Passage to Hiva Oa, Marquesas Islands, French Polynesia, 12 Apr 2014

We left Mexico the morning of 15 March, and arrived at Hiva Oa the morning of 9 April, 25 days later.  This was not the first time that we have made this passage, nor was it the longest passage we have ever made.  The first time we arrived here, it was our first and longest major passage, and it felt like such an accomplishment.  This time, it felt more like the end of a long cross-country road trip.  I guess we’ve become comfortable out here.

This is the longest passage most cruisers ever do, but it is perhaps the easiest, with the most predictable weather.  There are three main segments.  The first is downwind in the Northeast Trades, a reliably pleasant ride.  Next comes some snotty weather crossing the Doldrums.  The Doldrums is a band of unsettled weather just north of the equator, where one usually finds it hot and humid, mostly overcast, with little wind, squally and rainy — very unpleasant.  Some people try to sail through this band; most are happy to motor through it as quickly as possible.  Last comes another downwind run in the Southeast Trades to a landfall at Hiva Oa in the Marquesas.

Our first time through the Doldrums was simply awful.  We had constant heavy rain showers with strong winds, and dead air in between.  We were constantly reefing and unreefing the sails, closing all the ports with each shower, then sweltering inside until we could open them again when the squall passed.  This went on for four days.  We had bad memories.  This time, with more experience and better weather information, we had a better strategy.  We cruised southwest in the Northeast Trades, watching the weather reports each day for the Doldrums to the south.  When we saw what looked like a light spot in the Doldrums, we zigged south-southeast a bit to cross there, and were rewarded with a very mellow crossing:  hardly a squall, mostly fine weather.  What we didn't plan on was not having much of any wind for several succeeding days — mostly sunny, beautiful weather, but very little wind. At one point, we were flying clouds of sail, and only doing two knots.  You can walk casually faster than that.  Oh well, it was still much nicer than the first time.

Time has a different meaning on a sea voyage.  On land, one marks the passage of the days by work, school, evening and weekend activities, etc.  At sea, there are none of these markers.  There are isolated events like seeing a pod of dolphins, or chatting on the radio with a tuna-boat skipper out of Mexico, but there is nothing to keep them ordered other than a written log, and much undifferentiated time in between.  After the first few days, one gets used to the daily rhythm of watches, meals, sleep, after which it is difficult to even count the passing days.  Towards the end of the passage, though, one begins to “smell the barn”, and begins to calculate the number of days before landfall.  The calculations are always wrong, though; it always takes longer.

But then, at dawn of the twenty-sixth day, when the sky has lightened enough to see the horizon, there it is, land.  As the day gets brighter and you sail further along, what was at first just a hazy smudge becomes more defined.  You begin to see texture, then color, then you’re cruising along a rugged coast to a tiny little harbor, tucked in behind a breakwater.  And there you are, in French Polynesia, in the South Pacific.

The Marquesas comprise a half-dozen major islands, plus a number of minor ones.  Oriented more or less in a line from Fatu Hiva in the southeast to Nuku Hiva to the northwest, and lying entirely within the Southeast Trades, there is definitely an upwind and a downwind direction.  The town of Atuona, on the island of Hiva Oa, is the most upwind port of entry, so everyone goes there first. Unfortunately, the harbor here is small and rolly.  After those three weeks or so at sea, you come in past that breakwater to find yourself having to anchor cheek by jowl in a shoe box.  Here’s how it works.  You wind your way through the crowd, watching that you don’t snag any stern anchor rodes, looking for a spot you can fit.  Then you make a second pass, with both stern and bow anchors ready to run.  You squeeze between two boats (not quite literally, but almost), drop your stern anchor while motoring forward, run out all of your stern rode, then drop your bow anchor.  Paying out forward anchor rode while taking in stern rode, you settle back between your two anchors, hoping you got it right.  We settled in a little closer to another boat than we felt comfortable with, so we deployed a third anchor off to the opposite side to pull us away a little further.

We quickly begin to meet the crews on the other boats, an international and interesting crowd.  We go through the entry formalities with the Gendarme -- very pleasant fellow, even jovial -- but a time-consuming process.  Laundry, phone calls (major hassle here), internet (even worse), fresh food, etc.  Atuona isn't a place to linger, and after almost a week there, we were glad to be off again to begin really cruising.

Next stop, Tahuata  -- next blog entry.

BODY ART IN UA HUKA

This the first time we've had a really good internet connection since leaving Mexico.  I'll be posting a number of times over the next couple of days before we move on.  They won't be in any particular order, so here goes ...

