rate, this is unusual.  This altar is a raised, stone-bordered platform, obscured by the jungle, with two carved, stone faces, one male, one female, resting side-by-side.  As we approach, he breaks off some leaves and tosses them onto the altar — to announce our presence, perhaps?  He describes the place, what it means to him, clearly a deeply spiritual place, a very personal, private place.  Only he and I think his son can go up onto it.  It is tabu for everyone else.  It is only for Kastom.  Anyone who goes onto it for any other purpose will die (not be killed, will just die).  It is where he will be buried when he dies.  His father’s altar and grave is adjacent, as is his grandfather’s.  John’s will be adjacent, too.  Just before we leave, he steps up onto the platform to speak with the spirits, then we all leave.  We feel very priviledged.

UREPARAPARA, 3 August 2016

Ureparapara is unique in my experience.  The island consists of a single volcanic cone with one section blown out, forming a harbour ringed by towering walls.  It is also the most remote of the Banks group of islands, which is one of the two most remote groups of islands in Vanuatu.  Fortunately, the entrance faces nearly perpendicular to the trade winds, so neither much wind or swell penetrates.

The people in this settlement, as in others similarly distant in the supply chain, have come to see yachties as a source of goods that are otherwise unobtainable.  We understand this, and have come stocked with various goods that they might need or want, such as used clothing, vegetable seeds, fishing hooks and line, etc.  It’s a good arrangement.  We need fresh food, and an occasional souvenir.  They need what we bring.  Most of the time, we trade.  Sometimes, if we’ve developed friendships, it turns more into giving gifts on both sides.  The people here were unexpectedly generous with produce, and we reciprocated in kind.  One of the men here still uses a sailing rig on his canoe, so we left another defunct sail for him to refashion.

In the two years since our last visit to Vanuatu, the use of solar panels, 12-Volt batteries, and cell phones has proliferated, partly due to the decrease in price of such panels.  The people here did not grow up with any kind of technology, though, and they do not have a clue how it works or how to take care of it.  I am repeatedly asked to check their batteries and panels (the former being flat), and I invariably find the panel size to be inadequate, leading to consistent undercharging, and all too often, ruined batteries.  I gave a presentation here about panels, batteries, and such, but it seems that without any familiarity with any kind of science or technology, the people are not prepared to understand even simple (to me) technical concepts.  They are intelligent people, and they hold a wealth of knowledge about and skill in using their environment, but there is no shared basis of experience and knowledge to build on.

Chief Nicholsen, head of the village here, asked us if we could make a promotional video for them, featuring local women performing “water music”.  Of course, we agreed, with the caveat that we are only amateurs.  I will upload it to YouTube when I find the opportunity, then post  link here.

We’ve had every anchorage to ourselves for a couple of weeks now, ever since leaving Luganville.  Our old friends Mark and Susan, on the boat Erie Spirit — they come from the Lake Erie area of Ohio — came in here right behind us, though, and we have really enjoyed their company.  We actually shared the next several anchorages with them, as I hope you will read in succeeding posts.

“BAMBOO BAND”, 21 July 2016

Yachties go cruising for many different reasons.  For us, it’s mostly about meeting people, seeing how they live, maybe learning to speak their language a little bit.  What we enjoy most of all is to make a connection with some individual, or stumble into some local event.  Today, we did both.

We are anchored off the largest village on the island called Gaua, in the Banks Island group of northern Vanuatu.  If you look it up in an atlas, it may well be labeled Santa Maria.  There are around a thousand people between this village and several in close proximity, which makes for high population density in this part of the world.  It’s a pretty, tidy village of mostly traditional thatched houses, plus a few cement buildings — the church, for example, and a bank branch (more a bank outpost).

As luck would have it, there has been a conference here these past few days.  The locals have taken the initiative to create a conservation area around the large lake in the middle of the island (actually a quite sizeable lake, the largest in Vanuatu), and the conference was to draft a management plan for it.  The conference ended today, and the closing ceremonies and festivities just happened to coincide with our going ashore this afternoon.

