January 2008

Gizo Yacht Club is nice but sometimes unnerving. Aside from testing their sound system at 6:30 AM at full full, very full blast, after we paid our temporary membership (required to use showers, dump garbage etc.) we dicovered that due to carelessness and mismanagement the water was out more often than not. Complaints were taken in only to see the same happening next weekend. Not much for xmas and new year's eve, just a dinner at Gizo Hotel and a potluck lunch with the other yachts at GYC, which stayed smartly closed during the whole festivities except for late night loud music and general drunkedness.

The town isn't at all unpleasant, with the market staying open late in the night. We also got boarded twice at night by wannabe thieves who manage to skiff off on their canoes before I could get my hands on them. Solomons therefore gets quite a 'mixed review' here...nice but with many many 'but' (oh our lovely Fiji, so lovely even during a military coup!).
The cockpit all spruced up, we jerrycan poll with Hamamas to fill tanks fast, full water and full provisioning all we have to do is wait for Cecilia to show up and go. She does, the day before our visas run out. She has one and a half day to get comfy with the boat, take a look around town, help us chase the officials down (too busy sitting in the market, chewing betel nut and telling sea stories, we're told). When we bring hem to reason and get all our papers done time to leave for Micronesia, at last, one year late, has come. Me and two girls, 970 miles to go.
Morning after we are all ready for the first hop to Vella Lavella. Smartly, the windlass refuses to work, therefore we haul ground tackle by hand and have a nice start all sweaty and greasy. We take the north passage out of the lagoon, and after a little motoring, we're out. Sadly the motoring continues all day as Solomons never gave us any wind at all (except once). By late afternoon we enter Vongo Bay, on the NE side. Hamamas being faster gets in first, and scrapes the keel on an uncharted rock, it's lead, so just a scratch. We follow unscathed and anchor in a marshy but sheltered cove. We all have dinner on Keturah, as I caught a hefty barracuda on the way...that also gives us time to plan for the following day.
Thursday January 10this another beautifully flat day...we motor towards Choiseul Bay, our last stop in Solomons. We manage to raise some sails while motoring, that giving us that extra knot to keep up with faster Hamamas, so we get there almost simultaneously (we also took a less roundabout way). The bay is quite stunning, being almost completely a white sand bottom, a pleasant village on Taro Island has some homes on stilts in the water. Thirsty we go ashore and mamage to drink some lukewarm beers in company with the local cop and some of his friends. We also gather infos on diesel purchase, fresh water and other details. We are told of the waterfall inland, a must see. On Sunday it doesn't take long to find bored locals wanting to show us around the place, and for only the price of outboard fuel we are more than happy and grateful to go along. First ride is between Taro and Sipozae islands. The two islands form a breath-taking lagoon with more white sand bottom and crystal clear turquoise water (photos on flickr). I get the guys to drop me off at the edge of the inner reef...I'll snorkle on the outer reef and meet them at the sand dune south of Taro.

The outer reef isn't very alive (fishwise), so I hurry to the sandbar where Michela is busy digging for clams with the rasta guy, while Cecilia snorkels about. Once the clams were sufficient and we got quite baked in the white midday glare, we head off for the waterfall. We pick up our friends Tom and Fran, and the lauch speed off by Mbochombochoro Island then enter a thick mangrove swamp infesterd with salt water crocs. A few miles inland we finally reach a majestic waterfall. The water comes straight off the jungle and I even drink it it's so pure. There are also rock overhangs under which to slide undr a wall of water. It's cool and shaded...our last "bath" before the crossing.