I found myself scarcely believing where I was or what I was doing.  I had only met this man the day before, sharing with him the more salient parts of my life story and my values, in broken French.  I knew nothing about him other than he was recommended by one person for tattoos on this island.  The only instructions I gave him for the design were to use traditional Marquesan symbols to interpret that story and those values as he saw fit.  Now, I was past the point of no return, having placed my confidence in his art.  He told me yesterday that he wanted to think about what I had told him, and draw out a design for the next morning, when we had arranged to meet.  I had expected him to present me with such a drawing, for my approval, but he did not.  He had a sketch showing the upper and lower borders, and only one of presumably several motifs.  But he said nothing about his plan, and I asked no questions.  Having seen this done on another island recently, I also expected that he would draw out the entire design on my arm before starting to ink it in.  He did not do this either, but only drew a few guide lines.  I had made up my mind to accept what he created, and he began.

Having heard several other cruisers describe their experience with local tattoos, I expected only a little discomfort.  I have a pretty high pain threshold, but the process was surprisingly painful.  The outside part of the armband wasn’t too bad, but I was all too happy when he finished the part on the inside of my upper left arm.

Robyn and I both felt immediately yesterday when we met Daniel, that he was the right person, and this was the right time and place.  We had talked about Marquesan tattoos for over a decade, ever since we were here last.  Tattoos originated in Polynesia, and many people consider the Marquesan tradition the best, being highly stylized and symbolic.  Art, per se, is all well and good, and some tattoos are high art, but I’ve never been interested in being a canvas.  It is the symbolism that appeals to me.  Anyway, we chickened out back then, but decided that if we found the right person, we would do it this time.  Getting a tattoo was totally out of character for me.  I have never understood why someone would do that.  Now I do, at least for me.

So, now it’s done, and I’m pleased with Daniel’s interpretation.  The upper border of the armband represents mountains, which have been a major factor in my life.  The lower border represents the sea, of obvious significance.  Around the band are five major motifs, each separated by a repeated small one representing sea foam.  One motif traditionally represents a good spirit looking down from high above, seeing all, or for me, the time I spent as a pilot.  Another represents family.  Another, a tortoise, which is found everywhere around the world.  A manta ray is flying through the water as I sail over it, and last is one representing me as a navigator.

I should say something about Daniel Naudin himself.  We were extremely lucky to stumble on him, as he is one of French Polynesia’s premier artists.  Having traveled widely, he combines traditional and modern ideas and methods from around the world.  Mostly traditional in orientation, though, his wood and bone carvings are extremely intricate, ranging from large furniture pieces to tiny jewelry.  He is widely renowned for those carvings, and has has been invited to submit works to an exhibition of French Polynesia’s master artists.  He has received commissions from heads of state.  He was selected to build the major structures for a regional exhibition site.  His house and grounds could serve as an art gallery.  Leafing through photo albums of his work simply left us in awe.  More locally, he is the man to see for a tattoo on Ua Huka, which is where I came in.  Besides all that, Daniel is a really cool guy, very friendly, and has a great sense of humor.  Meeting him is the high point of our voyage thus far.

Off into the Sunset

Robyn was in Minnesota the past week.  After 95 years of a life well lived, her father passed away peacefully, at home.  We were in cellphone and internet range, near an international airport, and she was able to be with her mom and the rest of the family two days later.  A blessing, when you consider how far we can be from communication, let alone fast international transportation.  

She returned yesterday, and we are checking out of Mexico in a couple of hours. After the formalities at the marina here, we’ll go out to an anchorage for a couple of days to do some chores before we put to sea.  That’ll most likely be on Saturday.  The passage to the Marquesas would normally take about three weeks, but the predictions call for very light winds for all of next week, so it’ll likely take longer.  Whatever.  We’ll get there when we get there.

One of the chores I have to do before setting off is to clean the hull again.  It’s amazing how fast stuff grows on it in the tropics, especially with worn-out anti-fouling paint.  The scrubbing I did a few weeks ago in Tenacatita just about killed me, but as Robyn was in the States last week, I took the opportunity for her to bring down a hookah for me.  That’s not quite what you might think at first.  In this context, a hookah supplies compressed air from the surface to a diver in the water.  Wahoo!  No more holding my breath while scrubbing the hull!  I expect the hookah will turn a heinous job into a merely unpleasant one.

Here’s a thought experiment for you to try.  Plan all the food you will need for the next month — can’t count on refrigeration, though.  Picture this mountain of cans and boxes and bags, then imagine how you would organize it in a small RV so that you can find whatever you need while your partner is swerving wildly on a mountain road.  Oh, and you have to carry it all back from the grocery store on a local bus.  Good luck.

There are two constants in long-distance cruising on a boat — you’re always lost, and you’re always leaving.  By the time you’ve learned your way around in some place you’re visiting, it’s time to leave.  Well, we’ve learned our way around Puerto Vallarta pretty well now, so I guess it’s time to leave.

