The Further Adventures of Sally and Brad: Pax at Sea

Winter Solstice - Tahiti

Papeete - June 22, 2008
We arrived in Papeete, Tahiti, the capital of French Polynesia, on Thursday morning. Two very squally days at sea from Toau atoll left us off the main pass through the barrier reef into Papeete about an hour before dawn. We hove to waiting for daylight, and it began to rain once more. We waited for two hours for the downpour to end, and at 8 AM we motored through the reef into Papeete Harbor and then we continued inside the reef past the main airport to the small boat anchorage outside the Tahina Marina. After securing the boat there was finally time to sleep.
Last night Tahiti celebrated the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year down here. There were festivals and singing all over the island and we decided to observe them in the big city. We bussed downtown on "Le Truck," one of a few remaining small busses originally constructed out of old flatbed trucks. We sat in a passenger compartment fashioned locally out of wood and bolted to the truck bed. Le Truck is small, there is no standing headroom, and when it is full or nearly so one must climb over fellow passengers to enter and to exit. The tariff is 130 Overseas Francs, about two U.S. dollars, as announced in hand lettering on a panel behind the driver, and it is collected by a driver's helper who makes change and keeps no fare box. The route conveniently runs right by the marina to the downtown waterfront. The windows are always open and the engines are loud and belch diesel smoke, and it is hard not to bump your head or bruise your thighs entering and exiting, but Le Truck is patronized by locals of all ages - riding it presents a colorful slice of real life in today's Tahiti. These antiquated vehicles are in the process of being replaced by real buses made in real factories, and that is too bad.
We got into town about 5:30 planning for an early dinner to be followed by music and perhaps by watching some Polynesian dancing. The early dinner turned out to be impossible - none of the restaurants open before 7 PM. So, we stopped at a waterfront bar for a few very expensive drinks and we chatted until 7 PM, after which we had a pleasant dinner of Italian pasta and wine. Sal liked her beef cannelloni and Julie liked her spinach pasta with pesto, my puttanesca was bland and a little creamy, an unwise French misinterpretation of the spicy Italian staple.
After dinner we set out to find music and came upon a crowd in front of L'eglise de Notre Dame - a large catholic church that dated from 1875 - old by Papeete standards. Papeete was not even a settlement until the Europeans recognized the value of its harbor, and it initially grew slowly, having a population of less than 5,000 in 1900. This church towered over its small square. The church was pale yellow with white trim, had two large stained glass windows facing forward, and was topped with a bell tower reaching four stories into the sky. The small square in which it sat was of red brick surrounding a central white brick cross. It was bordered by palm trees and by filigreed wrought iron light-poles. We had walked by before dinner and observed a service about to begin. A half-dozen Polynesian men in full length white robes that were worn over blue jeans milled about while the priest in a green cassock greeted parishioners. The priest was thin and tall and wore long shoulder-length uncombed brown hair. He bore more than a passing resemblance to the carpenter from Bethlehem.
As we walked by after dinner a crowd of several hundred was listening to the amplified singing of various performers on a makeshift stage consisting of the steps leading up to the main entrance to the church. A banner to the side informed us that the singing was being broadcast on a number of radio stations throughout French Polynesia. We stopped and listened for an hour or so, sitting on three of the hundreds of red-plastic chairs that had been arranged about the square.
Most interesting of the singers was a quartet lead by an outgoing gay man in his thirties or forties. Sal and I had learned in the Marquesas that it was not uncommon there for a younger child in a family of male children to be raised as a girl, and we both thought that this might have been the case for this singer. We were told that the community was quite accepting of this tradition, and that it was rare for these individuals to be treated unfairly.
The music was pleasant and upbeat, and the crowd sang along with many of the songs. We all held hands for some - I had Sal on one side and a large Polynesian gentleman who knew the words to most of the songs on the other. It was all in French, of course, and we could not understand hardly any of the lyrics, which made the experience richer for this non-believer. The men and women in the square were obviously drawn closer by the music and by whatever it meant to them. There was a sense of oneness here that I could feel, but that I might have missed if I had focused on the words. It was not hard on this night to appreciate the good that religion can sometimes do in uniting a community.
Our winter solstice religious encounter ended as the main doors of the church were thrown open and the crowd, all hands raised to the sky, began to move slowly into the church. Our happy sing-along was rapidly turning into a revival meeting. Julie, born to a non-practicing Jewish family, threatened to tackle me if I headed for the church, so I prudently stepped back. The three of us left the square, we found the Le Truck stop and were soon motoring out to Pax where she lay at anchor on a flat sea under a nearly full moon.
With the new dawn winter has officially begun - but it is again in the 80's today, and I have had to close the portholes twice for squalls while composing this. So much for the change of the seasons.
Pax Vobiscum

By this time next week, we're on our way to the Marquesas.

March 15, 2008. We have been working daily to ready the boat for the next big leg -- what is referred to as The Pacific Puddle Jump. Although we've not been working at break-neck speed, we've upgraded a dozen little details: Brad redirected the water maker so that the fresh water can be diverted directly into the water tanks. Lal and I will both appreciate no longer having to haul gallons of water every day up to the water spigot on top deck.

A new third cleat on the starboard side proudly awaits the foredeck crew; the cockpit has a fresh coat of paint, the stainless steel has been shined, the plastic windscreen has a new coat of plastic cleaner and the windows have been washed and resprayed with GlassX. Gene Carlson was the inspiration for the last bit and we give thanks.

At any rate, I started thinking while I was on my knees again squirting marine adhesive under the toe-rail that cruising is serious work. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but the image and the reality do not sync up.

The Puerto Los Cabos developers have dreamed big.

Looking northwest from the top of the hill behind the marina.

Learning to fish.

March 8, 2008. Thanks to the Cabo Costco (yes, there is one that looks remarkably like the ones in Seattle), we are filled to capacity with canned food and Starbucks Coffee to sustain us to the Marquesas. Nonetheless, we have illusions of catching fish to provide fresh protein along the way.

The catching fish idea is somewhat problematic since we have never done any ocean fishing. To be completely candid, we've never done any serious fishing at all.

I admit to fishing for bullheads off Neskowin's bridge as a seven year old, and tried my hand at fly fishing a few times, where a companion ended up with a #4 Red Humptulip in my earlobe, but I may have caught and consumed a grand total of a dozen fish.

I wish I had David James Duncan's experience (of The River Why fame), but I don't. And neither does any of my crewmates who are making the Marquesa leg with us. Among the four of us who will be sailing for 30 days in camping conditions, not one of us has ever usefully fished.

There's Brad from the fishing town of Gloucester who frequently represents fishermen in the courtroom, the Rev. Sanford Webster Brown Jr. who is a methodist minister and technically a Fisher of Men, Lal Sullivan who is a marine biologist and on the last leg dissected a small squid on our dining table for its educational value, and me who is a Boise cow girl, and none of us has experience tying a bimini knot to a swivel to leader to a lure. This, we're told, is critical.

To help us along, we bought an excellent book called the Cruiser's Handbook of Fishing by Scott and Wendy Bannerot. They have created a helpful guide for the uninitiated showing everything from how to tie knots to what types of lures and equipment to buy. Although their writing is clear and the illustrations useful, it is almost overwhelming nonetheless -- so many warnings about 'do it right or don't do it at all.'

One of the best aspects of sailboating is that so many people are willing to help when asked, and many of of new neighbors have helpfully shown me what they use -- very fancy rods, reels, and squid-y looking lures that come in pink and green, snub-nosed or not, various weights of leader and line, with planers and not, with feathers or shag.

These guys are competitive fisherman who WANT to catch marlin. Not me. I want to catch a little tuna. Or maybe a little dorado. But figuring out how to hook something small enough to handle, how to get it on board, how to filet it without getting fishy substance all over the cockpit are the challenges.

I seek the minimalist's approach to fishing, maybe handlines with yoyos and rubber snubbers as contrasted to the spiffy rods and reels my marina colleagues use.

And, assuming against all odds we brought an actual fish on board we need to know what's next.

To this end, I walked over earlier this week to the public fish pier where some local pros were filleting the gringo's fish as they came into dock from their charter expeditions. I learned a great deal from them and am including some photos to show their techniques. They make it look easy. I'm told by everyone it's not and I can expect to make hash out of the first fillet efforts.

Caught in the middle of a labor dispute...

February 25, 2008. This labor union knows how to close down a hotel!

Thanks to my son Pete, his girlfriend Gina, and Gina's folks Mike and Diana Bettelli from Seattle, we were treated to a fancy timeshare called the Grand Mayan in San Jose del Cabo for a few nights. Since we had not seen a been on land for several weeks, we were pretty enthused about a bed with real sheets and a hot shower that was not restricted by the number of quarters in our pockets.

But there was much spice to our hotel stay -- local labor problems erupted at the Grand Mayan. Pieced together through our limited Spanish and Management's pretty good English, is that the hotel workers are represented by a national union, but a local union with support of the newly elected Baja president was challenging the national union's authority. The local union wants to replace the national union with their own, and chose the day we were to check in as their Day of Action.

When we went to check in Friday afternoon with only our toothbrushes and four bags of laundry in the car -- our hope being that washing facilities would be inside, we were barred at the door by the union protestors and told by Mayan management to follow a van to the back side of a golf course clubhouse a couple miles away from the hotel.

We followed at high speed up and around some dusty roads, feeling a bit like something out of the latest 007 movie. When we arrived at the back door of the clubhouse --literally driving up the golf cart paths at a few points-- we found 50 or so other would-be vacationers stacked up around tables, and asked to wait by a lovely Mayan Palace employee.

Wait we did, 3:00, 4:00, 5:00, 6:00, 7:00, 8:00 with no new information but assurances that negotiations were underway. To Brad's and my amusement, one of the Mayan employees announced to the crowd "the corporate lawyer is flying in from Puerto Villarta and it should be resolved quickly." (We know how effective those corporate lawyers can be.)

By now more would-be Grand Mayan vacationers were arriving from the US and the vacationers were getting more and more restless. Many had already been traveling for 16 hours and their patience was growing thin. It was an interesting scene; some calm, some demanding to know their alternatives for the evening, some growing hostile. Since we always had the return-to-the-sailboat option, we could watch the show unfold.

Eventually, the poor Mayan employee who seemingly had little or no support from corporate headquarters was overwhelmed by the vacationers, and a plot was hatched.

The protesting union was letting in those guests who were already in the hotel. The idea was to give the in-coming guests ID badges at the golf club but required all to leave their luggage behind. Some new-comers were then taken by taxi and dropped off several blocks away in the dark so they could walk up together as if they were returning from town.

Since we already had a rental car, we were told to drive up to the front door entrance, take in nothing but my backpack as if we too had been gone for the day, and walk in like we owned the place.

This hotel is nothing like I've experienced anywhere in the US. The entrance to the hotel lobby is almost completely dark and when entering after a bright day, it's pitch black. Two giant Mayan gods look down upon visitors as they enter, with water spilling on either side of the walk way. I thought to myself that Risk Manager Jennifer Hills would have something to say about this.

And on the night we entered, it seemed especially dark -- I felt like I was in the middle of some Indiana Jones sketch where I was to walk by these 50' statues without falling into the pits on either side.

We did get into the hotel that night, but already it was running with limited staff. The next morning we rose early to drive to La Paz where we met with a group of other cruisers who are heading soon with us to the South Pacific.

We returned to the Grand Mayan about 8 PM to be told the doors were now barred to all guests and no employees were left inside. With a little help from the last two managers on the scene, we were allowed to enter, grab our toothbrushes and few items left in the room, and leave again quietly.

This last trip passed the Mayan gods and upstairs was about as eery as any Twilight Zone ever, and straight out of the scenes from Jack Nicholson's The Shining.

The Grand Mayan has been gracious to all, putting us up in a neighboring "all inclusive" hotel where the temptation is to eat and drink way too much. Although the vacations of some Grand Mayan patrons have been unfortunately impacted, for us, it all adds greatly to the richness of a sabbatical where surprises are the best part.

Getting through customs

Officially entering Mexico had to be accomplished at Ensenada. We had copies of our crew list, boat title, insurance papers, radio license and passports at the ready. Getting through customs was easier than it used to be, requiring the ok from the harbormaster and stops at only four or five different offices. With much thanks to a kind stranger who spoke fine Spanish , we managed to get through in about three hours. Cervesas and Margaritas were the celebratory order of the day thereafter.

The watch rotation

We share watches on three hour intervals. Lal had 6:00 to 9:00, both a.m and p.m. Brad was on the 9:00 to 12:00 rotation, Sally was 12:00 to 3:00 and Gene had the 3:00 to 6:00 slot. This schedule allows each person to have 9 hours after to watch to sleep, write, or do other boat chores.

The best part about night watch in the ocean is the chance to look at stars and constellations. Without the reflection from cities, the brilliance of the constellations is breathtaking. Sally and Gene spent hours identifying and locating the stars of first magnitude in the vicinity of Orion, Ursa Major, and Cygnus.

Provisioning for Two Weeks

February 4, 2008: In case anyone knows Dottie Haynes from Lopez Island, please extend my thanks for her book called The First Rate First Mate the First Time Out. Sally sends her thanks to Dottie for the great ideas, particularly about organizing and integrating using a notebook. Right up my alley!

Lal Sullivan and Sally spent eight hours Sunday making food and supply lists, purchasing the same, and with the help of Gene and Brad got 16 bags of groceries and supplies into Pax in the pouring rain. Only one can of orange juice and another can of mushrooms were dropped overboard in the disintegrating brown bags. Another good reason to bring canvas bags to the grocery store.

Imagine the pain of homelessness...

February 4, 2008. A short observation: Brad and I are living in about 300 sq.ft. of space, and we are getting along well thanks to electronics and credit cards. But last week, when we first arrived in San Diego I had a distinctly different revelation. My cell phone battery was dead, we had only temporary moorage, we were drenched from the storm with no internet connection and we had yet to get space or a rental car to get around and procure what we needed. I was keenly aware of (and missed) my usual support system, and had just a glimmer of the reality our homeless colleagues have when they are wet, unkempt, have no phone, and no connections. Imagine trying to live in this society. I am keeping my eyes open for ways to connect this feeling with ways to provide genuine support and help.

Scott Wyatt preparing for the midnight watch

We are each assigned three hour watches every twelve hours. Scott drew the midnight to 3:00 a.m. time slot, and regularly filed complaints (duly noted) with the captain about strange sitings. Sure, Scott, we fully believe your assertion that a ghost sailboat was floating unlighted in the Santa Barbara channel. Funny, it did not show up on radar. Scott also announced that a major cruise ship was sitting absolutely still in San Pedro channel looking like a PayDay candy bar with each peanut lighted up. What's that about sleep deprivation?

Monday, March 24, 2008

Pax at Sea

Pax at Sea

Easter Sunday at 1 PM. 21 degrees 1 minute N, 112 degrees 54 minutes W

What a beautiful day! Wind around 10 knots, seas gentle, lots of sunshine and temperature in the 70s. We are now 200 miles offshore, the only marine life observed this morning are the petrals, small capable aviators who are with us most of the time. Last night the moon was almost full and for a while Pax was sailing straight down a bright moonbeam reflected off the easy sea.

We started this day with a short traditional Easter egg hunt, and the midday meal will be spaghetti accompanied by a glass of red wine, the blood of Christ for some, just a good drink for one.

Pax Vobiscum

-------------------------------------------------
Do not push the "reply" button to respond to this message if that includes the text of this original message in your response. Messages are sent over a very low-speed radio link.

The most concise way to reply is to send a NEW message
to: wde3191@sailmail.com
If you DO use your reply button, be sure to delete the original message text and these instructions from your reply.

Replies should not contain attachments and should be less than 5 kBytes (2 text pages) in length.

This email was delivered by an HF private coast station in the Maritime Mobile Radio Service, operated by the SailMail Association, a non-profit association of yacht owners. For more information on this service or on the SailMail Association, please see the web site at:
http://www.sailmail.com

Saturday 3/22/08. 22 degrees N, 11 degrees 21 minutes W

Very light winds last night and this morning, more of the same in the forecast. However, we are currently making good progress in a 10 to 15 knot NW breeze. Lal and Sandy have started fishing. Three bites so far but none landed. More dolphins and followed by a whale for a while. A couple hours of fog last night and this morning, otherwise the weather has been great.

Pax Vobiscum

Good Friday, 3/21/08 at 3 PM

Position 22 degrees 48 minutes N, 110 degrees 13 minutes W. We are now in international waters and we have lowered the Mexican flag.

Fueled at 8 AM in Cabo San Lucas. Two cruise ships anchored as we were fueling and half the marina left to fish for tuna, dorado and spanish mackerel. The harbor was very active.

We left port at 9 AM and and set sail with a light SE breeze that died about 2:30. We asked the Reverend to conjure up some wind, but he informed us he is in sales, not management. We have started motoring in an attempt to reach the prevailing offshore north-westerlies. Had our closest approach yet to two Humpback whales, both of which breached 200 yards off our beam -- they were completely out of the water.

Pax Vobiscum

No comments:

Monday, April 27, 2009

11 degrees 33' N, 152 degrees 15 W

We had a very squally night last night. Storm after storm, lots of wind and lots of rain early, especially on Lal's early night watch. And we still have a leaky deck drain, so we have some water inside. It is hard to keep anything dry.

We had a lot of lightning last night and as a precaution we are now rigged for a potential strike. We have clamped jumper cables to the shrouds and dropped the ends in the water and one of our portable GPS receivers is in the microwave, we are hopeful that it will be shielded from the massive electromagnetic pulse generated by a lightning strike. We have a sextant, but we would prefer not to have to rely upon it to find Hawaii.

We have been under reduced sail all day as the wind continues to be strong. A double reefed main and a staysail is all we are showing and we are still doing 6 knots. The seas have been building and are around 8 feet, not too much, but enough that we notice. About three times every hour we get just the wrong combination of waves and we get 10 or 20 gallons in the cockpit. An hour or two ago Chip was inundated. It is wet, wet, wet.

At this pace we have 5.5 more days to Honolulu. We are anxious for the quiet still joy of a peaceful anchorage.

Pax Vobiscum

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Pax at Sea

07 degrees 38' N, 149 degrees 43' W

Last night was our second big night of storms. It blew hard for 30 minutes on Chip's watch and then it did it twice on my watch and I was treated to driving rain as well. It can be remarkably cold in the eighties if you are soaked and the wind is howling. Just to top things off a deck drain sprung a leak right over my bunk precluding much of my off watch sleep. All in all a frustrating night.

Today was much better. In the morning we hove to for an hour, giving us an opportunity to fix the leaky drain, clean the slippery cabin sole and in general to dry out and rest. We all feel better this evening and are now moving well under a 12 knot wind. We have had enchiladas con pollo for dinner along with another of our boxes of Tahitian wine. The sea is teeming with life here, we have seen more flying fish than ever before and we had two more on deck this morning.

We are now less than 1000 miles from Hawaii and are starting to think about our arrival.

Pax Vobiscum

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Pax at Sea

04 degrees 4' N, 147 degrees 50' W

Last night we sailed through a school of airborne flying fish. Chip put one back overboard but we had three bodies on deck in the morning. Lal, the dissector, was in heaven, the Captain was down below avoiding the blood and gore. Thankfully as this is written the body parts are all overboard.

We will be making our big turn in an hour or two. Until now we have been sailing east of our course. We are finally ready to turn towards Hawaii, now less than 1200 miles away. We are waiting to see how bad the ITCZ will be. The Inter Tropical Convergence Zone is an area of global up-welling where we expect light winds and thunderstorms. We should encounter the ITCZ sometime before crossing 10 degrees north latitude.

As for now the water remains rich - flying fish, sea birds, and today our second dolphin visitation. These dolphins looked like a group of loners, perhaps juvenile males looking for adventure and love. They stayed with us for about 15 minutes and then moved on.

The food continues to be great. Fresh baked artesian bread, clam linguini and Thai red curry with rice. We are a well fed crew at the halfway point of our journey. If he wind holds we will be drinking pog and rum in Honolulu by May 3 or 4.

Pax Vobiscum

Friday, April 24, 2009

06 degrees 2' N, 148 degrees 51' W

Last night we had two dolphin visitations, both brilliant due to the large amounts of phosphorescence in the water. The dolphins swam rapidly at us just under the surface encased in tubes of brilliant color. The second visitation occurred at around 4:30 AM and Lal was awakened below by the echo ranging squeaks of the dolphins as they slide just under our keel. It was as if they were talking to her in her sleep, waking her so she could come up and view the show.

Earlier the evening was challenging as the wind piped up to near 30 knots requiring two incidents of all hands on deck to reduce sail. The wind then calmed down to almost nothing amidst ominous clouds that never amounted to anything but light rain. Now the wind is back up near 20 knots and we are moving nicely under much reduced sail. We are wondering whether the lull earlier today was our very brief version of an ITCZ crossing. We hope so, but only time will tell.

