Vava’u, Tonga

10. Aug. 2015
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Passages, Tonga
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2 Comments

Author: Pete

Location: Vava’u Island Group, Tonga

Date: August 5 – 10, 2015

On August 5th, we left Niue heading west for Tonga. Niue fell astern as we rocketed downwind, running wing-wing under twenty knots of wind. Moderate following seas gave us an extra push AND we didn’t even have to hand steer since Otto was back in the game. The next day was August 7th. What happened to August 6th ask you? Gone! Zip! Ripped from our lives like a bandaid from a skinned knee! Everyone else will have an August 6th, but the day will be an empty hole in our histories. Can you hear the Twilight Zone music? I hope I don’t have to account for my whereabouts at some point in the future.

“Where were you on the night on August 6th, 2015?”

“Uhhh… I didn’t get one.”

“Get one what?”

“An August 6th, sir. I missed that day. Must have been out sailing.”

“Off with his head!”

Tonga isn’t across the international dateline, but they take the same date as Fiji for business reasons. Thus, as we raced into Tongan waters, our trusty little boat burrowed twenty-four hours ahead in time like a wayward electron quantum tunneling out of a potential energy well. erhm…sorry ‘bout that. Won’t let him out again.

We spotted the islands of the Vava’u group as we cut through a deep portion of the shoal and into more protected waters. To the north and south of the cut, rollers exploded on the unseen reefs as we scooted through. We sailed north then west, dodging rocky islands and a couple of whales before we tucked into the protected bay formed by Nuapapu and Vaka’eitu islands. Tried anchoring in several spots before we were satisfied with our holding and swing room based on the weather supposed to be coming in.

We woke on the 8th after a glorious, flat-water sleep. Our bodies ate it up. Two days on passage isn’t enough to get your body into a good circadian sailing rhythm. We were making ready to go snorkel the nearby coral gardens when a lone man standing in waist-deep water started yelling and waving from the empty shore. I dropped the dinghy in the water and zoomed in to see what was up. In the shallows a stout Tongan man with a mustache and enormous smile introduced himself as David. I don’t know what he was smiling about- he explained that his boat broke down on other side of the island and asked me if I could tow it back to his house. Together we zipped to a sandy bay where his two boys, George and Kaho, were waiting with the little boat. Apparently the motor had died while they were fishing and George swam the boat to shore with a rope tied around his waist. I threw them a line and towed the boat back around to the other side of the island where we moored it just off a sandy beach. David’s tin house stood just inside the line of palm and mango trees. He told me his family had been on Vaka’eitu for many generations, pointing out a small cemetery on a hill where his parents, grandparent, and great-grandparent were buried.

When David explained in his measured, thoughtful English that he had no tools to fix the motor, I offered to take a look at it. I brought hardware from Tayrona and David went ashore to help his wife with lunch, leaving his sons on the skiff to help me with the repairs on the 2-stroke Yamaha . The recoil mechanism to pull-start the motor wasn’t working and there was fuel leaking from somewhere. The three of us sat on the little boat and wrenched off the recoil unit atop the engine. The obnoxiously long winding spring had popped out of place and required a good deal of finesse and six hands to coerce back into the housing. Nice to have so much help, even if we didn’t speak the same language all the time. Pointing and noise making did the trick when ‘socket wrench’ didn’t translate into Tongan. “Hey, pass me the ‘crick-a crick-a crick-a, please. Mālō”. The fuel line connector had a torn seal that couldn’t be fixed, so I bypassed the connectors and spliced the fuel line right to the filter on the engine. With a touch of persuasion the motor fired right up. The boys were proud, David was relieved, and I was happy that I didn’t do any more grievous damage to the thing! It’s nice to feel like you can give something tangible back to the people that share so much with us. That boat and a small kayak are the only means of transportation from their island to the next town, five miles away across the bay, where the store, church, and school are. I can’t imagine what happens if that motor goes south. Daniel brought us three papaya, ten shucked coconuts, a dozen limes, and an invite to have dinner at his house to say thanks.

Before our big date ashore, Miranda and I went snorkeling in the coral gardens in the shallow pass between Nuapapu and Vaka’eitu. At first the coral looked blasted, with mostly dead stag horn, though it was surprisingly still full of fish. We finned across the shallows toward deep water, and after duck diving a few breakers we were out in the deep. Whales sang hauntingly in the distance as we chased butterfly fish and dove among the brightly colored, rolling patchwork-quilt of coral hills. I think Nemo was even out there!

