These guys showed up right off our stern one day in Tahuata, Marquesas Islands. We jumped in and enjoyed an amazing moment with these magnificent creatures.
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Fatu-Hiva - Landfall
| The Anchorage at Fatu Hiva |
After anchoring, Emerald and Island Sonata welcomed us with fresh local fruit, we showered, and took in the sights around us. We couldn’t get enough. We took a brief rest, and then kayaked to shore with Rick and Corby from Emerald. Little kids helped us ashore in trade for a turn to play in our kayaks, which we gladly turned over. Next we joined the village in watching a huge soccer (or Football) match that was taking place, the winner would go on to Tahiti to continue in the games. (A neighboring Island boated in its team). After the first game, and no longer able to sit in the sweltering heat, we hiked to the waterfall with Emerald and Island Sonata. It was quite a hike, and we were continually amazed by the sites, it was truly everything I every associated with “Tropical Island”. The waterfall shocked us with its size and beauty. We expected cool, but not outstanding. We swam in the cool pool beneath the waterfall and snacked on Pamplemouse (aka Pomelo) (a delicious local fruit, like a grapefruit without the tartness and bitterness, and a bit sweeter). Hiking back, John (from Island Sonata) persuaded us to detour UP for further exploration. And up. And up. And up. Truly exhausted, half of us stopped in a shady spot, while the men ventured on, to the top-most point they could reach. Could this Island be any more breath taking? Chris got some wonderful [photo] shots, yet when we looked at them later, we knew that no photo or video could do this Island justice. The problem with going up is you still have to come down! At the bottom of the “trail”, just before the “real road” starts we took a break and swam in a fresh water stream. By now our legs were in shock, after 23 days of nearly no use, this was quite the introduction back to land! When I stood still, my legs quivered.
We were introduced to the Chief of the Island. He showed us a magnificent bone carving he made from the tusks of a pig - such craftsmanship and detail. He also plays on the soccer team, so we were able to learn that Fatu Hiva won the match (hooray). I still find it a bit entertaining that the Chief's name is Marc ... not quite as authentic as I was expecting!!! (We later learned that the Marquesian's typically take a Euro-Catholic first name and a native middle name ... unfortunately I'm not sure what his middle name is).
Finally we made our way back to Billabong, exhausted and near starving! My only other wish for the day was an In-and-Out Burger! At the waterfall I joked that it would’ve been perfect if there were a guy frying hamburgers at the base. We settled for spaghetti instead and then drifted off into the best sleep of the month … knowing that tomorrow we could do paradise all over again!
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| Landfall in Fatu Hiva: Every thing you dream of... and more |
We only spent two days in Fatu Hiva. We would have enjoyed more, but Fatu Hiva is not a port of entry, and we [technically] were there illegally. Our second day there was every bit as joyous as the first. In the morning Chris escorted in a few friends who had just arrived to introduce them to the Chief. They hooked up with a cruiser who spoke excellent French, and spent the next few hours visiting with the locals. Oh how speaking the language helps to unite! How I wish Chris or I (or both) could communicate in something other then English. Of course it wasn’t all bonding, the locals spent a large portion of the time telling Chris and gang what they “wanted” … in terms of items they were looking to trade for (things such as hats, shorts, t-shirts, etc). On Fatu Hiva, such goods were preferred over cash (understandably so, since they had no shops and grew or raised most their own food). The locals are not shy about what they want and are quite aggressive in making their trades … Chris and I were definitely outmatched! When Chris returned to the boat, we gathered a few items and attempted to prepare for the upcoming trading. Based on some readings and other cruisers experiences we knew the following: make a SPECIFIC offer, do not just show them a number of things and ask them to “pick”, as they will pick EVERYTHING; separate items so that you are not pulling out a lot of stuff … once they see something they’ll want it (even if they don’t need it); and be prepared for them to ask for things “off your back”! From Emerald, we also learned that the kids LOVE candy, so we brought along a bag to dish out along the way.
Before tackling the trades, we enjoyed another peaceful hike to the waterfall, taking more pictures of the same thing, but never getting enough! Coming back into town we went hunting for the Stone Tiki and Tapa we were thinking of getting. Our first stop was for the Tiki and to look at woodcarvings. They were all beautiful, easily making us jealous that we don’t hold such a talent. Chris really liked the Tiki, so we offered to try and trade. Chris pulled out two t-shirts and a hat. She immediately grabbed all three and then asked “What Else?” We said “Nothing, that plus some money”. But she had a quick eye and had seen another t-shirt inside Chris’s bag. “What’s that?” “That’s for the Chief.” “Let me see.” “Oh, it’s just a t-shirt for the Chief [lots of pointing and hand motions to try and further convey this]”. “Let me see.” Reluctantly Chris pulls out the shirt to show her still saying it’s for the Chief. She basically takes it and throws it over her shoulder. Hmmm, guess it’s hers. They continued to ask what else we had … looking for everything from soap, shampoo, and perfume to shorts, hats, bras, and t-shirts. We offered fingernail polish as well, but it was the one thing she didn’t [originally] seem interested in. Finally we convinced them that this was all we were willing to trade for the very small Tiki we wanted. Luckily it was accepted, along with $20 dollars (originally she wanted $60 for it). Of course in the end, as I was picking back up the fingernail polish, she said, “Oh, ok, we’ll take that too!!!"