As we approached the village church, the site of the conference, we were approached by two men, one of whom spoke English fairly well.  He turned out to be the secretary for the local committee drafting this plan.  We were enjoying a lengthy chat with him, but were interrupted by the sounds of a local “bamboo band” in the church yard.  We walked over to see, and were quickly swept up in the event.

One thing you learn early here is that with a white skin, you can’t remain an anonymous bystander.  You will be ushered to good seats, likely thanked for joining them, and generally included in whatever is going on.  We didn’t get a public thanking this time, but we were shown to seats front and center, seats that were obviously for conference participants, and were presented with leis along with the others.  When Robyn protested to a government representative seated next to her that we weren’t participants in the conference, the reply was, “It doesn’t matter.”  So, along with all the others, we wore the leis, listened to a few short speeches, drank ceremonial kava, and shook hands with what seemed to be the entire village.  Then the band really got going, and people started dancing.

The sun goes down abruptly in the tropics, and we like to be back on board the boat before then.  That time was close at hand, so we tore ourselves away, invited our new friend to visit us tomorrow, and rowed home.

MILLION DOLLAR POINT, MONUMENT TO GREED AND SPITE, 10 July 2016

During WWII, Vanuatu was a major staging ground for action against the Japanese in nearby Papua New Guinea and Solomon Islands.  Espiritu Santo, the Vanuatu island where we are now, saw untold thousands of GIs, who built several airfields and whole cities of quonset huts.  At one time, there were reportedly over thirty cinemas in operation here.  No combat occurred here, but the American military had a tremendous impact on the land and people of "Santo".

At the end of the war, the U.S. decided not to repatriate all the goods and machinery that they had brought here.  They offered it to the British and French administrators of the then New Hebrides (now independent Vanuatu) for pennies on the dollar.  The offer was refused, though, with the greedy thought that the Americans would leave it all here, anyway.  Spitefully, the Americans had other ideas.  They simply bulldozed it all into the sea, and ran the bulldozers in afterwards.

It’s all still there, an immense underwater junkpile — trucks, cranes, forklifts, building materials, spare parts of every description, and zillions of Coke bottles.  I can only imagine the polution at the time, but today it forms an artificial reef with huge schools of fish, some quite large.

We joined our friends Mark and Susan from the boat Erie Spirit for a snorkeling expedition out there today.  The taxi driver, David, spoke no English, but the conversation flowed nicely (albeit rudimentarily) in Bislama.  Parts of the shore were so littered in twisted, corroded metal and broken glass that footwear was absolutely essential.  

To get underway with mask and fins, we waded in where there was some sand, sat down to don gear, then swam out over the surreal sea bottom.  After the better part of a century, the sea had blurred the outlines of the debris, welding it all into a ghostly scene of coral and sponge-flecked wreckage — a tracked vehicle on it’s back, probably a bulldozer; innumerable truck chassis surrounded by piles of wheels and engines; enough quonset-hut frames and roofing to build a city, all piled densely, descending into the depths.  In curious juxtaposition, huge schools of fish swam around us, the best such display I’ve seen here in Vanuatu.

After maybe an hour, we emerged, shaking our heads at the childish, spiteful response of the American authorities to the greedy, selfish scheming of the colonial powers.  A few locals did take up the Americans on their fire-sale offer, though, becoming quite wealthy as a result.  One man reputedly started a shipping company, exporting the machinery and goods he had purchased so cheaply.  Others did well scavenging and salvaging what they could after the fact.  One New Zealander hauled out some of the bulldozers after they had lain in the sea for several years.  He cleaned them up, put them back in working order, and sold them to the Australian government.  What a waste.

ANOTHER SMALL WORLD EXPERIENCE, 8 July 2016

So, we walk out of a grocery store here in Luganville, the only place you could call a town in Vanuatu besides the capital, Port Vila, and there’s this whiteskin couple chatting with a yachtie friend of ours — “Whiteskin” is the term for us here, merely descriptive, not at all pejorative.  After just a few words, I sense that both her voice and her face are too familiar, someone I’ve known but in a different setting.  It doesn’t take but a moment to realize she was the manager of one of the marine chandleries in Whangarei a couple of years ago, before she and her partner set off cruising.  These sort of chance meetings are hardly restricted to cruising; I just find them fascinating.

