Yap - April '08

Another slow event less sail, we reach the well marked pass (for once!) in broad daylight into Kolonia harbor, Yap state. We're the only yacht present. Entry formalities are done sitting on the ground of an outdoor veranda, the officials more curios than anything and pushing us to chew a bit of betel nut. A few shuffling of papers later we're all ashore back into 'civilization' (at this point for us defined as a place with a fridge and a telephone) heading straight for the cold drinks section of the supermarket. While in other islands women might be conscious of being bare breasted in front of westerners, in Yap ladies of all ages (and all sizes!) walk around unconcerned from store to store, while a much larger majority of men is traditionally dresses at all times. Kolonia is barely a village, more of a trading post with basic necessities (post, telecommunications, supermarket, government offices etc.) and a few venues dedicated to diving tourism. If the atmosphere is Micronesia is generally slow and relaxed, Yap seems more comatose, with baskets for spitting the red betel juice everywhere (a definite improvement compared to the Solomons where red spit stains every wall and sidewalk). However, the crew gets to tour around and have fun, while on the boat a bit of quiet returns. We say goodbye to our friends Andrew and Nobina and after a hell of a lot of sashimi and trips to the supermarket we leave Yap, nice, but not very interesting place except for seasoned divers, WWII remnants and 'stone money'.

Ifalik - March '08

Easter

89 miles of slow sailing later we are in front of the passage, right on time to catch the thunderstorm killing all visibility. The pass once again is very different than what the chart shows, but being 3pm, at the first breach in the rain we must head in. The pass is definitely getting overgrown with reef, luckily along it and not across, leaving a narrow guess of what "gate" is safer. By sticking to the south side only two narrow passages between coral heads are needed, and under a steady drizzle we come to rest in the lagoon. As usual the whole atoll seems to be staring from the beach, many cheering and waving, and it's not long before the canoes are in the water with the first visitors. The cockpit is swarmed and coffee is offered all around, coffee being a passion in all the Pacific. Knowing the custom we assure of our immediate visit to the paramount chief, only following a quick boat clean up. I haul out the second broken Genoa, all the rest of the black netting, tobacco and few other niceties, being warned already that some anchoring fees will be expected. Chief Manu likes talking, after a long sermon on customs and tradition (how come everyone's chuckling?) he comes down to business, and without even thanking for the gifts, comes up with a preposterous 'price-list'. I reason with him and we are mercifully spared the 'swimming and snorkeling fee' and other absurdities applying to rare 'adventure cruises' visits (twice a year). The first few days chief Manu installs himself aboard, freeloading and bumming anything that catches his attention. After three days we must shut down the supply of coffee, cigarettes and the abundant helpings from our tight alcohol store (alcohol also being forbidden in the island by Manu himself). He gets the message and is never to be seen aboard once understood that the well had 'dried up'.
Now we can actually get to know people and walk around in peace. According to the islanders it is Easter (I haven't a clue), and we must attend the catholic service. The whole island is shrouded in flower decorations, children to octogenarians, and everyone is strictly wearing only the lavalavas, so it's boobs in church. The priest is missing, and a chief officiates with the aid of two gracious helpers. Lots of singing goes on in English and the native language in between a sermon or two. Nice detail is the altar being a brightly painted canoe...
Service over, there is an atoll-wide feast on the lawn. On one side the chiefs, the general public sprawled about, and us in another bunch. Fried Taro puree, smoked fishes in banana leaf, fresh coconuts and bananas (not quite a novelty!). The feast however is just symbolic, sure that back home a real feast of rice, pork and turtle awaits.
Free of the chief but not free from visitors of course, and the stream of children and new friends goes by, canoe after canoe sailing around us and off to fish in the open water. By the lee of the atoll water is flat as always, while the occasional bullet of wind only stirs the palm trees' heads, while on the outer north-west side the giant rollers come inesorable and merciless. In Ifalik there aren't many places to go unlike Puluwat where lots of small wooded formations give lots of chances to sneak 'away'. According to the chief the unlived-in side is now infested by some new breed of biting flies, a small garden strip at the entrance is the only other land. Nobina in-fact falls ill with a swinging fever, though she is often the most high spirited of the lot. Michela nurtures her while all I can do is worry that it's nothing serious.
Marc is Ifalikese, but has fished on Japanese ships, so he can actually speaks Japanese. He is welcome aboard, someone articulate, polite and curious about things is always a pleasure. We hear the old story of the youths going to work abroad but magically always opting to go back to their remote island...stories of navigators and their magic powers, customs, and even a little gossip on island politics. Chief Manu apparently fell from a cocoanut tree and was never the same since, so other chiefs keep him a bit in check.
At last, after a lot of beating around the bush and 'yes, sure, maybe, sometimes', I manage to convince him that really, if I don't get a go on the big canoes the whole point of coming all the way here is ruined for me. And after so many false starts one morning he comes pick me up (me ready and checking the clock since 5:30 am) and we take off on a mid-size canoe (video). The boat is very swift, and just a couple tacks we are out of the atoll with many more canoes following. Immediately the lines go out, two each side, I brought my own. Of course I cannot pretend to know about fishing than these guys, so I am more than happy to take care of the sailing instead, while my lures are game if considered good enough. There are no nails, screws or blocks, only wood and rope, though with minimal steering and trimming the canoe takes whatever course desired, as upwind as it can get or roaring down waves with a reef on at (estimated) 7 to 10 knots.
We coast the reef up and down, a big wahoo is on the line, and the kids (me and Marc are the oldest) haul it in among singing shouting and laughing. We follow groups of birds, logs, patches of flotsam to better the chances of swooping a fish from the sea, but for the rest of the day is just sailing as fast as possible, criss crossing with the larger canoes encrusted precariously with whole singing families and bundles of lines. One old man still fishing with the aid of a kite is the lone master of the forgotten technique, and we see him pulling in decent sized catches. I manage to film most of this thanks to Michela's "waterproof" camera which luckily pretended to be well long enough after the experience, to clear me of any responsibility...at least was used for something worthwhile. Days go on with Nobina's fever going on and off, but will be alright. We bathe every evening at a public well, eat, snorkel, deal with the visitors. With a file I resharpen a saw, and with epoxy I fix one of the canoes' pointed bow, which earns me a highly valued meal of boiled chicken in the canoe house with another clan chief and his family. At some point a medium sized cruise ship anchors outside the atoll, and we fear our pace might be shattered. The cruise director is though very nice, paying us a visit right away, inviting us to attend the traditional dances paid for and in honor of the cruise ship clients. Luckily, this sort of cruise ship is a relatively "rough" one: it follows alternative routes through the Pacific with a penance for cultural contact and exploration rather than pointless lascivious luxury. This makes it so that the elderly clients aren't just the average cruise ship gambling fat wobbler, but a special breed of nice old farts that the least are trying their best to get into something a bit unique rather than being just packages to be shipped around. Seeing that they're trying their best at an age where in no way they could get to something like this on their own, we can't hold the stinkpot over there in too much antipathy, also considering that we'd expected to be ignored as a spoiling nuisance, while instead everyone was really courteous and cordial. So much so that we also get invited to have lunch on the cruise ship! (after all ourselves are an unexpected diversion/addition to the 'experience'). We get a quick tour of the ship, us and the chiefs' delegation (still carrying trinkets in the hope of a few last minute sales), but only after a lavish meal with delicacies such as cold soft rinks, fresh salad and tomatoes, hamburgers and even chocolate cake! Pretty fun and interesting experience, even though I wasn't shown the engine room which could have been a true highlight for me. Cecilia also gets to play on a full sized piano (in her sarong and flowery crown), while we get some printouts of the latest weeks worth of world news, a very generic weather forecast, some new sudokus. The day after the ship is gone. Thanks bye bye!
Days go by in a bliss (although sometimes a very crowded busy bliss) that we'd like never to end, but end it must and after a final exchange of gifts (Marc comes by with shells, necklaces after I tried hard to fix a couple hand-held GPSs) we're leaving for Yap, where Andrew and Nobina will catch a flight to the US to go work again on super yachts while Cecilia will strike another mark on her list of historic diving destinations.