Pax Vobiscum

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Pax at Sea

01 degrees 54' N, 147 degrees 37' W

We entered the northern hemisphere at 12:30 AM. We like the weather up here. It has been cooler and there is a good wind that lets us reach rather than beat, a pleasant change.

Each day we see ocean and sky and little else; it is a big world. We are in contact by e-mail radio but we are mostly on our own, cut off from civilization. This reality has come home to us. Five or so days ago Lal's mom contacted pneumonia and yesterday she died. Lal got word from her siblings, but there was no way for her to rush to her mom's side, we are still at least 12 days from land. This adventure does have a price.

Pax vobiscum Eulalie Helen Woleben Sullivan.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Pax at sea

0 degrees 32' S, 148 degrees 11' W

Another great sailing day. As I write we are heeled over 20 degrees as we have been all day long. We are making 6.5 knots close hauled in about 20 knots apparent wind. There is a regular pitching moment over the waves but every once in a while a bigger wave slides under Pax and she launches off it, her 28,000 pounds then falls 6 feet hard into the next trough. The noise and the splash are both impressive. We are glad those Canadians built her strong.

Last night the moon rose at 3 AM, it was what in our family we call a Paul Geisler moon-just a sliver, the end of the cycle, reminiscent of the remains of clipping your big toenail. This moon is now down between Jupiter, which rose around 1 PM, and Venus, which was first visible around 4 AM, a big bright orb with a diameter obvious to the naked eye.

Tonight we will cross the equator, probably around 1 AM. We celebrated with scotch tonight and tomorrow morning we shellbacks will induct pollywog Chip into the club. We topped of our scotch with another fine dinner from Chip and with Oreo cookies left behind by Sal, now campaigning in Seattle. We miss her.

There is more and more life in this water as we move north. Phosphorescence bright in the night and now whole schools of flying fish by day.

Pax Vobiscum

Monday, August 20, 2009

Pax at sea

2 degrees 41' S, 148 degrees 5' W

We have been moving fast through the daylight hours over relatively flat seas, averaging over 6 knots. This has been the best sail of the trip so far. Last night the wind died completely at 7:30 and we motored until the wind returned at 1:30 AM.

We have had two close visits with a large white as yet unidentified bird. Lal is working hard on telling us what it is and its identification may turn on eye color. I think it has hazel eyes, but others think I am hallucinating. At about three AM another unidentified bird made an approach to land in the cockpit only to veer off at the last second on discovering me sitting there contemplating the expansion of the universe. We were both surprised, the bird cawed, I jumped.

Chip won the day's safety award by splipping his life jacket on while holding a full wine glass in a pitching sea. Well, truth is, he did not succeed but he gets the award anyway and an A for effort. He has conquered mal de mer.

We are all excited that the equator is now just little more than a day away and we are now more than a third of the way to Hawaii. Even the now dead algae in our water tanks are beginning to taste good.

Pax Vobiscum

Sunday, August 19, 2009

4 degrees 43' S, 148 degrees 34' W

After a blustery night the wind died. We have been proceeding under sail in very light winds during the day today. First from the north (ugh) then from the east. We were on port tack fr a while in what is supposed to be a starboard-tack-all-the-way trip. So, our progress today has been minimal. As this is written the light winds persist - light from the east, barely enough for steerage.

The big event today was visitation from a large pod of dolphins. Lal identified them as Pantrpoical spotted dolphins. About thirty of them stayed with us for an hour this afternoon, plying back and forth under the bow, time and time again. They were as glad to see us as we were to see them. They do not get many visitors here far from the routes of commerce.

Last night we saw an airplane headed south at 2:40 AM, the first of our journey, and a little later a bird took a great exception to our presence, a loud caw-cawing for 10 minutes or so. It was so dark that the bird was never visible.

We had a hand made pea soup and fresh baked corn muffins for dinner, another great performance by Chip, and we all shared a little single malt scotch to celebrate Patriot's Day and watch the sunset.

Pax Vobiscum

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Pax at Sea

6 degrees 14'S, 148 degrees 50'W

As I write this we are hauling ass, which in Pax means we are going 6.5 knots. We are heeled over hard, the spray is flying and we are leaping over wave after wave. Plenty of excitement, and all at the speed of a octogenarian's jog. The sun has just gone down and put an end to a squally day. Little storms to the left then to the right and then right over us. Wind down, then up, then rain everywhere, then repeat the whole cycle. Now though, it is mostly cleared and we are enjoying our sprint.

More flying fish today and another frigate bird. Chip made us fish cakes with dill sauce for dinner, a gourmet treat with canned tuna, bisquick and our still good eggs. And tonight it was Polynesia's finest Pierre Marcel vin rouge, right out of the box. How can such a lousy wine taste so good?

Chip is subbing for me while I write, and I can hear him in the cockpit accompanying Cat Stevens then, Yusef Isreal now, in a spirited rendition of Peace Train.

Rumor is that the algae is marshaling for a recapture of our water tanks at first light, but Clorox in hand we are ready for the little devils.

Pax Vobiscum

Friday, April 17, 2009

Pax at Sea

8 degrees 3' S, 149 degrees 20' W

We had a good day. The wind came around to the ESE so we managed to get to the east even though we are now in the west setting equatorial current. We saw more birds today including a close visit by a large frigate bird. We also had several flying fish sightings.

The boat continues to perform well and the water continues to be drinkable. More importantly, the crew is feeling universally good about eating and we all had some fine Polynesian box wine with dinner tonight, which was a lovely corned beef and cabbage prepared by our master chef, Chip.

And today was Lal's 27th Anniversary. She regaled us with tales or her and Eric's engagement, marriage and early adventures together. This is the second consecutive year we have pulled Lal away from Eric to help sail Pax. Eric, we thank you for indulging her and us in this adventure.

Pax Vobiscum

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Pax at Sea

9 degrees 50' S, 150 degrees 15' W

We made fine progress today in winds that veered favorably to the east. In the morning we jury rigged a filtration system that turns our brown tank water clear, making it much more appealing to drink. We also doused the second tank with clorine and are feeling that the water is healthy, even if it does not taste as good as the Northwest water we are used to. Lal continues to improve our tie downs. Everything on deck is quite secure and the galley is usable in the starboard tack heel that is our fate for these three weeks.

At 4:30 PM we sighted Caroline Island in the East. We also sighted our first vessel traffic, a small ship anchored outside the Caroline Island lagoon. It probably had sent a small boat into the lagoon, which is not otherwise navigable.

Shortly thereafter we were deluged with our first real tropical squall - 35 knot winds and about as much rain as falls in a Seattle November, but all of it in 10 minutes. The Captain was on watch and got thoroughly drenched. But, the whole crew was quite content, having just finished Chip's first hot meal of the voyage, a delightful chicken chili, which the Captain and First Mate washed down with their first rum of the trip. We are all feeling better.

Pax Vobiscum

Wednesday, April 15

Pax at sea

11 degrees 47' S, 150 degrees 51'W

We continue to slog our way to windward. That fellow who wrote "Gentlemen Never Go To Weather" knew what he was about.

There are some glimmers that this arduous trial is beginning to ease as the Captain enjoyed eating tonight for the first time in two days. Chip made a delicious cabbage salad with cucumbers, nuts, tomatoes and fruits - very, very good.

And we are doing great with our supplies: the butane will not run out, there has been no cooking since we left Raiatea, and the beer, wine, and rum supplies haven't been touched since the Captain bravely downed a Hinano on the first day out. Obviously this must change-what kind of sailors would we be if we forsook all rum?

The wind has turned more northerly which is preventing us from getting as far to the east as we want to, but we have over 2,000 more miles and we anticipate a favorable shift tomorrow. Tomorrow we will pass Caroline Island in the Line Islands. Until now, no boats, airplanes and precious little wildlife sighted on this trip, although Chip did see a big dorsal fin yesterday. Alas, we had no line in the water, and although Lal volunteered to jump in and swim after it with the gaff, calmer heads prevailed.

Pax Vobiscum

Tuesday, April 14

13 degrees 37' S, 150 degrees 57 ' w

We continue to make good progress but this has been a difficult day. Slogging to windward is rough. The angle of heel and temperature in the cabin precludes any cooking and makes all tasks arduous. We are all queasy, although no one has yet been sick. And to top things off we have what we think are algae blooms in our water tanks. We have doused one with clorine and are hoping for the best.

The stars are again, well, the stars of the voyage. Venus, Jupiter and the moon were stretched out in a straight line for all to see, all on the 4:30 AM watch that is.

Pax Vobiscum

April 14, 2009

15 degrees 49 min S, 151 degrees 33 min W

We left Bora Bora this morning and are close hauled in a 15 knot ENE breeze under doubled reefed main, staysail and single reefed jib. We are all getting used to the motion involved in plowing through a 6 foot sea. The Captain was the only one able to drink his Hinano ration for lunch. But just when he was feeling good about the prospect of having the boat's limited beer ration to himself, he lost his balance and wound up in Chip's lap, spraying the soy sauce dish he was preparing all over the cockpit. Now the nav station where this is being written smells like a warmed over plate chow mein, dressed with a hint of sunscreen, and a whiff of stale beer and sweat - it is warm in here.

The stars are beautiful though, and the sounds of the sea evoke fond memories. We are homeward bound at last.

Pax Vobiscum

Back at Sea: April 13, 2009

From Bora Bora, Captain Brad writes:

We launched Pax on Wednesday after 10 full days of boatyard work. Thieves had broken in twice during the last seven months, there was some vandalism and a few things were stolen. We have now mostly fixed what needed fixing and replaced what we could.

Crew Lal Sullivan and Chip Maserie from Portland, Oregon provisioned in Raiatea, and yesterday we had a short sail north to Tahaa Island where we picked up a mooring at Maui's Place, a lovely watering hole we visited several times last year.

We had a nice evening as the only customers at Maui's. We spent the evening with Richard Postma, Maui's dad, who is looking after the place while Maui is vacationing with his volley ball buddies at U.C. Davis.

We listened to Richard's stories for hours. Richard hails from Oakland CA. He sailed to Bora Bora at the age of 19 in 1972 in a 28 foot boat and he never left. Maui's mom is French. Richard is one of the world's experts on fishing under sail. He had constructed the world's first game fishing sailing catamaran and he has used it to win many tournaments from other fishermen using conventional game fishing power boats.

This morning Lal and Chip brought him our fishing gear seeking advice. He was very impressed, said we were loaded for bear and complemented us on the quality of our gear. The Rev. Sandy Brown (who bought our gear) should know that the world's expert on fishing under sail thinks he chose wisely.

We had a very pleasant sail to Bora Bora today. Downwind all the way at 5-6 knots under jib alone in 3-6 foot seas. All in all a gentle re-introduction to being at sea. We are now at a mooring inside the lagoon at Bora Bora in front of Bloody Mary's, a spot that, like Maui's, we visited last year. No shore lave here tonight though, Bloody Mary closes for Easter. We sail tomorrow, next stop Hawaii, 2500 miles away.

Pax Vobiscum

Pax on the Hard

August 11, 2008
On the morning of August 7, we slowly motored Pax over a shallow coral reef into the tiny artificial harbor of CNI and Raiatea Caranage, the only two French Polynesian boatyards outside of Papeete that offer dry storage for yachts. Starting in the Marquesas with Pierre of K'ea who would give us so much good advice, we had been told repeatedly that CNI was the good yard, and that we should avoid Raiatea Carenage. Even the Port Captain in Papeete, the one official who clears all yachts into and out of French Polynesia, told us that CNI was the shipyard with the good reputation. So, it was to CNI we went.
As directed by three CNI workmen, one of whom was swimming about Pax with a dive mask, we maneuvered over a submerged steel cradle while the men ashore got lines to us. After we shut down the engine, the linemen held Pax steady as the man in the water repeatedly dove into the greenish-brown muck to position the cradle struts snuggly against Pax's garboards. A tractor then pulled our 14 ton cutter up a ramp, inch by inch, until she came to rest in a dusty parking lot next to the yellow shipping container that had been made into the CNI main office. Now she sits there, for once still, on a frame of heavy steel painted the same yellow as the office, inactive, patiently waiting for us to put her to sea again. Here she will be through the South Pacific summer until next April when, with the cyclone season over, we will return to begin the long journey home to Seattle.
From 8 AM to 4 PM the shipyard is all activity. Sparks fly from a welding torch threatening to ignite the aluminum particles and the fiberglass shards that fill the air and that will soon lightly cover every horizontal surface. Owners and crewmen climb up and down onto their boats; rigging, stripping, and painting; getting them ready for sea or getting them ready for storage. The high pitched whine of power sanding mixes with the groan of metal grinding, and men can often be heard yelling to one another over the mechanical din. The language is unimportant - French, English, and Tahitian all sound the same when yelled across a busy boatyard.
But quiet descends in the evening. Then it is easier to notice that on the edges of the yard lay berms of broken concrete, small piles of used up boat parts, scattered old bottles, odd pieces of oily wood and other trash. When it rains, as it often does here with a vengeance, some of this debris migrates to the once pristine lagoon. My old home was like this. In the grand fishing port that was Gloucester, Massachusetts in the 60's the environment was something to be used, not preserved. Half sunken fishing boats lay seeping fuel oil, still tied to old crumbling piers that were coated decades earlier with heavy black creosote. Industrial and sanitary waste was pumped untreated directly into the harbor at the submerged end of a half mile long pipe, and good upstanding people threw empty bottles and cans off their boats on sunny Sundays, secure in the knowledge that they would sink and be a bother to no one. The smell of the Gloucester mud flats of my youth is still with me, and once experienced, the smell of the old gurry plant on Five Pound Island can never be forgotten. Here in Raiatea, amid the coconut palms and the hyacinth blossoms, the fragrance is sweeter than it was in my old home, but the sights and sounds of this dirty third-world shipyard have filled me with nostalgia. How powerful memories are that they can be fondly recalled by a place like this.
We have spent our last few days ashore in a hotel while we got the boat ready to survive the next seven months without us. A week ago we were ready to migrate ashore, to experience once more grown-up size beds, hot showers, dishwashers and restaurant meals. Then on our first morning ashore we gazed across the breakfast table to see a chartered sloop go by inside the reef, headed for Tahaa, an island we now know well. And we felt left behind. We knew that absence would make our hearts grow fond for the sailing life again, but are we so smitten that it could happen in a single day?
We have memories of our adventure on the high seas and amidst the exotic isles that will carry us deeply into our dotage. We have learned so much about ocean sailing, about the stars and planets, about the dolphins, the flying fish, and the shearwater, about the Marquesas, the Tuamotus and the Societies, about the people who are living in these exotic islands, about their food, their music, their dancing and their religion. But the fondest memories are of those with whom we shared the adventure, the other cruisers we befriended and who befriended us, our various crewmates who were acquaintances once and who are now good friends, and most of all of each other.
Sal and I have closely shared virtually every minute of these last eight months. Our living space was less than 200 square feet. We had no hot water, no TV, no movies, little contact with the outside world, and few meals out. Others came and went, but it was just us more than half the time. The exhilarating times were easy, under the Golden Gate at midnight, crossing the equator, first landfall in Nuka Hiva, as were the quiet times, reading books and gazing at the stars. But there were difficult times, the hot humid weather, the bug bites, the occasional longing for home and a real bed, and worst of all there were the stressful times, when Pax rolled hard to a large wave and threw Sal across the cabin bruising half her body, when a spinnaker pole block exploded one dark night going downwind in a 25 knot northeasterly, and when the refrigerator quit 700 miles from the nearest mechanic. But we handled the bad times; always with mutual respect, never assigning blame, often with good humor, and occasionally with grace and style.
Growing up I often heard the story of my mom's brother, my Uncle Jack, and his best friend Freddy Osier. One summer when they were young men, they embarked on their great adventure. They sailed a small boat from Gloucester to Florida mostly down the Intercoastal Waterway.
After several weeks they arrived in Miami; Freddy stepped on the dock and turned one way; Jack stepped up and turned the other; and they never spoke to each again for the rest of their lives. This was a cautionary tale of a type popular in New England, of the dangers of getting too close. Happily, Sal and I ignored the warning. Close we were, but now we are closer. This is the grandest gift of our grand adventure.
Pax Vobiscum

Guest Blogger

On the road to Haamene Bay
By Eric Laschever, esq.
Special to Pax Vobiscum
August 4, 2008

After snorkeling at Coral Gardens, we proceeded to Apu Bay, beyond which lay Haamene Bay. Fellow travelers, Dave and Jan on Baraka extolled the many virtues of Haamene, where they had lingered for several days. Long hikes, vanilla farms, and a tortoise rescue center featured prominently in accounts of this storied bay. The chart promised a restaurant, Restaurant Taaha Maitai in the village which shared the Bay's name.
The weather report predicted high winds from the east, southeast. The steep hills fringing Haamene Bay creates a Venturi that magnifies the wind, rendering Haamene Bay unacceptably lumpy at anchor. So we made ourselves comfortable for a spell in Apu.
Yet, Haamene beckoned. So on our third day we assembled our navigational resources, (chart and harbor guide) to find an alternative route.
One of the first things one learns upon stepping aboard is the difference between a map and a chart. The first difference is the name itself. Shipside, maps simply do not exist. On vessels more sternly captained than fair Pax, reference to a map will result in keelhauling or at least a pointed correction.
Second, and perhaps more importantly for this entry is the focus of the two. In contrast to a map (with its landward orientation), a respectable chart depicts considerable detail from the water line sea ward. Landward of that demarcation line, the markings leave much to the imagination.
For example, Pax's chart of Tahaa Island tells you that there is a fringe of coral near the head of Apu Bay and 3-4 meters of water at Haamene Bay's head. The chart however is silent on whether a road connects the two Bays. A small dotted line depicting a drainage route down the valley suggests a road's possibility, but no more. The chart's contours also suggest that any land connection between the two bays would likely follow the drainage.
With this hint of pass-ability, we boarded Virginia Hope and dinghied for a half hour up Apu . A short walk later in the direction of the drainage rewarded us with a road sign. To the right, Haamene. To the left, Pouturo.
The road to Haamene was about fifteen feet wide and well paved. Banana and papaya trees, orange and red bougainville and frangipani lined our way.
Less than ten minutes into our walk towards Haamene the sign caught our eye, Maison de Vanille Pouturo. Soon the young proprietor was proudly showing us drying racks loaded with vanilla pods as his shy daughter looked on. After purchasing some fresh pods, we proceeded uphill to the top of the pass. We were soon on the downward side to Hameene.
Soon after, we were comfortably seated at the Restaurant Taaha Maitai, bowls of ice cream rewarding out endeavor. Haamene Bay was ours.

Running Chain Cove

July 31, 2008 Apu Bay, Tahaa Island
In the last two weeks we have explored several anchorages at Tahaa Island, sailed to Borra Bora for a few days, and then returned to Tahaa, where we now sit on a mooring at Marina Iti, also known as Taravana Yacht Club.
Bora Bora is the real world backdrop for the mysterious Bali Hi of the movie musical South Pacific. While we never did see the exotic boar's tooth ceremony that drew Luther to the Island, it is not hard for us to imagine why Lt. Joe Cable fell in love with the beautiful young daughter of Bloody Mary here - it is a place that inspires romance. A tall central spire surrounded by jagged secondary peaks, often shrouded in clouds, and surrounded by a deep blue lagoon that is itself enveloped by white sand beaches, coral reefs and some of the world's most colorful fish. Unfortunately, Bora Bora is also a place that is being loved too much. Resort hotels are sprouting up from the coral sands with the frequency of Starbucks coffee shops on Seattle's street corners. Cruise ships frequent the main lagoon and their passengers cover the ground during their 12 hours in port. Jet skis, fast ferries and dive boats are our noisy companions. Yet, despite it all, this is a place worth visiting - its majesty outweighs all distractions.
We were joined here by our last crewmember of 2008, Eric Laschever - lawyer, sailor, maritime scholar and spouse to Lal Sullivan who helped us get to the South Pacific last spring. Eric endeared himself to the Captain immediately upon arrival by pulling a fine bottle of single malt scotch from his one modestly-sized duffle bag - a crewmember cannot introduce himself more perfectly than this.
We stayed on moorings in Bora Bora, the first two nights at the Bora Bora Yacht Club. It is essentially a bar with mooring buoys out front. However, it also has a shower with heated (!!) water. Sal and I took our first hot showers since mid-April - what a treat. But, that was now five days ago, so we are back to room temperature sponge baths now. The next three nights we were moored off "Bloody Mary's" a tourist oriented restaurant, where we had drinks and hors d'oerves one night. This is a place that suits the new Bora Bora. It is generally well done (the large carved wooden penis with which one flushes the john in the men's room excepted) and it was pricey, although not outrageously so. A sign out front proudly listed the many celebrities who had dined there, including James Michener - we wonder if he appreciated what has happened to his Bali Hi (and if he used the men's room).
Two days ago we sailed back to Tahaa, 25 miles up wind. It was a delightful sail, but it took all day. We anchored that night inside the reef in a little spot that we have named "Running Chain Bay." We had anchored there before heading to Bora Bora in 80 feet of water. When we departed our anchor chain jumped out of its gypsy and only our safety line attached to the bitter end of the chain saved us from losing our main anchor and 250 feet of chain over the side. Twists that had developed in the chain were the cause of the problem. Fortunately for us, our good friend Dave Pryde was anchored next to us in Baraka. With his help we eventually recovered anchor and chain, unkinked it, and stored it back below. This is the second time this cruise that Dave has given hours of his time to trouble shoot a problem we have had. Thank you Dave, we will be forever grateful.
Our second stay in Running Chain Cove was uneventful. The next morning we motored the mile out to the nearby reef and anchored on its fringe. We then took the dinghy to a nearby motu and drift snorkeled with the current between two motus. The water was three or four feet deep and we were in and out between coral heads planted like giant mushrooms on a white sand bottom. The reef fish were of many shapes and colors, the sea urchins were in abundance, and the water was warm - it was a unique and effortless dive in what the locals call the coral gardens. Sal and Eric did it twice.
After the dive we walked and waded to the next motu for lunch at a hotel that lives up to its billing as exclusive and secluded. The nearest town is about ten miles away, the resort sits on its own island without any road access. The rooms are bungalows out over the water on pilings, and all buildings and landscaping are new and tastefully done. The guests arrive by either boat or helicopter. Later, we learned that the rooms start at $1100 per night. We walked in from our swim in our wet bathing suits, well-used t-shirts and grubby baseball caps, but that did not phase our waitress. She served us a lovely fish lunch, refreshing beer and rich, cold ice cream. They do not get walk-in guests here often. The restaurant did not know how to take our money, it deals on in charges to the room, so we had to hike over to reception to pay for our lunch.
After lunch we motored to Marini Iti where we had dinner with Baraka and with Pros Per Aim, a French boat that we had met in Toau in the Tuamotus. More fish was on the menu, including mahi mahi that Guy and Isabelle of Pro's Per Aim had caught that afternoon. It was excellent.
As this is being written the wind is piping up and it is expected to be windy and rough the next few days. We are done now with passages, so we will see this weather from inside the reef. Still, sitting an anchor can be a fretful time when the wind blows. We hope it dies done quickly so we can enjoy some tranquility during our last days here. A week from tomorrow we haul Pax out of the water and start on our trek home.
Pax Vobiscum

THE FAKARAVA INITIATIVE

July 20, 2008
On our way to Taha'a, near Bora Bora.

