Puluwat

Two days of pleasant sailing bring us to Puluwat's reef entrance just a tad too late. We have a try but light is too faint and there are quite a lot of breakers hiding the path into the lagoon. We attempt to anchor somewhere outside but everywhere the reef slopes are too deep for that, drifting all night and motoring up to the entrance again in the morning. As we've been cautioned the pass isn't the straightforward breeze described on cruising guides: The calm waters marking the entrance are concealed by the breakers and on the way into it several black patches suggest shallow rocks.
As we approach the atoll some imposing sailing outriggers seem to get ready to go, we imagine they might be coming to guide us in. One pops out without us being able to observe its path. The canoe is about 30 feet long, loaded with people singing and waving. Through shouting we discover they're bound for Pikelot, 130 miles NNW. So many people, 130 miles...on that thing?
The second and third canoe stops in the lagoon as waiting for us to come in.
I hold on steady, boats enter here and this is the passage after all. Gone the rocks and "rounded" the breakers I see it. By hugging the reef and then the beach well to starboard we are in!
The lagoon is nearly circular, all around 4/7 meters with all-white sand bottom...we are plunged onto a calm perfect turquoise mirror, an idyllic sight beyond any picture, video or writing could ever describe. The other canoes go by under full sail, I am exhilarated at the sight of so rough and yet elegant (and fast) sailing machines. This is what I came for: peoples who still brave the ocean on the same canoes that originally brought them here, reading the stars and waves for direction, without compasses or GPS.
I anchor in front of a big thatched roof hut, among swimming children and with swaying emerald palms almost overhead. Soon we are boarded by some of the villagers, eager to know our story. They are very polite and leave us soon to do our chores, after we promise to visit the chief ASAP. We do, delivering our gifts: One of the broken jibs to be re adapted for an outrigger, a large measure of the black netting we got in Noro (Solomons) and some canned foods. The gifts are much appreciated though we still have to pay a one time anchoring fee of 25 USD, no big deal. The chief is young and seems quite educated, he reassures us that we are very welcome to stay as long as we want and that anything we might need to ask him. Ali', another young bright guy takes us around the village for a first look around. We walk up to the internal lagoon, another circular jewel on which children sail their tiny canoes back and forth. How funny to be in a place where sailing is a daily past-time and occupation. We pass a home where people are gathered, someone is very sick, while the only doctor in the island has been sick himself for the last three months back in Weno (Chuuk). So there is a small empty clinic, a SSB radio no-one seems to know how to operate (what good can it do anyway so far from everything), basically the island is fending for itself. We have some blissful days of rest and snorkeling, having Ali' over for dinner almost every day...after months and months of taro, banana, coconut and fish on white rice our pastas must seem incredible treats. The chief is dead set on fishing a turtle to eat for us. We follow them around the lagoon with their weird contraption. The canoes who left in-fact left for uninhabited atolls to stock up on the delicacy, more appreciated here than pig or chicken. A turtle is finally caught, and we assist powerless to its' slaughter and cooking for our and everyone's culinary enjoyment. It tastes like neither cicken nor fish, but it's chewy and firm, slightly stringy. The big treat is the fat lining the groove in the uper shell, good but not exactly that delicious to us. I am begging daily to Ali' to take me sailing on one of their canoes. At last one day we go on his small one, quite tricky!
We even capsize a few times and swamp the canoe, but it's a lot of fun. Getting friendly with Ali' is a great experience. He is very proud of his culture and history, and is never shy of explaining the various customs and stories from Puluwat and surrounding atolls. For instance we learn that star navigators, due to their closeness to nature have magical powers, thunder and lightning is used to send messages to other islands...everyone seriously confirms us that it is the truth, better not get on a navigator's wrong side. All of this is told in one of the canoe houses (also known as men's houses) by the inner lagoon, when me alone was invited to drink Tuba (fermented palm wine) with Ali's male relatives and friends. I would never leave, but Nobina and Andrew have a set date for their flight out of Yap, so we must rationalize the time in each island.

Micronesia, at last!

We anchor at the first possible spot, by Ta island. Reception is very warm, thanks also to the interpolation of the local Peace Corp guy. I bring down some hammocks scavenged in Noro for nearly nothing, some sticks of tobacco. Sea stories are soon the talk of the village, we find people supernice, although the anchorage is quite exposed. We have a good rolly sleep, the day after we go deliver some more hammocks. These guys haven't seen a supply ship in ages, and their lust for tobacco and coffee is unlimited. So much so that they offer to pay for some coffee and tobacco sticks. It is quite disconcerting after all the treachery to bum everything possible off me since Vanuatu and all the way here. I am touched, and of course I will spare some of the stuff for free. But before the guys can come collect I see another squall coming fast, and before half an hour the anchorage has become untenable and we are forced to move to Satawan proper. We just can't believe the shelter we've been missing. The water is flat, the bottom sloping white sand and the island is beachy and a shield from the NE squalls ripping the rest of the atoll.
We feel that for the time being we've given out enough hammocks and tobacco, so Michela prepares a trayful of fried rice balls italian style. We land again, and soon we are taken to the Mayor which spends most of his time playing chess at a table under a corrugated verandah-cum-bedroom. We expose our case and the rice balls are a smashing success! Which means we can stay as long as we want. Mr Samson was immigration officer before, so his consensus is a guarantee. Soon we are hooked p with our "guides", the smart guys in town. We are shown around, offered plenty cocoanuts. We arrange for the day after to go touring the other side of the island to se all the japanese WWII remnants. During the war the japanese moved in en masse, bringing small tanks, cannons, building an airstrip, buildings etc. The locals were evacuated to the northern islets, short of space, food, homes and everything else, they starved and didn't have it easy, though some islanders show Japanese features, so there might have been also cases of intermarriage (or likely, rape). Satawan also has its' Peace Corp volunteer, and we befriend him, as he looks like he could use some 'western' company after almost two years of atoll living. We have several dinners together, but the locals are very protective of him and never leave him alone anywhere...so the chances to talk about the "real island" remain scarce.
In the ensuing days we get to see a group of little tanks being stripped piece by piece to make canoe carving tools -considering the perfect blades they make, this steel must be of superior quality- mottainai!. Lying around are also plenty carcasses of bombers and zeros, though most of them only the rusty engines remain. The beach is wonderful, the locals beautiful, although some developed the habit of sniffing gasoline and live in a semi-permanent state of numbness. For courtesy I play some chess games, being whipped every time, even by the gasoline sniffer...I guess they have plenty time to practice.
We see cannons, bunkers that by the effect of land erosion are now in the water, giant holes in the bush where bombs fell. Apparently plenty explosives and ammo have been hidden away, but I'm not shown them.
Nearly a week goes by, we've been spolied by the locals and in return bought some local skirts (for the girls), and given away small gifts to friends. Time to go again. The last stretch to Chuuk follows a by now common scenario: departed on a nice sunny day, soon the weather deteriorated to give us some more of the usual...but it's only 170 miles...
We dream and talk endlessly of a real shower, a cold dink, a hamburger, laundry, communication etc.
We arrive at Chuuk's Nort Eastern Pass at night, and to top it up, the lighthouse marking the passage isn't working...for once after a long time, I decide to trust C-Map, but we proceed very carefully and doing our best to see what's ahead of us. The sea suddenly goes calm, a sign that we are indeed in the shelter of the passage. About half an hour of anxiety and we're in. We celebrate with some instant noodles while rounding Moen by the airport side, anchoring well away from shore right behind some liveaboard dive boat.