Author Archives: Erlin

Fakarava is Fakaraving Amazing

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So… I wasn’t complaining in my last post about the first atoll we visited, just mentioning I had maybe expected a bit more vibrancy underwater. That disappointment? GONE! We had another stress free entry through the Southern pass into the Fakarava lagoon, coming in on a flood tide and no real waves. Once we were anchored Jeff and Melody caught up with their friend on Kiapa whom we had been trying to connect with since our arrival in the South Pacific.

Pleasantries exchanged, we piled in dinghies along with four young cruisers on Cariba and headed out to the pass for some snorkeling. After some discussion we decided to drift through the pass while holding the dinghy painters and we all splashed in. The water was deep and clear, so clear I could see a reef shark contrasted against a patch of sand 40 feet below (rough guess on the depth, judging distance underwater is less than an exact science). After watching for awhile I decided the shark didn’t seem to interested in visiting and I was starting to get distracted by the coral reef. Very distracted.

I will admit that I haven’t dove in some of the worlds famous dive spots, but it is hard to imagine they are more spectacular than the south pass of Fakarava. We swam along with a shallow shelf if coral on our right, that extended a hundred or so feet from shore than plunged down about 40 feet (again, rough guess). There was an explosion of life, color and coral. Small fish, big fish, a huge fish, long skinny fish, fat fish, slow fish, quick fish, oh and did I mention more sharks? And then there was coral in so many shapes and sizes, from blobs looking like brains of the sea to small tufts that looked like deciduous tree in the winter. All with fish teaming over, around and in it. I kept kicking myself over my decision not to stop and get a waterproof camera on the drive down to Mexico. Either that or I was clipping my leg with the my fin every time I spun around to check for a shark trying to sneak up behind me. Either way there was some self kicking going on.

We stayed in the water for a couple hours, working our way along the bank and admiring the teaming life all the way. We finally climbed back into the dinghy, pruned, a bit tired, exhilarated and relieved at our lack of shark bites. I do jest – the black tip reef sharks aren’t very interested in people, but while I was swimming by one it spun around and we made eye contact. Even knowing this is not a dangerous shark, that moment was still just a wee bit unsettling. No, it was not a wee bit water warming – just a reminder you are in there world now, and don’t you forget it. I also didn’t forget the gills are the sensitive spot and may have had a fist ready just in case that shark needed a beat down.

The day was completed with a beach party potluck set in motion by Cariba, who generously shared seared Ahi and sashimi from their 70 lb Tuna catch. Thanks! Other dishes completed the meal, along with drinks, sailor tales swapped and finally an impromptu closest to the pin Bocci Ball game with glow in the dark Bocci Balls. I sense an addition to the entertainment cargo Ventured carries.

The next morning we took a deep breath and set sail for the northern end of Fakarava. While the average depth was 90’ or so, there were occasional coral heads that lurk inches beneath the surface. These show up as yellow-brown spots in the water, and where we were sailing most of them seemed to be well charted. And sometimes they pop up at alarmingly rapid speeds, especially when sailing at 8+ knots. And then there are the pearl farm buoys, basketball sized orbs floating in the water, sometimes rather low and not all the neon colors I would paint them. Try spotting a half submerged black ball 100 yards ahead of you in wave rippled water – while rushing towards it.

That said – it was amazing sailing. The wind was up, and the water was flat because we were in a lagoon – granted a 40 mile long lagoon that is also 12 miles wide. It is so big we quickly lost sight of the mast of the 131’ sailboat we anchored next too. This mast was so tall when the lights came on at night I was snickering at them for leaving their tri-color light on rather than switching to their anchor light until I realized they had a red all around light at the top of their mast as an airplane warning. Snickering stopped. Especially since they are the first boat I’ve seen actually using an anchor ball. The crew is apparently on top of things which is for the best since the thong bikinis clad young ladies on board are probably distracting the owner.

We’ve now been anchored near the village and north pass for a couple days, doing some shore exploring and boat socializing. And did I mention there is Internet here? So yeah – there may be some time spent with that too. Some of it even productively as I now have my ticket home booked. So if you are in Seattle and looking forward to seeing me, your wait it almost over!

A Lagoon in a Lagoon

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After 3700 miles of sailing (mostly – honest!) the Lagoon is anchored in a true South Pacific lagoon. And it seems right at home. We arrived at Kauehi timed for our calculated slack tide, but we must not have used enough fairy dust in our calculations because there was some current. It didn’t look bad, and it was running into the lagoon with us, so we dropped the sails and powered in. Our arrival also coincided with the midday sun, which is best for looking down into the water for coral heads that rise up from the bottom, blissfully unaware of the vile damage they can do to the bottom of a boat.

