Musings from a Galley Slave

Sailing Fiji... Then and Now

2009-08-26T16:25:00.008+12:00

It's been 25 years since we last sailed Fiji in the mid-80s, and time has indeed marched on for us all. On this day in August 2009, I am sitting at Vuda Point Marina, connected to the internet via a small USB plug-in modem that works off of a cell phone signal. You may be old enough to recall that there was no Internet in the 80s, let alone cell phones. In fact, I'm not sure we ever made a phone call from Fiji in those days. If it was possible, it certainly must have been expensive. We were in the communication realm of snail mail and ham radio then, and listening to a fuzzy Voice of America beaming to Africa, or mysterious Asian music from unknown horizons was a grand source of entertainment for us "out here." Now, "out here" may not be so far away…

Despite how close the Internet can make us feel virtually, there are signs here in Fiji that it is still a long way from anything else very big. Grocery stores abound now, but it seems selection and choices are still quite limited. I can't be sure if that is due to generally lower incomes, a less sophisticated palate overall (or I should say, a more wholesome palate?!), or if a Madison Avenue corporate advertising-type assault has simply never really geared up here as evidenced in more developed countries. Most products originate in Australia, New Zealand, India and China, with some random samplings from the U.S., France, and the UK. It is astonishing to see how many products are actually made right here in Fiji, such as coconut-flavored muesli (excellent!), paint and epoxy products, beer, rum, gin, spice mixes, and even their own "Japanese noodles." Liquor is available, but unless you buy Fijian-made stuff, like their famous Overproof Rum (which is quite good, actually), the imported stuff that sells for US$10 on U.S. grocery shelves can be priced as high as FJ$120! We have long ago learned to live without our more familiar "luxuries" and to stick with what is local and therefore affordable in the long run. Plus, we welcome new discoveries! The grocery stores do offer some conveniences, and although the open air markets are always on our errand list for the fresh, non-refrigerated produce (which lasts longer on the boat than formerly refrigerated fruits and veggies) to be found there, they are not the sole source of goods that they once were in the 80s. Of course, in the 80s, we didn't have a refrigerator—or a freezer—either.

In June 2009, we spent 9 days sailing the 1200 miles or so back to Fiji from New Zealand, arriving on the second-biggest island of Fiji, Vanua Levu, at the tiny port town of Savusavu. We had never been there—or to Vanua Levu—before, and wanted to go somewhere different this time. Savusavu was a charming, small, somewhat cosmopolitan town with an old colonial feeling to it, and a "can do" attitude with a certain Fiji-time twist to it. The Fijian people, including the Indo-Fijians, were without exception some of the most friendly, polite, and just downright nice people as a whole that we've ever met. I know this is true of most of Fiji now, though we don't naively believe there are no exceptions. I do recall having a similar reaction in the 80s, but then thought it might be because there had not been as many tourists and sailboats around to make the Fijian people jaded towards us outsiders. Now, there is no excuse: tourists and cruising yachts have arrived in droves all over Fiji for the past 25 years!

From Savusavu, we took several one-day legs to sail, eventually, to the northern part of the Yasawa group of islands further west. Picking our way through the vast and complicated reef systems here in Fiji and across Bligh Water was rather intense at times, and brought back memories of previous reef watches from the mast and bow in the 80s. Then, we only had hand-copied charts in Rapidograph ink on tracing paper; now, we have two GPS units, radar, forward-looking sonar, and an electronic chart plotter in addition to the ever-present paper charts we would never leave home without. Still, the gut-wrenching feeling you get when an uncharted reef suddenly looms out of nowhere is the same now as it was then. Not much has been done in Fiji to update the charts—the area is remote and not of use commercially (except locally, and the locals know the way) so some of the charts are unaltered from the days when this area was first surveyed by Captain Cook in the 1700s! He did a darned good job, considering, but, satellite positioning is so accurate now it has rendered mis-marked charts nearly obsolete. Sailors who have "made it" are in constant demand for their (successful) waypoints by those still considering the venture.

The Yasawa group of islands seemed like the literal end of the world in the 80s: no other boats, only an occasional Fijian village, beautifully spectacular and untouched. Today, a resort can be found on almost every island—a good thing for the local economy, but, definitely a different feeling from the first time we visited. The traditional sevusevu ceremony, by which we, the guests, present the village chief with an offering of kava roots which is then formally accepted thereby giving us permission to visit the island, hike, fish, and generally 'be there' has changed. Once a personalized tradition, it has now become somewhat of a tourist attraction, done for masses of people at once —who don't necessarily even know each other—(on a large blue plastic tarp), usually from nearby resorts, and who have paid a tour operator for the privilege. More often than not, there is no chief present—only an elder "spokesman." In some ways, today's method is more inclusive and less formal, and still an excellent way to get to know the villagers, but the price is perhaps that it is also less meaningful than it once was. At more remote villages when we are the only people coming ashore, it seems we are then treated, as we were in the 80s, on a more individual basis and of course have more opportunity to get to know the village's individual people as well.

Blue Lagoon, the location for the famous Brooks Shields film by that name, once seemed to be everyone's idea of the proverbial tropical paradise. Located off Nanuya-levu Island, it is still lovely, and a perfect protected anchorage for up to ten or so boats, but, it is also a hub of activity for the several nearby resorts. It is Grand Central, where the resort guests arrive by large ferry-boat to then be picked up in smaller boats and taken to their variously booked resorts located beyond complicated reefs, most of which are rather inviting and sometimes yacht-friendly too. (Our favorite is Coral View on Tavewa!) Once a day, the Blue Lagoon area fills with boats, people, cruise ships, and occasionally, even a float plane. The closest resort, on Nanuya, has a dive shop and service with resulting traffic as well. Once we got over the shocking change in the Blue Lagoon area formerly occupied by only us and two other boats (both good friends), we learned to live with the active and busy scene, and even embraced the convenience of getting our dive tanks filled, sipping happy hour cocktails while watching the sun set beyond Shanachie at anchor, and, enjoying a few meals ashore. When we wanted solitude again, we sailed the few hours back up to northernmost Yasawa Island, parts of which still seem quite remote and untouched, even with several villages located there.