Going back downrive we're all cheery and refreshed by the great day...one of those that make it all worthwhile (the expenses, the constant maintenance performed in impossible temperatures and postures, the frustration of something always malfunctioning and of the wankers on email who think they should have it all for free etc.).
Back to the boats we invite again Hamams over for dinner, since we have plenty of small clams (telline) for a big pasta. As usual they bring cold white wine, which we can't get out of a sandbar!
Monday is refuelling day, geting ready to depart on Thursday.
We start the crossing together, able to sail at last. As soon as we are too far out to turn back my jib shreds in a series of squalls that will plague the whole trip. Soon we are forced to motor again, while in discordance with forecasts (are they ever right?) we get waves and wind right on the nose. I begin to stitch the jib up, but while going like that it's quite hopeless. We decide to stop at Nuugurigia (a.k.a. Tauu, PNG Mortlocks), about 120 miles NNE of Choiseul. We limp for two days and a half, motoring mostly, or sailing on main and yankee. Already quite beaten by the uninterrupted squalls, we enter Tauu, and head for the only village to make sure we pay respect to the chiefs and all. Little did we know that the whole island is in the midst of some festivity, and nearly everyone is beserk-drunk on palm liquor. We are boarded en-masse by what we thought were well-meaners tryng to get us to a good spot to anchor...instead we are swamped by drunken bored horny youths of large muscular capacity...I am one lone white guy with two young, white, fairly attractive girls...
Luckily, a guy acting as a 'leader', educated on the mainland, manages to keep everyone in check...it works while he's there, but it could turn very ugly any time. I must part with plenty cigarettes to keep eveyone happy, they try to get me drunk on their wine, but I can tolerate quite a bit without showing effects. After lots of "we're really tired, please, we'll see you all tomorrow" etc. the lader manages to get them all to leave, and we're finally alone, aside from the local cargo boat that's been stuck at the island due to...."too much bad weather out there!"...thanks.
We have a little wash, almost get down to dinner when...another canoe approaches. We try to explain once more...they guy boards without permission and start shouting things like: "I must stay on your boat tonight", "I must have dinner with you", "I want cigarettes want want", "This is MY Island!", "You MUST give ME...", "I AM son of a chief! You do NOT respect me! You must give me...!". This soon turns into a shouting match, as the guy has already broken every rule of conduct; and tiredness and fatigue makes me very short fused. I also fear for the girls, who are themselves quite nervous at the whole affair...the guy is obviously out of his mind. We scream for help from the cargo boat, which does nothing until I manage to shove the guy overboard. That shut him up alright.
Not a good sleep later we are very keen on getting as far away from the village as possible, and so we do, by rigging a new battery the windlass wakes up...and we move to the much nicer, much more sheltered and actually gorgeous "reserve" island -Nukerekia- at the other end of the atoll (which is roughly 8 miles in diameter). The island is packed with birds, and a long white sand arch creates a perfect anchorage. The wind is blowing very hard, squall after squall, but at least we're not out there anymore!
After getting some proper rest, sail tape, needles, palm, and waxed thread are out and off we stitch away for a whole week. In the meantime we enjoy our first deserted atoll scenario, keeping an eye toward the other end to see if a punishment squad is on the way...since I might hav offended the son of a chief!
Instead the cargo boat comes along to shelter, and we get good visitors now, very nice guys from the island working the boat and/or studying in Rabaul or Port Moresby. We gladly keep some of them over for luch, which is repaid to us by gift of boobie's eggs, which aren't that bad. We are informed that the whole village was very sorry about the whole thing (they all lost a chance to trade and bum a lot of stuff), and the guy, who was not son of anybody important, was thoroughly belted as punishment. I was told that I should have punched him the second he boarded without permission. Even "savages" then, know the basic rules of the sea! A week of painstaking stitching goes by, weather seems to have calmed down, and we're ready to go. It's a good sail on the lee side of the island, about three hundred miles to the next possible landfall, Kapingamarangi, about four hundred or more to the next, Nukuoro. As the afternoon goes on, we relax, and so the squalls resume. Before nightfall the jib is shredded, again, this time beyond repair. I curse heavily, it's kind of a disaster! The jib was way too baked to whidstand another crossing, I guess. The day after I manage to dig out some old hank-ons stowed away and forgotten in a deep locker. Having the darned furler on, I must rig a wire halyard as stay for the hanks and hope for the best. I put on a light winds Genoa, the weather is nasty, but not too much wind...it lasts about 36 hours, then it too breaks. Last resource I have a n. 1 jib, I rig that plus the yankee and that will be it as foresails until Chuuk. We pass the doldrums that at this time of the year are quite narrow and sitting low. They are narrow but anything but calm! In this area they are a strip of constant squalls and thunderstorms, lightning, swell, the works. We motor on autopilot, me with a night shift that seems intent of scaring the beejesus out of me. Luckily no lighning strikes us, the engine holds nobly and we pass them...back to regular non-doldrum squalls! Yippee!
A combination of limited canvas choice, wind direction and at times plain disgust at our bad luck makes us miss Kapingamarangi, then we decide not too alter course for Nukuoro, too much trouble; we want to get safe once and for all. So we take it all, until 750 miles from Choiseul, we declare it good enough (we are utterly wasted energy-wise), and stop at Satawal in the Micronesian Mortlocks.