Also ran into a vicious predator of the deep. This is one of the dreaded cone shells in the South Pacific. It’s the Marbled Cone Snail. It hunts other mollusks down and injects its venom through a harpoon structure that will also go through the foot of a careless wader. There is another kind out here called the ‘Cigarette Cone Snail’ because you have time for one last cigarette if you get stuck by one before the venom gets you. You know those things’ll kill you…

This next one is just a plain old boring cowrie shell. Really pretty though! They have a beautiful, smooth shell which gave rise to the word ‘porcelain’ from the Italian name for the little guys. Neat, huh?

Back at the floating ranch we got ready to go in for dinner with David and his family. We brought rice, veggies, and lemonade to share. What do people like to eat on tiny Pacific islands? Last time we treated a local guy to our cuisine he almost jumped overboard rather than try our peanut butter! We also brought a bunch of little gifts for their kids: some cool shades for George, a pocket knife for Kaho, jewelry things for the girls. David played guitar and sang harmony for Hika in a welcome song as the girls danced in the Polynesian style for us. They served us a gorgeous spread of fried plantains, roasted grouper, and teriyaki chicken. All of it was cooked over an open fire outside of their dwelling and had a beautiful smoky flavor. I played a few tunes for them as well and we talked about life in Tonga. It was a thoroughly enjoyable and unexpected evening.

After we got back to the boat the rains came, first sprinkling, but then quickly turning into torrents. It was the front we had seen on our weather reports and the reason we ducked clandestinely into the shelter of Tongan waters. It rained all night, the kind of biblical rain that weighs the boat down, obliterates all other sounds but the hammering of the decks, and turns the radar screen into a wash of yellow so thick that the shore can’t be seen just a hundred meters away. No more sea spray on the decks!

We snorkeled in Willy Wonka’s coral gardens again the next days and prepared for our passage to Fiji with a few meals and a solid slab of brownies. BAM! Our original passage from Bora to Fiji was twice interrupted, both times leading us into extraordinary experiences for our troubles in changing our plans. Go tell the sea gods about your plans. They love a good joke.

Moorea, Society Islands

30. Jun. 2015
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French Polynesia
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2 Comments

Author: Pete

Location: Moorea, Society Islands

Date: June 25, 2015

We decided to make the most of our down-time waiting for the autohelm part to come in by sailing to Moorea, three hours from Papeete. We had spent a few days ordering our autohelm part, salvaging data off a dying hard drive, and working on a dinghy cover. The sun does wicked things to the material over the years, so often canvas covers are put on to extend the lifespan of the noble work horse of Joe Schmoe Cruiser. Gringos call the covers ‘chaps’, but I like the Spanish equivalent, ‘pijamas.’ I love the idea that the dinghies tied up at the dock in their pajamas are really attending some sort of nautical sleepover with terrycloth robes, slippers, and night caps.

It was a lot of work; we made a pattern out of clear plastic in Galapagos and worked on the real thing on the mooring at Marina Taina. It’s tough to work on a project like that on a rolling boat with limited space to maneuver meters of fabric. At least that’s going to be my excuse if anyone calls me out on a few spots of rough tailoring. Most of the time we worked with the dinghy suspended from the davits and occasionally I had to get in it to work. I only once fell out of the tippy dinghy into the harbor. Miranda thought that was great.

Several of the days were pretty windy and rough when we were on a mooring ball in Taina. We had gusts to thirty knots and once breaking waves in the mooring field. One afternoon as we were working on the dinghy cover, a big catamaran broke free from its mooring and went zipping sideways downwind through a dozen moored boats. No one saw it until it was right next to us. I put the dinghy in the water and went tearing after it, without thinking about what I was going to do in my poorly idling, nine horsepower dinghy once I caught the 30 ton catamaran in 20 knots of wind. Miranda was smarter than me, as usual, and called the marina. They dispatched a launch and with the assistance of another dinghy we wrestled the boat to another mooring ball and tied it up. Miraculously, the vagabond boat didn’t ding a single other vessel out of the dozen it zipped by in the mooring field.

Then it was happily time to piss off to Moorea for a few days while we awaited the autohelm part. We motorsailed the fifteen miles across because the wind was on our bow. Of course it was the first day it had blown from that direction in a week. It was light and the going was easy. We passed Cook’s Bay, named after the popular Captain Cook who explored the area, and turned in at Opunohu Bay a few miles west. The two bays cut deep into the island of Moorea, making it look like a heart with two divots in it.

Had to hand steer the three hours over, which seems pretty easy, but is a chore when you’re used to someone else driving for thousands of miles. Motored easily through the pass with the backwards French buoy marking. The pointed teeth of Moorea’s peaks made for fantastic scenery.