The best part about our time in French Polynesia has been getting to know other cruisers and meeting new friends from the islands we visited. When we were in Fakarava last month in the Tuamotos, we met Chantal Fauura who heads the local elementary school. After meeting Chantal and learning about the plight of very young children on that island, we joined Chantal and other cruisers and decided to do something about it. With the help of the local Fakarava mayors, a plan was hatched. We submitted the article below to our favorite sailing magazine in San Francisco, Latitude 38. We understand it will be published in September and we are pleased that others are interested in what we call the Fakarava Initiative.

KEEPING THE KIDS AT HOME: THE FAKARAVA INITIATIVE.
Imagine you are the proud parent of an 11-year-old girl in the small village of Rotoava at the northeast corner of Fakarava atoll in the Tuamotus. It's a small island about 16 degrees south of the equator. You have lived here all your life, as have your parents and their parents before them. While you did not get far in school yourself, you are proud that your oldest daughter is interested in learning, and that she already knows something about computers and the Internet, subjects that are so foreign to you. You are pleased that it looks like she will have more opportunities in this life than you ever had.
But tragedy looms. After the 5th grade, the only government-funded schooling available in Fakarava to your daughter and her 10-12 year old classmates is off island. Hundreds of miles away in Rangiroa, the largest island in the Tuamotus, your daughter will be billeted in a dormitory with nearly a hundred other kids from outlying islands. You've heard the stories: there is insufficient adult supervision, and at her young age, she will have to learn to fend for herself in a strange new environment. You will see her only a few times a year when she is sent home for holidays and vacations.
Your family will never be the same. You are torn between wanting her to stay in school and wanting to protect and nurture her while she is still only a child. She will cry when she goes away, you probably will, too.
But, if an energetic elementary school principal, the head of the parent-teacher association, a few dedicated local officials, and a handful of visionary parents have their way, you will have an alternative that lets your daughter get her education at home for at least another year, perhaps more, until she is older and more mature. It may be the difference that allows her to see it through to the end of her schooling, to realize the opportunities you hope she will have. But, you need some help, because there is just not enough money available locally to make this dream come true. The blue water cruisers who visit your beautiful island every May and June have become your best hope.
Fakarava is on a line between the Marquesas and Tahiti. As many cruisers have discovered, its passes offer some of the best snorkeling and diving in the world, and Rotoava offers convenient reprovisioning and other activities, all of which have made Fakarava a popular spot for the North American and European cruisers who make the annual trek from Mexico or Panama to the South Pacific.
The crew from two boats got involved with education in Fakarava due to the efforts of Chantal Fauura, the elementary school principal. It is her oldest pupils who would be shipped off to Rangiroa soon.
S/v Pax Vobiscum and s/v Casteele from Seattle, Washington had come to French Polynesia as part of the 2008 Pacific Puddle Jump from Mexico. One day in May we, its crew, were on shore in Rotoava doing laundry by hand in a shed attached to a small locally-owned pension. Our arms were elbow deep in the wash bucket when up walked Chantal, full of friendly energy. Soon in her halting English and in our impossibly childish French, we were discussing her school, her kids, and her dream to keep her 5th graders out of that impersonal dormitory in Rangiroa.
"Our kids are not prepared to leave home when they are only ten or twelve years old," Chantal explained. "It's too young. They cry and cry when they leave, and feel so sad and alone. Most of the parents cry too. They want them to stay in Fakarava."
Chantal added, "The children need to study here at home. They need to know how they can care for their own island and its waters. It's theirs to save or destroy."
Chantal (who proudly told us "I've seen Al Gore's movie!") showed us the island's new "Biosphere Center", a clapboard shack near the school where they displayed materials about local fish, and ways to keep their water and marine life healthy. "Teaching this generation how to care for their island is so very important," Chantal said echoing words we have heard so often about Puget Sound and San Francisco Bay.
The livelihoods of most Fakarava families depend on the resources from the lagoon and the sea. They catch the fish, seed the pearl oysters, and make jewelry and utensils from the black pearls and shells. The Biosphere's materials were printed in the local language, as well as in French for the few incoming tourists.
Chantal invited us to meet with local teachers and parents and key island leaders, including the adjunct mayors and Guy Lai, president of the parent-teacher association. Over the following weeks, we attended numerous meetings with our new friends building a plan.
The Fakarava adults were touched by the interest cruisers were showing in them and their community. "Most cruisers just pass through," Chantal said, "never trying to get to know us."
Keeping their young children on the island is so important to the Fakarava people. As one parent told us, "We want our kids to learn, but they are too young to go so far away. They learn bad things. Many of them don't finish school, and they don't come home."
The community drafted plan. A French home-schooling curriculum called CNED, acceptable to the French Polynesian government as an alternative to boarding school, is available for Fakarava students. CNED is a challenging correspondence program similar to the course work many cruising boats use to home school their own children. With CNED, the young children of Fakarava could stay home until they are 15 or 16.
But they would need a new teacher, because many of the parents are admittedly ill-equipped to help home school their children. They would also need a computer, a building, supplies, and transportation. If the program worked here, it could be expanded to the other islands. If it becomes a proven success, there is a good chance it could be paid for next year out of local government funds.
Guy Lai and the Fakarava parents association have assumed the leadership role for this pilot project; they will manage it with milestones and measurable goals. Three local parents agreed to be the CNED teachers/supervisors, monitoring the students and program and communicating with the CNED center in France. The seven mayors of the Fakarava community support this alternative program and the local adjunct mayors are providing a space for the pilot class at reduced rent and with free electricity, free transportation, and free connection to the otherwise prohibitively-expensive internet.
Many families on Fakarava want to be part of this alternative program but the full cost is too much for most. They could pay for part of it, but not all. That's where the cruising community comes in, and why we have stepped up to help.
The community needs $20,000 more than they have right now, to help pay the teachers, rent the space for the classroom, obtain the CNED curriculum, and add their own special curriculum focusing on the health of their atoll and its marine life. Many boats from the 2008 Puddle Jump have agreed to donate and to date we already have thousands of dollars of contributions.

Supporting this project is an opportunity for those of us who cruise to and through these islands to get to know the people and to support them from the inside out. This is their project for their kids, but it is our chance to leave this part of the world a little better place than we found it. To date over 20 other boats are adding their names to this project, and we welcome involvement from all sectors.
Pax Vobiscum
July 20, 2008

Leewards Ho!

July 15, 2008
Our sailing for the year is nearly done. Last Wednesday we made our final night passage of the year. We departed Moorea to the Leeward Islands, leaving Opunohu Bay at 4 PM to allow for a daytime arrival in Huahine, the closest of the Leewards. We anchored outside the town of Fare at about noon the next day after a very pleasant sail in 10 knot winds and four to six foot seas that were spaced for comfort. We will explore this island and the neighboring islands of Raiatea, Tahaa and Bora Bora over the next three and a half weeks, then we will put the boat on the hard at a shipyard in Raiatea until next April. The sails between the Leeward Islands are straightforward; they can all be started and completed between sunrise and sunset of the same day. Indeed, as we arrived in Huahine all of four of the main Leeward Islands were visible on the horizon.
We continue to socialize most evenings with other cruisers, but the group is changing. Most obtained three month visas to visit French Polynesia and the first arrivals have run out of time. We would be out of time ourselves but for going through the lengthy process of getting six-month visas before departing Mexico. Now we hear our old traveling companions on the shortwave radio; they are at sea as we all were when we first learned their boat names. But now they are now discussing the approaches to the Cook Islands and to other destinations further west that we will not see.
We can't help but feel left out and a little sad. We had originally planned to continue on to New Zealand as most of them are doing, but we are getting to the point where we have had enough of this for now. Being on a small boat is much like camping out, the creature comforts are few, and being on a passage is hard, exhausting work. It is all in all a great adventure, but it is not a novel adventure any more for us. We both feel that it is getting to be time to take a vacation from this vacation, and to move on to something else. So, while we are sad to see our cruising friends disappear over the horizon to see new lands without us, we are content with our decision not to join them.
We are seeing more boats now that came through Panama and the Galapagos Islands and fewer that started in Mexico. Being within day-sailing range of all the Leeward Islands also means that we now have quite a few charter boats in the anchorages. These are predominantly catamarans chartered from Moorings or Sunsail on Raiatea. There has not been much mixing between the cruisers and the charterers. They are only here for a week or two, and often there are two or three couples on each boat. They have plenty to do learning about the boat, the anchorages, the islands and each other, and not enough time to reach out to other boats they meet along the way. We were the same when we chartered.
Huahine has been a fun island to visit. The island-wide dance competition last Friday was a feast of colorful homemade costumes featuring woven palm fronds, decorative shells, and bras made of half-coconuts. Each village distinguished itself with its costumes, but most were variations on a theme. Tall decorative head gear, grass skirts, and coconuts, some polished some not, were the order of the day. The dances were all about making the grass move, and move it did. Almost everyone seemed to participate enthusiastically, like a high school football game but with the whole class, boys and girls, everyone on the team.
On Bastille day the dancing was to more eclectic music, heard were non-traditional Polynesian favorites like "there she goes walking down the street, dowah diddy diddy dum diddy do . . ." as well the theme to the Lone Ranger (yes, you can dance to that, at least on Huahine). There were no grass skirts on Bastille Day, but hip movement still seemed to be the name of the game, even for one young man in a Michael Jordon jersey who was dancing East Coast swing, and doing it very well. A vertical expression of a horizontal desire aptly describes his dancing, as well as the dancing of several others who appeared to have hit the Hinanos (Tahitian Budweiser) early in the day, and who were having a very good time when we observed the dancing at 11 AM.
After the dance we met Mark, a fixture at Joe's place right behind the main Fare dock. Mark arrived decades ago after a stint in the U.S. Army and he never left. He is sixtyish, he has tattoos covering both arms, he hates violence of all kind, and he looks like a fair piece of his budget goes for beer. His daughter will be a college senior next year in Sweden and she is majoring in physics and math and Mark proudly reports that she is an A student. He reunited with his daughter last year for the first time since she was a baby when her Swedish mother took back to Sweden away from Huahine and from Mark. In the meantime, Mark married a local girl who doesn't read or write, and they make their home up a jungle valley about ten miles from the dock. We would not be surprised to learn that there was a little illicit horticulture going on in that valley, but there was no evidence of jungle weed in town.
Mark, like so many retired seniors, is pursuing his education. He is trying to learn quantum physics so he can keep up with his daughter. She has sent him several books by Roger Penrose, but he is having a tough time getting started. When he learned I had a physics background he wanted to talk, so over a couple of Hinanos that he furnished (it was a holiday, after all) we discussed the uncertainty principle, the EPR paradox and other popular topics in quantum mechanics. Mark enjoyed the conversation, but remained pleasantly bewildered as it ended. I'm afraid I failed as his physics teacher. The beer was good, though.
Vive La Polynesia.
Pax Vobiscum

Happy Bastille Day!

July 14, 2008
At anchor at Huahini
It's July 14 here on the island of Huanini, something akin to the 4th of July without the firecrackers. A short parade on the town's main street started the festivities early this morning that lasted roughly an hour including food for all comers and mayoral speeches. And my, do those mayors know how to get into their speeches.
Huahini is about 100 miles north of Tahiti and within eye sight of Bora Bora. It is one of our favorites so far and we can imagine hearing choruses of "Bali Hai" in the background as we look at the hills behind this anchorage. It has a great grocery store (a very big thing for us sail boaters and something not seen between Cabo San Lucas and Papeete, Tahiti) and although it has a few small hotels, the island is removed from the heavy tourism of Bora Bora. Why it is not overrun like Bora Bora with Club Meds and giant hotels remains a mystery. (If you're looking for a great get away next winter, this may be it).
This island is really two small verdant ones separated by a salt water river. About 5000 people live here, somehow making a living off the land --they are famous for their vanilla -- and what they harvest from the sea. We came here because our fellow sailing buddies recommended its great snorkeling/diving "like you were inside an aquarium" on the south end of the island, and we heard there was some good Polynesian dancing this past Friday night in the main village of Fare.

Last Friday night we went to one of the best events we've experienced since traveling. The island held a local dance competition. If you happened to grow up in Boise, Idaho (like some of us), you'll remember what a big deal the drill team/dance team competitions were there. In Huahini, dance teams have practiced for much of the year for local bragging rights. This was a serious competition with giant trophies the size of small missiles and significant prize money, held at what must be the local equivalent of a county fairgrounds. All seven districts from this island participated, with programs of traditional polynesian dance choreographed by someone from within the district. Phenomenal costumes were made by each team, and the dancers were probably 14 - 18 years old, both girls and boys. Each team had a backup drum band and singers who sang and drummed their hearts out.
The dancing was energetic and beautiful, and the community turned out for this. Probably 1000+ spectators, and maybe 10 of us from sailboats. There were at least 50 drums and drummers providing the backdrop for the singers, and even after 4 hours some of us were ready for more. The best part was that it was not an event for tourists, but rather an expression of the local culture for themselves that we lucked upon. What a night.
Pax Vobiscum

July 5, 2008 Moorea

July 5, 2008
Opunohu Bay, Moorea Island

We left Papeete a week ago amidst the pomp and ceremony of the Tahiti-Moorea Cruising Rendezvous, a much publicized event sponsored by the Port of Papeete and the sailing magazine Latitude 38 to celebrate the annual arrival of the offshore cruising fleet to Tahiti.

The event started Friday night on one of the quays in downtown Papeete with a “blessing of the captains” and with traditional Polynesian song and dance. Pax’ Captain was blessed, as he must admit since despite strenuous efforts he has been unable to find and erase the jpg file showing him hatless while holding hands with the other captains during the ceremony. The blessing was followed by a very nice cocktail party where the blessed could forget their woes for a time.

On Saturday morning Pax and the other boats gathered in Papeete Harbor amidst hundreds of outrigger canoes who raced counterclockwise around the harbor. The 25 or so cruisers who participated then paraded out of the harbor to a starting line just outside Papeete Pass. Right after the 10 minute preparatory signal sounded, a four hundred foot long ferry emerged from the harbor to weave its way through the fleet, honking its impressive horn in a futile attempt to scatter the slow-moving crowd jockeying for starting position. The wind was light and as the start gun sounded we all drifted across the starting line heading slowly for Moorea, just 10 miles away. Halfway across we were told to start our engines because the festivities on the beach in Moorea were soon to begin, and with the wind so light we were all about to miss the party that was being thrown for us. Pax acquitted herself well that morning. She had moved up into second place by the time the race was called.

Later, on the beach in Moorea, we were treated to a Tahitian style cook-out featuring a bounty of pork, chicken, poisson crue, curried clams, minced bananas and taro root. After lunch, some of the bolder cruisers piled into six-place racing canoes, each already manned with two natives, for a canoe race. Two of the canoes capsized well out in the bay causing a few anxious moments ashore, but all participants eventually returned to dry land. The winning canoe was lead by Ken, a former Alberta police officer whose boat is appropriately named “Cop-Out.” The canoe races were followed by a contest to see who could impale a spear in a coconut suspended on top of a 25 foot high pole. One athletic local managed this remarkable feat. The contests concluded with the “fruit race,” a foot-race around the perimeter of a field between participants who each shouldered a log to which was tied coconuts and bananas. Several athletic Americans and Europeans did their very best, each collapsing in a wheezing pool of sweat at the finish line, but the clear winner was a fleet-footed 15 year-old native boy who ran without showing any signs of strain. He was suitably rewarded by the gaggle of young native girls. Ah, to be young.

Then followed the native music and dancing. Drums, drums and more drums, accompanied by rhythmic hip motions from the girls and energetic jumping and knee wobbling from the guys, all performed in colorful clothes, grass skirts and leaf-woven crowns. A number of the visitors were compelled to join the festivities, the Captain among them. He proved beyond all doubt that Yankees were not intended to move in this way, as is evident from several unfortunate pictures taken by a loving spouse barely too polite to laugh outright.

The dancers hung around for the ceremony during which Pax’s crew was awarded a night in a resort hotel and a carved commemorative oyster shell for their second place “finish.” The vessel Warm Rain, a Hylas 43, eked out first place by being a few yards ahead of Pax when the race was called, and it was awarded the grand prize - a model of a sailing canoe. But Warm Rain got no hotel night. Captain Tom proposed a trade as soon as Pax’s prize was announced, but this was promptly refused by the crew of Pax, who already had visions of hot and cold running water and a real bed with sheets. Then followed more dancing, and the Captain was caught again, knees wobbling, wrists flapping, looking like a string puppet whose strings had come too loose.

That night back on Pax, we had a nice dinner with old friends Jan and Dave of Baraka and new friends John and Mary of Horizons. John is a long time pilot recently retired from the FAA where he created the innovative Capstone Program that is responsible for saving the lives of more than a few Alaskan bush pilots. Mary met John when he was a young flight instructor and she a new private pilot student. They were married before the lessons ended – John reports that after the wedding the student-instructor relationship became more difficult for him. But that was 40 years ago and here they are together, so he has obviously learned a thing or two along the way. We had much to discuss with John and Mary, and what fun it was to talk flying again. The next night we dined with Ken and Wendy of Cop-Out. Ken is not only an ex-cop (and a new ace Tahitian-style canoe racer) but he is also an ex-minister, and he had many insightful thoughts about crime and how it should be controlled. Wendy was originally a New Zealander and is full of energy. They have sold their home in Alberta and will make their new home on Salts-Spring Island in B.C., where they have for many years had a vacation cabin.

Yesterday, on July 4, Pax proudly flew the stars and stripes in honor of our dads, William Paul Geisler and James Holmes Bagshaw, two patriots who served their country in “the time of the big trouble” as the latter often called World War II. We dedicated the day to reminiscing about them. Today we learned that Dorthy Hansen, our good friend and widow of our flight instructor Elmer Hansen, died on July 1. Rest in peace Dorthy, we will miss you.