Melody and I stood on opposite bows and scanned the water. My dreams of crystal clear water were somewhat shattered – I could make out the bottom in shallows but it wasn’t the visibility I expected. We worked our way to a corner of the lagoon that had been recommended as a good anchorage, only spotting a couple coral heads lurking at surface depth along the way. Of more concern considering my plans to swim were the two large jellyfish I spotted. They scared the piss out of me, which I kept for later in case I did get stung.

Once we reached the anchorage area we were able to see dark spots of coral contrasting with light patches of sand on the bottom, although depths of the coral were very difficult to judge. With some tentative poking around dodging dark spots we found a nice sand spot and touched our anchor down for the first time in the Tuamotus. We took some time to admire the low, small palm and vegetation covered motus that made up the outer ring of the lagoon and celebrated our arrival with some blended fresh mango and banana rum punch.

With a little rum bolstering my courage a dove in and swam to a coral head rising to fifteen feet below the surface about a short distance from the stern of the boat. It was teaming with tropical fishes and various shapes of coral poking out at the odd location. Jeff then took me near shore in the dinghy, and I explored underwater a bit more before swimming back to the boat, thankfully jellyfish encounter free. There were numerous fish, but as with the water clarity, it wasn’t quite as amazing as I had expected. Still, we were pretty impressed with the scenery, above and below the water.

After three nights under passage with all the sail changes and dodge squalls, we were all on the tired side and Kauehi provided the quietest, flattest anchorage we’ve been in so far, the perfect backdrop for some serious snoring. We all drank deeply of sleeps magic elixir, pleased with our arrival in the Tuamotus, and awed with the new surroundings and the flat, almost eerie calm of the Lagoon.

Buoy racing to the Tuamotus

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Since leaving the Marquesas to sail to the Tuamotus, we have sailed with main and jib sails (three times or so if the count is accurate,) the Parasailor spinnaker (twice,) the main and code zero headsail (once,) in what essentially feels like a buoy race if your measure is sail changes. However, unlike a buoy race were you sail in a big circle, we have kept essentially the same heading while sailing dead down wind, up wind, and on a reach. Last night we had to douse the spinnaker at 3:00 am as our choices were: Drop the sail and raise the main and jib, continue a course for Tahiti (not our current destination) or gibe and sail back to the Marquesas. Currently we are in a decidedly non race sail configuration – the sails tucked securely away while we motor through squalls that could damage the sails if the wind speed caught us with our figurative pants down or more literal sails up. We have covered about 320 of the 500 miles we need to travel to reach the Kauehi atoll we picked as our destination. This atoll has a wide pass through the coral reef ringing the lagoon, and is close to Fakarava which we need to arrive at in a week to pick up new crew, and disgorge old crew (me). Fakarava consists of Motus (low lying islands) ringing a 40 mile long lagoon, so even if we arrive a few days early there should be plenty of atoll to explore while waiting for flights to and from Papeete where an international airport provides service to and from the mainland – via Hawaii in my case. If we can continue the current pace, either via motor or with a return to sailing and yet another sail hoist (on the plus side we are getting lots of practice) we should arrive at Kauehi tomorrow morning. We’ll still have to navigate to the far side of the atoll to reach the pass, and since transit of a pass lined with coral is best done midday with bright overhead sunlight hopefully our timing will work out well. Although with still 180 miles to go and the variety of wind and weather we’ve experienced, maybe it is just best to arrive first and worry about the timing when we get there. Especially since the overhead sunlight is only one factor for transiting a pass. There are also the tides, wind speed, wind direction, duration of wind speed and direction and I’m thinking maybe another offering to Neptune. While one would assume that the tides, easily predictable in the rest of the world would remain predictable here, one would be wrong. Tide information is a bit sketchy to begin with, and factor ing conditions like strong wind driving waves over the low motus forming the rim of a lagoon and wind blowing the opposite direction of the tide. You can end up with a prediction of a flood tide running into a lagoon, and the reality of water flowing out instead as the excess sea pushed over the motu by the waves seeks to escape back to its more normal level. Meanwhile, the wind running contrary to this tidal flow can cause standing waves in the passes, which are often narrow and shallow with coral heads and reefs lurking inches under the surface ready to punish you for a slight navigation error. A fellow cruiser had developed a tide estimator that involves a multiplier from a known point (even though different sources for this point have different data). You multiply the NOAA data based on your longitude compared to the known point to receive an APPROXIMATE (their caps) time of slack tide. Then to calculate the current, you figure a few variables, such as adding 1 knot for every day the wind has been blowing over 20 knots from the south or west (easy to figure when you’ve just arrived, of course) or add .5 knots for every