There were a few kids hanging around and we asked their parents if it was ok to give them some candy. Of course it was, but little did we know that Chris was about to become the Pied Piper. After handing the five children a piece each, the parents stepped in for some as well, not only for themselves but also for the other two to five children they had at home. Then, after leaving the house, the kids immediately ran out in front yelling “Bobo! Bobo!” (Candy! Candy!). Kids seemed to appear from everywhere. When we entered the next house (to look at Tapas) kids hovered outside the gate peering over with their wanting little eyes! We obliged giving out more and more candy … and laughingly turning away the kids who were trying to sneak in for a second piece! We purchased the Tapa for straight cash (phew) and were lucky that a few other French-speaking cruisers were there at the same time … it was through them that we learned the prices were “Tahiti” prices and that the “local” price was less. I think indecision helped as well, the longer Chris and I stood there debating which one we wanted the more the price dropped!
Chris also got a kick out of the stickers on the woodcarvings, which read, “Made in the original Marquesian way”. ‘Er, how original is the guy outback carving away with a sand saw and other power tools??? A tapa, by the way, is a painting or drawing done on thinned out bark. The bark is typically brown and the drawing black. The designs vary from abstract Marquesian symbols to animals and people. Our tapa was stained with ginger root and therefore is light yellow rather than brown (this is what actually made it hard for us to decided on, I loved the design but wasn’t sure about yellow instead of brown). The design is a Marquesian turtle with the Islands of the Marquesas within the design of the turtle. The only downfall is that it’s too large to hang in the boat, so we’ll have to wait until we are land based again to appreciate it.
The Crossing - KT gives a day-by-day blow
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| Chris reefing during the crossing |
But what about those day-to-day emotions? What was it like? How did I really feel in the moment, rather than looking back? These were things I wanted to remember, so to the best of my ability (depending on seasickness and pure laziness) I attempted to capture a few thoughts every day or so. Looking back I noticed that I write most often when my mood is not so high … really it wasn’t ‘that bad’ of a passage. Although I can’t say I necessarily enjoyed it, I would do it again in a heartbeat because the end rewards are beyond any discomfort experienced!
Day 1 (Thursday, March 25, 2004)
Lifted anchor from Punta de Mita at 3:28 p.m.
As we lifted anchor and set course “out to sea”, my mind wandered from place to place. What would it be like? How would we cope? Mostly, oddly, I thought about the website, more specifically, what would I write about this day. I felt as though I should have some profound thoughts … that I should be feeling “different” somehow. But it wasn’t like that – it was almost no different then every time we pulled anchor for a new location. I think it was impossible to really think of it in terms of 22 plus days or 2800 miles. The hardest thing was just deciding to actually go. This decision was made harder by a group of Ventura boats that we finally, after all this time, hooked up with … couldn’t we just stay another day?. What most likely got us moving was that about five to seven other boats left that morning (we discovered this while listening to the Puddle Jumpers Net that afternoon) – they sort of motivated us to get up and go.
As we set sail, George (of George and Jan from Clare de Lune) gave us a proper sound off with a blow of his shell (I'd give you more details, but the type of shell, etc escape me ... I can only say it was a very cool deep sounding blow).
Day 2 (Friday, March 26th)
We made great time today, about 140 miles. We also caught our “first” (meaning first the we’ve kept to eat) fish … a yellowtail! I was near tears when he kept flopping around and seeing all the blood, it was so sad. I know I eat fish all the time, but this felt so much more personal. I said a private thank you to King Neptune, God, the Fish’s family, and the Sea. I also promised we wouldn’t waste a single morsel. I don’t think our next fish will feel any better (for me) … while it was great to have fresh fish, I haven’t felt like putting the pole back in since!
During my watch I spotted some odd lights ahead. It looked like two separate, but really close boats. Just two single white lights ... no red or green lights, nor any massive amount of brightness (as seen with lots of freighters and cruise ships), just two pretty small, isolated white lights. I stared and stared trying to figure out what they were, and more importantly which direction they were heading, but it was impossible to make out. My first impulse was to get Chris, but we weren't in any immediate danger and I felt like at some point I needed to gain confidence that I could do things on my own. Plus I had the whole BIG Ocean to work with; it should be easy to miss (not collide with) those two tiny lights!
So I watched. And with each passing minute that I wasn't able to ascertain which way the lights were moving, the nervousness built up in me. It was like a huge knot in the bottom of my stomach. Initially I thought they would go behind us, and made slight course adjustments to port, thinking we would pass starboard to starboard and behind each other. But it just seemed they were getting closer and closer -- and still directly in our way (or rather us in their way). Finally, feeling like any minute I would throw-up, as I was so nervous, I took off the auto-pilot and headed up (starboard) instead, so that they would pass in front (or we would be port to port). Chris, being so in tune with the boat's motion, was up in the cockpit in a flash (knowing that I had changed course) asking where the boat was! Instantly I felt relief that he was there. I was also a bit disappointed in myself that I felt such relief, why was I so nervous to begin with? I was doing everything right. It turns out my last course change was correct and when Chris checked the radar the two small sailboats turned out to be a very large freighter moving at about 30 knots, less than one mile away ... YIKES!!! Sure am glad I missed it.
The weather picked up a bit for Chris's watch ... breaking waves over the bow actually left small squid behind on our decks!