Blue Lagoon from afar...

Blue Lagoon up close...

When we finally ran out of fresh food and began depleting our back-up stores, we reluctantly sailed south to Lautoka, another port city, the second largest town in Fiji on Viti Levu, (the largest island) in order to officially check in with Customs again. Upon exiting Savusavu, we were given a "cruising permit" for the Yasawa Group only, and could not visit any other islands until we had checked in at Lautoka. The process was simple: we were able to secure a spot at the Vuda Point Marina first, take a 20-minute taxi ride up to Lautoka, fill out most of the same forms previously filled in at Savusavu, and thereby gain permission to continue cruising anywhere in Fiji except the Lau Group to the southeast (which would be an 180-mile beat to weather anyway!). We were lucky to benefit from the very recent change in governmental policy which now allows yachts to cruise the Yasawas before having to check in at Lautoka (if they have initially cleared into the country at Savusavu). Previously, boats would have had to sail directly to Lautoka first, clear in, and only then be allowed to sail back up into the Yasawas.

A field trip to Denarau Island off Nadi gave us another shock. The area once occupied solely by the old Regent Hotel and empty fields is now covered with high-end luxury resorts. The anchorage where we had spent so much time in the 80s is now primarily a small port for the outer island resorts to drop off and pick up their guests. Consequently, when in Denarau, you could be forgiven for mistaking your location for that of a shopping center in… Waikiki… or… San Diego… or… Auckland? Wherever it resembles, it definitely wasn't recognizable as the place where we took our community (cold) showers in a run-down tin shed in the 80s. Again, I suppose that's understandable…

Fiji is still a wonderful place to be with lots of adventurous—or relaxing—things to do and plenty of amazing places to stay: we'd definitely recommend placing it on a "must see" list. Perhaps it isn't fair to compare our visits with 25 years in between them. Life moves on, change is the only certainty, and furthermore, what place hasn't changed in a quarter of a century? We have realized, however, that if we want the kind of adventure in far-away remote places we experienced long ago, it is necessary now to go much further to find that edge—way off the beaten track and to the kinds of places that still do not have conveniences like internet connections. That is the challenge, and, it's there waiting for us. But then, I wouldn't be sending this missive to an Internet blog from my laptop via a cell phone signal either… (maybe that's a good thing!).

Endless Summer

2008-11-03T16:00:00.010+12:00

Wind Rivers Mountain Range, Wyoming: Mt. Baldy Basin with Angel Pass in background; August 2008

Of course we're not the Beach Boys, or Bruce Brown following the summer season by traveling the world in a quest for new WARM surf spots, but, we might possibly have some similar motives for our movements this year: to seek the summer and avoid the winter, wherever they may be.

Yes, we’ve admittedly become lightweights as far as air temperature is concerned. We have been spoiled by years in the tropics and quite frankly, simply do not like cold weather anymore—especially on a sailboat (though short field trips to play in the snow might be acceptable). Which is why, when the weather began to turn cold, blustery, and stormy in late May and early June, we were compelled to fly north for the winter from New Zealand.

Don’t get me wrong: we LOVE New Zealand, and I personally might have enjoyed a stormy winter season there if I did not live on a sailboat. Since our only home now is Shanachie—the sailboat—we had little choice but to bail out… and head for summer on our former turf in Santa Cruz, California.

Of course, we did have other rationalizations for making the 12-hour flight back to California, including, once and for all...
...finally severing all ties with the place Joe built and called home for more than 35 years—our beloved Happy Valley property sold in 2006. We had been renting the guest cottage for our daughter Kali while she attended the local university, but she was ready to move on, and live with roommates in town. So were we (ready to move on—not live with roommates!). This time, the move out will be permanent, and definitely a lot less difficult emotionally than it was two years ago to say goodbye to Happy Valley.

A very enjoyable part of this northern summer was the unexpected opportunity to once again do a family river trip with some of our old Salmon River buddies, down the Main Fork of the Salmon in Idaho. We didn’t think a river trip would work out this year, but, due to a permit cancellation, our friend and excellent waterman Rick Barker was able to obtain a permit at the last minute. Like a 60-Second Club whose members have sixty seconds to decide whether or not they’re “in” on a given impulsive adventure plan, ten of us were able to assemble from wide-ranging home bases with all the gear, beer and food a river trip requires, and spend a week together paddling and rowing the 80 or so miles of the Salmon’s Main Fork.

From there, Joe and I went east, and met our other good friends Ron and Terry in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming for a bit of a trek in the Mt. Baldy Basin area. Despite some nearby all-consuming fires, we had beautiful weather, good fishing, and only slightly smoky views at nearly 11,000 feet of elevation—until we were chased down and out by a classic late summer Wind Rivers snowstorm. Again: we really don’t like cold weather, and so, began our descent at the first hints of the storm, hiking the last 8 miles out in light snow fall.