Leaving the Marquesas, eventually

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We have taken up residence here at Ua Pao. We may have spent more nights here than in any anchorage so far, but figuring that out for sure would involve more effort then I feel like making right now. By the time we leave I’m pretty sure this will be our longest stop. Not that it is a bad stop to make, but then, none of the stops have been bad. It is an odd situation where each anchorage hasn’t been better than the last, or worse, but just continually amazing in different ways.

A local youth is intrigued by my camera. Or my red hair,

We are hanging out at this anchorage waiting for wind to sail 450 miles to the Tuamotu islands. Despite being in the area known for steady trade winds, there has been a period of calm winds between here and there. I guess this is the equivalent of sailing at home where you always get wind blowing right at you if try to sail up and down Puget Sound (if there is wind). Ua Poa is the closest island in the Marquesas for jumping off to the Tuamotus which is why we picked it to do our waiting, and also because we heard the town here was a little different then some of the others we have visited.

A rare view, worth getting up at 6:00 am (ish) to catch

So far the town has proved to be a delight, with more streets and gardens than anything we’ve encountered previously. The harbor is relatively small, and frequently echoing with the shrieks of children playing, while youths in outrigger canoes make endless circles with the cast of paddlers changing every few laps. The most interesting feature of the bay are the large volcanic cones rising behind the town, one of them topping all other peaks in the Marquesas at just over 4,000 feet. At least, this would be the most interesting feature if they were not almost constantly collecting the clouds that blow by to hide themselves as if they were the shiest creatures in nature. But with much persistence luck I managed to get a few pictures of them standing proudly in all of their splendor. I keep scanning what I can see of these peaks with the binoculars, waiting to see a couple hobbits climbing them with the intent of throwing the one ring to rule them all into a fiery pit at their base.

There is actually a house behind all this landscaping.

Probably not as good as Mom’s. Sorry d’acucy.

Yesterday the local freighter Aranui 3 passed through and tied up to the pier, a rather delicate maneuver for such a large ship in a small bay, assisted by large dinghies running dock lines helter skelter across the bay to secure the boat from movement. The town mustered for the event, laying out tables of crafts and food to sell to the few passengers traveling on the boat, and loading shipping containers and steel baskets with stalks of tallied bananas, gunny sacks of various other produce and cases of empty beer bottles being returned for refilling (unbelievably, not one of them was emptied by me). While not the most scenic event we’ve witnessed on this trip, it was something different and no one stopped us from wandering around the bustling pier, dodging forklifts carrying loads to the ship’s crane to be hoisted aboard. We all perused the wares spread out by the local craftspeople, figuring it was our last change to shop there in the Marquesas. We’ve heard this is the best place to shop as most of the crafts are made here, and will be more expensive when imported to Papeete on the island of Tahiti.

No scrimping on the lines holding the bow in place.

Unloading so they can load the ship.

Hard hat – check. One hand for the wheel, one for the cigarette – check. Open toed sandals – check. OSHA’s model worker.

And not one of them emptied by me.

We have also walked through the local town a few times, which almost has city blocks. Many of the houses have walls of flowers facing the street, and are either growing or drying long strands of moss hanging from trees and fences. Of course, fruit trees dot the yards, and we often walked under branches of mango trees overhanging the road, with the fruit dangling in front of our faces calling out to be picked. We found fresh baked chocolate croissants at one of the local stores, a first for our visit to these islands. The church features a pulpit carved to the shape of a ships bow, which I find to be a rather interesting religious symbol (although maybe not as odd as the wood carved door with panels featuring a sinking ship and a stoning). The base is more wood carving of a net full of fish, reptiles and Marquesan symbols. We even happened by in time to catch some locals singing beautifully for a Sunday evening Mass.

Does this church have a priest or a captain?

This is not inspiring me to worship.

We have also spent a couple evenings a local eatery, where I turned somewhat boring and ate Poisson Cru both nights. It is bite size chunks of fish cooked in lime, then soaked in coconut milk with some bits of tomato, onion and cucumber mixed in. I found it so tasty the first time nothing on the menu the second night sounded better, and eating it does adhere to my rule of eating local cuisine when possible. America being an exception, the local cuisine is usually far better then any ethnic cuisine in a country, such as tacos being much more delicious in Mexico then the Chinese food we tried at several places.