Oop. That’s fanny-tastic scenery! We anchored just inside the protection of the coral reef in ten feet of water.

We put the dinghy down with gusto and took off to go snorkel. It had been three weeks since we’d been in the water. Well, except for the time I fell off the boat working on the dinghy cover. Three weeks?! We LIVE on a boat for crying out loud. How does that happen?! It was good to be back down undah. A couple chill sea turtles paddled by near the drop off and we saw some of our old friends from other boats out there too.

Came back to the boat in a nice flat anchorage and slept like babies.

The next morning we met up with friends who knew the low down of the island. Paul and Andy from Talulah Ruby showed us the secret snorkeling spots. The first spot hid seven sunken carved tikis. Legend has it that the first missionaries made the craftsman throw them in the lagoon when they came. Snorkelers keep them free of marine growth so they are in great shape. A little spooky to see under water!

Our next delight of the day was Stingray City, a sandbar in the lagoon where the stingrays (and reef sharks) congregate in the shallows. We anchored our dinghy in chest-deep water and the rays came out to play. They swam in and around us, looking for handouts. Apparently some dive operators feed them, so they were very cordial with us. They nose around you and are happy to be petted. Their skin is velvety, an unparalleled combination of smooth, slippery, and soft without feeling slimy. It’s a cool enough sensation and interaction to dissolve your speech into unintelligible, involuntary chortling. From all across the sandbar the sound of our group of friends giggling like school girls though their snorkels rang out. It’s a precious thing to hear a posh, collected fifty-year-old British man tee-heeing giddily at the thrill of a natural petting zoo.

We ended up going back the next day armed with tuna. The rays were really excited to see us then! Reminds me of a great Mitch Hedberg quote: “I find that a duck’s opinion of me is heavily influence by whether or not I have any bread.” That guy was a genius. We brought our gringo friends Rick and Lara from SeaKey, and Dutch friends Pete and Liz from Suluk.

The 28th we sailed back to Papeete with the hopes of picking up our much awaited part!

Passage to Marquesas: Day 15 – 17

16. Apr. 2015
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Passages
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Author: Pete

Location: 08°54.943S 126°16.550W

Date: 11:00 April 13 to 11:00 April 16

Day 15 – 17 at sea.

Another fairly exciting couple of days roll by Tayrona! Yesterday we passed into the triple digits! We celebrated being under 1000 miles, and 2/3 of the trip done with a big pan of brownies! Seems like every other day we have a milestone, but it’s the little victories that keep one going on day 13, 14, and now 15. At a conservative 5 knots, landfall would be another 8 days from here, putting us in Hiva Oa on April 21st. Give it a day for who knows what, and we’ll call it the 22nd. We had a great Thai noodles with a special sauce Miranda cooked up, and even a couple of beers with dinner! Then we sat on the bow at sunset and devoured the entire pan of brownies like the starving sea dogs we AREN’T.

Prepared a message in a bottle for this occasion too. An almost empty rum bottle was all we had aboard, but I thought it fitting. We obligingly emptied it, put in our names, contacts, date, and location, and pitched the old girl overboard. The crew members have a documented, running bet about where it will show up, with some brews on the line.

Wind has been slacking and is predicted to do so for the next day or so. Bob McDavitt, a marine weather forecaster from New Zealand, discussed El Nino indications in the south Pacific, with warming waters bringing lighter trade winds with more southern development. We’re already seeing the effects, yesterday with 14 knots (9 apparent) of wind and now 9 knots (6 apparent). All coming from 135 degrees to port. Still making ~4 knots with the spinnaker up through the night, but may mess up our landfall prediction. A rocky, but authentic picture of the motion on our boat at night- here’s Venus, as she guides us along just off our starboard bow.

Last night Miranda saw a meteor airburst! It’s a relatively rare meteoroid entry that ends up coming into the atmosphere, heating through ram pressure (extreme pressure differential, not friction with the atmospheric molecules as generally thought) and then exploding in the atmosphere in a brilliant burst. She said the sky lit up in a white, etherial flash, bright enough to cast shadows on the boat, just for a second, then a falling trail of glowing debris, also white. It occurred roughly at 12:30am, early morning April 14th. Our position was 08 degrees 42.700 min S, 122 degrees 20.000 min W, and Miranda saw it around 20 degrees up in the sky SSE of our position.

Cloudless and great stars again tonight. Tranquil seas, and no moon make for fantastic stargazing from the trampoline! All good aboard Tayrona.