Day 3 (Saturday, March 27th)
Another speedy day (140 miles as well). I thought I might be over my sea sickness, but after making breakfast down below, and later lunch, I quickly learned that I was not … and it is wearing on me … will I ever feel 100% again? How can I go 20-30 days feeling this way? It is depressing. If I still fell like this tomorrow I will take something.
We saw a Mexican Navy (maybe Navy) helicopter today. He did a fly by … actually kind of two or three. Apparently they did this to a couple of other Puddle Jumpers as well. We aren’t sure what they were looking for, but with a skull and cross bones on their window they were a bit worrisome at first!
We were also joined by a small (ten or so) pod of dolphins for a bit, and later in the day a couple of Boobies (birds) kept circling us – trying to land on our [moving] mast. They are pretty entertaining to watch.
Day 4 (Sunday, March 28th)
Only 110 miles today.
I finally felt half normal today. Of course there is almost no wind, and therefore it is a lot calmer. I hope that I am finally getting my “sea-stomach”! I still had a headache and don’t like to go below for very long, but it is a much improved day. We seem to no longer be able to reach anyone by VHF, although we can hear people here and there.
It still doesn’t feel that we are on any major trip …although I was getting a bit antsy today and had to think, “Already?, with still at least 18 days to go???"
As of yet I have just been laying around – no exercise or stretching or yoga, or any other of the “great” plans I had for this trip … including web stuff and possible writing down my experience with the twins.
As for the other Puddle Jumpers … so far two boats have had to return, one lost their rudder (which I never even imagined was possible ... and by 'lost' I don't mean broke, I mean detached from the boat, goodbye into the big blue sea!), the other couple was extremely seasick for two days straight, and with a small child on board, decided to turn back to nearest land to decide what to do. Another boat had to “stop” before departing. They have a leak in their fuel line. It’s too bad, Chris and I had just met them, and they were (are) one of the few cruisers “our” age … 30-ish. We had looked forward to getting to know them better. Of course the thing about cruising, or possible getting older in general, is that more and more people seem “your age” or close enough. With cruising it just seems like everyone is younger to begin with. I guess age doesn’t really matter when you’re hanging out with great people.
Something in me feels like I need to keep writing, but I don’t have much to write … maybe I’m just feeling chatty – after only three days at sea! I’m sure by the end of this trip I’ll have driven Chris insane!
Day 9 (Friday April 2nd)
The week just seemed to blur together. We are still seeing Boobies … being some 800-900 miles out; I just didn’t think we’d be seeing birds. We’ve seen them everyday actually. They keep trying to land on our masthead, which is quite difficult with the boat rolling. Two days ago one ran into the running backstay (really really hard). Then fell to the hard dodger, rolled across it, tangled in the lifeline, and eventually flopped back into the ocean. He shook his head and flapped his wings for a good minute or two. I really thought he wasn’t going to make it, but (thankfully) he did finally take flight again.
At the beginning of the week, we hit the “dead zone” (no wind) as predicted. It was very slow going and the sails just continuously banged … very teeth clenching (literally). But for the first time I wasn’t feeling seasick. I couldn’t decide what would be better, to only go three knots and take twice as long to get there, but not be sick, or to get there faster but feel awful!
Wednesday we threw up the Spinnaker. What a great smooth ride. When I laid down that night I felt as though we were flying, so calm, flat and fast! Just wonderful … awesome. And QUIET – none of that boom banging or Genoa collapsing. Of course the wind eventually picked up, so we had to go back to the Genoa, which for whatever reason is such a rolly ride.
Thursday night I barely slept at all. And I’ve been having killer headaches, I figure it’s one or more of … no coffee, lack of sleep, seasickness, and/or dehydration, oh and/or maybe no physical exercise. It is so hard not to be lethargic. Lying around does that to you, and I have trouble motivating to get out of it. Today (Friday) I finally showered and getting the energy to do that seemed impossible (but boy am I ever glad I did).
As for if this “meets” my “expectations” (not that I had many), I suppose, yes and no. First, I definitely didn’t think there would be this much side-to-side movement; I really bought into the whole trade-wind sailing thing (with gentle rolling seas from behind). Of course we haven’t (I don’t think) hit the “real” trades yet. I also thought I’d be more sleepy-tired during the day. Oddly I don’t feel like someone doing three-hour shifts. Of course it does seem to hit pretty hard at night. On the other hand, I didn’t think I’d feel so lethargic, so lay-around BLAH! Now this will sound odd, but I also thought Chris and I would be spending more time together. Obviously we’re always around each other but we are almost always just reading our separate books. Not much talking and not a lot of games. At this point I’m not sure if that is good or bad.
I’ve seen a lot more of the flying fish. I always thought “flying” was just sort of a term … because they jumped high out of the water, or skimmed the water. I never really thought of them as really, truly flying …. But they do! They are quite a site, and there are hundreds of them … they are easily mistaken for tiny birds. I never get bored of seeing them.
Day 10 (Saturday, April 3rd)
Over 1000 miles covered.
I would’ve given just about anything to stop – for just an hour even. The rolling, my headaches, being tired, it was all getting to me. I wanted just a moment of complete calm, complete silence (no waves splashing, booms banging, sails flopping). It makes me nervous to feel like this with 1600 plus miles still to go.