Melody examines the local handiwork.

While we were given the report for a scenic four hour hike to the next village by the crew of Bravo, we’ve turned a bit lazy. It is brutally hot and humid in the middle of the day, and we’ve had several hikes in those conditions and aren’t relishing another. And while these islands are a delight with unimaginable scenery and friendly people who are quick to wave, offer you a ride or provide you with their excess bounty of fruit, we are mentally ready for the next step. We came to this island knowing it would be the last stop and have enjoyed it, but the intrigue of Tuamotus with their clear lagoons, coral reefs and flat atolls have us ready to experience something new.

I’ll have the express experience, as once we reach an atoll with an airport I’ll head home, giving Jeff and Melody a few days on their own before they host friends who are flying in to visit and help sail Double Diamond to Tahiti. I’m sure I’ll be sad to leave South Pacific, but I’m excited to get home to catch up with family and friends, see Minion again and hopefully put some much needed funds in the cruising kitty for this fall. Oh, and try to select, edit and post a few photographs out of a rather extensive batch I’ve collected over the last few weeks!

A quick photo gallery

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I’ve been having a hard time keeping up with pictures as I’m taking them too fast to sort, edit and publish, plus I’m often on limited internet so I haven’t been weaving them into my posts as I prefer to do. So, while I have a moment, here are a few random shots from the last week or so that hopefully will be enjoyed.

The young local performing a flip off the sea wall.

And yet we swim almost daily.

Performing for a cruise ship that arrived on Nuka Hiva.

This cow had some things to say as we hiked by.

I think she is giving me a gang sign. I hope I don’t start any turf wars.

One off the bucket list, I opened a coconut with my bare hands. Well, and also with a pocketknife and a rock. But mostly my bare hands.

Toy boat, learning about outrigger canoes at an early age.

From a bay during a road trip across Nuka Hiva.

One of many churches we’ve encountered.

One of the biggest trees I’ve seen in my life.

The classic anchorage from high up photo. No sailing blog is complete with out one, or a dozen.

Nuka Hiva, Survivor style

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We are currently anchored in Daniel’s Bay, so named for a long term local named Daniel that apparently has moved on between the writing of our guide book and our visit. While this bay has much to offer on it’s own, it is most famous (at least among the American cruisers) for being the location of a season of the television show Survivor. After hiking through the fruit laden valley near the bay yesterday, I think anyone who couldn’t survive here might not deserve to. But then I’ve always suspected these shows were rather rigged and now I have even stronger suspicions.

On Friday, we joined Deborah and Andy from Murar’s Dream for a hike to a waterfall at the head of the valley. We tried to get a reasonable early start to beat the afternoon heat. Also because we had been informed that at 4:00 pm the cows come to the beach, and apparently have a distaste for dinghies and might gore our inflatable with their horns. This seemed like a pretty strong reason to be back before 4:00 pm, maybe even a little earlier just in case the cows came home ahead of schedule. Probably for the better we missed the warning that we needed to be off the trail by about the same time because the wild boars start to attack. I guess beautiful scenery comes with its own set of hazards, however unique.

Despite the dangers, known and unknown, our hike was nothing short of spectacular. After landing the dinghy (and avoiding stepping on any sea urchins, another warning based on sailors experience a couple days earlier), walking for ten minutes and wading across the first of six total stream crossings (three each way) we arrived on the valley floor and encountered the most active, happy Marquesian we’ve seen yet. In between heaving what looked to be 100 lb sacks of produce into his dilapidated truck sans drivers door, he chatted with us in broken English, showed us his rebar contraption to husk coconuts and shared the inside with us, and gave us all a fresh bananas. He had impressive tattoos including a war club from belly button to the top of his sternum. All done, he explained, in the traditional method. What is that, you may ask? The ink was pounded into his skin with a sharks tooth. I’m quite happy this chap was friendly, because honestly I would be scared of him if he took a dislike to me. Happily he seemed to enjoy visiting with us, smiling despite the wool hat he had on in temperatures that already produced the familiar sheen of sweat on me. He showed us how to smear coconut meat on our bodies as an insect repellent with the explanation “No no-nos,” referring to the small biting insects we are constantly worried about. Since we had some powerful DEET repellent I stuck with western methods although I wouldn’t be surprised if his method worked just as well and left you smelling significantly more fragrant.