Pax VobiscumJuly 5, 2008
Opunohu Bay, Moorea Island

Breaking for Tahiti

June 18, 2008 0300 UTC
Position: 16 degrees 10 min. S, 146 degrees 49 min. W
We left Taou atoll this morning at 8:15 local time bound for Tahiti, a 220 mile sail. The wind is a brisk 15 to 20 knots and the seas about eight feet. The ride is a little rough. We are now under full main and staysail on a broad reach. A few hours ago the shackle holding up the big jib let go and it is too rough to go up the mast and fix it at present. Nevertheless, we are making good progress and expect to be in Tahiti during daylight on Thursday.
Pax Vobiscum

Your Money or A Life

June 13 - Toau Atoll
Two Beautiful Americans
Our friend Jan was assaulted at knifepoint a few months ago.
She was walking with her partner Joan on Santa Cruz Island in the Galapagos. They were just leaving the Charles Darwin Research Center when a 16 year-old approached Joan looking for what she thought was a handout. Joan, a veteran of New York City, dismissed the young man with street-wise confidence and walked along. Jan, a Seattleite through and through, stopped to ask in her broken Spanish what the young man wanted. He nervously mumbled something that she could not understand. He did not directly face her and looked only downward, so she could not see into his eyes. Finally she followed his gaze and saw that he was holding a knife with a blade five or six inches long, and a worn wooden handle that looked homemade. He pressed the blade-point lightly into Jan's belly; no blood was drawn, but now she could feel it.
"Joan, he has a knife," Jan said calmly. Joan turned and without thinking unleashed a verbal tirade. "Help! Help!" she yelled, in a voice that could not be ignored. They were alone, but Joan finally drew the attention of a park authority who called the police.
Later that day Joan saw the young man on a crowded public dock and grabbed him. The young man broke away from her with a sneer, losing one sandal along the way. Joan yelled for the police and gave chase. Soon the young man found himself surrounded by passers-by and staring into the face of the still angry New York street veteran. The police arrived, and perhaps to his relief the young man was taken into custody.
But this is not the end of the story.
Jan and Joan pressed charges and several days latter appeared at the young man's arraignment. His name was Jerson, and at the hearing he was defiant, he thought himself macho, he played the smart ass. The police told Jan and Joan that Jerson had come from a troubled family. His father was not around. His mother had kicked him out of her home. He was fending for himself in the only way he knew. Jerson was not yet an accomplished robber, that was plain enough. Might he be redeemed, Jan and Joan asked? "How?" The police responded. He needed a foster home, he needed to finish school, he needed a tutor, they said.
Jan and Joan stayed a while in the Galapagos. They talked to the two Ecuadorian social service agencies on the island of Santa Cruz, one public, one private. They found a helpful member of the Seventh Day Adventist church who volunteered to translate, and a Peace Corps worker who volunteered to follow up. They drafted a one-page trust agreement - if Jerson would finish school and stay with a foster family, Jan and Joan would pay for it all. With all this attention, the police too treated Jerson with unexpected kindness. Finally, they spoke directly to Jerson and made their offer, they would pay only if he really wanted it, only if he would commit to see it through. The money would be deposited with a trustee, but the deal was off and the money would be returned if he did not stay the course. And there was one more thing. Jerson was a computer whiz the police had said, he had fixed their computers from his jail cell. If he finished school, Jan and Joan would top it off by buying Jerson the computer of his choice.
Jerson was overcome; he was no longer the macho smart ass the sneer was gone. Now he was a teenage boy with a chance for a future. He would do it, he promised. A computer of his own; he could hardly believe it. He embraced Jan and Joan, he hugged them good bye. By this time, everyone on Santa Cruz Island knew of the women they had come to call "the two Juanitas" and of the wonderful thing they had done for this young man. The social service agencies were inspired by Jan and Joan's kindness, and began to treat Jerson like doting aunties.
Jan and Joan continued on from the Galapagos to the Marquesas in their 44 foot cutter where they met up with us on Ua Pou Island, and now they have continued on to the Tuamotus and done so in the face of some pretty nasty weather. This kind of sailing alone is challenging enough for anyone, let alone for two women who are nearing 60.
But it is obvious that the great sailing adventure is not enough for Jan and Joan. Next week they will be donating two weeks to teach English to a class of adults on Fakarava atoll, and they may well be taking the lead on a project to give Fakarava's fifth graders a better option than being shipped off to boarding school at the tender age of 12.
Why are they donating time teaching during their vacation? Why did they give a young man who pulled a knife on them a future rather than insist on retribution? We doubt their goal is to break the stereotype of the ugly American; like us and so many we meet, they are outraged at our President and his war in Iraq. Perhaps they just think that their way is the way to a better world for all of us; perhaps their greatest gift is to teach the rest of us this lesson by their example. We know for sure that they believe fervently that the best part of cruising is sharing resources, and this they are doing at every turn.
So here's to Jan and Joan; we salute you.
Pax Vobiscum

To Build a Fire

June 12, 2008
At anchor in Fakarava Atoll
We spent a lot our time these past weeks looking for gas - cooking gas. Like most US boats, Pax cooks with propane. The morning coffee depends on it. So do baked biscuits and soup for lunch, and spaghetti for dinner. Without propane, it would be crackers, peanut butter and canned peaches. It would be as if the Captain did all the cooking.
Pax carries two aluminum propane cylinders. When one cylinder empties, we switch to the second and refill the first at the next opportunity, reserving the newly filled tank as a backup. This works very well in the U.S. and can be made to work in Mexico, where propane is available with some effort.
We drained our first cylinder a few nights before reaching the Marquesas, so we were working on the second when we landed in Nuku Hiva. Upon arrival we learned to our surprise that there is no propane in French Polynesia. They just don't sell it here. But, we learned that butane, which was available, could be substituted for propane so long as we didn't mix the gases in the same cylinder, so we had Cylinder #1 filled with butane in Nuku Hiva. When the second cylinder ran out a month later, we connected our butane-filled bottle into the proper fitting, and held our breath. No fireballs, no explosions, and the critical morning coffee water heated nicely, so far, so good.
A few days later we returned to Taieho Bay on Nuku Hiva to refill Cylinder #2 with butane before we left for the Tuamotus. We did not want to be without a backup when our first cylinder ran out - possibly while we were in some remote atoll or at sea. To our dismay we learned that the island was now out of butane. No more butane until the next supply ship came in. "When would that be?" we asked. "Maybe next week, maybe not," came the unhelpful reply. We were marooned in island time of the worst kind - French island time.
We weren't willing to wait. We put in a hefty supply of cold food for emergency backup and off we sailed, resolved to search for butane along the way. A dozen or so sailboats chose instead to wait in Taieho Bay. As of this writing there is still no butane for sale there we are told. If any sailboats are still waiting, they are no doubt by now getting sick of eating cold canned tuna and crackers.
At our first stop in Ua Pou, with French-English dictionary in hand, Elena and Sally asked for butane at every turn. Although some butane was available in European bottles with metric fittings, no one had the connections to fill an American tank. With amateurish French and hopeful smiles, the Pax crew pointed to the empty propane cylinder. The problem was clear, the solution was not. Store owner after store owner simply shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders. Quelle domage.
Fortunately, our cousins Lincoln and Patti Rutter had given us the "Boat Owner's Mechanical and Electrical Manual" which explained how to refill cylinders by the "drip method." The Captain determined that the hose connecting Pax's deck barbeque with the propane tanks might be used to jury rig a connecting hose if the right metric fitting could be found.
In Fakarava atoll the crew attacked the problem again. To their delight Sally and Elena found full European-fitted butane tanks standing like soldiers in a row. With the barbeque hose connection cut off and our empty tank in hand, Sally and Elena went from door to door, searching for help from anyone who would talk to them. They talked to the dive shop owner in their best French ("This is a dive shop, we service oxygen tanks, not propane tanks"), the boulangerie clerk ("We don't sell anything like that"), the owners of the two magasins that sold the butane (shrugs and sighs), and the local mechanic (a kindly smile and an unhelpful shrug). The attitude was the same everywhere - no can do.
Finally a glimmer of hope came in a conversation with a young California couple sailing the boat "Gaviota". They had been trying unsuccessfully to solve it themselves, and they invited the Pax crew over to look at their bag of parts. As he peered into the bag the Captain smiled -there was what appeared to be the elusive European fitting.
Back to the magasin with the barbeque hose, Gaviota's fitting, and a pirated clamp from Pax's water maker. With many concerned looks from the workers at the magasin, the Captain confirmed that the fitting was a clean connection to the European butane bottle. The magasin owners expressed great doubt and shook their heads over the project. They predicted a great explosion and made it clear that "you can't do it here." They lent us a hand truck to wheel the heavy bottle to the dinghy, and some kindly
Australians helped load the bottle in.
Back at Pax, we rigged the halyard to the French tank and hoisted it from the dinghy part way up Pax's mast, where we hung it upside down. We connected up our new hose to the French tank and to our empty cylinder that we set upright on the deck. We opened both valves and held our breath. Although it looked like something out of L'il Abner, butane flowed, nothing blew up, and after many hours we filled the empty bottle and then we topped our other bottle off. Voila, we could now cook, we would not be relegated to crackers and peanut butter, and most importantly, we would have hot coffee every morning.
Pax Vobiscum

Leapin' Prey, Ray

June 8, 2008
At anchor - Fakarava Atoll
The last three days have been blustery ones here at anchor. The skies have been mostly blue and the wind has been mostly 15 to 20 knots, but every hour or two a squall has come by with gusts to 30 knots and occasional rain. When the wind blows, the rigging sings. In the harder gusts the forestay with its heavy rolled up jib starts to oscillate and the whole boat vibrates. The wind builds and builds, everything shakes, and we wonder whether the anchor will hold. Then, in a minute or two, it is over. The wind has been from the east mostly, but when it clocks around to the southeast a chop travels up the 30 miles of the lagoon providing us with more roll at anchor than we would like, but still much less than we had gotten used to in the Marquesas. Yet, all in all, the blue skies, the warm but not hot temperatures, and the soothing views make this a very pleasant place.
And life has been easy for us compared to what our friends at sea have experienced these last few days. Jan and Joan from "Casteele" anchored to starboard of us this morning after a four day passage in 20 to 30 knot winds and 8 to 10 foot seas that were too close together for comfort. They arrived exhausted but justifiably proud of having conquered the seas in difficult conditions. Two days ago another boat not far from them reported 12 to 15 foot seas, conditions much too harsh for any kind of comfort. We are glad that all are now safely in port.
Last night we had an Australian couple, Jeffery and Karen from the Jeanneau "Sea Otter 2," over for a few beers. We had managed to put together a jury rig setup to fill our propane bottles with local butane and we offered to fill their empty bottle. They came over with a few beers to say thanks. It does seem to be true that all Australians drink beer, although we were surprised to learn that Jeffery's favorite brand is Moosehead Ale from Canada. We had a great time with Jeffery and Karen. As is the norm, they knew all about U.S. politics. We learned about the warm feelings the Australians have for us that still stems from World War II when many Australians feel they were abandoned by the British and saved by the U.S. They said this feeling remains strong today with most Australians, although Jeffery thinks that the Aussies have gotten even by following the U.S. into Vietnam and Iraq. Why did we go into Iraq, they ask? We are still looking for an explanation to that question that passes the straight-face test.
We are exploring ways to help the residents of Fakarava deal with a difficult reality of life on lightly populated island. The kids here go to school on this atoll until they are 11 years old, then they are flown to a larger atoll 150 miles away for the remainder of their public schooling. They live in dormitories and get home to see their families only two or three times a year. An enterprising teacher and the island's doctor think that 12 years old is too young to leave home and family, and they have proposed to the French government that the 12 and 13 year olds be allowed to join a French internet study program that would keep them here. They need $50,000 for a pilot program that could be a model for all of these islands and they have asked us for help. We have met with them and with the mayor once and will do so again on Tuesday to see if we can organize some assistance.
The sea life has been a lesson in survival biology. All day long boobies and other seabirds dive from on high for fish, often entering the water after expertly flown half rolls in maneuvers that resemble a split-s or part of a Cuban eight. Sometimes we don't see them coming until they land with a slash a few feet from the cockpit, usually emerging from the water with a three inch-long scale-covered, silver cylinder that they expertly flip end over end to swallow head first. Last night, right before sunset, a six foot manta ray leapt completely out of the water 30 feet off to starboard. He made an impressive splash and a loud slap as he reentered the water. Ten seconds later he did it all over again. We dread to even think about what might have been chasing that big fellow. Yesterday in the dinghy we were splashed as we rowed off the beach when a swift foot-long fish came charging at us and turned abruptly, just in time to avoid a collision but not in time to avoid kicking a quart of seawater into the dinghy and onto us. A second later the explanation for this frantic behavior appeared in the form of a four foot-long reef shark that made the same turn at the dinghy but in a more leisurely fashion. Often as the sun is rising or setting we see whole schools of small fish leap out of the water in unison, escaping some unseen predator while making a sound like a garden hose sprayed on the surface. We all have our daily challenges and frustration, but we humans at least get to live our days without the constant fear of being eaten.
Pax Vobiscum

No Long Goodbyes

June 5, 2008
At anchor in Fakarava
We waved goodbye to our Elena Leonard today, as she left in a "taxi" from a "hotel" in Fakarava. The taxi was a next-door neighbor's pickup truck, and the hotel a small pension where the hotelier offered grass shacks with clean beds and communal showers to cruisers and divers who come from thousands of miles away to enjoy this atoll. Elena was a wonderful addition to the Pax Vobiscum crew and we sent her back to her family in Seattle with mixed feelings of gratitude and loss.
Our final goodbyes were abrupt, as the three of us had been leisurely chatting in the pension's garden with Maddy, a lovely teacher from New Caledonia and her husband Francois. We were stretching out our time with Elena until her flight, when a neighbor came bounding around the bougainvillea with a cell phone planted firmly on her ear and asked who was leaving par avion. Elena and our new friends raised their hands, and the neighbor said "Vite, Vite! The plane is leaving early". Indeed, the neighbor had received a phone call asking to round up the passengers, and they piled fast into her pick-up truck and drove the five minutes to the airport. Before the Captain and his first mate could finish a quick trip to the boulangerie for bread and push the dinghy off the sand, the plane took off and banked right over Pax's anchorage. Safe travels and thanks, Elena.
Pax Vobiscum

Aground, not atoll

June 3, 2008
At Anchor - Fakarava atoll
We are now five days in the Tuamotus. We arrived last Thursday in Tahanea atoll after a slow passage from Ua Pou Island in the Marquesas. Tahanea was just as the Tuamotus have been advertised, a deserted blue lagoon surrounded by white sand beaches and palm trees. We anchored half a mile from the entrance pass on a coral and sand bottom in the lee of a motu, a narrow strip of sand atop an old coral outcropping topped with palm trees. Each atoll in the Tuamotus consists of a series of motus around an internal lagoon that varies in size from just a few miles across to as much as 40. The motus are the remnants of coral barrier reefs that once surrounded volcanic islands. They were created when the islands eroded to below sea level, leaving the reefs and a central lagoon. The lagoons are mid-ocean refuges for wildlife - living coral, colorful reef fish, crabs and the ever present reef sharks. The water at Tahanea is especially clear, the coral and sand on the bottom were plainly visible in 30 feet of water, and the sharks could be seen approaching from 100 feet away.
At Tahanea we met Rex and Louise, an Australian couple that has been cruising many years on their cutter "Six Pack". They hail from Lord Howe Island off the Australian coast, where they return home for half of every year to earn a living, leaving Six Pack behind in some exotic spot. Rex and Louise love to fish. They told us that they caught a barracuda on the way in and once at anchor they put it over the side. In seconds a half dozen sharks devoured it in a feeding frenzy, leaving nothing but the barracuda head and a foamy froth on the surface. The sharks now appear at their waterline every time they get in their dingy, always hopeful for a new meal. In the lagoon, Rex and Louise trolled for reef fish from their dinghy with much success. It was strictly catch and release, though. The reef fish here and at most other South Pacific atolls are contaminated with the toxin ciguatura and cannot be safely eaten. Rex and Louise also gathered coconuts for their juice and they generously gave three of them to us. Rum, orange juice and coconut milk make for an interesting sunset-time concoction.
Our last night at Tahanea we met Bjorn and Annika, a Swedish couple on the cutter "Lindisfarne". They had sailed their boat here by going around Cape Horn, where the sailing world's worst weather is to be found. They said it wasn't so bad though, as long as you were prepared to wait, sometime for weeks on end, for a weather window to open. While going around the Horn they decided to visit Antarctica since it was nearby. They told us that their charts could not be relied on as we normally would do elsewhere. What looked like a nice anchorage on the chart was often completely blocked by ice. They also reported that diesel fuel became a critical item for them because they used so much to heat their boat. They had a great time despite all the difficulties. Maybe being Swedish means you love, or at least tolerate, the cold. We found their casual dismissal of the hardships and dangers of rounding the Horn to be the nautical equivalence of Thomas Wolfe's "right stuff."
Annika is a computer engineer and she generously spent several hours getting our two portable computers into shape. I find myself cursing Microsoft less than usual this morning, thanks to Annika. Yet still, a special place in hell awaits the chief developer of Vista.
Rex, Louise, Bjorn and Annika were all familiar with American politics and interested to hear our take on this year's presidential elections. We continue to be amazed that most foreign cruisers know not just who George W is, but also know our main candidates and their stands on the big issues. They tell us that in their travels it is rare that they speak to an American who will admit to having voted for Bush. How did he get elected, they wonder? It is a mystery, we must often confess.
Last Saturday Sal and Elena rowed the dinghy off to the northwest and found a small pool in one corner of the Tahanea lagoon. There was beautiful live coral, totally calm clear water, and no sharks. Rumor has it that in the seclusion of this little piece of paradise they worked on perfecting the elusive all-over tan.
We left Tahanea early Sunday afternoon to exit the pass at slack water. The most dangerous part of cruising the atolls (aside from running into one at night) is getting into and out of the lagoons through narrow passes. The passes often have strong currents that empty and fill the lagoons with the tide. If the current runs against the ocean swell, a short and dangerous sea can form right at the pass entrance. We ran through a steeper sea than we had planned for on our exit from Tahanea, apparently because a brisk wind kept filling the lagoon's windward side, keeping the current in the leeward pass ebbing for much longer than the tide charts predicted. As we exited the narrowest part of the opening, Pax climbed and dove impressively on closely spaced waves drenching the deck and cabin-house in green water, but the discomfort was short-lived as we were swept through the danger zone on outgoing current. But my how we regretted forgetting to close all the portholes.
It was an all night 85-mile sail to Fakarava's northern pass. The wind freshened during the night to 20 knots with gusts to 25 and occasionally higher, while the seas built to six or eight feet. The wind was on our quarter, which resulted in a fast and rolly ride. We planned to enter the pass at Fakarava during the low slack tide at about 9 AM Monday, but by 2 AM we were only 20 miles off the pass, so we hove to and waited for dawn. While hove to we took a second reef in the main to more easily handle the increased winds. At dawn Sal was on watch and she got us sailing again towards Fakarava. More and more she is comfortable handling the boat on her own.
We entered the pass on schedule at 9 AM on a close reach in 20 knots. Our timing was good, though, and there were no steep seas this time. Fakarava is the second largest of the Tuamotus and the brisk wind had whipped up a three foot sea out in the middle of the lagoon, but it was nothing that Pax could not easily handle. As we approached the anchorage off the village of Rotoava a squall descended on us. For a few minutes we had 30 knot winds and driving rain that arrived just as we were maneuvering to avoid the numerous coral heads that guarded the beach-front. Under double reefed main and staysail Pax handled the wind nicely. However, just as the squall passed and we entered the anchorage, the boat lurched as the bottom of our keel grazed a coral head. We had our first grounding with Pax, but fortunately it was a glancing blow. The boat did not stop or even slow down. We were not initially sure we had gone aground, Elena felt nothing and the depth sounder never registered the obstruction, but as we looked afterwards we found a little blue dot on the chart with a depth of 4 feet at low tide - Pax draws 5.5 feet. Thankfully there is a lot of fiberglass covering Pax's internal lead keel so we have no leaks, but we are expecting to find a gouge in the fiberglass down there.
At anchor at Fakarava are our old friends from Seattle on "Hannah" and from Nottingham England on "Shilling." Last night we had cocktails with Dennis and Janet from Schilling and new friends Dawn and Tom from "Morning Rain," late of Blaine, Washington. The latter know our cousins Lincoln and Patti, whom they met when moored on the same dock with their graceful Camper and Nicholson "Zajal." Also at anchor here is "Baraka" from Richmond Beach. You cannot cruise for long in the South Pacific without meeting many other boats from Puget Sound, far more than from any other region of the U.S. Despite looking, we have yet to see a boat from Massachusetts Bay. Where are the Gloucester boats? Could it be they are all staying home to spend a summer watching the World Champion Boston Red Sox play?
Pax Vobiscum