I made chocolate cake to celebrate passing the 1000-mile point. Surprisingly the homemade frosting turned out really good. Then when dinner came around and I went to get the macaroni I found weevils … tons of them. UGH!!! Luckily the containers I bought work quite well and only one container was contaminated. I’m not sure if they started in the rice and found their way out into the “open” or they started in one of the “open” (not in airtight container) boxes and found their way in. Guess it really doesn’t matter. Because of the weevils I hadn't put the lid back on the macaroni (there were some on the outside of lid of the macaroni, and I wanted to clean it before putting the lid back on (luckily none were able to get through the seal to the inside), and as luck would have it, just as we were sitting down to eat, a huge swell cam through and the open jar of macaroni fell over dumped into the chocolate cake. With my mood of the day I could’ve cried! Chris kept me sane though and we were able to salvage the cake as well as most of the macaroni. It took a good hour after dinner cleaning out the entire rice/pasta cupboard. I HATE bugs – it was not a joyful experience. Chris tried to salvage the [contaminated] sushi rice – any other rice and I’d just thrown it over board, but Sushi rice is hard to come by and we’ve been talking about making smoked salmon rolls for a couple of days now. I can still see bugs in it though, so I’ve quarantined the container, just in case they can escape (so far they haven’t). I plan on “baking" the rice to kill them and any eggs. The whole thing grosses me out – I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat it.
To top off the night, it started raining during Chris’s shift and into my second shift. The wind was from behind, pushing the rain in, so there was no protected place in the cockpit. ARGH! However, to not be all negative, there was a moment – post weevils and pre-rain, when Chris and I were laying in the cockpit, with the moon glowing full and bright overhead. We just lay there, talking occasionally and watching the moon, it was truly a wonderful, peaceful moment.
Day 11 (Sunday, April 4th)
The sun popped up for a moment, but was quickly chased away by a very large threatening rain cloud. Chris had just showered (finally) and we decided to raise the main to try and out run the approaching cloud. Things got bumpy, I got sick, and the rain caught us. But it was entertaining to watch Chris trimming the sails in his birthday suite (we typically aren’t the naked-cruising type). The rain has been off and on since. The ride however is more stable due to our ‘new’ course and having the main up. It took most of the day but I am finally over the ill feeling.
Day 13 (Tuesday, April 6th)
HALFWAY!!!!
Day 14 (Wednesday, April 7th)
The rain and swell remained the last couple of days, as did my seasickness. Yesterday I finally took some Dramamine and it seemed to help. I woke up this morning down, the last few days of rain, and wet everything was getting to me. Everything smelled like wet mildew/mold. There was nowhere dry to sit and down below was too hot and muggy. I was nearing the end of my rope! But then, after a short drizzle, the sun finally appeared. Clouds still surround the horizon, but we’ve been outside all day and the cushions are almost dry even! I fear it won’t last the night, but am just trying to stay thankful for the day!
We were also joined by a very large group of dolphins today. They were surfing the swell and darting back and forth in front of our bow. Such cool animals!
My mind can’t help but wander to some of the things we (I) are giving up to make this journey. I suppose all of life is like that … give and take. And it doesn’t make me wish for anything different (unless there was some magical way to do all things and be in all places at once), but it can still make me sad. Mostly I think about times I’m missing with friends and family. Will all my girlfriends get married without me? Will I not be there to shed some of those happy tears? Will I lose touch – too far away to continue to be an important person in their life and them in mine? And the twins – when will I see them again? Already they are crawling and soon to be walking, and I’ve barely seen them … will they even care who I am five years from now – or will they run and hide, shy of the “new” person? How will they ever know just how much they mean to me? I miss the regular interaction with my family, but know that I can count on them to be there now and when I return (I do worry sometimes that I might be taking that for granted as life can be so unpredictable). Yet, what events will I miss in-between? Will I be there for them when they need me? It seems that in some cases so much is changing that I'm afraid I'll come back to find myself isolated.
Day 19 (Wednesday, April 12th)
Hooray, we crossed the equator this morning (sometime around 11a.m.). No red line to mark the spot, but we watched the GPS position until it turned to 0o0.00’. There was another cake (German Chocolate w/ Pecan Coconut frosting this time), along with Champagne, Jimmy Buffet, and … er … well … some things best not mentioned to the public (wink wink). We thanked King Neptune for our safe journey and wished for safety for all those who followed. We also dumped off four wine bottles with messages. Just little notes with our boat cards asking for the finder to mail or email us … it will be interesting if we ever hear from anyone!!! We have less than 600 miles to go! It still seems ages away, but this was a great milestone in the passage!
Day 20 (Tuesday, April 13th)
I had quite the watch(es) last night. It started with a book. A kind of demented scary book, not a Stephen King, but one in which Stephen King praised as “Terrifying” … so you get the picture. In this book there was a serial killer who was snatching up young teenage girls … I need not go into details because it was somewhat disturbing. Rather, the point is that this book saddened and frightened me, because such things really do happen and unfortunately are not always fiction. And I was truly grateful at that moment for being on a boat in the middle of the ocean, where nothing like that could happen to me. Oddly, I felt safe. Thinking about more, I was convinced that the middle of nowhere was a great place to be and that at least IF something did happen, it would be nature’s force and not pain from another human being … and for whatever psycho reason, this comforted me.