Not all of our time in the States was playtime. Some of our California summer was spent on long-delayed (or procrastinated?!) projects, like scanning thousands of archived photos, slides, letters, and other memorabilia into a digitized format for more convenient and mobile use in the future. It’s the kind of job you always think about doing but never quite get around to actually beginning. It was tedious and extremely time-consuming, but, it sure feels nice to finally have it done. We’re still looking at many hours of organizing to come, but that can wait for some rainy day on board the boat. Meanwhile, Joe is slowly gathering up his wealth of historical Yosemite Climbing in the Sixties stories and personal photos, and posting some to the SuperTopo climbing website (www.supertopo.com) much to the enjoyment of some of the climbers there, both young and old.

Another project finally finished was the self-published book of the recipes I’ve collected for years, called Shanachie’s On- & Offshore Recipes. This was also a long and sometimes very tedious project, but the delight and sense of accomplishment I felt when I finally received the first copy completely erased any “pain” I might have felt earlier—much like having a baby! The 704-page book of over 600 recipes is available for free download, or purchase via this private URL link only: www.lulu.com/content/3120202 for those interested. It is not for sale to the general public through any other outlet, and the (USD) $18 cost is only for the printing and binding. Enjoy one!

The first half of this year in New Zealand was spent working full time: me in Auckland, and Joe on the boat, about 4 hours’ drive away. Like our dating days long ago, we’d visit each other on the weekends and do exciting things like the laundry. I was completing the final requirements for our permanent New Zealand Residency Permits—which we finally actually received! After two years of jumping through whatever fiery hoops the New Zealand Immigration Service could think of tossing our way, we were granted the long-awaited Permits which allow us to stay—and work—in the country indefinitely. If anyone out there is contemplating such a move themselves, we would highly recommend contacting our hard-working immigration consultants, Protea Pacific, for advice and assistance. They were extremely knowledgeable about the process, highly professional, tirelessly diligent, and tenacious beyond the call of duty on our behalf. The Protea Pacific website can be found at: www.proteapacific.co.nz. The NZ government’s website is at: www.immigration.govt.nz.

Now that summer has ended here in Santa Cruz, our attention is once again turning towards… summer! After a few more weeks of wrapping up the loose ends, casting our votes in the U.S. presidential election, and some final visits with friends and family, we’ll be heading back home to Shanachie and New Zealand to start yet another chapter in our quest for the Endless Summer. I’m betting on summer arriving in New Zealand about the same time that we do… and then, this year, it will indeed be Endless.

Going Home...

2007-11-23T09:42:00.002+12:00

"The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is to at last set foot on one's own country as a foreign land."
~G.K. Chesterton

Here we are, back in the U.S.A. for a short visit, and what a foreign land it seems in some ways now, mostly due to the new perspective inevitably acquired after living for some time outside of one’s own country. Yes, we speak the language (for the most part, though it was amusing to recently come across a Chinese fortune cookie made in California with the fortune inside printed in Spanish). Yes, it feels completely natural to jump into the driver’s seat on the LEFT side of the car and drive it on the RIGHT side of the road, and yes, things appear on the surface to be almost as they were when we left the country nearly a year ago. Yet I now have the odd feeling that I am a foreigner, a visitor not-from-here, amazed anew…
This past year, wherever we’ve gone, we have been the strangers in a foreign land (despite the various forms of English spoken) and I have delighted in the discovery of much that is different from my own background—and which is so often taken for granted here in the U.S., my own country of abundance. South Pacific island countries are not much like California at all, though curious juxtapositions of its influences abound, especially among the youth in our midst, always on the edge of new developments, forever looking towards the future as this world of ours gets smaller every day.

New Zealand, at first glance, seems to be the most like home, despite the fact that we’ve fondly dubbed it “The Land of Opposites.” Our impression is one of a parallel world of opposites--from the location of the beach on our right when traveling north on the east coast (as it is when traveling south in California) to the side of the moon one sees when it’s waxing or waning and even eclipsing. Seasons are also opposite, making Christmas south of the Equator feel more like the U.S. national Fourth of July summertime holiday. Driving is especially opposite, and even after one gets the hang of driving on the “other” side of the road, the right-of-way rules continue to confuse because, well, they are also… opposite. We’ve found that dealings with government agencies have been mostly efficient, friendly, personable and reasonable—all definite opposites. Of course “opposite” is a relative term, and in our case, the reference point is California, where we were mostly born and raised.

We returned to California in October for a short visit, leaving Shanachie in good hands with our friends David Blair, his wife Julie Gatland, their daughter Kristy, and their friend/crew Fiona McDonald, all from New Zealand. (Some of you may even know David as the “young Kiwi boat builder” who came to Santa Cruz to build Shanachie with Joe 26 years ago). They enjoyed a month of cruising in the Vava’u area of Tonga, had a quick stopover at Minerva Reef for some diving, and then safely delivered Shanachie to Opua, New Zealand almost exactly 23 years after our first arrival there in November 1984. We’ll be back on board Shanachie sometime this early December. Meanwhile, among other projects, we are working our way through the mail stack, connecting with old friends and family, and rediscovering places in California we haven’t visited for many years.

First stop was Yosemite—Joe’s old playground during his early climbing years in the fifties and sixties—where we hiked, biked, camped, and viewed his friend Glen Denny’s photo exhibition, Yosemite Climbing in the Sixties, in the NPS Gallery at the Indian Museum. The reception for Glen’s new book (see review here)—which includes a photo of Joe as a teenager climbing with luminaries Warren Harding and Mort Hempel in 1962—was an excellent venue for meeting some of the old friends and climbing personalities that Joe had not seen in years. I enjoyed tagging along and meeting some of these legendary people for the first time, having heard many of their stories before.