Helpful Shark

Position: At anchor in Tahanea, Tuamoto Archipelago
May 31, 2008
The day started by our pulling up the anchor to assure the chain was not twisted around coral heads. This was important because the weather gurus forecasted a southeastern blow, and having a fouled anchor in such conditions is a truly bad idea. The other cruisers in this anchorage -- four Swedish boats and one from Australia -- explained to us how they had anchored, a trick using floats attached every 30' on their anchor chain, thereby allowing the anchor itself to bite but keeping the chain off the floor and off the coral.
Sal and Elena had found three washed up fishing floats on the beach yesterday, which were promptly put into service on Pax. This morning Sal got in the dinghy with her snorkel gear on, Elena stood at Pax's bow ready with the windlass, and Brad steered as directed by the crew. The anchor reset process was accomplished with all hands involved: Sal leaning over the dinghy with her head in the water, directing Brad to steer left, right, and straight ahead until the chain straightens and the anchor lifts. Elena stood ready to raise and redrop the anchor onto a designated sandy spot.
All proceeds well until.... SHARK!!! A warning shout from the captain and Elena, and Sal promptly pulls herself back into the dinghy as a curious reef shark swims underneath. This might have been a more worrisome problem, but for yesterday's introduction to the local fauna. Sal and Elena were scrubbing the grudge off Pax's waterline, and working back toward the skeg rudder when Sal decided it was time to get into the water and scrub from closer range. Brad was keeping a sharp eye out when he calmly said "There are three sharks heading this way like a military convoy." Rumor has it that Sal launched herself out of the water and fully into the dinghy in a nano-second, leaving the reef sharks wondering what happened. The subsequent photos taken of the beasts with Elena's underwater camera are impressive.
This afternoon while Brad worked on navigation planning and solar panel challenges, Sal and Elena headed toward a secluded blue lagoon with Elena's camera. Along the way they spotted hundreds of hermit crabs that love to eat coconuts left open on the beach by the kindly Australians. They rowed the dinghy over coral heads in water so clear that they could photograph the iridescent blue fish from above. Up the atoll a ways, Sal and Elena found a completely secluded and sheltered blue lagoon, surrounded by coconut palms. The bottom of this particular lagoon was covered with crushed white coral sand, allowing even the most timid swimmer to see if anything was coming. The two of them found this personal swimming hole to be perfectly peaceful and unencumbered by unwelcome albeit curious marine life.
Pax Vobiscum
-------------------------------------------------

Enfin Tuamotu

May 29, 2008 2100 UTC, 1100 Local
Position: 16 degrees 51 min. S, 144 degrees 42 min. W
Nous arrivons. We anchored in the Tuamotu atoll of Tahanea at about 9:45 local time this morning. Last night we made excellent time in a 10 to 12 knot northeasterly breeze. There was some tension as we weaved our way through a line of atolls in the pitch dark. Our GPS lead the way, but passing through and close to low, unlit islands that we could not see nevertheless got our full attention. We arrived off Tahanea at 7 AM and hove to for several hours waiting for the right tide and sun conditions to enter the pass into the atoll. The passes in the Tuamotus must be traversed on the correct tide. The current emptying into or out of the atoll can create seas that are dangerous for small vessels such as Pax when the current is running strong, especially if it is running against a sea. Once in the atoll, we can only safely travel in the daylight and with the sun at our backs because all these atolls contain uncharted coral heads that can only be seen if they are visible below the surface. Glare from a sun ahead in the direction of travel effectively blinds us to this danger.
Ironically, after a slow passage the wind is now whipping up at anchor. Our friends Jan and Joan are reconsidering their plan to leave the Marquesas tomorrow because of possible high seas on the route -- quite different from what we experienced in our week-long passage. Meanwhile, we are now in a sheltered spot, in the wind but out of the seas. Two hundred yards ahead is a deserted sandy motu covered by palm trees. The water, 30 feet deep under our keel, is a deep blue so clear that the sand and coral on the bottom are plainly visible. There should be great swimming and snorkeling once the wind calms down.
We as yet have not made plans on how long we will stay here. Our next stop will be the larger island of Fakarava, whose closest pass is about 45 miles away. For now we will enjoy a quiet day of relaxation.
Pax Vobiscum

Dipping South

May 28, 2008 1900 UTC, 9:00 a.m. local time
Position: 15 degrees 47 min. S, 143 degrees 52 min. W
We are within one day of landfall at the Tuamoto Archipelago or the Iles Tuamotu as our French charts state. Although our passage has been slower than expected, the time on the ocean away from sight of land has been splendid, with easy seas and deep friendships developing. We have seen only one other passing ship in a week, a freighter west bound, and the azure blue sky and deep blue water have surrounded us in very kindly ways during the thirteen hours of daylight.
Last night our watches were especially entertaining, as if the night sky was putting on a grand spectacle just for the three of us. Astronomers classify twenty named stars bright enough to qualify as "1st Magnitude," and eighteen of the twenty, plus Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars were visible during the night. The last waning quarter of the moon did not rise until midnight, giving us much time to see constellations rarely visible.
As we sail further south, the Big Dipper is getting lower and lower in the sky. Last night the scupper part of the dipper was seemingly scooping water below the horizon, and only the last three stars of the handle were visible to us. The midnight temperature was 79 degrees, and the soft salty air had a sweet expectant scent. We sailed on a port tack with a southeasterly heading of 195 degrees magnetic, and the Southern Cross was lighting up the sky just to the left of our mast. Crosby Stills and Nash sang about the Southern Cross, Richard Henry Dana wrote about it in his book Two Years Before the Mast, and now we too have sailed south by its coordinates.
Surrounding the Southern Cross and notably stretching north to south is the Milky Way. Without city lights or the moon to dim it, the Milky Way over the ocean provides a ribbon of light to guide our way. Surprisingly bright here, the Milky Way illuminates the night sky from one horizon to the other, and we could clearly see our way across the very pacific ocean in all directions. Sal has often found her dark night watches to be a bit scary when the seas are high and the wind is blowing hard, but those fears have dimmed this past week in the South Pacific.
Pax Vobiscum
May 28, 2008

Thinking, Remembering

May 27, 2008 2200 UCT, 1200 LCL
Position: degrees min. S, degrees min. W
Dawn found us motoring once more. With the wind gone and sails slatting, Sal started the engine at 4:30 AM. Pax had been drifting south in a two knot northeasterly, swinging her boom and banging her blocks every minute or two as a new series of small waves started her rolling. Elena had come off watch at 4 AM tired and frazzled. Trying to keep the boat moving and quiet in these conditions is an exercise in frustration.
Now Sal and Elena are asleep below and it is the Captain's watch. Small ripples cover the sea in all directions, heralding the arrival of a modest breeze that will allow sailing later in the morning. Shearwaters a mile or two to starboard hover over and feed on a school of small fish. No boats or land can be seen, no conversation is possible. The sun rises off the port quarter bathing the cockpit in an orange glow and streaming down through the companionway to light up the dark teak of the nav station and the hard black plastic of the main DC circuit board. Just above the panel and below an old barometer the warm morning light reflects off a shiny brass plate inscribed "James Holmes Bagshaw, In Loving Memory."
A 14-foot plywood runabout turns a bend in the Annisquam River as herring gulls swarm over the sandy clam flats in search of their evening meal. The warm glow of the late afternoon sun lights up the 40 horsepower Johnson two-cycle as a young father shows his 10 year-old son how to recognize the sandbars while the boy steers down river towards the dock in Smith's Cove near their Gloucester Harbor home. Then the engine sputters and dies, and the navigation lesson becomes a lesson in switching fuel tanks and restarting the engine without panic as the small boat drifts down the channel into the path of a tired old side trawler heading for market with a full load of cod and haddock.
At sea we are at such close quarters, yet at times we are so alone. These times allow the mind to wander down a river now far away, to be again with a father once so young, but now gone forever. A father sorely missed, and lovingly remembered.
Pax Vobiscum

Cow Pie of the Sea

May 26, 2008
Position: 13 degrees 53 min. S, 142 degrees 32 min. W
Last night the wind piped up to 10 knots giving us a nice ride for about 12 hours. Unfortunately, it has settled down again and left behind a lumpy sea. Our destination is directly downwind, but heading off in that direction results in slow going and an unpleasant roll, with the sails pulling the boom to windward, to leeward, and back again, over and over. The lines, the blocks, and everything not tied down bang back and forth. Down below the hull magnifies all, and it sounds as if Pax is trying to shake herself apart; this is the least favorite point of sail for all cruisers. So, an hour ago we put our poor bruised vessel onto a quieter and faster reach, sacrificing progress for peace. This is proving to be a slow passage.
Last night right before sunset Sal's and Elena's fishing efforts bore fruit in the form of a 23" long 10 pounder identified by fishing master Sal as a bonito. He was quite an attractive fellow, looking like a small tuna, bright silver all over with iridescent side stripes, as if dressed in a tuna tux and all ready for Neptune's prom. Sal hooked the stylish fellow by rod and reel, and Elena hauled him aboard with her bare hands - no gaff needed by this hearty fishing crew. As soon as the rod began to flex, the Captain hustled to his fishing station down below, far away from the impending blood and gore, and began to read. Thankfully, his Bowditch is dense enough to distract him through a year's worth of fishing.
Sal dispatched her catch with a few hearty blows of the winch handle and immediately filleted the bonito right there in the cockpit. Elena busied herself cleaning up the considerable mess. It took her many, many buckets of salt water and the whole process took long enough for the Captain to get through two dense chapters of Bowditch before he dared show his head above deck.
The barbecue was then lit, and within an hour of the mayhem ending we were all settling down to a fresh fish dinner. Unfortunately, it tasted awful and we wound up feeding most of it to the sharks. Our friend and fishing guru Ken Ewing had warned us that bonito were not good eating (in his folksy Arkansas way he told us cow pies were tastier). We should have listened.
Tonight the Captain is hoping for clam linguini, secure in the knowledge that the clams are already in the can. He noted however that after studying the cruiser's fishing guide to make sure no mistakes in fish preparation had been made, fishing lines were quietly run out again today during his afternoon nap. Pax's fishing master and her formidable assistant do not easily give up.
Pax Vobiscum

Driftin'

May 25, 2008 0200 UCT, 1600 LCL (May 24)
Position: 11 degrees 48 min. S, 141 degrees 53 min. W
The flying fish launched at dawn across water as still as the most secluded pond. His first six feet were marked by dimples in the water left by the beat of his small winged fins. For 15 seconds he turned and banked silently within inches of the surface before plunging back in, to be constrained once again by the thickness of the water.
We have no wind. It died, completely died, about 11:30 last night towards the end of Sally's watch. There was no fair warning. We had eaten the Captain's favorite dinner of linguini with marinara sauce and mushrooms in the darkening dusk. Our now old friends Alpha Centauri, Beta Centaurus and the Southern Cross materialized with the setting sun, and as we were enjoying our dessert of fresh baked brownies a nearly full moon, swelled by the refraction from a hot earth, rose out of the sea. We talked with vigor and respect of prayer, spirituality and the scientific method. We each stated our case and, we each patiently listened as the others stated theirs. And, in the end, we each remained convinced of the opinions we had held at the outset. So it goes, in the South Pacific, and everywhere else. The off-watch turned in and all was right with the world; then, the wind died.
From midnight we motored. Motoring is good for charging the batteries, making fresh water, and stabilizing the boat when there is no wind holding the hull down against the water. Of course, motoring also moves the boat towards its destination, but at a price. Noise and vibration destroy the stillness, they build a barrier that walls off the natural world as effectively as the cabin of an air-conditioned car speeding down the highway. And motoring uses diesel fuel, a precious liquid that must be hauled in the dinghy two five-gallon jugs at a time - if a source for it can be found at all. So at 8 AM we turned the motor off and started drifting. First in no wind, now generally to the south pushed by the barest breath, but at least pushed, at least for now.
It is quiet. Sometimes when the wind dies everything not tied down bangs from side to side in a nasty roll left over by the forgotten breeze. Not today. The swell is gentle and we rise and fall so lazily to it that the boom rarely moves. Today we we have silent sunshine, no cooling breezes, but time for quiet talk in the shade and for books that had been put off to another day, a day that has now arrived. Tomorrow the computer forecast promises that a small wind will blow fair for the Tuamotus.
We will wait for it.
Pax Vobiscum

Shark Bait

May 23, 2008. 2030 UCT, 1030 LCL
Position: 10 degrees 38 min. S, 140 degrees 55 min. W
We tired of waiting for the wind and set sail yesterday afternoon for the Tuamotu Islands. We have now been sailing for 21 hours in light but serviceable winds from the east, allowing us to beam reach at about four knots. We are pleased to be moving without needing to resort to the engine and hope this continues despite a forecast for very light air. We plan to stop first at Tahaena Atoll which is about 500 miles to the south southwest, a stop recommended to us several weeks ago by our new friend Pierre from the sloop Ke'a. Pierre and his crewmember Claude by now should be a third of the way to Vancouver. We hear that a clear blue coral atoll, white sand beaches and coconut palms await our arrival in Taheana. Thanks to Sandy Brown and our new crew member Elena Leonard, we can make our own cold drinks. No ice though, Chris.
Last night Sally put out the fishing line and around sunset she hooked a big one. After patiently reeling in and out for half an hour, something even larger swallowed the first catch. For 10 minutes Sal struggled and struggled, out went line and more line and the reel became quite hot, but there was no landing this one. Finally the 300 pound-test leader broke where it held the hook, leaving the two inch long steel hook with the fish, but the rest of the rig with us. We surmise that a large shark gulped down in one bite what was to be three or four meals of tuna for us. Those nasty hooks will give him indigestion, though.
This morning we had what will be a daily radio check-in with Jan and Joan on Casteele, with whom we have had a grand time these last few days. We left them yesterday at anchor in a lovely bay on Ua Pou Island. Today they set sail for Anaho Bay, our favorite, and in a week or so they will be following us to the Tuamotus. It was great to catch up with friends from Seattle, and it is great to have them listening for us should something go wrong. We were introduced back in Seattle by mutual friend and world-cruiser Nancy Erley.
Our new crewmember Elena, a sailing instructor at Windworks since sending her three kids off to college, has been a joy to have aboard. We are having fun showing her Pax and sharing with her our brand knew knowledge of the bluewater cruising life. She has blended into our little crew seamlessly and we look forward to learning from her as much as we can of the vast store of knowledge she has acquired in her sailing career.
We are now getting back into the routine of round-the-clock watches. With three of us on board we are each doing one four-hour day shift and two two-hour night shifts. The seas are low with swells under three feet, so the sleeping is easy. Today is full of sunshine, and I am typing this while cooling off after my 6 AM to 10 AM day watch. A cold Hinano awaits, followed by lunch and a little nap. There are worse ways to spend the day.
Pax Vobiscum

Good Morning Sunshine

May 20, 2008 Hakahau Bay, Oa Pou Island
We finally left Anaho Bay last Friday after a marvelous three-week stay, and we sailed to Taiahoe Bay once more where we were to pick up our new crew member Elena on Sunday. At the appointed time Sal and I (well, Sal mostly) were doing our laundry in a bucket on the small boat quay. Miraculously, Elena arrived on schedule. She had just completed a 36-hour odyssey from Seattle to L.A., to Papeete, to the Nuku Hiva airport, and to the quay via a 90 minute 4-wheel drive taxi bumping along on a mostly unpaved road. We were surprised and delighted to see Elena step out of the taxi as we had no way to communicate with her in the likely event that she were to be held up somewhere along the way.
We had not met Elena before, but had no problem identifying her for she was the one carrying the refrigerator; yes, we now have cold beer again, and not a moment too soon. We are grateful to Elena for carrying the fridge 4000 miles, and we are especially grateful to Sandy Brown who on hearing that our onboard frige had given up in the tropics, researched the portable refrigeration options, got us the details, advanced the funds, purchased the frige and delivered it to Elena. Without Sandy's energy and enthusiasm we would be finishing this trip without cold beer, mayo, cheese, meat and many of the other items made possible by refrigeration that we all take for granted back home.
Yesterday we sailed 25 miles south to Oa Pou, a small volcanic island. From 20 miles out we can easily see the dramatic basalt spires created when magma welled up in the fissures of the young volcano that formed this island; one cruise book we have on board calls this the most dramatic landfall in the South Pacific. We had a lovely sail, close reaching in an 8-10 knot breeze all the way across the channel that separates this island from Nuku Hiva. We arrived in the late afternoon immediately behind a red-hulled cutter named Casteele that motored in from Tahuata. Casteele is crewed by our friends Jan and Joan from Seattle. We had communicated by e-mail from time to time and had hoped to meet up, but the coincidence of arriving here right behind them was a surprise. After we had each set both bow and stern anchors (to keep the boats pointed into the swell coming into the small harbor) we had cocktails in Pax's cockpit. If George Bush has ears in Oa Pou they are burning this morning.
At 6 AM the island freighter Aranui III woke us up with its booming fog horn as it neared the entrance to the little harbor we call home today. We and the crews of the other eight boats who were wedged into this tiny harbor bailed out of bed to watch the large freighter lower two launches from its main crane. The launches sped into the harbor to clear the way for the freighter which continued steadily towards us at two or three knots. We knew the Aranui intended to maneuver alongside the concrete dock a few hundred yards east of us to deliver the supplies that this island would need for the next several weeks. It looked to us like the harbor was too congested for this to happen and that we were all going to have to pull up our anchors in short order and clear out. But to our relief the launches left us alone to focus solely on a small sloop called "Sunshine" that had anchored 100 feet north of us, apparently too much in the narrow channel for the comfort of Aranui's captain. As the Aranui moved slowly into the harbor the two launches circled Sunshine, anxiously yelling and gesturing. Sunshine's master, a middle-aged American and his crew, a Polynesian girl of 12 or so, scrambled to get the boat moving. The master of the little boat launched his tiny dinghy and rowed frantically back to haul his stern anchor. When he could not get it up quickly, one of the launches came over and took up the heaving for him. Back rowed the master to Sunshine where he started pulling on the bow anchor, heaving hand over hand for he had no windless. Soon he was boarded by a crewmember from the other launch who scrambled up Sunshine's side to heave along with him. As Sunshine moved forward on its anchor chain she moved more and more into the channel. The Aranui, not willing to stop and wait for Sunshine to clear, rounded the small breakwater and moved into the channel from the sea. Then there was the loud clattering of huge chain links against a steel hull as the Aranui let go its main anchor, but she did not stop on the anchor; she kept coming right at Sunshine. From our vantage point only 100 yards away it seemed that Sunshine was against the high steel side of the freighter when Sunshine's anchor finally cleared the surface and the tiny sloop turned abruptly away, disaster seemingly averted at the last minute. The Aranui continued on at her steady, slow pace as she had throughout. Now her launches ferried lines to the quay that the ship used to winch herself alongside. The main anchor she had dropped on the way in would be her means of exiting the tiny harbor. With no tugs she had no other way to get pointed back out to sea after unloading other than to pull her bow around with the main anchor.
By 7 AM, on Pax's back deck, with coffee mugs now in hand, we were able to watch the Aranui beginning to unload. Meanwhile, Sunshine had anchored in shallow water near the head of the harbor, where her captain and young crew could recover from their morning's excitement.
Meanwhile, it looks like we will be in the Marquesas a little while longer. The usually steady tradewinds that we had counted on to carry us on to the Tuamotus have taken what we hope will be a short vacation. We are now planning to push on to the southwest by the end of the week.
Pax Vobiscum
-------------------------------------------------

Please Don't Pass the Freedom Fries

Anaho Bay - May 15, 2008
Vive La France!!
The Americans have moved on through and now we are with the Europeans. Pierre on KE'A has until recently been a manager with Sunsail Charters in Raiatea, recently merged with Moorings. He sailed single-handed to French Polynesia 16 years ago and stayed in sailing serving the charter trade. Now he again is free to set sail. He left yesterday for Vancouver, B.C. with crewmember Claude, now 60ish, but who as a young man sailed here from France on a 22 foot sloop. His lived through the experience, triumph enough for one lifetime.
Pierre spent hours with us annotating our cruising guides to tell us where to go and what to look for in the Tuamotu and Society Islands. His advice springs from genuine experience, and we will pay attention to it. He gave and gave of his time, wanting nothing to more than to tell us what he knows. We gave him a book of charts of Puget Sound and advice about dealing with our peculiar currents, and we invited him and Claude over for dinner the night before they departed. Pierre, the expansive extrovert came over in a clean pressed shirt that might have been worn by a Mayan sun-god, Claude, a substantial man of few words, arrived in a red tank top wearing a broad smile. They brought a pear custard dessert baked by Pierre that we inhaled after a lovely dinner of clam linguini prepared by Sal. KE'A was going straight to Vancouver rather than making the usual stop in Hawaii because Pierre had been unable to get a U.S. visa. For him to get a visa our country requires him to fly to Fiji, a substantial expense that he was not willing to undertake. We have a consulate in Tahiti, but it exists only to help U.S. citizens, not to make life easier for fine Frenchmen who would visit America. Pierre wants to see the wonders of Alaska, but will stay next winter in Victoria while he attempts to get his U.S. visa from there. The trip is more arduous without the stop in Hawaii, but they will make it; they are true sailors.
We heard from Pierre that the extraordinary single-hander Eric has decided to go to Japan rather that North America because he does not yet have a U.S. visa. He will try to get to Alaska next year because he too wants to see the great natural beauty of our greatest wilderness. We wish this extraordinary young man the best of luck.
The night before we met Pierre we had a French couple from the vessel SEA LANCE over along with a young couple from PANGEA, a Seattle boat owned by a French - U.S. citizen and a Seattle veterinarian. The French couple were as nice as nice could be. They told us of a cruise they had to Antarctica right after 9/11 on which they had wonderful times at the Russian station and with everyone else they met with one unfortunate exception. They needed certain supplies and asked for help from the NOAA Antarctic research ship. The Captain told them that he had surplus supplies that he would be happy to share, but not share with the French because that country had failed to support the U.S. adventure in Iraq, (All hail Freedom Fries.) Today this couple hiked two hours over the hill to the next village. Because they knew that Sal had done the hike yesterday only to find both stores out of bread, they brought us a fresh loaf. They refused all payment for this kindness, proving with their feet and their hearts that they do not hold a grudge.
Pax Vobiscum flies the American flag from its backstay, a tradition we began on the Fourth of July several years ago to honor our fathers, proud veterans both of the Second World War. We long in vain to find pride in the present as well as the past. Maybe next year.
Pax Vobiscum