December '07

We depart a couple days later, heading west around Nggatokae and planning to see Rendova, but the short spell of good weather breaks as soon as we leave, and under another downpour we take shelter at Emma Point inside Marovo Lagoon.

Couple days later the rain subsides and we get out, but the wind 'suggests' we turn around, go by Paewa again, and sail on the eastern side of New Georgia. Finally a swift consistent breeze takes us along, the first good sail since being in Solomons. Boat is balanced and self steering by evening, so I advise TJ to steer only if necessary. He conveniently understands instead that he doesn't have to steer and let the boat take care of itself, which finds us about 20 miles off course in the morning and no wind. That translates in four hours of unnecessary (had the boat been steered) motoring. More motoring (no wind, what's new!?) through Kula Gulf takes us in the afternoon to anchor at Ringgi Cove, by the majestic extinct volcano of Kolombangara. There is a logging station, deep anchorage (about 20m) and not much to see really, except that I'd be pining to see the crater through which I described "a 747 could be flown through", but we're on a mission to get to Gizo and really want to enjoy some meat and cold drinks after several weeks of deprivation and canned food.
Morning after is drizzly and grey, my stomach has been killing me all night, so Michela is in charge at first until we reach the E reef entrance to Gizo, which due to the rain and very off c-map we can't quite identify. Luckily a deaf guy fishing from a canoe shows us the way, and we cuise over 4.5 meters of reef, a sweat but all fine.
The lagoon is fairly well marked, (saved all latest tracks waypoints almost for the whole of Solomons) and soon enough we get around the tricky reefs and anchor by the GYC a.k.a. PT 109 restaurant. In the bay are present the very few boats currently cruising the Solomons: a lone australian guy, Barbarian, a wreck research vessel under arrest for mysterious reaons and another australian boat called Hamamas ('Happy' in PNG lingo).
TJ disembarks and me and Michela get to enjoy a few days on our own as Steve of MV Lalae recommended (great guy with a ponytail, look him up in Point Cruz Yacht Club in Honiara).
We arrive in Gizo with at full tide, and we get to reckon with the effects of last April's tsunami. Parts of the island have sunk while other have risen, and in fact the water goes right in some hangars built by the seaside. We are really into getting the boat ready for the jump to Micronesia, which we tried to reach last year but got sept of by a tropical storm. No job is really important but all of them necessary. We soon learn of the Soltai-Taiyo fishing company in Noro, where a big fleet of fishing boats is based and so there are all kinds of engineering shops, and my windlas is still misbehaving. So we decide to move there after a couple weeks to get this stuff sorted. On a bright calm sunny day we motor to Noro, going by Kolombangara again. The channel to Vonavona lagoon is very deep, so we are forced to get inside the reef by the 'Noro Mart'. The pass is only 0,02 NM, just a few meters, but visibility is good and Michela is a proven first class reef spotter. We manage to tuck right in in 8 meters of coral rubble.
Noro is quite a surprise. Well stocked supermarket, Soltai backing up with all the repair shops a cruiser could dream of, ice cream, mince meat, telecom with internet, customs and immigration, the works. Thanks to Taiyo Tuna the roads are paved, services present, crime non-existent, jobs abundant and so it's all around pleasant.
We were recommended to get in touch with Denny, and soon enough our windlass is taken off (again, by me) and apparently in good hands. Time goes by, crew applicants abound and disappear (so many dreamers without the guts to go for it...but hey!, it's so easy to just e-wank from the office and keep me hooked for hours to the screen to reply...right?), and with christmas approaching we decide to head back to Gizo.
Gizo is pretty ok place, except for the 7-10 carvers approaching the boat daily and not wanting to understand that thanks, no, we've seen enough carvings and aren't interested. Just saying no 7-10 times a day can take a toll on one's nerves! However we did trade for some 'shell money': thick rings carved out of giant clam shells, used until recently to 'seal' land sale and marriages. We offered spearguns, money, food, instead the guy asked for a cell phone [status] he later found he had no use for whatsoever....doh!.
However, Cecilia will be on her way here by the 7th for departure, in the meantime we manage to re-varnish the cockpit and fix many little things, relax, make friends. A few days later we meet a few other boats coming in. German, Ozzie, Austrian, it's the usual assortment of nationalities, plus Barbarian got cleared and we get to enjoy great stories of forgotten planes/ships around the Pacific, wrecks, Pacific lore associated with the war and all. The German boat with the weird anchor drags right onto me, then in the same VHF radio call for an apology affirms "our anchor is actually very reliable". What's wrong with a good old oversized Bruce or CQR???