Ironically, I was in the middle of reading this book (periodically checking the horizon for obstacles, boats, storms, etc), when I became convinced that Chris and I were going to die. A bright light came from what seemed to be nowhere, and was just mere feet from Billabong. In that instance I knew it was over, I don’t know how I missed that large of freighter, but it was too late, it was bearing down on us and about to ram into our starboard side. I had let Chris down, I didn’t keep a good watch, how did this happen? How did I miss that boat? What a fool I was to think that we were better off in the middle of the Ocean, this was my payback. These thoughts and more ran through my mind as I jumped to my feet, turning my head to the source of light, and reaching out at the same time to turn off the auto pilot (so I could attempt to get out the way, although I was convinced it was too late). And there it was … wow! Not a freighter, not even lightening (which was my second thought, although there wasn’t a cloud in the sky), but the largest, brightest shooting star that I think ever existed. I only caught the tail end, but this star lit up the ENTIRE sky … enough that you could’ve read a book by the light it created. The light streaming behind it was inches thick, and even just the bit I saw was long. I have never seen anything like it. And [phew] we weren’t going to die after all! Still, it took me a good twenty minutes to get my heart rate back down and to be able to relax again.
It was about 3:00am on my second watch. This time I was catnapping between horizon checks, when newwwewwwwnewwww …. We had left our fishing line out and it was still trailing behind us, apparently we had caught something. I practically dove over the wheel and over Chris (who was sleeping in the cockpit because it was cooler) to grab the pole and stop the line. Chris (obviously awake at this time) grabbed the pole and started reeling it in. What emerged was from a different world (perhaps from a Stephen King book). It sent heebie-jeebies up and down my spine and made my toes tingle. This thing, ‘er fish, was long and thin with the ugliest looking face I’ve ever seen, almost deathly looking. It looked like a cross between a fish and an eel (fish head, eel body). As Chris pulled it out of the water, both of us, in unison, yelled out “What is it???” (Someone later told us it might be a Ribbon Fish). Whatever it was, it was damn gross, ugly, and just downright scary. I didn’t even want Chris to touch it … it had these spiky looking things and big ‘ol teeth. Ugh. Luckily Chris got the hook out easily and we returned the monster to the black ocean night. We will never again leave out the rod overnight!
Day 23 (Friday, April 16th))
Today was a hard day for me because so many other boats have now made landfall, yet we still have two days at sea left. Unfortunately we won’t be able to make it by Saturday night (before the dark), so we have to slow the boat down and are aiming for Sunday morning instead. I feel like crying … I just want to be there, I want the boat to stop moving, I want other people around, I want land … I want, I want, I want. Come on girl, just two more days, hang in there!
Day 23 and 19 hours (Sunday, April 18th)
The first sight of land seemed wrong. This huge black mass emerged from the sea like a gigantic monster ready to engulf Billabong and occupants. It looked threatening, scary, and after so many days of nothingness, out of place. We couldn’t stop looking at it, and our excitement was mounting. My God, we made it! We are in the Marquesas; we have just crossed 2899 miles of ocean! We’re here! What’s it going to be like? We sat in the lee of the Island for two hours, awaiting the sun so we could make our approach. As the light emerged over the top of the mountains of Fatu Hiva, ridges and edges took shape, and dark greens appeared throughout the Island. After weeks of reading about the beauty and wonder of the Marquesas, especially as one’s first landfall, I was disappointed, this is it? But the sun continued to rise, and with it the somewhat dark and bland Island emerged into a wonderful paradise. As we drew closer neither of us could contain our amazement, it was truly more than we could’ve expected or imagined, more than any words or pictures could accurately describe. Fatu Hiva is the dream. Hundreds of variations of greens appeared, crevices, crooks, mountains, hills, rock formations, banana trees popping up everywhere, and it seemed to only get better as we got closer. As if that wasn’t enough, just inside the anchorage ten or so dolphins performed jumps and twists and played in our bow.
After anchoring, Emerald and Island Sonata welcomed us with fresh local fruit, we showered, and took in the sights around us. We couldn’t get enough. We took a brief rest, and then kayaked to shore with Rick and Corby from Emerald. Little kids helped us ashore in trade for a turn to play in our kayaks, which we gladly turned over. Next we joined the village in watching a huge soccer (or Football) match that was taking place, the winner would go on to Tahiti to continue in the games. (A neighboring Island boated in its team). After the first game, and no longer able to sit in the sweltering heat, we hiked to the waterfall with Emerald and Island Sonata. It was quite a hike, and we were continually amazed by the sites, it was truly everything I every associated with “Tropical Island”. The waterfall shocked us with its size and beauty. We expected cool, but not outstanding. We swam in the cool pool beneath the waterfall and snacked on Pamplemouse (aka Pomelo) (a delicious local fruit, like a grapefruit without the tartness and bitterness, and a bit sweeter). Hiking back, John (from Island Sonata) persuaded us to detour UP for further exploration. And up. And up. And up. Truly exhausted, half of us stopped in a shady spot, while the men ventured on, to the top-most point they could reach. Could this Island be any more breath taking? Chris got some wonderful [photo] shots, yet when we looked at them later, we knew that no photo or video could do this Island justice. The problem with going up is you still have to come down! At the bottom of the “trail”, just before the “real road” starts we took a break and swam in a fresh water stream. By now our legs were in shock, after 23 days of nearly no use, this was quite the introduction back to land! When I stood still, my legs quivered.