To Get to the Other Side

Sal's hike to Stephen King Beach
May 12, 2008

On the southwest corner of the island lies a quiet little harbor called Hakatea, which is perfect for sailboats. It's also known as Daniel's Bay, named after a friendly Marquesan who for decades, encouraged sailboaters to come to his home, sign his guest book, and freely enjoy his potable water. A true gentleman and much appreciated when showers and good water are hard to find.
Diagonally across the island along the northeast shore is a very different type of beach. Called Haatuatua Bay, it is directly exposed to the east wind and ocean swell, so sailboats avoid it as an anchorage. It is nonetheless beautiful if you can reach it -- secluded white sands and palm trees line it - and it is surrounded by razor sharp volcanic cliffs and hills covered with palms, breadfruit, and lemon trees. It is over the ridge but within walking distance of Anaho Bay where we are anchored. Sal was in one of her exploratory moods, and she took off this morning with a jug of water, her camera, and two different kinds of bug repellant. Little did she realize she was heading alone for Stephen King Beach.
She reports the walk eventful. The entrance to the path led through an active coconut palm grove. The palms are 60+ feet tall and multiply freely. Although the international market is not what it was a decade ago for coconut oil (something about the cholesterol issue), coconuts are still grown and harvested by the extended Anaho Bay family. The trees are naturally groomed when they drop large branches and ripe coconuts without warning and sufficiently often that we have been counseled to never stop under a coconut tree. Sal can attest that she narrowly avoided a large palm frond and a half dozen coconuts this morning that dropped suddenly from on high at her feet.
As she continued on her eastward hike, the grassy trail opened up on the other side of the grove where animals abound. Cows and small horses graze. Some are tethered and others not. The horses are reputedly the progeny of French stock introduced to the islands two hundred years ago. Running near the horses and looking for food, red and gold-feathered feral roosters chase after their brown hens who in turn are clucking after young chicks. Well-fed and well-mannered dogs with pointy ears and long legs lounge outside the few houses along the way.
The path follows the contour of Anaho Bay through a semi tropical forest alive with bird calls and full of fragrances. The salt air of the ocean cresting on the basalt below combines with sweet smell of plumeria and gardenias, warmed lemons falling from the trees, horse sweat, and burning coconut piles. The villagers in Anaho Bay take pride in their homes, and regularly burn coconut husks and fronds as a way to keep the bugs down and keep appearances up. Sal said that the burn piles she passed along the way reminded her vaguely of some sweet burning smells from her college dorm days.
Sal's walk continued up and over the ridge, where the vegetation changed abruptly to more semi-arid type plans. She passed two tidy lean-to style huts, again well tended, with watermelons growing in well watered gardens. Her "bon jour!'s" went unanswered and her hopes for some fresh melon were dashed.
The forested way to the beach became a twist of woody trunks similar to mangrove trees, apparently blown over from last season's hurricanes. Sal scaled over trunks and around branches, crawled through some dead wood and walked up the last hill. At the top she stopped dead in her tracks: below was a white sand beach extending over a mile north and south, with nary a soul, a Hilton, or human footprint anywhere. A few untethered horses raised their heads and sniffed the wind at her, and a family of wild goats that had been grazing along the beach moments before melted back into the hillside.
Sal reapplied the bug repellant. Having been devoured by no-no's at Daniel's Bay, she now knows the drill. Multiple layers of bug goo including a final bath in some citronella- smelling coconut oil are in order. It feels like applying Wesson oil, but it apparently drowns the no-no's before they are able to bite.
She walked down the hill to beach and noticed thousands of black crabs running just where the surf wetted the sand. These crabs are FAST and they stick together. Before Sal was even on the beach the crabs spotted her. The group closest to the ocean ran into the waves, and others scattered back to their castles - a thousand conical piles of sand twelve inches high just above the high tide line, with a deep hole dug behind it. These crabs are known locally as coconut crabs, as at night they come out of their holes and effectively drill into the coconuts that have either rolled down to or been washed up on the beach. The crab claws are prized for their sweet meat and they are captured at night by dazzling them with a bright flashlight. The locals and some brave cruisers will venture into the crab condos after dark, shine their flashlights into the crab's eyes, grab the crabs from behind and wrench off one claw. The crabs continue to live and reputedly can grow a new claw. Although they survive, Sal is convinced they hold a grudge.
As she walked along the beach she discovered the no-no's were finding her skin interesting and were beginning to circle. Despite the assurances printed on the bottles of bug goo, the no-no's were landing with serious attitude. This was enough to cut the beach stroll short. In addition to the bugs, the crabs started taking a stand. Rather than diving for cover as they did initially, they stopped and were LOOKING at her. Crab eyes by the dozens are intimidating. One crab raised his claws in a defiant two-clawed salute. Others were starting to leave the water and started sidling toward the brave one in solidarity. Sal has read enough science fiction novels to comprehend that this beach was very likely to be one of those used by the French government to secretly test their post-war nuclear weapons, and the defiant crabs were the mutant result. Rather than pressing the point she wisely retreated, leaving the bugs and the crabs for Stephen King's next novel.
Pax Vobiscum

Bay Watch

Anaho Bay - 5/10/08
Hot and humid - the good and the bad of the tropics. This weather is delightful, so long as there is a breeze. Now we sit at anchor with all of our portholes and hatches wide open. Over the forward hatch we have a "Windscoop," a piece of nylon fabric cut in the shape of a small spinnaker, the bottom of which is fastened to our hatch coaming. The Windscoop directs a steady breeze into the forward cabin and back through the whole boat; it is delightful and the cool air is directed downward and flows without using any precious electricity. On many days a small dark cloud comes by in the late morning or early afternoon and it begins to rain, sometimes quite hard, and we scramble to close all the hatches and portholes. Almost at once the sweating starts - with the breeze cut off the boat goes from pleasant to stifling in an instant.
The rain usually ends in five minutes and we can then reopen everything again, unless we see another cloud with more rain right behind the first. The more challenging is when we are asleep at night. Sometimes the first hint of rain comes in the form of raindrops on a sleeping face through a portal, then out of a sound sleep we scramble to close everything up before the rain starts in earnest. The rain soon stops - then the guessing game begins. Is that it, or is there another cloud hiding in the darkness behind this one? Is it all over, or will it rain on and off again all night? If we go through the fire drill twice then we generally leave it closed up for the night. Our small D.C. fans are turned on, and our sheets and pillows will get damp with sweat - but we can sleep undisturbed.
A variation on the theme occurs when the wind is gusty and shifty. The Windsock works best when the wind comes straight at it, so when a gust comes from a new direction it bangs and thrashes about until the boat turns to face the new wind. Then we have a cool breeze again until the next wind shift starts the banging anew. Now the game becomes how much we will put up with. If it keeps waking us up, then a trip on deck to lower the Windsock is in order. If we let it go too far, as we did last week, the Windsock shakes apart some of its seams and we find pieces on the deck in the morning.
The up and down for Sal is no big deal, since she is generally up several times during the night anyway, cataloging stars and enjoying the quiet night sky. She has devoured the book Gene Carlson gave her on the Stars, and is learning more about the sidereal day and the hours of longitude. Many of the stars and constellations we could see in Seattle are below the horizon here, and new ones appear every night.
The heat has loosened our temperate customs. Long sleeves and long pants are long put away. Socks too are never worn on board, we rarely have a use for footwear of any kind, and we certainly have no need for sweaters, fleeces or even rain coats - (Macs as our new British friends call them). The rain is so warm we just enjoy when caught out in it, secure in the knowledge that it will soon end and that we will quickly dry out.
I gave up shirts when out of the sun sometime ago, and most younger men get their full tans and hardly ever wear shirts at any time. My vanity and my still white belly restrain me somewhat more. Sal is finally giving up on shirts when we are alone together below, a development that I rate one of the great benefits of the climate. I now have a deeper appreciation of why the crew of the BOUNTY so enjoyed being greeted by topless Tahitian women, and unlike that unlucky crew, I do not need to foment mutiny just to continue the fun. All in all, times are good here in Anaho Bay.
Pax Vobiscum
-------------------------------------------------
Do not push the "reply" button to respond to this message if that includes the text of this original message in your response. Messages are sent over a very low-speed radio link.
The most concise way to reply is to send a NEW message
to: wde3191@sailmail.com
If you DO use your reply button, be sure to delete the original message text and these instructions from your reply.
Replies should not contain attachments and should be less than 5 kBytes (2 text pages) in length.
This email was delivered by an HF private coast station in the Maritime Mobile Radio Service, operated by the SailMail Association, a non-profit association of yacht owners. For more information on this service or on the SailMail Association, please see the web site at:
http://www.sailmail.com

Hangin with the Cat in the Bay

May 6, 2008, still in Anaho Bay
Two days ago everyone pulled out of the Bay except us, and as they left a 45-foot Lagoon catamaran named "MAVERICK DREAM" pulled in. For the last two days it has been just the cat and us in the Bay. "MAVERICK DREAM" is crewed by four men. Owner Mark from Australia came by in his dinghy yesterday to borrow some socket wrenches, and I wound up spending a few hours helping one of his crew, 21 year-old Francis, figure out how to pull the cylinder head off MAVERICK DREAM's starboard main engine. When that engine would not start, the crew had discovered coolant in one of the cylinders, and they were hoping to find that the problem was a blown head gasket that they thought they could fix here in the Bay. The engine now sits in pieces, and unfortunately it looks like there is a crack in the cylinder head that will require a replacement that must be supplied from the States, a long and expensive process.
Last night Sal and I had diner on MAVERICK DREAM. Mark, who looks to us to be in his early 40s, made his money by starting a computer training company. He retired and bought his boat three years ago in Europe. He has cruised the Mediterranean, and crossed the Atlantic twice. He has sailed most of this time with Louis, a 32-year-old Dutchman. The love of Louis' life is an Ethiopian woman whose father was executed a few years back by the Etrians. He plans to move soon to Ethiopia, get married and start a business. He has convinced himself that the business climate is good for foreigners there; such is the power of love. Francis and Minnow round out the crew. Both had been teaching kite-surfing and windsurfing in Aruba when they signed on with Mark. Francis, who was born in Australia but lived most of his life in Holland, had gone to Aruba with his parents at 17 for a long weekend and stayed four years, all without a visa or any other formality. He lived and crewed on a wooden boat that took tourists sailing. It had no electricity and few systems. Minnow, who is Dutch, has a degree in Naval Architecture and had been a charter skipper in Greece, sometimes leading flotillas of foreign charter boats as the expert in the local waters. He plans to go back to Naval Architecture when he feels the need for a real job. None of these four men wore anything but a bathing suit in our time with them. When Francis would overheat during the many hours it took him to pull off the cylinder head he would just leap in the water to cool off, then hop back on the boat and go back at it.
e were fed fresh tuna that they had caught early that morning in their dinghy just outside the Bay. Straight off the barby as Mark would (and did) say. Tonight the MAVERICK DREAM crew will dine on the claws of land crabs that Louis had gathered that evening on the beach. The land crabs come out after dark and bore their way through coconuts that have fallen to the ground. Louis hunts the crab with a bright flashlight that temporarily confuses them. He then twists off one claw and lets the victim go. Louis claims the crab will survive and grow back its missing claw to provide some future cruiser with another meal. The claws that Louis brought back while we were having wine continued to writhe and snap out at fingers when touched.
The wildlife continues to be plentiful. As we sat on MAVERICK DREAM's back deck having wine we saw the dorsal fin of a good sized black tip shark prowling the reef that lines the shore, and this morning while having coffee in Pax' cockpit I saw a very large turtle surface near the boat. Yesterday as I was gazing out the porthole in the head (deeply in thought) a booby dove by three feet from my nose, splashed into the water and flew away with one of the small colorful reef fish that have taken up residence under Pax. Yesterday afternoon Sally came face to face with four wild pigs as she returned from her three-hour hike over the northwest ridge-line into the adjacent village. They snorted, she stared, and thankfully, they scattered.
This morning MAVERICK DREAM left the Bay under one engine to motor towards Daniel's Bay. They will then visit Rangiroa in the Tuamotus before heading for Tahiti where they will pick up Mark's wife, a 28 year-old body builder from Russia, and with luck, a new cylinder head. The notion of sailing 750 miles (think Seattle to Santa Barbara) with an engine in pieces does not seem so foolish now as it would have six months ago. The young Russian body builder, on the other hand . . .
So we are completely alone in this lovely spot. Tonight we will barbecue frozen chicken legs that Sal lugged back from the village yesterday. Chicken and bread are subsidized here, so they are the exceptions to the otherwise expensive fare. The box of chicken was packaged by Tyson in Arkansas. How interesting to find it here, where the chickens and roosters roam freely on every road and path.
Pax Vobiscum

Thinking of Tahiti

May 3, 2008 - still in Anaho Bay, Nuku Hiva Island
We have now been in this spot a week which makes us the senior cruisers in residence. There were three boats at anchor when we arrived and they are long gone now, each headed southwest towards Tahiti. Other boats have come and go; several nights ago there were 11 boats in the Bay, now we are down to five, including one mega sailing yacht that arrived yesterday. It is quite an impressive sight with a four-spreader mast that must be 120 feet high. After the anchor was down the whole transom swungout on hydraulics and out rolled an impressive little motor boat that this morning has been cruising around the Bay.The mega yacht is not at all typical of this cruising community. Long distance cruising, unlike local yachting, does not seem to be predominantly a diversion of the well-to-do. Typical are Sylvie and Steve who sold their London flat to afford their cruise on "SECOND WIND" a small steel cutter that they brought here from Europe via the Canal, Alaska and the U.S. west coast. It will remain their home after they reach Australia, Steve's homeland. They do not eat out much even when the opportunityprovides, and they told us yesterday they felt a little guilty buying a baked chicken to bring back to the boat. Chuck and Diane of "BEAR," another steel boat (you get more for your money with steel they told us), have likewise sold everything to go cruising and are living on a budget. For these and many other cruisers this is their lifestyle, one that substitutes boat for home, and self-sufficiency for purchased expertise. As accepted as we have been in this group, we are nevertheless misplaced,here for a short time before we return to our big-city condo life. Not that this is a life of luxury for us either (or perhaps I should say for Sal). As I am writing this Sal is returning in the dinghy with four jugs of water she has gathered from a nice spring feed pipe ashore to replenish our tanks. We do not run our tiny watermaker in the Bay where it might become contaminated. After all, everyone, us included, runs the toilet exhaust directly into the Bay. (The norm everywhere in the worldexcept the U.S.).The marine life continues to surprise. Yesterday Sal threw some moldy rice overboard and the sea exploded as 20 or more foot-long bright red reef-fish tore into this gift from the skies as soon as it hit the water. It happened so fast that they had to hanging around right under the boat. Where they seeking shade from the sun, protection from predators or just hanging around hoping for a meal. We may never know, but the show was such fun that Sal went back to the (inoperative) fridge and foundsome more rice (not moldy) and threw that overboard. BAM, the red fish were back on the attack, and when they were done a hundred or so smaller blue-green striped fish gobbled up the left-overs.Three nights ago during the midst of our local population explosion we had a pot luck on the beach and we got to know of each other's cruising adventures. Still most impressive to me is single-hander Eric from Switzerland. He has been at this nearly five years now. Everywhere he stops he gets to know the locals. He goes to the service at the local church wherever he lands, he takes the local transportation, and he walks a lot, talking freely with everyone he meets. He fishes and he bakes. Hetold me that the only provision he needs to buy for Alaska is 15 kilos of flour. Eric is very nearly self-sufficient. He plans to sail to Kodiak Island next, but his Visa is in postal limbo now - the Marquesan post office sent it back to Switzerland before Eric arrived, and it has not yet arrived there or returned here. If he cannot sort this out in the next week or two he will change plans and sail to Japan next, saving Alaska for next year. He has heard good things about the kindness the Japaneseshows to cruisers. To say Eric's schedule is flexible would be an understatement.Our schedule is changing as well. We have decided to stick with our original plan and continue on towards Tahiti rather than start towards Hawaii and home. Our good friend Mark Larson will join us on May 11, after which we will head southwest to the Tuamotu Islands, called the "dangerous archipelago" in the days before GPS. These islands are volcanos eroded down to just crater rims which are then built up with coral. Low islands and beaches surround clear, blue lagoons. Since they are low, theyare hard to see as they are approached and very dangerous to ships that do not know exactly where they are. Fortunate for us, we live in the age of GPS. We will be four or five nights at sea to get from here to the Tuamotus and we will then spend some yet undetermined amount of time in that slice of paradise before continuing on to Tahiti.
Pax Vobiscum

Anaho Bay, Nuku Hiva Island

April 29, 2008
We have been in Anaho Bay three days now after a very pleasant seven hour sail from Taiohae Bay on Saturday where we dropped Lal off so she could catch her flight back to the U.S. Lal has become a great friend and we miss her already. This is another bay not connected by road to the rest of the island. It is bounded partly by sheer volcanic cliffs and connected to the next bay over by a footpath over a 1000 foot high pass. The bay is full of coral and there are many colorful reef fish here.
We have seen two manta rays close aboard and sharks come in with the tide to feed, not the small black tip sharks we have seen before now, but six-foot long predators. We have decided against swimming even though we are told the snorkeling is great.
We had planned to sail to the next island to the south, Ua Po, but on rereading our guides we learned that both main anchorages there were exposed to the swell and considered "rolly." We had enough of "rolly" in Taiohae Bay, so we decided to head for Anaho Bay, described by one of our cruising guides as the nicest anchorage in all of French Polynesia. It is very nice indeed; well sheltered from the sea, so the boat does not roll at its anchor. It is also less humid here than on the on the upwind end of the island, and there has been a fairly steady wind most of the time. We have mounted a nylon wind scoop over our forward hatch and the result has been a pleasant breeze blowing through the boat - conditions that truly take the edge off the sometimes oppressive heat of the tropics and that make sleeping a joy.
Last night through Sal's organization the 13 cruisers who were anchored in the Bay were treated to a local Marquesan meal by the family that harvests copra in this place. Goat was the main dish and it was not bad. Ironically, organizer Sal cannot stand the taste of goat or its cheese, so it was rice and a local salad for her, topped off by a dessert of fresh mangos. Our meal was preceded by cocktails on CHINOOK, owned by Dave and Candy whom we had met in Daniel's Bay, along with our new friends Paul and Gina on SOLACE whom we had met the night before. They are New Zealanders who have worked for years in the U.S. and are in the process of taking their new boat to their old homeland. Also in on the dinner were Steve, Tracy and Nolan from HANNAH, a Seattle boat. Sal had met Steve and Tracy at a cruising weather class a year ago in Seattle. Today there are new boats in the harbor and Eric, Dominique, Sergio, Sylvie and Steve came over for cocktails. Our social calendar is always full.
Steve is Australian and his wife Sylvie is French, Dominique and Sergio are also French from Nice, and Eric is Swiss. We are all sailors, but Eric is special - he is a real sailor and makes the rest of us look like pretenders. Eric is single-handing his boat and has already been three-quarters of the way around the world. He is leaving here bound for Kodiak Island, but he is not making the usual stop in Hawaii because he has a "one-entry" visa into the U.S. If Eric stops in Hawaii he cannot stop in Alaska, which is where he really wants to go. So he is off next on his 4500 mile leg. Eric brought a 5 pound tuna steak to cocktails as his contribution. He fishes and always catches far more than he can eat.
We had a wonderful time this evening. Politics was in-bounds; not surprisingly George Bush is as unpopular with this crowd as he is in Seattle. Sal and I were not blamed; on the contrary, politeness seemed to require that the French president come in for some ridicule. The biggest laugh of the night came when we contemplated the trouble potential first-man Clinton could get into with the beautiful new first- lady of France on an unsupervised diplomatic adventure.
We have used the downtime to do some soul searching regarding the remainder of our cruise. Downwind is the rest of French Polynesia, the Tuamotus, a series of postcard atolls of bluewater lagoons surrounded by white sand beaches and palm trees, followed by the Society Islands, famed Tahiti, Moorea which contains what our world-cruising friend Nancy Erley says is her favorite anchorage in the entire world, and Bora-Bora, reputed to be one of the world's most beautiful spots. Yet we are on the verge of turning north, and making for Hilo which would be the first leg of our journey home to Seattle.
We have been counseled to press on west and see these wonderful sights, but our goals are in transition. For me, this has been far more about the journey than the destination. I have always wanted to do a serious ocean passage, to learn to be a real sailor. The passage is now done, and while I have much to learn, I have learned much. For Sal, this is voyage was first about support for me, but this trip also played directly to her taste for adventure and her thirst for learning new things. She also has accomplished much. A few nights ago Sal started to explain to a cocktail guest that she was an inexperienced sailor and was sharply interrupted - "not any more" the guest said - not anymore indeed, in the past seven months Sal has sailed over 4500 miles and crossed half an ocean in a 39-foot sailboat. So now we are both experienced sailors - and we are both starting to long for home.
We are turning our attentions north-westward, back towards Polaris and the rising sun.
Pax Vobiscum

Sandy's in Seattle - Ray is Here

April 26, 2002
We put Lal into the taxi this morning, and Brad and I will leave Nuku Hiva tomorrow morning heading for Ua Poa which is a day sail. Later this week we'll probably blast off for the Tuamotos which will be our first passage alone. The sea life continues to be stunning; I saw a small ray jump completely out of the water today near the boat landing with a SPLAT. We also watched as many Magnificent Frigates dive bombed fish that were finding shelter under a neighboring boat. Pretty incredible.