Pawa to Paewa (Marovo lagoon)

Day after false start, wind dies as soon as the sails are up. We're close enough to turn around and re-anchor at a different spot.
Then we depart at last, gentle sailing and lots of motoring in oily calm, tried stopping at Rua Sura but a close call with reefs coming up from 25 to 3 meters definitely discourage us (too late in the afternoon for good visibility).
So on we go, another night sailing to Honiara. The morning after we pick up a mooring in front of the yacht club and can fnally taste meat again and cold beer (for me missing for almost a month).
Honiara is dusty and messy, but it's the last outpost of civilization as far as food and boat supplies are concerned. In a few days we gain an intimate knowledge of all the hardware/marine/paint stores. I also take off the windlass and take it to an engineering shop. It's working fine, but the plate attaching it to the deck have suffered eons of saltwater and high resistances, the aluminum is completely butted and corroded. The anchorages will be deep and the windlass quite important, so it needs care now.
Massive food provisioning, cans, flour, sugar, toilet paper, cleaning products, tang, one million plus items of all sorts. The engineering shop delays us a while (couple weeks...Solomon time), until we decided to spend the day at the engineering shop pushing the owner to get done with it. He does (an elder chinaman had to thread SS bolts on a lathe, what a master!). By now it's itching bad to leave (we had enough internet, ice-cream, beer, burghers, steak, cars, noise, pollution), so I just put back the windlass as it is (without a proper test, it turns after all) and leave for Savo, Russell, New Georgia. Had to buy a new PC in order to get C-map, then with the restore disc managed to revive the old Dell (who barely survived a tropical storm the year before), now without its own keyboard and screen. So I hook it up to a wireless keyboard and mouse and to the flat screen I received in Vanuatu, and so manage to have one computer now only dedicated to navigation safely nested in the chart table, away from any spray and not cluttering the nav station.
In Honiara one evening attempted pickpocket. Grabbed him by the neck and shaken thoroughly...must have been surprised at the 'uncompliant white tourist'. Other people hushed him away too.
Savo is a partially active volcano, it has no sheltered anchorage, but we've been told a pod of dolphins has residence there. After the usual motoring (no wind, again), we drop anchor on the SE side of it, nearby a village and in not-too corally bottom. TJ as his usual, immediately goes on mission to befriend the locals and find out just about everything there is to find out. Kids on canoes come around to look at us, the boat, but politely and without too much intrusion, as it happened before in S.ta Cruz. We try snorkle to the reputed 'dolphin cave', but the dolphins are nowhere to be seen, except when we're not in the water. We suffer a few days of rain and wind, but we are reasonably sheltered behind Savo and don't have to move...although without the bad weather we wanted to hike up to the live volcano vents up the mountain.
Weather clears and off to Russell. Light winds most of the way and then motor to make the anchorage nearby a cocoanut plantation. Got immediately swarmed by flies and canoes, some with friendly demeanour, some with raggamuffin teenagers checking out what to grab in the night...not much, sorry buddy.
Sorry, no cigarettes, sorry no alcohol, sorry no toys. The nice kids get a double treat of choccolate candies (and a tennis ball), for the others I've stopped letting them cajole me into giving stuff away just because...