We were introduced to the Chief of the Island. He showed us a magnificent bone carving he made from the tusks of a pig - such craftsmanship and detail. He also plays on the soccer team, so we were able to learn that Fatu Hiva won the match (hooray). I still find it a bit entertaining that the Chief's name is Marc ... not quite as authentic as I was expecting!!! (We later learned that the Marquesian's typically take a Euro-Catholic first name and a native middle name ... unfortunately I'm not sure what his middle name is).
Finally we made our way back to Billabong, exhausted and near starving! My only other wish for the day was an In-and-Out Burger! At the waterfall I joked that it would’ve been perfect if there were a guy frying hamburgers at the base. We settled for spaghetti instead and then drifted off into the best sleep of the month … knowing that tomorrow we could do paradise all over again!
The Crossing - Chris summarizes our 23 days at sea
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| Pointing Billabong towards the South Pacific |
We’re Off
On Wednesday, we finally left the marina to head to Punta De Mita to get our sea legs, finish adding the storm shutters/final prep and decide on a good weather window to get us off the coast and into the North East trade winds. We had recently heard three Ventura boats that we had been trying to hook up with all since we arrived all talking on the VHF within Banderas Bay; Clare de Lune (the friends we stole the going away wine idea from), Fifth Element (our dock neighbor) and Albatross (friends of friends). We finally got in touch with them and planned to rendezvous that night and the next day. It was great to catch up on everyone’s season and adventures to date. We were accused of NOT being real cruisers after we admitted we still had some wine left from CA. Albatross joined us the next morning and we caught up with their adventures and issues to date. She had been hit but a local jet skier and cracked/broke a couple of ribs. Liability is not the same in Mexico and she barely recovered her medical expenses, even though then had to spend a month+ in the Marina recovering and you could tell she was still in pain. I guess Mexico has fixed price liability, for example if you are killed by a bus your family will receive $800. Strange!!! We were trying desperately to decide whether to leave right then or wait until Saturday and hang out with our friends (sailors tradition says you can’t leave on a Friday on a long passage). At around 2:00 we heard three other fellow puddle jumpers exiting the bay so we decided to go for it. We are soooo glad we did (not that it wouldn’t have been worth every minute hanging out with our friends) but the weather window closed on Friday and the next set of boats had to wait another week. We were off, the hurried departure made it seem as if we were leaving for the next anchorage that was only a day away, the reality wouldn’t sink in for a couple of days. As we sailed out of the anchorage, George from Clare de Lune blew his shell horn and sent us on our way.
A Typical Passage Day
So what does someone do for a full day at sea, well to start you don’t get eight hours of sleep. We covered each night with a watch schedule of three-hour shifts from 8 pm until 8 am. The person on watch was responsible for keeping the pointy end of the boat headed for the Marquesas and looking out for ships and squalls (The squall part was added to keep the watch person sharp because we only saw two ships during our entire trip). A watch basically entails setting our kitchen count down timer (with memory) to 15 minutes (roughly the time it takes for a fast moving freighter to get from the horizon to you) and making sure you do a full horizon scan looking for stuff within that timeframe. The timer was our most important piece of gear because it allowed us to feel comfortable “cat-napping” on watch. More than once I fell into such a deep sleep that KT was woken up below and had to come shake me awake even though my ears were only two feet away from the buzzer. I think my body adapted really well to the catnaps, there were a bunch of nights I covered the full nights watch, because I was having fun, without any ill effects. I slept in the cockpit 99% of the time, only because it was cooler and I felt more comfortable there. I smiled every time I woke up and saw the Southern Cross. Even the squalls were easy to handle, since we sailed with a double-reefed mainsail at night. In most cases you could just bear off a little bit, blanket the Genoa behind the mainsail, roll in a little bit and head back up, easily a single persons job. All of this was made infinitely easier by our self-steering. We have both an electric/hydraulic autopilot, that automatically steers the boat to a fixed course, and a wind vane, which is a very cool mechanical contraption that steers to a fixed wind angle. We hand steered a total of maybe three hours during our three hundred hour trip, and that was to chase down dolphins, into and out of ports, and playing around with sail trim.
During the day we didn’t have formal watch schedules but still kept the timer going, because we sometimes got so focused on our books. Typically we had breakfast, listened to the net (which kept track of every boats position and their weather each day), and then read or played Yahtzee. Yup, lots of books were read, at least one a day sometimes two depending on the night. Most of them were just typical thriller fiction but as we got close I wanted to read up on the history of the land and people we were going to visit. I started with all the history in the front of the lonely planet books that I have on the area and then Blue Latitudes by Tony Horwitz about Cooks travels throughout the Pacific. Here I am worrying about our trip when I’ve got full modern equipment (GPS tells you were you are within 10 feet, paper and electronic charts which when connected to the GPS puts your boat on the chart exactly where it is, a Satellite Phone to keep in touch with family once a week, a SSB radio to communicate to the rest of the fleet each day, and an EPIRB which sends out an emergency signal with our position so someone knows what’s going on when you have a serious problem, Cruising Guides describing anchorages by people who have been there, something to steer the boat for me and backups of the GPS and computer). What a wimp, my biggest worry was if the charts were going to be accurate enough (some of the south pacific charts are from original surveys done back in the late 1800’s without GPS so it doesn’t do much good if you can get within 10 feet if the chart is off by a couple of miles. I guess that’s why we have eyes). Anyway, Cook did three trips around the Pacific to CHART them between 1768 and 1780. This was back when there were cannibals on the islands, everywhere was uncharted, everything was manual, navigation was poor because they didn’t even have accurate clocks and there was no communication with home (other that via other ships). Their biggest issue, after making sure you didn’t crash into anything you didn’t know was there, was disease. 38 out of 94 crew on board died (and that was a good survival ratio for the times); the ships log describes battling a squall while four men died around them. Yet with all that he accomplished, Cook seemed to be a humble man, just doing his job. I can’t imagine the sense of pride and wonder he must have felt discovering these magical lands, especially after returning home successfully two times (he died during his third trip.. killed by natives in Hawaii). Even with all the modern conveniences I still felt incredibly small, nothing but vast uncontrollable ocean and an endless star filled sky.