GUESTS, 4 July 2016

Mintaka is not a large boat.  Some of you may think that thirty-eight feet is large, and I suppose it is for just the two of us.  But there’s an old cruiser saying, “Drinks for six, dinner for four, but she really just sleeps two,” which definitely applies to Mintaka.  We have had four aboard as crew on a passage, but we’ve never had two non-sailor guests for an offshore cruise.  John and Claudia were the first such, and despite the close quarters, it was super.

John & Claudia

John Johnson is a dear old friend from Salt Lake, with whom we have shared many adventures over the years.  He and his s.o., Claudia James, flew in to Port Vila two weeks ago to join us.  With them not yet over jet lag, we set off on an unexpectedly boisterous overnight passage.  One of the two proved to have a cast-iron stomach, preparing food in the galley under difficult conditions, yet feeling perfectly fine the entire time.  The other was sick as the proverbial dog.  I won’t say which was which, other than that John had assured us that he wouldn’t get sick.

Well, morning came, we sailed into the quiet waters in the lee of little Akamb Island, and the crew all came back to life.  This was a new place for us, and it was delightful.  The people were exceptionally friendly, even by Vanuatu standards.  We were welcomed ashore by chief Errol Sam, who gave us the usual carte blanche to walk around the village, which we then proceeded to do.  We shortly came upon a few young men making copra, that is, drying coconut meat to send off for processing into coconut oil.  Copra is a traditional source of income throughout the Pacific islands — a lot of work, though, for not much money.  Anyway, we struck up a conversation, and they soon asked us if we would like some pamplemousse.  Unable to turn down an offer for my favorite fruit, we followed them from tree to tree as they searched for just the right ones to give us.  In the process, we met various relations, and became quite friendly with Abel Sam, son of chief Errol Sam.  A lovely visit ensued, with Robyn getting a brief weaving fix in with Abel’s daughter, while Abel and I just sat and talked.  In turn, we had Abel and one of his sons out to the boat for a visit.  We came away with quite a few pamplemousse and oranges, and several times Abel repeated that food on the island was free to us, no payment was expected.  We, of course, reciprocated with a few gifts, this mutual exchange of gifts being so much nicer than a more business-like trade.

Mark with Abel Sam

Robyn & Claudia with Abel's Wife

Besides enjoying the visit with new friends on Akamb, we had the opportunity to snorkel out to a wrecked WWII fighter plane.  For some reason, we assumed it would be close to shore in relatively shallow water.  Not so.  We swam and swam, following Jack — his family is the owner by tradition of the seabed where the wreck was located — farther and farther from shore, until the wreckage appeared below us in some forty to fifty feet of water.  The water clarity was good, though, and it was well worth the long swim.  I surprised myself by diving all the way down and touching the wreck.  It turns out that the pilot had ditched close to the beach, and had gotten out unharmed, but a patrol boat towed the wreckage into deeper water afterwards.  Before swimming back to shore, Jack asked us if we would also like to see a machine gun of some sort that was also out there, which we obviously went for.  Alas, he couldn’t find it.

That was a little deep!

When we first met Jack — the meeting was arraged for us by the Sams — he seemed aloof, almost put out by having to guide us out to the wreck.  It didn’t take long, though, before we were all old buddies.  Later that day, we all congregated at the local kava bar, where we all had a few shells of that repugnant, mildly intoxicating brew.  John and Claudia, more experienced with intoxicants than Robyn and me, felt no effect at all.  We got only a slight buzz.  Kava is a drink made from grinding a particular root and just mixing it with water.  It looks like dirty dish water, and tastes about like I’d expect dirty dish water to taste.  If you drink enough of it, you get a mellowing, numbing effect.  It is widely drunk in these islands, and the Vanuatu variety is reputed to be the strongest.  I’ve asked a number of ni-Vanuatu if they like the taste of kava.  They all admit that no, what they like is the effect.

We moved on to Avokh village, a place we had visitied two years ago.  On that entire visit in Vanuatu, Avokh was the only place we saw sailing canoes.  We had an old, no-longer-useable jib with us, so before we left for New Caledonia, we took an opportunity to send that old sail back to Avokh with another cruiser.  Imagine my surprise and pleasure as we dropped the anchor this time, two years later, to see a canoe sailing by with a sail made unmistakably from our old jib. 

