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.

Chuuk - February 2008

Checking in wasn't easy. Lots of questions, arrogant officials, "overtime" fees, more fees, more fees, anchor fees. Our passports are taken by immigration. We comply at first, but then realize what a bad thing that is. We are forced to stay at the jetty (25 USD/day), and the day after with an excuse we get our passports back. Not a nice start. Weno is swamped by mud, a little depressing at first, but we enjoy it still, with all the conveniences of "civilization". Soon we get visas, cruising permit and all the papers, and so we can now move by the Blue Lagoon hotel at the south point, where we rejoin Hamamas and have quite a few celebratory drinks. They lost their dinghy, so with my already miniature dinghy help them out back and forth. Lots needs to be arranged: fuel while at the dock, a new jib, countless other details as usual, many many trips at Ace hardware. Soon Nobina and Andrew arrive, and all we're waiting for is the new sail. While we wait and do some more provisioning, fixing etc. we spend a couple weekends cruising around Chuuk. First at Dublon island, where the main Japanese naval base was. Tunnels, concrete bunkers, generators, commemorative plaques and monument, melted industrial fuel stocking drums of thick riveted steel. A nice walk all around. A fishing plant was abandoned after mismanagement by locals, great structure brought in now rusting away. The island is stunning though, and we even get to snorkel over one of the shallower wrecks that make Chuuk a mayor diving destination. No sail yet, so the weekend after it's White Sand island, Polle and back. White sand Is. is just that, a sandbar in the lagoon. Great reef with very few fish but stunning picture perfect scenario. Day after we move to Polle. Kids soon swamp us in their self made rafts. One kid seems very smart, and upon hearing he likes to read I give him "White Fang" by Jack London...what he'll make of Alaska I have no idea, but I had no other suitable choice.

We return to Weno Monday afternoon, and the day after all seems to fit into place, the sail arrives which we pick up without customs charges. Day before checking out we try it on, only to discover that the jib furler had it, it must be bent too much due to past abuses, and the sail doesn't go up. We have some hanks (the sail does have eyelets), but they don't fit. On check-out day we tie up to the dock and while I try to take down the furler Michela is on a mission to find a suitable substitute to hanks at the local hardware shop. Common sense would have that I dismantle the furler in order to maybe fix or sell, but the poor thing is so gnarled in its innards and fasteners that after copious sweating I am forced to take out genset and angle grinder and shred the aluminum extrusions to bits, no mercy.

In the meantime the customs officials keep on showing up every hour inquiring on our departure. Unnerving. We are also supposed to deliver a package to one of immigration's relatives in Puluwat, they could be more graceful I'd say. Michela manages to find some galvanized chain links to tie the sail to the forestay, though we have to file them a bit in order to slip them in. At sunset we finally vacate the jetty, only to return in front of Blue Lagoon. Right before departure I manage to shop for some green grocery, a "secret shop" in the former premises of the "Chuuk Coconut Authority", the bureaucracy these people come up with is quite amusing.

Finally departure for the real Micronesia I've been dreaming about since my childhood's endless pourings over the atlas.

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.

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.