Sandy

Nuku Hiva Island - Continued -

4/23/2008
Yesterday we left Daniel's Bay at first light intending to sail half way around the island to Anaho Bay, a journey of about 28 miles. The sea did not cooperate. Getting out of Daniel's Bay was the most exciting part, the ocean swells shortened and steepened at the Bay entrance causing Pax to bob and weave in a steep 8-10 foot sea. We could make only 2 knots at full cruising power and it seemed to take forever to clear the narrow rocky entrance. Once we finally had sea room, Sal put up a double-reefed main and the staysail and we began what was to be the first leg of our day's journey, eight miles to the southeastern point of the island, to where we could turn north and head for Anaho Bay on the island's northwest coast. It turned out to be the only leg we could do that day. The wind blew at 20 to 25 knots, gusting to 30, and while the period of the seas lengthened from what they were at the entrance to Daniel's Bay, they stayed at 8 - 10 feet. Our first leg was directly upwind and going into the seas was a bouncy, sometimes wet experience, as we took our first few shots of solid water on the deck. Upwind in a heavy sea is not the condition for which Pax was designed. It took us six hours to get to the end of what was to be our first leg, so at 2 PM we called it a day and put into Comptroller Bay.
We spent last night as the only boat at anchor in a fjord between two long, verdant ridge lines. It is another beautiful anchorage. We set our 66 pound claw anchor in 14 feet of water about 300 yards off the sandy beach at the head of the bay. Six or eight smoky fires were burning on the beach as we arrived, and lights from two or three houses could be seen through the trees. Today we launched the dinghy and Sal and Lal went to shore where they made friends with a shop keeper in the small town, much as Melville may have done in this same spot 170 years ago. Sal got a bottle of what was reported to be the local salve for no-no bites. Yesterday dozens of welts had appeared on her legs, souvenirs of her trip three days ago to the waterfall near Daniel's Bay. The shopkeeper told Sal that the no-nos love pale white skin; for them it is a hard to find delicacy.
I spent half the day doing sail repair. The strap holding our top batten to its mast slide wore away at some point as the boat rolled back and forth in the light air we have sometimes had on this trip, and chafe wore a small hole in the top batten pocket where it would occasionally rub against one of the stays that holds up the mast. Putting the slide back on was more than a match for my sewing skills; I made a messy job of it that I hope will hold until Tahiti. Sticky sail tape covering the hole in the batten pocket will have to do for now. We have read that if you use your boat as we are, everything will eventually wear out or break, and we are starting to get a taste of that.
This afternoon the steel ketch "Bear" from Castine Maine pulled in and anchored alongside. Chuck and Diane are coming over in a few minutes for cocktails and hors d'ourves. The cruising population in the Marquesas is predominantly American and is quite friendly. Cruising etiquette in the remote islands requires guests to bring their own drinks and a contribution to the food to be served, otherwise hosting cocktail hour could deplete one's hard- to-replace cruising supplies. The long distance cruisers are a small population with its own unique set of common appearances and its practical customs. We are starting to fit in.
Pax Vobiscum

Pax in the Islands

April 21, 2008. Nuku Hiva Island.
We have now been here a week. While Cabo San Lucas and vicinity was like an extension of the United States, this place is very different. The population is small - we have landed in the administrative capital of the Marquesas, yet the Island has less than 2000 inhabitants. We are anchored in Hakatea Bay, also called Daniel's Bay after a Marquesan nicknamed Daniel whom we had hoped to meet, but who we are told has recently died. This is a sheltered cove that is almost surrounded by sheer volcanic walls. It is quite spectacular. Two hundred yards off is a small sandy beach, in the flats behind are mango, grapefruit and coconut trees, and several cows and a horse graze between two open shacks, no windows, no doors, no power, and no TV dish.. The landlord is not on site, but Sal and Lal met him on the trail to a waterfall a few miles inland as he was guiding a tourist group. On the trail they came across a small village, vegetable gardens and many beautiful flowering trees. As is true everywhere on the island chickens and roosters ran free on the paths. The trail ended at a waterfall. Sal and Lal swam at the cool pool at the foot of the falls, finding out only later that the pool was home to large eels.
We are told that this place was used to film one episode of the Survivor television series. It is remote. While we are only six miles from the center of town, no roads connect this place to civilization. The residents must boat or walk to get to a store, the post office, or the bank.
They probably do not do so often. The goods for sale in the small stores in town are more expensive than any we have ever seen anywhere. Sal went in and bought milk, juice, a few cans of soup, a frozen pizza and a couple liters of box wine, provisions for a few days - it set her back over 12,000 d'outre-mer francs, about $200. These were not tourist prices - they are the prices in the stores for staples, the prices everyone pays.
Our new friend Corinne tells us that many young French couples looking for adventure move here but leave a short time later - they cannot afford to stay because they live the French way - they work at jobs and they use the money they earn to buy the necessities of life, the same way we live, but the money is not enough. The natives live the Marquesan way, on land handed down from their ancestors, in houses cobbled together out of whatever is at hand. They eat fish they catch and fruits and vegetables they grow, they tend and slaughter goats, cows and chickens, they ride horses as well as drive the occasional jeep. They buy little, some rice, some diesel fuel and a few Hinano (Tahitian beer that tastes much like Budweiser). We heard from another cruiser that the Marquesans are aided in purchasing these few things by a direct per person subsidy from the French government - they call it "zipper money" because each new baby increases the family's subsidy.
The high prices for everything are due to factors real and factors invented. Transporting goods to this remote island is expensive, but more significant are the steep import duties the government imposes on everything. Napoleon gives with the subsidy and takes with the duty - a colonial version of the company store.
There is an independence movement - no wonder, hard to see why it makes sense for France to govern these tropical islands. But the movement is held back by the knowledge that success would end the zipper money, and that the infrastructure, primitive as it currently is, might suffer even more. We drove around the island several days ago in a rental car - a four wheel drive four passenger pickup truck that a local lent to us for a day rate of $180 - cash. Most of the trip around the island, including the last 10 miles to the airport, was unpaved, and not the nice sort of unpaved you get in the Cascade foothills, it was spine-jarring ruts'r'us unpaved.
We treated ourselves to three nights in a bungalow in a small resort (Nuku Hiva's finest and only) and it was heavenly to shower, to sit in an air conditioned room, and to eat in a restaurant. The staff was very nice and the experience altogether pleasant. At the end of our stay we bid goodbye to our shipmate and good friend Sandy Brown. We trust he is back safe and sound in Seattle and in the arms of his beloved Gail by now, but the limits on our communication prevented us from confirming this..
At the end of our stay in the bungalow we were ready to get back to the boat. We have been back aboard for three nights now. The temperature varies between 84 and 90, the humidity between 90 and 100 percent. Electric fans run all the time at anchor all the time, yet we are always a little too warm, and a little bit sticky. This is the tropics of which we have read observed the traditional way, without air conditioning. We will also be enjoying it without benefit of refrigeration. Our diesel driven system will not keep up without running the engine excessively, so we have given it up. Pasta, canned soups, coffee with dehydrated milk, onions, potatoes and fresh fruit when we can get it are on the menu, the beer is warm and there is no ice for the rum.
There are three other boats in this little cove and we have had guests for cocktails the last two nights. John and Amanda from "Gingi" have been cruising for nine years but this is their first trip to the South Pacific. John is a professional trumpet player, he was with Woody Herman early in his career, and he can be heard practicing each evening. David and Candy on "Chinook" cruise three to five months a year. She is retired and he is a petroleum industry consultant, they live in Colorado when not cruising. Gingi is John and Amanda's only home, but they are thinking of giving up the life. Amanda wants a real kitchen.
We are off today for Comptroller Bay, where Melville hid out after deserting the whaling ship "Acushnet." In his day, the several thousand natives of that place were particularly ferocious and were known as the cannibals' cannibals. Melville was treated well but he walked away one day when he was unsure whether he was truly welcomed or was just being fattened-up for the feast. Today the several hundred residents are reported to be quite friendly.
Pax Vobiscum

Following the Southern Cross - Land Ho!!!

April 13 1930 UCT
Position: 8 degrees 13 minutes S, 138 degrees 51 minutes W
We expect to anchor tomorrow and perhaps to sight land before sunset today. As if to say goodbye, we had an extended dolphin display last evening. About a dozen of the four foot long mammals played in our bow wake for nearly an hour, shooting in and out of the wake, clearly having fun. When the crew finally retired from the bow pulpit to the cockpit the display intensified and several dolphins leapt from the water as if to search for their departed audience. Where they watching us as intently as we were watching them? So it seemed.
Last night as we watched the sun set behind puffy tradewind clouds we dined on cheese and crackers, sipped a very modest white wine and listened to Joan Baez on the cockpit speakers until moonlight and stars filled the sky. Soon the now familiar Southern Cross reappeared, at first on its left side while its close cousins Alpha Centauri and Beta Centaurus were in vertical alignment, but by the wee hours of the morning the Cross was straight up and down and the companions were horizontal, and by sunrise the Cross was on its left side and the companions were again vertical. The six stars are near the south celestial pole and appear to be in constant rotation about it can easily be seen when one watches the display night after night, at all times of the evening. Our preferred course last night was 210 degrees magnetic which put the constellation 20 degrees off our port bow during the dog watch. It was easy to tell when the windvane strayed too far upwind - the Southern Cross would appear straight ahead and a correction from the sleepy helmsman was required. "A star to steer her by" is no longer just a line in a poem to us.
Moon light now fills the early evening sky giving us light bright enough to cast shadows, just as it did when we left Mexico by the light of a full moon 23 days ago. Nearly a month of our lives now spent at sea, the patterns of nature have replaced the patterns of our urban lives. It is tempting to say we have traveled back to a simpler time when nature's rythems dominated human life, and when self-reliant giants like Captain Cook set out with little more than their wits to explore the oceans.
But as I type on this Dell Inspiron 300 I hear the watermaker's back and forth groan. I am about to go to the GPS to punch a button and get our precise position. Soon I will send this by shortwave radio to Honolulu, retrieve e-mail from loved ones and finish the day by reporting our position on Ham radio to dedicated amateurs in Long Beach and Oahu, who I know will stand by to help in any emergency. No, we have kept one foot firmly rooted in the 21st Century. But that other foot has been in an interesting place these last few weeks. This journey we will not soon forget.
Addendum: April 14 0200 UCT: Land Ho!!!
Pax Vobiscum

Heeling Thoughts

Sunday April 13 0015 UCT
Position: 06 degrees 55 minutes S, 137 degrees 56 minutes W
The wind has backed around to the east today giving us a light breeze on our port quarter. We have slowed to about 4 knots and the seas have moderated; it is another lazy day. We have now charted our course into the main harbor on Nuka Hiva and we are still contemplating an arrival on Monday.
We have started to fantasize about dining in a restaurant, a place where we dimly recall someone brings food to a table that is not heeled at 20 degrees and is not swinging fore and aft and back and forth with every wave. We remember that diners eat on plates in such places, rather than out of dog food bowls with rubberized bottoms. Some of us even remember that clear solid substance one makes from freezing water, and we crave a drink, any drink, that is cooled with cubes of it. And some of us are starting to think of a shower, the kind where water comes out of a spigot in a controlled way, rather than the kind that happens while you are in the cockpit, on watch and still dressed, the planned kind of shower where you can dry off afterwards, rather than nature's unplanned downpour that leaves you sitting soggy in wet clothes for the remainder of your watch. We are beginning to think of these small familiar things that we left behind 23 days ago.
The sea-life is returning as we approach the islands. We saw two large mammals, either dolphins or small whales, around dinner time. Sandy was visited during his late watch by dolphins stirring up the powerful phosphorescence we have seen every night on our journey, and this morning we had a flying fish on deck, our first such little corpse in quite a few days. The moon is back for the first part of the night, and the clouds are more rare than they have been the last week, leading again to great stargazing in the late watches. We can feel the difference as we get further south from the equator.
Pax Vobiscum

Pass the Bread

April 11, 2008 2200 UCT
Position: 4 degrees 53 minutes S, 136 degrees 37 minutes W
We have had more beautiful sailing weather the past 24 hours. The wind has held steady from the southeast at 12 to 15 knots giving us a close reach at 6 knots, good speed for Pax. We had one intense shower at dusk last night that drenched Sandy and the Captain, but have otherwise managed to dodge the rain this day. Our big excitement was sighting our first ship in weeks. It was a large commercial vessel that passed across our stern at a range of about 2 miles. It was going slowly, unlike a cargo ship. We guess it is a mothership for for an offshore fishing operation, but we have no positive identification.
While the sailing weather is great, the constant heel makes everything down below arduous. Sally, with assists from Lal and Sandy, deserves special commendation for continuing to put great food on the table under very difficult conditions. Today's fresh macaroni and cheese and the clam linguini of two nights ago were special hits, and every fresh baked loaf of bread that comes out of our small gimballed oven that is in constant motion is both a treat and a miracle.
It is now early afternoon here, Sal and Lal are taking short naps and Sandy is minding the self-steering vane above. The constant back and forth moan of the watermaker fills the cabin with white noise as it squeezes the salt out of 1.5 gallons of seawater ever hour. We are fast closing in on 300 miles to go and starting a pool on when we will first sight land. Dawn Monday is the Captain's guess.
Pax Vobiscum

Beginning to Think of Land

April 10, 2008 2100 UCT.
Position: 03 degrees 02 minutes S, 134 degrees 51 minutes W.
Midday finds us close reaching at six knots in brilliant sunshine. Sandy is at the helm in bathing trunks and life jacket - he is winning the vessel tanning contest in a walk. Lal has been doing her laundry in the kitchen sink and is now on the way topside to close-pin it to the lifelines. Soon the usual assortment of towels, shirts and panties will be streaming off to leeward, our own personal salute to Neptune. Not that any of it really dries in this sodden wind, it only become a little less damp - so long as we get it in before the rains start. This humidity envelopes our existence.
Sal is reading on the settee after just having made soup for lunch. The cabin is full of the smell of fresh bread in the oven that will be served as well. We are eating like Kings on this voyage. The Captain has just awoken from a late morning nap to type this daily report. The extra hour in the sack has taken the edge off his fatigue - the 1 to 3 AM watch has been taking a toll.
There has been little sea-life these last few days. Hardly a flying fish in sight, no dolphins, and despite much effort Sandy has not snagged his second tuna.
We are starting to plan our landfall. Our first port will be Nuka Hiva where Melville once deserted a whaling ship, arriving Monday or Tuesday if the wind holds. We plan to explore that island for several weeks before moving on.
Pax Vobiscum

Squalls then Smooth Sailin'

Wednesday April 9, 2008 2030 UCT
01 degree 44 minutes S, 133 degrees 21 minutes W
Today finds us with the perfect breeze, 8 - 10 knots about 90 degrees off the nose, enabling us to make an easy 5 knots along our course in gentle seas. The sailing does not get much better than it is now.
Last night was a different story. The fun started at 3 AM. Sally had just relieved the captain when the first squall hit. The wind piped up to 20 knots and the skies opened. Sal, and the captain who rushed on deck with barely a stitch on, were drenched. All was calm in 20 minutes, but over the next two hours the sequence was repeated twice more. Lal took over at 5 AM and soon the wind died to almost nothing, leaving her with 3 and a half hours of frustrated bobbing, using all her energy just to keep the boat moving. The wind finally returned at about 9 AM and has held steady since, leaving us with a very pleasant morning for long-neglected domestic pursuits.
Tomorrow we will have been at sea for three weeks. We have traveled over 2000 miles and have a little under 600 to go. Our eggs, and most of our fresh fruits and vegetables are gone, but we still enjoy great meals -- clam linguini is on the menu tonight. The beer is holding out, the water maker continues to work, and we have about half of our 97 gallons of diesel left. Life is good.
Pax Vobiscum

Equatorial Fete

Tuesday April 8 2130 UCT
Position: 00 degrees 44 minutes S, 132 degrees 40 minutes W
Yes, we have crossed the equator.
We had our crossing party about sunset last night. Each member of the crew had a part in the ceremony. Lal put a note in a bottle and launched it at 00 degrees, the Reverend performed the ceremony of the reversing drain to welcome the clockwise flush we will wonder at in our new hemisphere, Sal lit a candle to honor our good comradeship, and the Captain read a few pages from Conrad's "Typhoon" in thanks to Neptune for what he did not throw at us. We dressed in our fanciest outfits, long white dress and life jacket, coat and tie, bathing suit and life jacket, and bathing suit,squid earrings and a squid cravat, and we consumed a bottle of champagne that our good friend Cheryl Carlson had given us at the start of the journey. We thought the occasion well celebrated.
King Neptune disagreed. Soon we found ourselves nearly becalmed, and as of this writing we are struggling south at about 1 knot only 44 miles south of the equator -- this will be our slowest day. Did Neptune really expect us to toss the champagne overboard for him to drink?
Pax Vobiscum

Equator - Toast to Neptune

April 7 2008 2330 UCT
Position: 00 degrees 9 minutes N, 132 degrees 29 minutes W
Today is a lazy day. The wind has dropped off to 6 knots and the seas have flattened out. The weather makes for easy sleeping, but slow traveling. We have been inching up on the equator and hope to cross before sunset.
Sal is now steering in a long skirt, her first make up in weeks is brightening up that perpetual smile, and, of course, she is wearing her life jacket. She looks ready for the grand ball on the Titanic. Lal was just seen going by in a colorful skirt wearing squid earrings, the Reverend is napping, and even asleep he looks snazzy, and the Captain has taken a bath. The champagne is in the frige and we have just run the engine to make sure it is appropriately chilled.
We are ready for King Neptune.
Pax Vobiscum

Leaving Polaris

April 6, 2008 2345 UCT
Position: 01 degrees 51 minutes N, 131 degrees 46 minutes W
We seem to be truly free of the ITCZ. Today has been beautiful sailing in the southeast trades under sunny skies and friendly puffy white cumulus clouds. The whole crew spent a lovely several hours together in the cockpit this morning discussing, among other things, the meaning and efficacy of prayer. We were not always in agreement, but surprisingly there was not has much disagreement as those who know our group well might anticipate. In any event, no one retired below in a huff with hurt feelings, and all thought it an interesting discussion. We then turned to the important task of appeasing King Neptune when we crossed the equator. No complete consensus here either, except that all agree that liquor will play a role.
Last night at dinner time we were greeted by about 30 playful small dolphins. They swam with us for about 20 minutes and there were many acrobatic jumps completely out of the water, some accompanied by 360 degree slow rolls. They haven't seen many boats down here since steam replaced sail more than a century ago, and all seemed to want to get a close look.
We will be saying goodbye to Polaris tonight as the north pole of the celestial sphere sinks below the horizon. The astronomical team is already working hard on southern hemisphere star identification.
Pax Vobiscum

Showers

Saturday 4/5/20082120 UTC
Position: 03 degrees 23 minutes N, 130 degrees 16 minutes W
Today the skies opened. Rain like this does not happen in Seattle. For hours this morning squalls dumped torrential rains onto Pax, accompanied at times by bright flashes of lightning and sharp claps of thunder. And it was warm. Cockpit showers were the name of the game today, and the crew could be seen all morning in swimsuits with shampoo in hand, getting truly clean for the first time in weeks.
And the winds keep coming. With the squalls come sharp gusts causing us to head down and then up, to reef and then un-reef, time and time again. Last night gave us a hint of what was to come today, moderate rain showers accompanied by distant displays of lightning flashes. We did not need reminding that for as far as we could see the flat surface of the sea was populated by a solitary 60 foot aluminum lightning target; but we have not been hit.
The wind now is from the east, swinging to southeast, signalling that the South Pacific trade-winds are near at hand. If it holds we will be across the equator in less than two days.
Pax Vobiscum

Cruisin' - Pax at Sea

April 4, 2008 2200 UTC
Position: 05 degrees 19 minutes N, 129 degrees 46 minutes W
We are heading due south in an attempt to get as quickly as possible across the ITCZ (Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone, a convergence zone in the vicinity of the equator, like the one around Everett, but global in scale). This is the home of the doldrums and of major squall lines and thunderstorms. So far our wind is holding up and we are making good progress to the south. We have had rain on and off today, but no lightning yet. The rain is warm, and more than a little refreshing after more than two weeks without a real shower. We are dragging jumper cables from our shrouds in an attempt to conduct any lightning strike to ground.
We can no longer remember the last time we saw another ship, or airplane, or indeed any sign of human life outside our small ship. Sea life on the other hand continues to be plentiful, we had four flying fish and one squid board last night. Everyday we see many small squadrons of flying fish maneuvering just above the wave tops, virtually everyday brings another rendezvous with the playful dolphins, and yesterday we were again visited by an albatross.
The stars were out all last night with the new moon and our astronomers are well on their way to identifying all the bright navigation stars. If lightning does hit, we are told we will likely lose all electronics, and those stars will be our nightly path to a safe harbor.
Pax Vobiscum

Flipper and Sorpio

Thursday 4/3/08 1900 UTC
Position: 07 degrees 52 minutes N, 129 degrees 34 minutes W
Last night was another magical conversation with nature. The dolphins were back and the phosphorescence was strong, we could see the underwater streaks left by each member of the school as it zig zagged, first under, then around, then straight at Pax. The stars were again out in full force. The astronomical team's feature constellation last night was Scorpio. The full snake was visible to us northern folk for the first time. It is one constellation that really looks like what it is supposed to be, but if you want to see it in its full glory, you will have to leave Seattle and head south.
We think we will lose our wind soon, but right now it is blowing strong and we are charging south. We need no compass at night, we just point the boat at the Southern Cross and press on.
Pax Vobiscum

What's that Smell, Captain?