We continued inland, walking through farmland. Just my guess, but a lot of the fruits grown here probably supply the town we had been anchored at the day before. While not exactly laid out like a traditional farms I‘ve been on, there was obvious organized agriculture going on. Probably not hard when fruit trees grow like weeds, but it made us wonder with the past large populations of these islands how long ago they developed agriculture.

As signs of the current civilization faded, we encountered signs of the past civilization. Stone walls and platforms dotted the jungle. At times the trail was supported by rock walls as high as ten feet, built with large boulders. Of course, there were no placards with information about the ruins, so far all we knew they could be a few years old but our suspicion was they were much older. We finally cleared the heavy jungle trail, which was dotted with fallen flowers and a small purple fruit which we could hear hitting the ground like small bombs when a breeze stirred the trees. We were in a canyon with steep 1000 foot plus high cliffs, and now the trail was dotted with small darting lizards, that I mostly identified by their tails disappearing into the foliage.

This turned out to be a hike about the journey, not the destination as there wasn’t much of a waterfall that was hidden from view anyway. Instead we enjoyed the birds soaring above us, the steep cliffs and lush ground cover glowing in the sunlight. We snacked and enjoyed the view which sadly just didn’t lend itself to great pictures between the scale and lighting of the location. Finally, with the memory of the warnings about the cows ringing in our ears we started back down the trail.

We encountered another friendly local on the way down, again despite his appearance. He sported dreadlocks, traditional tattoos, and his blue jumpsuit was tied around his waist. He gave us directions to the river which was rumored to have a swimming hole, something that sounded quite refreshing to all of us. He seemed to think we had not quite understand his directions, so he followed us down to the river. We didn’t see a swimming hole, but inquired if it was okay to wade here. He responded it was not, and peered into the water, then reached and pulled out a small snail with a barb on the top of the shell. Of course, now that I knew about these I promptly stepped on one during our next stream crossing which I had been doing barefoot. I’m not sure which was worse, the snail or the lesson I learned about hat brims, peripheral vision and low hanging branches when I boulder hopped across on of the stream crossing rather than wading like everyone else.

Finally we arrived back out our dinghy, unscathed by bovine horns. It was quite a day of hiking, but worth every sore muscle. We even managed to recover enough for a cocktail hour with Adam and Cindy from Bravo, a Seattle based boat I hadn’t crossed paths with till the Marquesas. We very likely met before as they have also done some Whidbey Island Race weeks. It was a fun way to wrap up the evening and pick up some inspiration for my continued cruising as they had sailed as far south as Ecuador and really enjoyed it.

To wrap up our visit the next morning, we deployed a flotilla of three kayaks and two paddle boards. The bay has a couple lobes and the once we rounded the point into the other lobe, we paddled over a bar crossing into a lagoon fed by the river we had crossed countless (okay six since I already mentioned it) times the day before. The lagoon was spectacular, clear cold water with cliffs in the background climbing into to the sky. I wouldn’t have been surprised if a teradactyl flew over head, or even if, despite a complete lack of monkeys on the island, King Kong crashed out of the vegetation. If I knew in advance a three hour tour would strand me here, I just might still get on the boat.

Paddling complete after a little more adventurous trip into the waves back over the bar, we put everything away and decided we still had time for the trip to the next island. It was only 25 miles, and turned out to be a motored trip with the jib out for a slight speed boost. We are now on Ua Pao (think Wahoo! with a P) and waiting for wind to head for the Tuamotus. The forecast isn’t looking good, but we are at least anchored out front of a town that based on our quick trip ashore last night merits further exploration. Further information to come as we explore.

One, two, three Strikes. But we aren’t out!

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After swimming with a Manta Ray, the next stop probably wasn’t going provide a more spectacular experience. But we had to move on and find out, so we sailed to small village on the same island. Jeff, Melody and I went ashore and were greeted by a few locals with their handicrafts spread across some small tables. After inspecting their wares, we walked down the road along the waterfront, only to have water from the skies force under a handy shelter we just happened to be strolling by. Our experience had been that rain comes and goes pretty quickly here, but this heavy rainfall settled in. After waiting about 20 minutes and watching several other cruiser shore parties slog by we gave up and ventured forth. We are from the Pacific Northwest after all, if rain was going to kill us we would all be long gone.