One well-known climbing friend (who will remain unnamed here but you know who you are!) came over Tioga Pass from the east side for the reception party with only the clothes on his back, his wallet, of course, and the full intention of returning that same night. A communication mix-up left him stranded in Yosemite without a ride home. An experienced mountaineer who knew we were camping with other mutual friends somewhere in Yosemite (we’d left the party by then), he spent a good amount of time walking every campsite in the Valley until finding us at the last site in the last loop of the last open campground (where else!), where he spent the cold night in the bed of a pickup truck. Rumor has it that this stroll might possibly have been more exhausting than previous climbing experiences (including his second ascent of the North America Wall…?!), or perhaps it was just the wine we plied him with once he found us. True to Murphy’s Law, Tioga Pass, at nearly 10,000 feet, closed the following morning because of a rare frontal passage in this year’s unusually mild fall season. On the third day we headed out for Death Valley—the long way around the Sierra Nevada range via Bakersfield instead of closed Tioga Pass—and so were finally able to deliver our friend to his Bishop home where he generously provided hot showers and comfy places for us all to sleep for the night.

Since Shanachie was on her way to New Zealand with the Blair family, Joe was watching the weather and relaying the info to them once a day via a convenient wireless internet connection at the Ahwahnee Hotel. There was indeed something ironic about staring at a tiny laptop computer screen to view weather systems occurring in the middle of the Pacific ocean, and then communicating the latest info via email to the boat’s satellite phone—all while surrounded by primitive Native American artifacts and old Yosemite lore at a table in the Great Room of the historic Ahwahnee Hotel.

Our next stop was Death Valley, where we enjoyed wonderfully warm weather in November, some remote camping and great exploratory hikes up some convoluted canyons for stunning views. The puffball comet 17P/Holmes was clearly visible in the enormous night sky two weeks after its amazing “million-times brighter” flare-up. The National Park Service calls Death Valley a “superlative desert: hottest, driest, lowest” and “a place of legend and trial.” Its beauty does not disappoint. It was easy to see how someone might spend years wandering this sweeping desert area before coming close to discovering all its remarkable secrets.

The natural wonders of both places were treasures to behold, as were those we found in the foreign lands we visited this year. But these earthly sanctuaries are proving to be more vulnerable than their majestic mountains or towering granite walls might seem, and the impact us humans make on them is taking its toll in some larger, more obvious ways (traffic, air pollution, garbage) but many small-but-significant ways, too (wildlife habitat changes and use impact). Joe’s old friend Dick Dorworth—writer/skier/climber—had mixed feelings similar to ours about returning to Yosemite after many years away. Read his insightful article from the June 2006 issue of Mountain Gazette—he says it far more eloquently than I. (Dick's recently published memoir, Night Driving: Invention of the Wheel & Other Blues is also available now for further reading pleasure).

Meanwhile, our journey home to California is nearing an end, and soon we’ll be back on board Shanachie in New Zealand. I’m sure it’ll be just like going home… again.

NOTE: We now have an online Photo Album of our travels, accessible via the Shanachie website link at right, or directly at: www.shanachie.org/photoalbum/index.html.

Photos above: Yosemite's Mirror Lake during this fall's dry season; Death Valley's Sand Dunes

Chillin' in the Kingdom of Tonga

2007-09-30T11:32:00.001+12:00

What a surprise! Several readers (and not just my mom) have been asking for more blog entries, a small but sure sign that someone out there actually has an interest in reading them. It’s made me realize that what I may consider to be just another typical day here in Paradise (or what we affectionately refer to as “Paradox”) could quite possibly seem rather magical to someone who is not here, whether they’ve been here before or ever plan to visit the Kingdom of Tonga themselves (highly recommended!). With this entry, I am inspired to re-examine our daily life and see what magic—previously taken for granted—can be rediscovered for the vicarious enjoyment of those interested in…
more.

Since arriving at Neiafu in the Vava’u Group of islands here in Tonga, our days have been filled with a mixture of actual cruising, some sailing, general playing including snorkeling, hiking, exploring adventures, typical boat chores, and even more typical boat fix-it jobs. Most boats here have something to fix and I’d venture a guess that autopilots are top on the list, with windlasses a close second. All of these activities include errands of various sorts—none of which are especially easy here but hey, that’s the adventure of it all—so that the environment for each is properly set up before proceeding, whether it’s shopping for a week’s worth of provisions so we can escape to the outer islands without starving (and even more importantly, add our contribution to the various pot luck gatherings among fellow cruisers), or reserving taxi rides/bread and meat orders/ airline tickets for exiting and entering crew. Of course, the fix-it jobs are more complicated and time-consuming overall, often involving emails, faxes, and phone calls to obtain replacement parts not usually available in Tonga, all of which must be shipped into the country and then guided through the Tongan customs maze… er, process. Sprinkle enjoyable social events with old and new friends on various boats or ashore, a further variety of musical, fundraising, Friday night sailboat races, celebrations, and dinner or dancing events and that’ll just about complete the picture.

Many of these activities are “just like home,” but here they take on a special twist: they always involve people from all over the world, in multiple languages and/or accents. Sure, at home it’s possible to run into someone from another country, eventually, but here it is the norm. It is not uncommon to find yourself out to dinner with new friends from Finland, while other people you’ve met from New Zealand, Canada, the Netherlands, England, Brazil, Australia, the Netherlands, South Africa, and even Romania either join or at least stop to say hello. Most have sailed their own boats here as well. Of course, always present in their own country are the fun-loving, amiable Tongans.

One particularly raucous night recently consisted of an all-comers music jam fest at a local Basque restaurant, with all sorts of talented yachties and locals contributing their bits. The guitarist who got the biggest response, however, was a German fellow who played Beatles songs, which nearly everyone there—young and old no matter what their first language—knew. With one very loud, singular voice, the crowd sang along, proving once again that music truly is a universal language.