Olimarao

Another short sail (one and a half days) bring us to Olimarao, an uninhabited atoll. The pass again is not as straightforward as the charts suggest, but with Michela as by now seasoned reef spotter we have no troubles getting in, just the usual stroke of anxiety when seeing bright rocks in the clear water slide under the hull. While motoring up to the beach a loud pop and smell of exhaust...I look at the temperature gauge and it's shooting up to 90 degrees Celsius!
Great, some kind of serious failure right in the middle of nowhere.
The engine holds on until we anchor, but I'm too tired to dig right into the problem, I give myself a day's rest. The snorkeling is superb, with the bulk of the island in front ant its sand dunes extending from the extremities giving us shelter and amazing colors. Off the candid beach isolated reef formations nurture clouds of fish, live cowery shells (amazing how fast they actually get around), turtles and Nobina finds also two lobsters hiding in a hole. I manage to spear one for aperitif, taken on the bow while listening to the absence of human noises. The day after I must face it, and me and Andrew proceed to disassemble the heat exchanger, since I suspect it's pretty clogged and is what caused the overheating. The impeller is grinded to mush from our "way up" through the doldrums. After quite a sweat and few scratches I and Andrew get it out and take it apart. As I suspected years and years of broken impellers, melted zinc, stray algae and build up are making a mess of it all. During the day just about every corrosive product available on the boat has been run through the lines and it looks pretty clean at last. Another small sweat and the cooling flow is restored.

We spend four idyllic days stunned minute by minute the whole time by the absolute purity of everything around us, the overwhelming sense of remoteness. I walk around the island, noticing the many pits in the sand where turtles lay their eggs, mountains of shells, coconuts (almost) at arm's reach. It is a crime to leave, but time urges us on, and I really wanted to spend some quality time in Ifalik, want to get on one of those big canoes real bad!

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.