What we saw of the village was worth getting wet for. Next to the ever present village church we found an ruins from earlier Marquesan society, stone platforms set behind the local cemetery with levels working their way back into the jungle. We carefully picked our way over large wet stones forming the remains of a time long gone by, with fruit and other trees now sprouting from the remains. There were no signs or guides, just the rocks and our imagination to tell us the history of the location. Sadly by time we had finally started exploring dusk was quickly approaching and while we wanted to explore further, it was time to head back to the boat. With the heavy rainfall and fading gray light, I kept the camera in a dry bag in my pack, and will have to remember this village without photos. While we liked the village, we wished we had more light and less rain for our explorations.

It was time to bid Tuahuatu goodbye, so the next morning the anchor was hauled early and we were off for Ua Poa, an island 50 miles north of us and our first stop in the northern island group. This island proved to be a bust for us as well. The first anchorage was a small circle at the end of a channel between to rocky cliffs. A small town known for its woodcarvings awaited our visit, but the cozy confines of the anchorage and the swell rolling into the bay didn’t feel right for leaving the boat unattended. Up came the anchor (I’m growing spoiled by an electric windlass) and around to the next anchorage via a small island wear locals collect Tern eggs. The description of their fishy flavor led us to pass on trying to collect some of our own, but the site of hundreds of birds soaring around the island was impressive.

By the time we arrived at the bay, it was approaching dark, so we held on any shore excursions. The morning we woke up closer to shore than we had anchored, indicating we were dragging a bit, and that convinced us not to try the hike from the bay back to the town we and originally anchored by. We were also missing out on a botanical garden along the way. Frequent off an on rain showers have also dampened our spirits for hiking and even general day to day activities.

It is disappointing to sail 2800 miles and visit an island without being able to explore it, but the weather and conditions have to rule the decision making process. It isn’t the first time I have cut a visit to and anchorage short, and I’m pretty sure it won’t be the last time. And so I don’t end on a negative note, we have been on Fatu Hiva for a few days, the sun has returned, and there has been plenty of time ashore. I’ll try to catch up with our adventures soon!

Pictures!

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The first round of pictures – a few from the road trip to Mexico and our passage to the Marquesas. Sorry about the small thumbnails but it much easier to post this way with third world internet access. Clicking on an image should bring up a slideshow viewer with larger images. And after several attempts to get all the captions to save, I’m giving up so make up your own in the comment field. I’ll try to get some island pictures up next.

Moving around the Marquesas

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We have been visiting anchorages faster then I can write about them. Not that this is a horrible problem to have, but I’m sure it is tough on my readers who are expecting frequent updates. We are now in our 4th anchorage since I last posted. So, onto the details!

We finally managed to quit staring at the scenery at Hanavave Bay (the aforementioned Bay of Virgins) and took the dinghy ashore for some exploring. The town spread back from the water, with small side streets branching off the main street running up the valley away from the water. This appears to be a very typical layout for the towns, a central cement street in the middle of the town. As far as I can tell, they do not use the concept of city blocks in in their towns. And has also proved the norm, the town was clean and well kept. Sure, you can find a bit of litter if you look for it, but the villages are tidy and many of the houses have landscaped yards. Somehow I had it in my mind that there would just be clearings in the jungle with a home in the middle of them, but most houses have both decorative and fruit bearing plants in the yard. Another surprise is the amount of newer 4wd vehicles, mostly Toyota and Mazda pickups with the occasional Range Rover thrown in. While my island tour on dirt roads and the frequency of rainfall explain the 4wd, the recent vintage and amount of vehicles is unexpected.

I made these observations as we hiked up to a waterfall, which while quite high was more of a water running down a mossy cliff than an actual waterfall. Probably more interesting to us than the waterfall were the fresh water prawns and eel that we saw in the pool at the base of cliff. The eel was probably 18 inches long, and not as shy as expected. Melody dipped a waterproof camera underwater to take a picture and it swam towards her, and later caught Cassie off guard by slithering over her foot which was actually out of the water.

Once we exited the jungle we continued to walk up the valley on the paved road. The next village lay 10 miles away by road, and the word in the anchorage was to hire a local dinghy to take us the 3 miles via water to the village and hike back, as the road gains elevation at a more gentle rate in that direction. But since no one seemed eager to test their French, we just started walking towards the town of Omoa and quickly found out what a more aggressive elevation gain meant. Burning quads. Still, our relentless climb soon brought us views of the town we had walked through, followed by the anchorage and even Hiva Oa in the distance. We finally walked out to a radio tower on one of the ridges and felt like that was enough of an accomplishment and turned back. Shortly after a pickup truck drove by heading the same direction, slowed and stopped and after an exchange of Bon Jours, we climbed in the back in part because the driver seemed to expect us to, and in part because walking down a steep hill isn’t really much easier than walking up.