The anchorage is very sheltered, but deep dark water and too many people around.
The wind is up next morning so we decide to take advantage of it. Windlass not spinning, breaker snapping, so it's up by hand (relaxing way to start the day).
We sail beautifully out the NE side, going by turquoise reefs by Lagholon Island.
Next big wish is stopping at Mborokua, another spent volcano with no people on it. Slow sailing again but no motor. Basicallly drifting with current more or less. The wind disappearance makes it too late to motor, once there we drift some more waiting for daylight. At dawn we're just couple miles off and we go investigate the bay entrance or find a fabled mooring on the W side. Needless to say the swell is huge and makes it impossible to get in the fairly exposed tiny bay, and the fabled mooring isn't really there. We motor all around it and what we see is stunning anyway: The island is ringed with flowers emanating a sweet perfume all around, coastline dropping to infinite depth, birdlife, fish jumping, all absolutely untouched and unanchorable.
We are forced to go on, determined to get to and anchorage by the afternoon. Unmarked on C-map and cruising guides (thanks to a tip in Honiara), we arrive early afternoon in a reef-enclosed perfect bay with tiny village and plenty fresh water (even a jetty) at the entrance of the Marovo lagoon.
We are approached by the first carvers wanting to display their wares...nice stuff but we're not interested, but they want to show it anyway. We notice the people here are beautiful.
Neither Melanesian, neither Polynesians, for some reason both men and women are very different (and much darker). Could be the ethnic influence of Bougainville, where people are said be the blackest on earth. Not hard to believe. After nearly two weeks we are happy to see a little general store, where we guzzle warm Coke and peanuts. While relaxing and smoking on the jetty a US expat woman of nearly 70 steps off a dive boat. Rather than introduce herself she starts barking that smoking isn't allowed anywhere on or around the jetty and store, even if everyone's been smoking there all afternoon, no drinking in town either (only ok for 'Nature lodge' guests).
"She brings dive business" is what makes her valuable here, although everyone despises her bossyness and silly 'civilizing' rules straight out of California. We soon acquired the locals' attitude: comply when she's there, do whatever when she isn't.
All the while trying to relax and enjoy (the Nazi is always in ambush) I take apart the windlass several times, finding only that the gearbox alignment is somehow not right (one week spent hauling the heavy motor in and out of a dark smoking-hot chain locker...ugh!).
We make friends anyhow and aren't pestered by canoes or whatnot, we can even top up our water tanks from the jetty with clear tasteless crystal water. Excellent.

Leaving Tanna on my own after only crewmember had to be airlifted. Arranging airlift from bush radio telephone, priceless. Make it to Erromango again, quite exhausted. Then sail around north side and find nice lonely anchorage plagued by willies coming through the valleys. I make my first bread loaf. Eat it with Pate'. When rested enough move again to Vila (totally becalmed from 8am to 3pm, Argh!), another lone overnight, back to civilization. Glasses disappeared. Boats swallow stuff. Ab joins. He gets the wrong VHF in town so he keeps calling me without hearing my reply. We fuel up and take off for somewhere north.
Stop in Nguna, dead volcano. Trade some fishing lines and lures. Walk up the mountain and see gorgeous views, learn about plants (good and bad).