Another universal language, or perhaps interest, is sports. Here in Tonga, it’s rugby. This very morning, we dinghied ashore early to find a place at the Mango Restaurant where a satellite-fed big screen had been set up in anticipation of the large crowd coming to watch Tonga take on England in the Rugby World Cup. The nuances and rules of the game were pretty much lost on most of us Americans present, since it is not as big of a sport on the national scene as say baseball or football. Still, the bantering and camaraderie among the fans present were much like a home football match. Fans were divided almost evenly between the cheering Tongans and the various citizens of the other countries, which still bear the British standard on their flags, with the rest of us mostly cheering for Tonga. While in Tonga, do as the Tongans… Unsurprisingly, the most verbal were the English in their peculiarly understated way, perhaps reflecting the same attitude assumed by their team when faced with the Tonga team’s haka at the beginning of the match. The Tongan waitresses danced and swayed with their plates of food every time Tonga scored, while the other fans hooted and laughed. A good time was had by all, though Tonga, a nation of about 100,000 eventually lost to England, whose population numbers over sixty million.

Further along the lines of universal ideas, one would have to mention that of photos. I’m still working on the best way to post photos either here or on Shanachie’s website (www.shanachie.org) since on-board connections are difficult to come by. Meanwhile, here is a glimpse of Shanachie in Tonga, which says quite a lot. We were anchored at Blue Lagoon (off Foeata island) when our friend Karin (s/v AHTI) climbed to the top of her 67-foot high mast for the shot. The rest are my own snapshots. As Rod Stewart once said, “Every picture tells a story, don’t it? And don’t songs… and rugby matches tell a few, too?

Sailing to Tomorrow (Tonga)

2007-08-29T16:18:00.001+12:00

Perhaps it’s hard to imagine when envisioning a family cruising on their sailboat, but these past couple of months have actually been quite busy for us! Leaving the boatyard marina at Raiatea was no easy feat with so many boat projects to finish, but we did finally throw off those dock lines and head out for some cruising to our favorite islands, Huahine and Tahaa, with three teens on board. While Joe & I mostly enjoy most of their sometimes-eclectic music, we did manage to clear out a few anchorages—a Shanachie tradition from way back—which may or may not be entirely coincidental. One teen (Miranda) flew home, and then it was down to the business of preparing to sail some ocean passages westward across the International Dateline with our remaining two teens, Kali and David, to…
…tomorrow in the Kingdom of Tonga, though here it is today. We lost a day along our way west, but, like crossing the equator, it was hardly noticeable except when attempting to answer the question of when we arrived. Though the dateline is Standard and Law, it’s still somewhat arbitrary (how few standards and laws aren’t?!), since it jogs around populated areas for the sake of convenience, which of course makes sense for the people living there. Still, there’s something slightly disorienting when suddenly, without much warning, you arrive somewhere new after sailing for days across a vast empty body of water, your round-the-clock watches already toying with your sense of time, and find that today is… tomorrow. The Kingdom of Tonga, besides hosting the Tonga Trench—the second deepest spot in the world at over 35,000 feet deep (10,800 meters)—is also a curious mix of tomorrow and yesterday, both figuratively and literally.

Three wild, rocking and rolling, windy ocean passages later, sailing wing-and-wing almost directly downwind in strong 25-30 knot easterly and then southeasterly trade winds (the wind has been relentless for over a month now) we find ourselves gently swinging on a mooring (the anchorage is very deep with poor holding) off the town of Neiafu in the Vava’u Group, Tonga. We arrived on Shanachie’s 26th birthday, a month or so more than 23 years after the first time we sailed here. Our first task was to launch the dinghy and find our way to Tonga Bob’s Two-dollar Tacos Night to properly celebrate and get our fix of long-overdue Mexican food. We finished off 19 tacos between the four of us! The can of ravioli we finally consumed on Day 4 of the last passage just wasn’t enough I guess.

We left from Tahaa in French Polynesia on July 26th, and sailed the 690 miles to Suwarow (formerly Suvarov) in about 5 days, slowing down in order to arrive at the tricky unmarked and unlit pass into the lagoon by daylight. Suwarow is uninhabited except for the wonderfully hospitable Cook Islander family of John Samuelson’s—his wife and 4 sons, two of them twins. Spending his third season on Suwarow, he serves as the island’s caretaker, a representative of the Cook Island’s government agency seeking to preserve and protect the island and its fragile ecology, comparable to an American Forest Ranger (without the weapons!). Boats came and went during the 4 days we stayed there, with no more than 7 there at one time, all grateful for the respite from their wild and windy rides. John and his wife Veronica generously hosted a pot luck fish feast ashore at their home for us cruisers, provided bird-watching excursions to nearby motu/islands, and offered an incredible wealth of information about the fishing, diving (by permission only), flora and fauna found at Suwarow and its surrounding motus. He also claimed that the sharks lounging around our boats in the lagoon were friendly—one was definitely skittish when I jumped in the water for a quick salt-water bath, but we didn’t test them any further.

Joe’s highly-conscientious weather watch presented a little window in which to continue on, so we raised the anchor on August 4th and set a course between Niuatoputapu in northern Tonga and Vava’u, further south, with the idea that the wind would dictate our ultimate destination. It was immediately apparent that we’d be heading for Niuatoputapu due to the wind and swell direction (SE). Another 5 rocking rolling windy days later, we entered the well-marked—and even lighted—pass there.