After a pretty sound nights sleep on all our parts, we headed to Omao by boat the next morning. Apparently some construction has been done since our guide book had been written as we were warned of a difficult beach landing so we were happy to find a breakwater and easy dinghy landing, actually quite modern with solar powered street lights. We were looking for the local craft, cloth made out of bark named Tapas. Our timing was a little off since we were there on a Sunday in a predominantly Catholic community, but after a little asking around some women led us to a house and the handicrafts started appearing. I think several of the women went to their homes to bring some samples of their work in hopes of a sale. While I found a couple kitties with some beautiful markings a bit more interesting, some of the Tapas and hand carved bowls and Tikis were worth viewing. The Tapas have patterns, similar to the Marquesian tattoos, some abstract and some with recognizable items such as dolphins or sharks.

We proceeded to walk up the road through the village, wondering how close we were to the location of a hut Thor Heyerdahl had lived in for part of his time on Fatu Hiva. According to a hand drawn map of the island in the book he had only been about a mile and a half from the beach, and at about that range we found some stone platforms, possibly one of which their bamboo hut had been on. While his year on Fatu Hiva lacks true historical significance, it was interesting to speculate where he had been and how things were different now verses a mere 80 years ago. While the village of Omao is bigger now, with paved roads and 4×4 trucks, it still doesn’t seem so far fetched to wonder off to a private spot on the island, and live off the bounty of the land. While not every tree is dripping with fruit (as I had somewhat pictured), there appears to be no shortage trees bearing edible goodness. We had even seen the fresh water prawns he mentions eating, and the anchorages are teeming with fish. I’m happy living in a sailboat with relatively modern conveniences, but it is interesting to speculate. Apparently I’m not the only one, as the first season of Survivor was filmed in a bay here in the Marqueses we plan to visit in a few days.

Event though the guide book was wrong about dinghy landing, we decided to heed the advice about the anchorage not being stellar for an overnight stay, and headed for our next stop. Done with Fatu Hiva, we set sail for Baie Hanamoenoa on the island of Tahuata. As Fatu Hiva shrunk behind us, I couldn’t help but think from a distance the island must appear much the same from this distance as it did when Thor Heyerdahl approached, and even further back when the islands were discovered by Europeans. Certainly the villages were different, but the outline of the islands has not be spoiled by condos, beach front resorts or other developments. Most towns seem to have only a store or two and no other real commercial establishments. Certainly life has changed radically on these islands since they received European explorers, but they are the least commercial place I’ve visited so far.

Our timing was a bit off and we had arrived at Hanamoenoa after dark. Luckily the last few nights the moon has been so bright we have been casting shadows on the deck, and we were able to use the moonlight and radar to find a place in a slightly crowded anchorage to park the boat for the night. It was a well chosen spot as the next morning several large (6’ across) Manta rays made slow circles on the surface near the boat. I spent time watching them in a mesmerized state , and finally went to get the camera only to once again have my wildlife\camera theory proved true, and did not see the Manta rays again after bringing the camera on deck. It also meant I didn’t get a chance to swim with them.

We spent the day snorkeling and relaxing. From the shoreline coral spread out on the bottom like urban sprawl, with multi colored fish darting every which way. Bella Star was anchored nearby so I had another chance to catch up, and we had the crew from Starship over for drinks to thank them for doing such a great job hosting the Pacific Puddle Jump SSB net while they were under passage. They revealed they had only used 45 gallons of fresh water on their 22 day passage. With three people on board. I think we’ve used that much in day, although owning a boat with no watermaker, I do feel guilty about that.

Finally the next morning I had another chance, and I wasn’t going to hesitate this time. When I spotted the Manta rays, I jumped in and swam over. Of course – no Mantas in sight. So I just relaxed in the water and waited, and after about 10 minutes I was rewarded with a Manta swimming (flying?) slowly around me. It appeared to be feeding, along with several schools of fish in the area, and I just hung in the water and watched it slowly circle. Several times it would swim straight at me, always gracefully veering away, but still slightly unnerving to have an animal bigger than you on a collision course, with a mouth a foot across wide open. Eventually it swum off, leaving me with hopes of another encounter and a lifetime memory.