I’ll post again in the Marquesas.

Whale's Tail Video

I set the video to public, so it's viewable now.

You Tube Video of Whale in Banderas Bay

I uploaded a video to You Tube that our crew, Deb Custer, shot as we were sailing out of Banderas Bay recently, enroute to Tenacatita.  This whale gave us a real show.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KS8RYt_xbpk&feature=c4-overview&list=UU9MkwlZ4C-FD4npqcTn7Vfw

LIFE RAFT DRILL

Last Monday, we had the opportunity to practice with a liferaft.  Until then, I just took it on faith that it would inflate if we launched it, and that we would manage to get in, separate from the sinking boat, etc.  The marina here has been sponsoring seminars for the “Puddle Jumpers”, and did this one about launching a liferaft, righting it if it inflated inverted, getting in, etc.  

The way it works is like this.  The raft is packaged in either a fiberglass canister for deck storage or in a zippered canvas valise for below deck storage.  As an absolute last resort (i.e. the boat is going down), you throw the canister or valise overboard (it floats, and it should already be tied to the boat with a long line), then you jank hard on the line to actuate the inflator.  If it inflates upside down (this one did), you have to flip it over (no easy task, but doable).  Then you have to climb in, which is also not so easy.  I’m leaving out a host of details, but you get the idea.

Robyn and I were quick on the draw when asked for volunteers.  We jumped in, righted the raft, and climbed in — no problem.  I just hope that if it ever happens for real, the water is just as calm as the harbor.  Actually, after we got out of the water and watched others making an attempt, I was struck by the thought that so much of what Robyn and I have done in life has prepared us for meeting this challenge, should it appear.  I certainly hope it doesn’t, and will continue to be diligent in our preparations, but we will be as ready as possible if it does.

We are on track for a departure next week, probably on Friday or Saturday, the 14th or 15th.

TENACATITA

The day after we came back to the boat from Minnesota, Eitan came for a visit.  It was great to have him on the boat again.  He was only here for five days, but we went out to some local islands for snorkeling, as well as just enjoying being together again on Mintaka.  The day after he left, our friends Deb and Jim Custer, who we met on a street corner in Papeete on our last Pacific crossing, came for a visit.  They had more time, and were keen on sailing, so we went down the coast to an old favorite anchorage, Tenacatita Bay.  Dear friends that we’ve known even longer, Darrell and Rita Moquist on the boat Overheated, had been spending the winter there, so we got to spend some quality time with them, too.

We were in Tenacatita once before, just before we sailed west to French Polynesia eleven years ago.  Robyn flew north for some work while Eitan and I stayed at anchor there for just over a month.  I had fond memories of that time, and was looking forward to being there again, especially with such dear friends.

Leaving the marina here in La Cruz on February 20th, we had a nice beat across the bay towards Cabo Corrientes and the open sea southward, and a special treat from a whale along the way.  Whales are common here.  We’ve hardly ever moved on the bay without seeing at least one, and they often breach or slap their tales or just swim along on the surface inspiring awe.  This one, though, kept slapping his tail over and over again, close enough to our path to make me a little nervous.  Mostly, though, I was enthralled by the performance.

We lost the wind as we doubled the cape into the open sea, and wound up motoring most of the remaining ninety miles to Tenacatita, but no matter.  It’s beautiful out there.  Tenacatita is idyllic:  a protected bay with a secure anchorage, a long white sand beach, a palapa restaurant.  The last time there, I played bocci ball on the beach with other cruisers every day for over thirty days.  I only played once this trip, opting for time with friends, instead, but I thoroughly enjoyed the game.  There were quite a few other boats there, and on most days, a group swims to the beach from one of the boats.  We did that a couple of times — those are pretty long swims —  followed by a long walk down the beach, and a cool drink at the palapa.

Landing the dinghy on the beach there involves timing the surf.  Mostly, the surf was easy to get in and out through, but I picked the wrong moment to row out one day and got quite a wild, wet ride.  Didn’t roll it over, but the breaking wave did fill the dinghy.  Great fun!

The return trip back here to La Cruz was a little disappointing from a sailing point of view (not much wind, so we motored almost all the way), but it was still beautiful.  Motoring on a still, flat sea tends to become a wildlife tour, too, as the stillness allows one to see things that would be missed with more of a sea running.  This time we counted fourteen turtles, besides a half dozen or so rays.

Deb and Jim left us here in La Cruz, moving on to other adventures, and we are now in the final stages of preparing for the “Pacific Puddle Jump”.  We are expecting to depart Mexico for the Marquesas in about a week, a passage that will probably take us three weeks, more or less.  We’ve made some friends here that are doing the same thing, and are enjoying the comraderie that comes with a shared adventure.  I’ll try to write about these preparations before we head off next week