Niuatoputapu (or “New Potatoes” as dubbed by some cruisers who found the name to be a bit of a tongue twister) was the essence of “old Polynesia.” There is no electricity there, though many households apparently have a generator. There was a resort, but it was closed. There was a bakery, but it was out of flour. There was an airport, but it had no flights scheduled in or out. There is a phone system, but it wasn’t working (until a part came in via a sailboat from Vava’u!). There was a store, but it had no refrigerated or fresh food. Yet, the friendly and welcoming hospitality of the people on this island—especially the husband and wife team of Niko and Sia— was never-ending. Sia and Niko not only hosted a weekly Sunday feast for all the cruisers in the anchorage, but arranged to fill diesel jugs in town and water jugs from their own rain catchment system, obtain some fresh fruit and vegetables (most people grow their own), and organized fishing and hiking excursions—including one across the channel to do the 3-hour hike up the volcano, Tafahi, where the “best kava” is grown. They never asked a thing in return, except of course reimbursement for the jugs of diesel. The spirit of the Friendly Islands, so-named by Captain Cook over three hundred years ago, lives on in these engaging and energetic Polynesian people.

When we arrived at Niuatoputapu we found only one boat there, and when we left 10 days later the number had swelled to 14. As remote as it seemed, this island was a bit of a crossroads; most boats had come either from Samoa or French Polynesia and from there were going either to Fiji or Vava’u. All of us were waiting, yet again, for the relentless winds to change so we could get to our next destinations in calmer seas and winds than we had just experienced. A small window of opportunity opened and off we were again on August 20th, this time south, almost into the wind, to the Vava’u Group but only an overnight sail of 31 hours.

Our friend Giles, single-handing his 41-foot sailboat Petrel, had arrived at Suwarow from Bora Bora with a broken autopilot and wind vane and had to hand-steer round the clock, by himself for nearly 8 days. We were concerned for his safety. Though he is an experienced and knowledgeable sailor, the conditions were rough with big seas and lots of wind, and he did need to sleep! We left both islands together, and set up a satellite phone schedule to call him and cheer him on once a day on the passage to Niuatoputapu and then to Vava’u. Checking in with Giles was the highlight of our day, and maybe his, too. About 48 hours before arriving at Niuatoputapu, our own autopilot died, so we also had to hand-steer during each of our 2-hour watches. As inconvenient, and sometimes intimidating as it might’ve seemed especially at night, we took some small comfort knowing that at least we shared the task among the four of us. We just welcomed ourselves to “Giles’ Land!”

Neiafu, Vava’u has changed quite radically since we were here last. The town bustles with activity, has a host of restaurants, cafes and bakeries to choose from, several grocery stores, various services from electronics to screen-printing, a large vegetable/fruit market, and even a night scene with music in several popular bars. The roads are paved now, and though it’s still one lane, one must now look out for traffic! People in this happening town are friendly and helpful, most speak English, and we feel perfectly safe leaving our dinghy tied up at the main wharf in town. When we’re tired of civilization’s trappings, we can sail to numerous other islands from here, many uninhabited and all within a few hours’ sail away for some peace and quiet. The water is cooler now, at 76 degrees Fahrenheit, but quite refreshing, with clear visibility up to 100 yards in places. (We plan to explore some dive sites before Kali has to leave…)

Meanwhile, friends Dave & Pitter Fox from Santa Cruz have just arrived on Shanachie’s sister ship Cheyenne (looking forward to some photo ops!), and we’ve met many other cruisers here to stay for the season, as well as ex-pats from Australia and New Zealand living here, so the social calendar seems to be amply filled. After we reluctantly say goodbye to David and Kali (school is calling!), we plan to remain in Tonga, cruising among the area’s hundreds of islands until sailing to New Zealand sometime around late October. We seem to have finally arrived at our long-sought “cruise mode” and though there are always plenty of boat chores and fix-it things to keep us busy, we hope to spend a good amount of time getting to know this amazing Kingdom and its unique culture, too. Sounds like a good plan for… today!

On the Docks

2007-06-14T10:26:00.002+12:00

If you’ve checked out our Shanachie website (link also at right) you may have come across a link called Where's Shanachie Now? It leads to the Pangolin/YOTREPS report of Shanachie’s exact position, as submitted by us via Winlink a while ago. Some of you may have even returned to that link time and again, looking for evidence that we have finally moved on to an exciting new anchorage--or country. I can just feel your disappointment—or boredom—with the fact that we are still, after almost exactly 2 years...
…tied up to the dock at one of Raiatea’s foremost (of two) haul out yards, Chantier Naval des Iles Sous le Vent. Yet, there’s something to be said for getting to know one place—and this place in particular—rather intimately, as opposed to constantly moving on.

We have not been aboard the boat all this time, but when we have been, it has been a daily routine of mostly big boat jobs, with a sprinkling of the kinds of mundane chores required of everyone who lives a daily life without butlers, cooks or maids. However, the way we must go about things is certainly different from living in a land-based home. Instead of throwing a large load of laundry into an oversized washing machine and then retrieving it later at my convenience to toss into a dryer, I do ours in a set of 3 buckets and then carefully hang each piece from the lifelines so that it is “ironed” at the same time it dries in the tropical heat—or rain as is often the unpredictable case. Instead of jumping into a car to run errands, we hop on our mountain bikes, which, with great effort, were shipped down here in a crate full of other boat gear (for us and others) before we left Santa Cruz. (The bikes won’t fit on the boat, and we won’t be sailing with them from here, but, fitted with a ridiculous-looking shopping basket on the rear, they sure are handy to have right here and now). Admittedly, we do sometimes borrow our friends’ car, Junior—a much-loved older Peugeot with a dubious set of brakes and front end— for bigger shopping loads, but that’s a special treat.