Arriving on Island Time

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We have been enjoying our time on Hiva Oa, in an anchorage I dubbed the Campground. The close proximity of other boats, sounds of children playing, smells of cooking food and smoke from small fires on shore and general hubbub of dinghies constantly heading from boat to boat or to shore had the same energy I remember from car camping trips to good old Getty’s Cove in eastern Washington. From our vantage point at the head of the bay which Jeff named the Cat Box, since all the catamarans gravitated to the shallower waters, we watched the fleet grow during our stay, from 12 boats to 30 when we left (give or take a boat in case I counted a ketch’s two masts as two boats from a distance, it happens to the best of us).

We spent our last two days on various tasks, Melody cleaning the boat, Cassie mending the sail cover and adding some anti chafing material to the mainsail and myself weaving new line into the edges of the nets between the hulls at the bow to replace the ones that were failing. These nets are one of the most comfortable spots to lounge around, and it is nice to be able to lay on them with out constantly worrying you will go from relaxing to swimming without intending to.

Once I completed this task, the heat overcame my fear of sharks so I jumped in to cool off, and once in the water I decided to scrub the waterline. It wasn’t in bad shape, especially compared to some of the monohulls that just spent 20+ days heeled over dragging the side of the boat through the water. Since there is no bottom paint up the side of the hull, boats often arrive with a quite a bit of brown grunge along the sides just above where the bottom paint terminates. Since catamarans don’t heel over (much) we weren’t sporting this brown grunge, but a quick scrub was in order just to tidy things up. Cleaning the waterline of a catamaran may cure you of your multihull envy – I had to scrub 156 feet of waterline, while my boat has about 64 feet. Catamarans don’t tend to have overhangs, so you are scrubbing the waterline for the whole length of the boat, while my waterline is 5’ shorter than the boat length. And… when you finish one hull, you are only halfway done! Still, the water felt good and it wasn’t requiring extreme elbow grease so I’m not complaining.

I also spent some time catching up with Dave and Kathy on Lightspeed, as they anchored next to us on our third day in the anchorage. They were one of the first boats we met on our way down the coast in the fall, and have a beautiful cat named Shell on board. I went over to have a quick beer and c hat, and ended up staying till the afternoon as various other people came over to say hi, and they eventually whipped up a delicious sushi lunch with some tuna they had just caught. And yes, Kathy had cleaned it in her typical fish cleaning attire. They had been on the next island over but knew I was on Hiva Oa so they had come over to say hi.

Finally, after four days of decompressing from our passage, it was time to move on. We motored out of the anchorage and were faced with the old age sailor problem, not enough wind right on the nose. Since we needed to make some water anyway, we motored towards Fatu Hiva. About an hour into the trip the wind strengthened and swung around to a better angle, so up went the sails. I think we all had a slight readjustment to sailing after four days of flat anchorage, but it didn’t take long to get back in the swing of things.

We soon pulled into Baie Hanavave, also known as the Bay of Virgins. According to Charlie’s Charts, it was originally Bay des Verges, or Bay of the Phalli. Most likely named for the rock spires thrusting from the ridges surrounding the valley, but with stories of early Polynesian culture, who can be sure. Those pesky missionaries didn’t like the name so they added an I and it became Bay des Vierges. Hmm…

Regardless of the name, this bay is beyond beautiful . We have all spent most of our waking hours just sitting on the flying bridge staring at the scenery. The valley extends up after a slight gap in sheer rock walls, and numerous rock spires appear to almost be carved faces standing as sentinels guarding the bay. A small village pokes around the corner, inviting a trip to shore for exploration.

I deployed one of the kayaks on board and paddled along the shoreline, watching waves heave themselves onto the rocks before sliding back into the ocean as waterfalls of liquid white foam. As I returned , the clouds took a break from hiding the sun and the hillside exploded with countless shades of glowing green, contrasting against the brown and red of the rocky cliffs. Small dots of white, brown and grey resolved themselves as goats grazing the selected tufts of vegetation. As it tends to do, my mind wandered to the question of how the goats, with all this food, don’t take over the island. The answer probably lies with the meal of local goat and coconut milk I had eaten the night before when we visited a local restaurant, but somehow the locals and the goats seem to have achieved a balance of populations.

Our plan is to spend a day or two here, and explore the island a bit. There are a couple waterfalls to hike to, as well as the possibility of hiring a local dinghy to take us to then next anchorage and hiking 10 miles back. We’ll see our time and energy go, we set lofty goals but the beauty and relaxed atmosphere have a hypnotic effect on motivation. We’ll all pool our exploration desires to overcome the lethargy and confirm our suspicions that there is more to this anchorage than the amazing view from the boat.