Land Fall
We were about 50 miles from our final destination and I was desperately trying to spot land before our last sunset of the passage (so I could rest easy that night). I was trying to find the other islands that should have been to the west and southwest of us but the horizon was covered with dark rain clouds. KT jokingly said, “Wouldn’t it be funny if the charts were wrong … the GPS was broken”. Ahhhhhhh.. Aha Aha Aha …I said as I frantically re-reviewed the charts got exact bearings/distances. Just as the sun was setting and back lighting the low clouds, the rain stopped and a small sliver of land appeared.. or at least that’s what I convinced myself. How many clouds have you seen the rise from the horizon at a shallow slope? It started to hit me what we were doing.. We had traveled 2850 nautical miles and we were trying to find an Island that was 7 miles long and 4 miles wide.. Yikes!!!!!
We decided the day before that we would change our final destination to Fatu Hiva. It lies about 40 miles southeast of Hiva Oa and we would have had to been averaging 6.5 knots for the entire last day (which would have been close to a record setting day for us), to arrive before dark so we could comfortably set our anchors. Turns out the last night was probably one of our windiest and we averaged 6+ knots with a triple reefed main and just our staysail. Oh Well. I turned on the Radar and spotted Motane about 30 miles out and finally saw Fatu Hiva 12 miles out, EXACTLY where it was supposed to be at about 1:30 in the morning. Using just the starlight you could barely make out the island, which looked like a black sea monster with a huge arched back rising from the ocean depths. We hove to in the lee of the island for about an hour and took in the smells of land that we had missed for the last three and a half weeks. We were experiencing sensory overload after nothing but the oceans view and smells. The island was silhouetted against the sunrise and early morning haze as we approached our first anchorage. It was amazing to watch the detail unfold as the light slowly rose over the 2700 ft mountain peaks to the east. It was like a very slow unveiling of the most beautiful piece of artwork nature could have ever created. It was a very strange feeling, so many years of dreaming and thousands of hours had gone into the preparation for this trip, and we were finally there… 2899 miles, 23 days 19 hours of sailing later. I was in awe, I had also never thought about how it would feel when I first saw land, but I am sure that my daydreams couldn’t have done it justice. I wanted to stand on the bow and scream for joy. A pod of spinner dolphins appeared to guide us into the anchorage, one of them jumped clear out of the water (5-6 feet) and spun like a top (hence the name). It was as if the dolphin was acting out exactly what I was feeling. The bay was amazing with huge spires of rock jutting out of jagged ridges and tropical foliage, which continued deep into a valley into the center of the island.
As we entered the very tight anchorage we saw a couple of boats from our puddle jumpers group. They guided us into a good spot about 175 feet away from a jagged rocky cliff in 30 feet of water, it was probably the tightest anchoring situation I’ve ever had to deal with. It felt weird because we were so in tune with the boat from the passage, but SO out of practice doing anything other than sailing downwind. Both Emerald and Island Sonata greeted us in kayaks and gave us some local fruit (papaya, Pamplemouse a sweet grapefruit on steroids, and fresh bananas). They told us that there was a local soccer game (to see who would represent the two village island in Tahiti) planned for the afternoon and we were invited on a hike to a local waterfall to cool down after the game. We spent the day enjoying the fruits of our labors and hiked for at least 3 hours, not something I would recommend to anyone who’s walking distance had been limited to 40 feet maximum for a month. It was well worth it though and we crashed hard into bed for our first full nights sleep (although I did sit straight up in bed at 3:00 am wondering what was going on with the boat and why the motion was so different).
Passage Summary
All in all, the trip was much easier than I expected (and planned for), the boat and crew were amazing and exceeded all expectations. The most frustrating thing was the swells, which never seemed to materialize into the trade wind rollers that you read about. We only saw a maximum swell of eight feet, but they were always confused. We left after a period of light wind, so the ocean swell was from further away and from a different direction from the wind, which continued almost the entire trip. We only jibbed once at about 1630 miles out, and had a pretty easy time with sail changes because we went for the “simple sail plan” instead of maximum performance. We kept track of the distances to most of the close boats and one racer, who pushed his boat, jibbed frequently to maximize speed, and blew out his spinnaker during a fast broach, was beating us by 100 miles until he sailed into a huge hole for a day, they arrived slightly behind us. We typically sailed straight down our planned line, which was to sail to 6 o North 135o West, head south through the ITCZ (an area of little wind with lots of squalls and convection) and then straight for the Marquesas. Billabong loves being on a beam reach with the wind at about 130o. Once the wind got aft of 135 o we took down the main (which blanketed the forward sails) and used either a poled out Genoa or the spinnaker. Our best day was 158 miles (noon to noon) when we set the autopilot on a course, raised the spinnaker, adjusted the pole, and left it that way for 28 hours, we didn’t have to touch a thing. We battled a couple of dead calm days, which we motored through (only because the swell was rocking us out of seats). One day near the equator we only had two knots of wind but the current pushed us to two knots so we kept sailing.