So why are we still here? Well, besides the fact that we have always had a fondness for often cantankerous—and relatively expensive— French Polynesia, it has taken this long to get all those ducks of ours lined up in a row so that we could finally return to the boat and do exactly what we’re doing now: prepare to sail further on.

We left Shanachie here on Raiatea, hauled out at Chantier Naval, in order to return to Santa Cruz in August 2005. Our daughter was about to begin her senior year of high school (and wanted to graduate with her lifelong friends), and we were about to sell our home of 30+ years. Shanachie had to be left on the “back burner” while we carried out our looping grand plan of… getting back to her!

Unfortunately, leaving a boat out of the water—especially a wood boat in the tropics—takes a huge toll on the boat in so many ways. We were aware of that from previous experiences 20 years ago, and knew that when we returned, we would have some huge boat maintenance projects in store. And now, here we are: in the midst of those very projects!

I won’t bore you with the long list of actual projects but, suffice to say that I have come to a conclusion that, as hard or mundane as the work may seem sometimes, I prefer it to similar sorts of things I had to do while living in our own home. Yes, it’s more difficult to scrub a floor or deck while your body is contorted into a shape that fits between the mast and bunks or lifelines and shrouds (and even that was easier 20 years ago!). And of course doing laundry in a bucket is more time-consuming and even tedious than using a machine, though I do enjoy the Zen-like workout it offers. Joe’s installation of a new 12-volt freezer unit (so we don’t have to run the engine to keep things frozen) was far more complex than simply having a new refrigerator delivered to one’s home. He has spent several days stripping, cleaning, and replacing parts on our 26-year old winches, the importance of which became vividly clear to me when one wouldn’t safely belay him while he was working at the top of the 60-foot mast! Several other days were spent replacing Shanachie’s instrumentation system, which died on our way across the Pacific to the Marquesas. Then there was the engine pulley machining and replacement project which resulted when the bolt holding the pulley onto the engine flung itself off mid-ocean… The lists, like the projects, do go on and on.

Meanwhile, we find ourselves living in a small and very friendly international community of fellow cruisers, mostly all in the same boat, so to speak, that we are: waiting for parts or spouses, or for batteries to be charged or delivered, doing repairs or maintenance work, dealing with the vexatious consequences of rats having found their way on board when they, too, left their boats behind for a temporary fix of the “real” world, or preparing to sail on from here. They come from all over the world: France of course, Switzerland, Belgium, South Africa, Italy, Spain, Britain, Finland, the Netherlands, Brazil, Australia and Argentina, with Canadians and Americans ever-present as well. Most speak a form of French or English and are able to get by around here just fine. The amiable, hard-working but good-natured boatyard workers are almost entirely Tahitian—and speak mostly Tahitian as well. The kids who play around these docks are all Tahitian kids who speak a mix of French and Tahitian, but they also love to test their schoolroom English with us, especially during their entrepreneurial ventures selling us various fruits and vegetables. Everyone, without exception, seems to enjoy helping each other. I wonder where else one could find such an amazing global mix of people living so harmoniously, literally side by side?

We’ll continue to check off items on our “to do” list, and soon we’ll even throw off the dock lines and get back to setting an anchor. When we do, it’ll mean letting go of the conveniences of shore power and running water, or stepping onto the boat from the dock with armloads of groceries (as opposed to a wet dinghy ride out to our anchorage), and the camaraderie of bantering with your neighbor in some foreign language or another. Of course, we’ll miss all that, just as we initially missed all the conveniences of home to live here on the docks. Once again, we’ll adjust to a new routine, a new relationship with our environment--something we’ve done over and over again--so that even changing has become our routine.

Though the project list never really ends, I’m not sure we could find a nicer place to be working on them than right here, as we view the sun setting beside the famously spectacular island of Bora Bora. Yes, it’s not easy getting anything done here in Polynesia. Yes, spare parts are sparse and hard to come by. Yes, everything is quite over-the-top expensive when you do find what you’re looking for. But the trade-off is the ability to live, sleep, cook and entertain on board your own boat, surrounded by people from all over the world with many similar interests and difficulties despite our differences in native languages, in a pleasant tropical climate, with dazzling views of lush green mystical islands rising out of warm, clear, aqua-blue water, and glimpses of the nearly-infinite possibilities for sailing onward in this big—yet also very small—world.

We will move on, eventually, but… why rush?

Diving In

2007-06-07T20:11:00.004+12:00

Ia Orana!
Once I figured out how to set up this blog, I must admit that I absolutely froze like the ol’ deer-caught-in-headlights when faced with the prospect of writing in public. Apparently this is a common phenomenon amongst many beginning bloggers (and writers!), so at least I am not alone. Having had a month or so to wrap my mind around the idea, I am finally approaching the edge of the proverbial diving board and… well… diving in!

After a whirlwind 3-week trip back to California—the first in five months-- I just made it back home to the boat here on Raiatea.

Had a surprisingly flawless entry into French Polynesia... but I'm not sure if it was because I was towards the end of the line and the immigration officials were "fiu" (fed up in Tahitian) by the time they got to me, or, because June 3rd was Mother's Day here! Everyone was in quite the jovial mood for 5am, and wishing 'bonne fête' with flowers at every turn. I was kind of sweating it—literally—in the POLICE/IMMIGRATION line, but, it couldn't have been smoother getting through immigration and customs. Nothing like that strange nightmarish exit I had a month ago, and because of that I had spent an inordinate amount of time in California getting travel "proof" and boat documentation paperwork together, including a faxed letter from a gendarme on Raiatea who had inadvertently caused my exit problem in the first place by insisting that all Americans who fly into French Polynesia automatically get a 3-month visa, and thus not giving me the extension I had requested before my initial 30 days had expired. This was incorrect information, and the Papeete immigration officials were quite upset and pretty gnarly with me on exiting when I could not present a valid visa for the “extra 23 days” I had spent in the country, despite my attempts at explaining, in my rather flawed French, the fact that I had tried to comply with the law. It was truly a sobering glimpse of what a real-life police interrogation might be like if I was an accused criminal: intimidating and frightening, with a strong sense of powerlessness. Wait—wasn’t that just what it was?!