The remains of one of our old sails

The next morning, Sunday, we attended church, Robyn and Claudia appropriately dressed in Mother Hubbards, the voluminous flour-sack-like dresses introduced by the missionaries.  Not that I much like church services, but the locals seem to really appreciate our joining them, and it is a great way to meet people.  At the end of the service, we were called forward for a welcome, then instructed to stand next to the church leaders at the doorway to shake hands with everyone as they filed out.  After that, they ushered us to the community hall, where a lunch of island foods had been prepared for us.  Just us.  No one ate with us, although one of the chiefs sat with us while we ate.  It always feels a little strange to be treated that way.  The big hit, though, was the afternoon movies that we provided in the community hall.  We brought my laptop and Claudia’s tablet ashore, and ran a movie on each.  I doubt anyone understood much of the stories, but the several dozen watching each movie sure seemed to enjoy the action scenes.  Before going back to Mintaka, John and Claudia got to paddle one of the dugouts — John has done a lot of paddling over the years in various craft — and then traded for a local paddle to add to his collection.

Afternoon at the movies

John & Claudia paddling a dugout

Next stop was a nearby village called Lutes.  The locals there had created a conservation area for giant clams, Tridactna sp., some years ago, and we all took a snorkeling tour out to see it.  The water clarity was poor, but it was still pretty cool to see a hundred or so of these huge, colorful clams.  We also arranged to see some traditional Small Nambas dancing.  Small Nambas differ from Big Nambas, who wear a much larger penis sheath.  They were traditional enemies, often eating each other.  Such dances tell stories, or even supposedly work magic, and are performed in traditional dress, meaning essentially naked.  It was interesting to watch a group of men dancing with nothing but body paint and a leaf wrapped around their dicks, seemingly uninhibited, and posing for photos afterwards.

Giant Clam, Tridactna sp.

Small Nambas Dance

The overall plan with John and Claudia was to sail from Port VIla, where they had joined us, north to Malekula Island, then work our way up the coast of Malekula to a point where they could fly out back to Vila.  This gave them a good taste of cruising without having to beat back upwind (a difficult and unpleasant task with a time schedule) to get back to the airport.

So, moving on, we spent two nights anchored up the coast in Crab Bay.  Shortly after anchoring, a man came out in a canoe to greet us, offer us fruit, etc.  But he had an ID badge clipped to his shirt, which made me wonder.  After a bit, he told us — all in Bislama, as he spoke no English — that there was a fee for anchoring there, a rather steep one at that.  We pay the government a daily fee for the right to anchor anywhere we chose, and are told not to pay any locals who might ask.  This is the first time we’ve encountered this, and after some discussion, I told him I would come ashore in the morning to talk about it with the local chief, which he seemed happy enough with.  So, he let go of Mintaka to paddle off, only to find that there was no paddle in his canoe.  It had fallen out and drifted off out of sight somewhere.  There was a stiff breeze blowing out of the bay to sea, and a considerable distance to shore, the combination of which immediately put an anxious look on his face.  I quickly threw him a rope before he drifted off too far, and then we rigged the motor on the rubber dinghy and gave him a tow.  Despite our feelings about the fee, we could hardly do less.  Upon reaching shore, though, I had the idea to suggest to him that, all things considered, namely that we had saved his butt, maybe he could just forget about the fee.  Not surprisingly, he agreed.  Good return on my language study.

Using one of our paddles as a steering oar

Crab Bay was a pretty spot, but the snorkeling on the outside reef there was what made it special, ranking well up there with the best.  Besides lots of fish, some pretty large, plus one small shark and good coral displays, we were able to swim with several dozen sea turtles.  Really cool!  We’ve seen turtles from time to time, but always from the deck of the boat.  Being in the water with them, and in such numbers, and at such proximity, was just magic.

Sea turtle in flight

Well, John and Claudia got off yesterday on an inter-island flight to Port Vila, so we’re on our own again, and Mintaka does seem large after all.