There were a lot of squalls although the maximum wind speed we saw was 28 knots (20 knots apparent since we were going 8 knots). The rain was incredibly heavy at times but refreshingly cool. The toughest part was the uncomfortable humidity right after it warmed up again. Having not seen rain in so long (being from Southern California), I think we enjoyed it more than most. You could hear people on the net talking about being from the northwest and NEVER seeing rain like we saw. One guy even mentioned that he thought his GPS height of eight feet was accurate because of the quantity of rain he experienced the night before. We were usually treated to a beautiful rainbow afterwards sometimes a double one, which was made any discomfort well worth it (at least the first 20 times). I’m really glad we invested in our full bimini with a window/shade option between the dodger, to keep us reasonably dry while sailing. We will develop some side curtains out of 90% shade fabric, which seems to stop the wind blown rain as well and also allows us to see through them (we are VERY happy with our wind screens out of the same material). Sometimes depending on how into a book I was, I would use the radar and play with avoiding the squalls, changing direction slightly and speeding/slowing up. I’m sure I didn’t really avoid any but it did keep me entertained. We never had problems with lightening although we spent a night watching storm after storm pelt the fleet behind us, you could smell the ozone in the air. Boats had bolts of lightening landing in the water all around them, luckily my new lightening protection never got its workout.
We had all sorts of sea life decide they wanted to join us for our trip. First we found squid littering the deck, so I immediately put out my fishing line and caught our only real fish, a nice yellowtail tuna that provided a couple of great meals. We threw back a very weird deep ocean fish we caught late one night, which gave us both the heebee jeebies. After that we only fished during the day. Every day I would find at least three to five flying fish on the deck. They have very long fins they use as wings to fly along the top of the waves. Kind of like reverse surfing, where they surf the air pocket on top of the wave. We saw hundreds and hundreds, and I never stop laughing/smiling as I watched them spring out of the water in large seemingly frantic groups. We had one “attack”, it was early in the morning and I was awoken by a loud bang. In the dark I fumbled around trying to guess at the source of the sound. Then the smell hit me .. a strong fishy smell. I reached straight down grabbed the flying fish and threw him back before he met his demise. It wasn’t until the next day when I realized he had hit the inside top of our bimini and then the panel between the dodger. I didn’t realize they could fly so high. One guy was actually hit in the face by one during his night watch, and others hit in the chest or body; that’ll wake you up. The dolphins were the real surfers of the fleet; they loved to ride our bow wake and sometimes the bigger swells surrounding the boat. The weirdest thing was the fact that we saw birds the entire trip, even at the equator where they were at least 1000 miles from land. The funniest birds were the blue-footed boobies. At first I thought they had mistaken us for an island and followed us into the no-birds land. However most boats reported the same thing so my guilt lessened as we tried to keep the boat, bird dropping free. They would fly around the mast looking to land on the masthead or the spreaders. I would let out a horrendous scream just as they tried to land, and they would freak out only to try again five minutes later. Others used spotlights at night to keep them from landing at night. One guy had a “friend” for a couple of days and he could grab it while sleeping and throw it into the water, only to have him come back again and again. We had one crash land after hitting our running backstay. He came in low like a Kamikaze pilot, clipped the stay, and bounced off our dodger into the screen. We stared at each other for a brief second before he scrambled to the edge of the dodger and tried to throw himself over the lifelines. He got caught up pretty good on his way over the edge but finally splashed down in the water. He shook himself off for a couple minutes and after we knew he was ok we laughed hysterically at his misfortune. All in all our encounters were benign, especially compared with the two boats that hit whales. One boat glanced off one just as they were leaving PV and the other just prior to reaching the Marquesas. Whispers knot log was broken by the impact, Duncan actually cleared a hunk of rotting whale blubber out of his transducer a couple weeks later and fixed the problem.
It was so amazing to stare at the skies at night and I stopped counting the shooting stars I saw after the first couple of days. Some nights the phosphorescence made the water show better than the sky's nightly show, as huge balls of light would appear in the wake or beside the boat. The trip felt as if it went faster than I thought it would, we left and next thing you know we were arriving. I think we got “lucky” compared to others who saw higher winds, or more calms, were in lightening storms or dealt with bigger seas. A couple of the boats in the next wave of arrivals had bruised ribs, broken fingers from a storm that roughed them up. We are all excited to explore our amazing new surroundings and meet other cruisers that we have only heard/talked to on the radio.
The Crossing - Mexico to the Marquesas - Photos
March 25th - April 18th, 2004
24 Days Non-stop
2841 Nautical Miles
3269 Miles
Two people on board ... two stories to tell!
24 Days Non-stop
2841 Nautical Miles
3269 Miles
| The Route and our location every night |
The Crossing - Mexico to the Marquesas - Video
March 25th - April 18th, 2004
24 Days Non-stop
2841 Nautical Miles
3269 Miles
Two people on board ... two stories to tell!
24 Days Non-stop
2841 Nautical Miles
3269 Miles
| The Route and our location every night |
Kayıtlar