Start feeling sick, so we sail for Norsup, we hope to find an hospital. Poor Ab steers all night as I'm feverish and very sick. Bad nasty wind in the morning, arrive in Norsup and get shoulder-lifted to the hospital, infection suspected. Five days of antibiotics later they urge me to get to Luganville hospital, we sail there in one day, fever is down. Arrived in Luganville I remove the bandages, the infection has turned black. Shit. Another rush to the hospital, I manage to get proper prescription from Italy, doctor here has no clue. They give me the proper stuff, spend 11 days in rat-infested but somehow pleasant hospital and I'm out. I even developed a superficial gangrene under my foot...no amputation needed. Ab brings me pizza and burghers while there, lets me type messages to send home, a godsend man. I manage to finish Railroad Tycoon three times while in bed. Mother arrives filled with food and worry and taking the chance for a vacation in the tropics. Two weeks rest, then after a few jobs, leaving for the last of Vanuatu on the way to Solomons. Stop here and there, Champagne beach a disappointment (the people, not the place). Got to Santa Maria, then Vanua Lava, usual Vanuatu ominous coastline and weather. Some more preparations. Both my computers crap out. No charts, electronic or paper. Only a collection of way points..Humm... Ready to go, a big sailboat pulls in, I manage to bum a chart Vanuatu to Solomons, big luck, I'll have an idea where I am, good. Customs is taken care of, while immigration is too lazy to show up. We're leaving anyway...me and my 65 y.o. mom for a 500 miles trip. Weather is clement and wind steady, big swell for a while (big for mom, normal for Pacific) and three days later we get to S.ta Cruz, Nendo. Tied at the dock quarantine and agriculture jump in, recovering from a hangover. We must dispose of all veggies and fruit. After a cup of coffee we can keep the veggies and fruit if we eat them at once. We make a big fruit salad and lime juice, which the quarantine and agriculture guys help us finish, they'll take away the peels. We move in front of a village, soon chief family and friends stop by for a visit. No problem here, they reassure. We get thieves aboard the same night. Schoolteacher feels sorry for us and helps us change money (the bank doesn't), gives us a bucket, we move anchor in front of her house. Some good days go by, seeing night dances in full costume, songs in forgotten language, betel nut, blue hole in the jungle, cold drinks, reciprocal invitations, helping unload long awaited cargo ship among excited kanaks, a melange of Polynesian and Melanesian features, with glimpses of Chinese and Malay. Packages, batteries, solar panels...supplies from another world. Also sighted islanders from the Reef Islands nearby, still living in pre-christian beliefs and looking like sea-bushmen. Off we go. crew is waiting in Honiara. We cruise by a stunning volcano (Tinakula), a smoking stand-alone-cone in the middle of the sea, then we're on our way to Kirakira (San Cristobal). Three more days at sea and we're finally on "mainland". Kirakira can flaunt a stocked general store (with refrigerator), a bank that does change money, a telecom center, a veggie market, a small airport. Mom must get out or risk losing her return ticket. She wants to fly, but I see a cargo ship coming. They stop and I arrange a passage to Honiara for her, who complains bitterly. The flight will be later canceled due to "grass grew too high", so it was a good thing for her flight home and for my nerves for her to take the cargo. Telecom has a big satellite here handling all communication. I am able to contact Michela and TJ in Honiara. "Join me here, help me sail up to Honiara, but take the ship!" Michela helps mom on the flight and down they come. I have a few days alone to rest, then once here we all depart for the capital, since over ten days in the country I haven't been able yet to do customs and immigration. Stop in Pawa (Masi Island), anchor on a white sand bottom making the water THAT perfect turquoise. Shower on the beach from a loose hose propped up with sticks.