The fact is, American passport-holders only get 30 days on arrival, by boat OR airplane, unless they have already obtained a 3-month visa from a French Consulate in their home country before arriving. (Since we arrived from traveling in New Zealand this time, we had not obtained the 3-month visas this time.) I thought that was so, but earlier could not convince the three gendarmes on Raiatea that I did indeed need a visa extension after 30 days (usually a simple process in which you pay a visa fee of around U.S. $30 in exchange for a stamp in your passport), and so finally, fatefully, gave up, thinking perhaps their law had changed recently. In the end, I needed none of the backup paperwork I had so diligently acquired for my return in anticipation of big problem at the “border.” However, I’m willing to bet that if I had not had it, I would have definitely needed it—and I never bet!

Southwest Airlines was kind enough to waive my "overweight" fee on the leg from San Jose to LAX, and I was able to schluck the 4 huge duffel bags, my backpack (containing our very fragile replacement anemometer, which did raise a few eyebrows at the x-ray screening machines), and computer--all piled high on a cart-- from Terminal 3 to Terminal 1 (domestic to international) in only 17 minutes! Great workout, and I saved the $60 for which a barely-English-speaking guy with a big cart 'offered' to do it for me. I had a total of 80kg (about 176 lbs), which was actually kind of light compared to Joe's 380lbs. that he flew in with a month earlier! I did manage to fit 5 pillows in there somehow, because they just don't seem to sell real, manufactured pillows here, and ours on the boat were dismally beyond moldy mildew: they were downright disgusting. Apparently people here "make their own" but they are oddly sized and don't last long before they're flat as a.... well, pancake I guess, or maybe here it might be a crepe?

The flight was 11:40pm Calif. time to 5:15am Tahiti time (really 8:15am Calif. time) but I never slept, as is usually the case on long flights for me. Watched two movies, but also as usual, couldn't figure out the schedule until the first one had been running to the halfway point. So, for the third time in five months while flying, I watched the beginning of a movie last, after watching the ending first... go me! I’m not sure why, but it seems that everyone else on the flight always has some mysteriously acquired in-house knowledge of what’s going on!

Had to hang around the Faaa-Papeete airport (yes, its name is spelled with 3 a's!) for a few hours more before the flight to Raiatea. That was the hardest part: by then, I'd been awake about 30 hours straight, and caught myself several times nearly falling out of my chair--or drooling--with exhaustion. (I hope I wasn't snoring, too!!) Finally remembered I had an iPod, so connected to some wonderful Vivaldi music (Four Seasons), which kept me awake long enough to view the beautifully colored tropical sunrise drenching the waiting room in those rich Tahitian-style oranges and magentas, and, board the flight. Watching people was particularly enjoyable, since so many were obviously dressed up and on their way to “Mom’s” with flowers and gifts in hand. Joe was waiting with a big cart when I arrived at Raiatea, we picked up the 3 biggest duffels that I had air-freighted out here (Only cost $68 to "ship" 68kg, when it would've cost around $400 if I'd checked them on my flight. They even arrived on a flight before me! What a deal...) and drove right up to the boat's dock in Junior, our friend’s generously loaned car. Couldn't wait to unpack all the goodies for everyone--mostly boat stuff like glues, tubes of caulk, spare or replaced parts, lights, fans, etc., books (of course!) and some local requests like baby oil, Burt's Bees, and Ben Gay!). Then finally..... I….. just.... crashed.

Yesterday was a brand new day--refreshed and caught up on sleep in only 12 hours (amazing how that works) and ready to dive into life aboard Shanachie again. Joe got a LOT of work done while I was gone, and the boat is finally starting to feel more 'ship-shape' now after having been left here hauled out in the boatyard for 20 months. He replaced the mechanical engine-driven freezer compressor with a new 12-volt compressor (so we don’t have to run the engine to keep things frozen anymore), and spent hours stripping old peeling varnish, sanding, and re-varnishing it all, among many other projects. We may be able to throw off the dock lines next week if all goes well with getting the engine going with its new fuel filters and batteries. Just a step closer to actually cruising again... It really does feel so nice to be back in this tropical climate, currently a pleasant 82 degrees.

Lastly here, I’d like to rather publicly send out my heartfelt thanks to all those dear friends and family people back there in California for the visits, meals, drinks, rides, movies, music, conversation, photos, etc. etc. etc. etc.! That's really what it's all about, I think, however brief those moments are sometimes; it's what does ultimately remain in one’s lifelong stash of memories, and for those, I am forever grateful.

First Test

2007-04-19T07:50:00.001+12:00

Hello all... This is a first test of the new Shanachie blog that I'll be attempting to write, which seems to be replacing the initial vision I had for our "Crew Log" pages on the Shanachie website. It's quite clear to me now that there is just no way that anyone else aboard will be adding to their own Log pages any time soon. Thus, I hereby head upwind on my own here, navigating the treacherous waters of Third World Cyberspace to bring small slices of everyday life on board this relatively small sailing vessel to... well... whoever might be interested. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to post here, or even whether my wireless signal will "hold" on any given day, but, you're welcome to come back later for more--if you're interested!