Wednesday April 2 1900 UCT (Uniform Coordinated Time, also called Zulu Time, or Greenwich Time)
Position: 9 degrees 41 minutes N, 128 degrees 23 minutes W
Another minor equipment failure last night, the solid boom vang came crashing to the deck a little after midnight. Sandy and Sal secured it and we repaired it this morning. Long days of continuous flexing had destroyed a cotter pin helping to hold the boom in place.
At 4 AM the Captain saw a brilliant shooting star. It covered an arc of about 20 degrees of the sky and looked like a bright red and orange flare. At the same time we were visited by half a dozen dolphins who swam with the boat for 20 minutes or so, then took off in the direction of the Southern Cross. These are the things that make getting up at 3 AM worthwhile.
Maintaining any standards of cleanliness is a challenge. This morning the first mate accused the Captain of smelling like an old fish left out in the sun too long, an accusation that the Captain thought unfair as he had taken a sponge bath in a pint of water just two, or was it three days ago. Just then vindication came in the discovery of a small squid that had landed on deck just outside the Captain's cabin in the night, leaving big ink stain - and a big smell. Lal explained that squid fire off a jet of water when threatened, often going airborne. This unlucky fellow found our small boat in an otherwise empty sea. We have not even seen another ship in almost a week.
We are now heading almost due south and are less than 600 miles from the equator. It is muggy all the time and we are starting to get periodic rain squalls. One of these nights we will start with the thunderstorms -- none yet though. So far the wind is holding out, but boats ahead have radioed about extensive calms typical of the doldrums. We have asked the Reverend to put in a plea for wind - even the Captain admits that it doesn't hurt to ask.
Pax Vobiscum

Ships Passing in the Night

Tuesday April 1, 2008
Position: 10 degrees 51 minutes N, 127 degrees 57 minute W
What a night we had.
Late last night during Sal's watch she saw the loom of a ship off the starboard quarter. When it edged closer and closer, on a seeming collision course, all hands were called on deck. There was a warm light rain that soaked all and made for poor visibility, allowing us only glimpses of the ship as it edged closer. We tried to raise it on the radio without luck. We then turned on the spreader lights and all other deck-lights to make sure it saw us, then we fired a flare, yet it kept coming closer.
Finally we could make out that it was a sailing ship with three masts. At about a hundred feet off the starboard beam it jibed to starboard and bore off to the Northwest, narrowly avoiding collision. It rapidly disappeared in the mist from whence it came. Sandy caught a glimpse of the name - "Flying" something or other. When we tried to track its departure on radar, we saw nothing.
Pax Vobiscum
April 1

Breeze Picking Up - Pax at Sea

Here's the news on Monday, March 31, 2008:
Position: 12 degrees 21 minutes N, 125 degrees 51 minutes west. 1000+ miles off shore. Mileage yesterday: 114 miles.
Sunday afternoon the wind piped up to 20+ knots with the wind and seas behind us from the northeast. When the sun went down we viewed a hot-pink sunset through building cumulus clouds. The wind increased through the night, gusting near 30 knots and did Pax ever rock and roll til all hours. We thought fondly of the Approximations and Func Pro Tunc. (Note to Satterberg: Lal Sullivan on board is Eric Laschever's wife, the Trumpet Playing Man from FPT.)
About 6:00 a.m. this morning, Lal spotted whales about 100 feet off our starboard beam and insisted all of us get out of our bunks and join her on deck in the early morning rain to see them. As our boat's marine biologist, she's looking for blue whales. I could confirm one hump back and another's spout, but they promptly were left behind us as Pax cruised quickly forward in the still-strong wind.
Speaking of company, we have created our own Biosphere-type community and are settling into a fine 24 hour schedule of shared watches and separate sleep schedules (4 hours watch each between 5:00 a.m. and 9:00 p.m. and 2 hours each between 9:00 p.m. and 5:00 a.m.) Meals continue to be respectable and varied; we rotate daily head cleanings, and have worked out creative ways to bathe in privacy. Most enjoyable is the even-keeled nature of all on board, and the willingness to do way more than one's designated share of the work.
The gang in the cockpit are currently identifying birds flying around the boat, including varied types of petrels, albatrosses, and shearwaters. Amazing the number of birds that we see 1000+ miles off shore.
All is well and we send our love.
Pax Vobiscum

Rollin', Rollin' Pax

Sunday March 30, 2008 4:15 PM
Position: 13 degrees 41 minutes N, 124 degrees 18 minutes W
We are now over 1,000 nautical miles from the nearest land, cruising southwest in steady tradewinds. For the last 48 hours the seas have been from behind and every five minutes or so they give the boat a good roll. All is well, but getting a sound night's sleep has become harder. As a result, the day has been quiet, with the off duty watch often napping.
We had twenty or so dolphins swim with us for 15 minutes this morning, they were spectacular. We continue to see petrels but the shearwater and albatross are scarce today. Our home-caught tuna is now all gone and the crew is threatening to fish again tomorrow -- more reading in the cabin for the captain is planned.
It has been mostly cloudy today so there was no noon sexton sight. Good thing the four GPS receivers are working.
Pax Vobiscum

Albatross - Pax at Sea

Saturday March 29, 2008
Position: 14 degrees 56 minutes N, 122 degrees 28 minutes W
An equipment failure last night got us all up once again. Why does stuff break only at night? A stainless steel ring holding some of our spinnaker pole lines parted, resulting in a fire drill to contain the jib that had been poled out. This morning repair was effected and we are chugging along again at 5 plus knots. We saw an albatross this morning; he was almost all white with the graceful long wings of a distance flyer. He circled Pax right after we completed repairs, promising us good luck for the rest of the trip. As I am writing this another albatross is buzzing Pax, and the ship's biologist is attempting a positive identification. We hear that our friends in Seattle had snow last night. Out of sympathy and respect, we will not report on our weather today.
Pax Vobiscum

Flyby Fishing on the Pax

March 28, 2008, 11:30 AM
Position: 15 degrees 53 minutes N, 120 degrees 40 minutes W
We had a 6 inch-long flying fish on deck this morning. A female bearing roe, according to vessel biologist Lal. The Captain thought that with wings outstretched it looked remarkably like a tiny 737, without engine pods, a miniature version of what Luc Davies might be flying right now in the Alaskan outback. A dissection is scheduled for this afternoon -- the Captain will retire to his stateroom for more readings from Bowditch until that bloody episode ends. For most of the morning three shearwaters have been circling the boat. We have seen them dive for fish, and in one case dive on a flying fish, chasing him in flight like a Corsair going after a Japanese Kamakazie. The flying fish re-entered the water a second before the kill.Stars, stars, and more stars last night. Sally and Lal will have the entire night sky catalogued before the voyage ends. Today we are working with the nautical almanac and may take our first sun sights - back to the past with Columbus, Cook and the other great navigators of the Age of Discovery.
Pax Vobiscum

After the Party - Laundry

Thursday March 27, 2008 1 PM
Position: 17 degrees 7 minutes N, 119 degrees 8 minutes W
It has been a quiet day today after a raucous birthday celebration last night when we broke out one of our bottles of wine, a rare event for us at sea. We had no problem consuming it all. The big excitement this morning was watching Sandy do his laundry in a bucket, using salt water only until the final rinse. We are now in the trade winds which have blown steadily at 10 to 16 knots from the northeast for the last 20 hours. We expect similar or slightly stronger winds until we turn south for our dash across the Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone in about a week. Last evening we had a couple of small tuna swim with Pax for hours. It was all we could do to restrain the Reverend from arming the fishing rod. We still have a large supply of his earlier trophy in the refrigerator, and no room for more at present.
Pax Vobiscum

Happy Birthday Brad

Wednesday March 26, 2008, 2:15 PM
Position: 18 degrees 27 minutes N, 117 degrees 34 minutes W
A perfect 55th birthday at sea for the Captain. It is 77 degrees, the water is 74 degrees, and the wind is a pleasant 12 knots. Being here is the best present I could have -- and a good thing too, because the crew's opportunities for last minute gift shopping are severely limited.
We saw an airplane three days ago; it was the last evidence we have had that there are any human beings on this planet other than the four of us (aside from e-mail and the radio). It is a big, big ocean, one that is nevertheless full of life. We passed over the Alpheca Seamount this morning and have seen many tuna jumping and whole schools of flying fish in flight - they can actually maneuver - they fly continuously for hundreds of feet before re-entering the water. Last night we left a water filter in the head after having dragged it behind the boat to clean it and by nightfall the filter had turned into a light-stick that flickered on and off with phosphorescence each time it was touched; it was magical.
We had one fire drill this morning when a block exploded collapsing our whisker pole and the jib in a 15 knot gust. All was soon under control and with morning light the pole was repaired and the jib again set.
It has been a good day for us.
Pax Vobiscum

Pax at Sea

Tuesday 3/25/08

Position: 19 degrees 6 minutes N, 116 degrees 11 minutes W.

Last night and today are notably warmer and we are starting to see the cumulus clouds typical of the tropics. We have put up the bimini for the first time for shade. We were motoring all night and started sailing again this morning in a 4 to 6 knot northeasterly wind. If the weather reports are to be believed, the wind should increase a little tonight and we should have 15 knot winds by tomorrow night.
The stars were brilliant in the early evening last night prior to moon rise. Our ship's astronomer (Sally) has been teaching us all star identification.

Pax Vobiscum

Rest in Pax, Charlie Tuna

Monday 3/24/08 Position: 19 degrees 52 minutes N, 114 degrees 54 minutes W

We are now about 340 miles offshore. Our wind died this morning and we are now motoring, we are expecting to get into steady winds tomorrow.Our big excitement this morning was that our Reverend caught a 35 pound yellow fin tuna. The spirit of Peter the fisherman runs strong in our Sandy. The big guy was landed by Sandy with rod and reel, gaffed by Lal and subdued with the assistance of Sally. During the bloody battle and the butchering the Captain stayed below and intently re-read his favorite passages from Bowditch. We now have fresh fish for many days.Pax Vobiscum

Pax at Sea

Pax at Sea

Easter Sunday at 1 PM. 21 degrees 1 minute N, 112 degrees 54 minutes W

What a beautiful day! Wind around 10 knots, seas gentle, lots of sunshine and temperature in the 70s. We are now 200 miles offshore, the only marine life observed this morning are the petrals, small capable aviators who are with us most of the time. Last night the moon was almost full and for a while Pax was sailing straight down a bright moonbeam reflected off the easy sea.

We started this day with a short traditional Easter egg hunt, and the midday meal will be spaghetti accompanied by a glass of red wine, the blood of Christ for some, just a good drink for one.

Pax Vobiscum

-------------------------------------------------
Do not push the "reply" button to respond to this message if that includes the text of this original message in your response. Messages are sent over a very low-speed radio link.

The most concise way to reply is to send a NEW message
to: wde3191@sailmail.com
If you DO use your reply button, be sure to delete the original message text and these instructions from your reply.

Replies should not contain attachments and should be less than 5 kBytes (2 text pages) in length.

This email was delivered by an HF private coast station in the Maritime Mobile Radio Service, operated by the SailMail Association, a non-profit association of yacht owners. For more information on this service or on the SailMail Association, please see the web site at:
http://www.sailmail.com

Saturday 3/22/08. 22 degrees N, 11 degrees 21 minutes W

Very light winds last night and this morning, more of the same in the forecast. However, we are currently making good progress in a 10 to 15 knot NW breeze. Lal and Sandy have started fishing. Three bites so far but none landed. More dolphins and followed by a whale for a while. A couple hours of fog last night and this morning, otherwise the weather has been great.

Pax Vobiscum

Good Friday, 3/21/08 at 3 PM

Position 22 degrees 48 minutes N, 110 degrees 13 minutes W. We are now in international waters and we have lowered the Mexican flag.

Fueled at 8 AM in Cabo San Lucas. Two cruise ships anchored as we were fueling and half the marina left to fish for tuna, dorado and spanish mackerel. The harbor was very active.

We left port at 9 AM and and set sail with a light SE breeze that died about 2:30. We asked the Reverend to conjure up some wind, but he informed us he is in sales, not management. We have started motoring in an attempt to reach the prevailing offshore north-westerlies. Had our closest approach yet to two Humpback whales, both of which breached 200 yards off our beam -- they were completely out of the water.

Pax Vobiscum

The Companion Flag flies proudly over Pax Vobiscum

March 16, 2008. Our buddy and shipmate Scott Wyatt created the Companion Flag which we fly over Pax Vobiscum. Scott says

"The Companion Flag is a symbol representing the essential identity of all human beings. It stands for everything that is done, held, known, or experienced in common by human beings, notwithstanding their differences. A simple, unpretentious white flag with a band of color across the top, it is a gift from humanity to itself, to its children, and to all future generations."

In recognition of Scott's noble idea we proudly fly the Companion Flag over Pax Vobiscum.

The Image. The Current Reality.

When Brad first discussed cruising the Marquesas my image was something like this: white sand beaches, walking lovingly along the beach, and spending together with books, very relaxed. That may happen in the next month or so; in the mean time it's up the ladder or the boatswain's chair for me. In this photo we're fixing the wire clamp on the flag halliard. Brad's only had to haul me up the mast twice in the boatswain's chair. Going to the top of the mast isn't as bad as it might seem, so long as you don't look down.

March 10, 2008 from Karen Todd:

Sally and Brad will be in Cabo until March 18 when crewmembers Sandy Brown and Lal Sullivan arrive. They anticipate leaving for the Marquesas on March 19 or 20th, weather depending.

The Bagshaws can receive your e-mail messages on their gmail accounts until they leave the marina. Thereafter, they can receive and respond to very short e-mails without attachments on their at-sea e-mail address. If you want their at-sea e-mail address, please contact Sally or Brad at their g-mail accounts before they leave Cabo, or Karen Todd can provide it to you thereafter.

Sally encourages you to send her short e-mails while at sea so she can stay in touch with you.

The spinnaker pole is reunited with the mast.

The spinnaker pole was the bane of the foredeck crew. Always clumsy, sticking, and frankly appearing to have a life and vendetta of its own, Brad and I tamed it these past few days. Sure, about two day's labor went into the effort, and none of the effort makes great reading, but initial tests are positive. We replaced a crushed block, replaced the extension wire which looked like it suffered from a hard childhood and suffered an unloved life to date. We replaced the rivets with a fancy new rivet gun and found that internal screws were stopping the extension from reaching its fullest potential length. After significant cleaning and lubing, it now moves much more freely than ever before. This is very good news indeed for Sandy, Lal, and me who will be dealing with it all the way to the Marquesas.

Getting ready for the Marquesas

March 2, 2008. Our expected departure date for the Marquesas is March 19, 2008, and we continue to work on small but important projects.

Today we attend to The DreadedPole, which requires taking the spinnaker pole off the track and using a pop rivet gun to extract de-headed rivets and adding some new ones. When sailing downwind, we use the pole to hold the jib sheet out which reduces flapping, and helps to stabilize the boat against rolling. Initially I loathed the pole -- it tried to take my head off a couple times until I learned to control it. Now it's my very good friend and especially with a second crew member on the fore-deck it's increasingly easy to handle.

We'll use the nico-press that Pete brought to us to fix some wire ends on the haul-out line. (Getting sailboat parts in Cabo is nearly impossible, and the Mexican government stops incoming parts via UPS. The only reasonable way to get parts here is by personally flying them in.)

Pop rivet guns and nico-presses are both new to me, and one of my favorite parts about sailing is learning how to use these new (to me) tools.

Carpentry at Sea

Working on the engine or adding something new to the boat adds another layer of challenges when at sea. Brad's calm nature and patient demeanor are especially welcome when the alternator starts smoking or the ladder wrungs need to be supplemented. Many thanks to Julie Golding for her great carpentry skills preparing the teak in Seattle for the mast ladder. Why a ladder on a 39 foot sailboat when the boatswain's chair is normally used to fix problems up the mast? Mostly it will be used by Sally for spotting -- reefs, coral, rocks and so on. A ladder existed on Pax, but it had been built for someone whose legs were substantially longer than Sally and Brad's. Julie and Brad figured out a way to measure the new wrungs in place and while moored in San Diego the ladder was completed.

The Further Adventures of Sally and Brad

The winners.

Seven teams competed dancing traditional themes.

Dancers galore.

The peek-a-boo champ.

The drummers between sets.

The drum leader.

The Queen.

The sacred blue eyed eels.

Green meets blue. The foliage is exquisitely green.

Huahini has an airport and well paved roads. And gorgeous views from every corner.

Huahini is a magical combination of old and new.

Opunohu Bay

These beauties grow unattended along the roadside.

Barbara Kingsolver would love this.

We anchored in azure blue water, so clear we can see the bottom along with our anchor chain.

More wildflowers.

Spires from Opunohu Bay

Rays and sharks at Moorea -- July 7, 2008

Only 10 miles from Tahiti, Moorea is known as a honeymooner's paradise.

Swimming with the rays

Tahiti welcomes cruisers.

Approaching the Island of Moorea

Girls' choice.

Beautiful dancers, great music.

Pax Vobiscum is a cruising boat, not a racing boat.

The sailing magazine Latitude 38 co-sponsored a Tahiti to Moorea sailing rendezvous.

Winter Solstice - Tahiti

Checking the wind.

Brad says he understands why the men on the Bounty mutinied and returned to French Polynesia.

Moorea's east harbor

Cutest sailor girl in the fleet.

The Captain's turn.

Arriving in Papeete, Tahiti

The blue lagoon.

Julie Golding, water catcher.

Best restaurant in Toau.

Toau

Pax at a well deserved rest.

On our way to the Tuamotus.

Tahanea Sunset

Captain Brad

Elena Leonard joins the crew in the Marquesas.

Elena and the Sea of Torpor

Ua Pou

Surprise at Sunrise

Anaho Bay on Nuku Hiva

Sally at the helm

The Captain at Sunset near the Marquesa Islands

The dolphin escorts

Lal Sullivan in Nuku Hiva

Herman Melville jumped ship here.

March 21, 2008 -- The Captain and Crew of Pax Vobiscum send our love.

Old Glory and the Companion Flag

Sandy holding down the starboard side.

By this time next week, we're on our way to the Marquesas.

San Jose del Cabo

The Puerto Los Cabos developers have dreamed big.

Looking northwest from the top of the hill behind the marina.

Learning to fish.

Sierra Mackerel --the local favorite.

Pete Tenney and Gina Bettelli

Pete and Gina on Pax

Pete Tenney and Gina Bettelli take on the Sea of Cortez

Pete Tenney and Gina Bettelli

Some interesting critters

A White Egret

The Road Runner

The Magnificent Frigate Bird

Caught in the middle of a labor dispute...

Crew buddies Lal and Sal arriving in Cabos San Lucas

Morning in Cabo San Lucas

Dolphins on the bow

From San Diego to Cabo....

Gene, Lal, Brad and Sal

Gene's leaving to join his Navy buddies.

Getting through customs

The watch rotation

Brad working on the preventer

Laundry Day