The sun is low in the sky when I drag the canoe down the beach to go home to Sequester. The Also Island beach faces Southwest, away from the prevailing easterly trade winds,so there's rarely a wave of any size breaking there. I push off gently, slipping quickly into the bottom of the boat over the low side to avoid tipping it over. I lift the double paddle from its chocks and start the rhythmic stroke, dipping close to the rails to move the craft forward rather than swing it from side to side. I skirt the strange, overhung sandstone shoreline to stay out of the light headwind, then angle out across the bay toward our trimaran. Five minutes, and I'm hoisting myself onto the wing deck, pulling the canoe up behind me to store it out of the water for the night. To the South and East the horizon is dominated by the craggy, tree covered hills of Vanua Levu. Low, whispy-edged grey cloud scuds off the hills, drifting over us, threatening to shower us, but releasing little in the way of rain. To the North, with the breeze this light and quiet, I can hear the ocean swell breaking on the outer reef a mile or more away, a soft but powerful rumble that always leaves me a little uneasy, even this far on the safe side of it. The horizon there is cluttered with layers and puffs of slate grey cloud. But as I turn West, looking over the tiny village of Qarnivai and the low hills of the peninsula there, the slate grey is suffused with the rays of the setting sun. There are specks of the grey sprinkled through the layers and puffs of brilliant neon copper/gold. Where the cloud is torn to leave the sky clear, the color is not normal sky blue, but a glowing turquoise. The water under
Sequester is aquamarine, the breeze is warm on my skin. This is part of the reason I wanted so badly to come back to the tropics. Warmth, gentleness, stunning beauty in the water, on the hillsides, in the sky. I've seen breathtaking beauty in the mountains and coastlines of two continents and hundreds of islands. But it was often cold and harsh. Breathtaking beauty with comfort.....hard to beat.
Ted
PS....In Fijian, Q is pronounced as a hard G in English.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
2007-07-22 Rainy Sunday
We got the big water tank wrestled down to the new pad, and set it up yesterday. It was cloudy and blustery all day, but the rain didn't materialize until late this morning, about the time we were getting Jim into his runabout to go to Labasa. He was to fly to Suva this afternoon, to see a couple of cabinet ministers about a boat contract, the coconut oil pressing operation he's trying to get going, and my work permit. Between that and a day doing business in Labasa on the way back, he'll be away 3 days or so. I'll be running the morning radio net, and trying to keep things moving in the Island boat shop, as well as trying to improve infrastructure. But I have to be careful not to do things that might be interpreted as working for Also Island Ltd. before we get a work permit from the govt in Suva. Today was relatively quiet, and allowed some time for introspection. I had to wonder a bit if we were taking on more than we can do, living out here and trying to fix enough of the problems at Also Island so that Jim can smooth out the operation enough to survive. There is clearly too much for just him and Kyoko to handle, and priorities have become impossible to set as there are more imperative tasks than there is time to do them. In any case, we've started the process of getting the work visa, and if the govt will let us, we'll give it the old college try. We had enough rain in the collection tank this afternoon for Charlie and me to hook up the tank system and try it out. Had to do a little modification, but it seems to be working. We'll take that as a good omen. And positive results encourage us, so we're ready to attack the coming week.
One of the issues that has emerged in the last week is the food shortage in the village. About 4 months ago a freak cyclone ripped right through the Udu area, taking out most of the papaya, banana, taro and cassava, and knocking the blooms off the lemon and mango trees. In another 2 or 3 months there should be some crops starting to ripen again, but the supplies are getting pretty thin now, and Isai, the chief, says he doesn't really know what to do about it now. I'm going to have to do some research into what it would cost to bring in a boatload of fresh fruit and vegetables from Labasa every couple weeks for the next 2 or 3 months. Won't do to let some people get sick from malnutrition. Prevention is cheaper than sending them to Labasa to recover, to say nothing of being more humane. But we sure need the supply boat I came here to build. Just need to get the permission, find the funds, and then hang on long enough to get it in the water. Well, if it was easy, there'd be no satisfaction in it, I guess. We intend to prevail, so unless we find out the whole direction was wrong, there should be plenty of satisfaction in 6 months or so. May life be as full for all of you as it is for us. Ted
One of the issues that has emerged in the last week is the food shortage in the village. About 4 months ago a freak cyclone ripped right through the Udu area, taking out most of the papaya, banana, taro and cassava, and knocking the blooms off the lemon and mango trees. In another 2 or 3 months there should be some crops starting to ripen again, but the supplies are getting pretty thin now, and Isai, the chief, says he doesn't really know what to do about it now. I'm going to have to do some research into what it would cost to bring in a boatload of fresh fruit and vegetables from Labasa every couple weeks for the next 2 or 3 months. Won't do to let some people get sick from malnutrition. Prevention is cheaper than sending them to Labasa to recover, to say nothing of being more humane. But we sure need the supply boat I came here to build. Just need to get the permission, find the funds, and then hang on long enough to get it in the water. Well, if it was easy, there'd be no satisfaction in it, I guess. We intend to prevail, so unless we find out the whole direction was wrong, there should be plenty of satisfaction in 6 months or so. May life be as full for all of you as it is for us. Ted
Thursday, July 19, 2007
2007-07-19
We've got our own problems at least at bay for now, so are able to take a look around at how the systems work here at Also Island. It's a blend of primitive with modern, low and high tech. The approach is to decide what constitutes quality of life, how much "progress" is needed, and then apply the most effective solution to achieve the goal. The buildings are European style, Fijian construction. That means timber framed, generally plywood sided, and roofed with galvanized corrugated iron sheets. The ground is generally steep and rocky, and the local builders aren't that particular about setting up level and plumb. They mostly cut to fit, bend trusses to get the sheeting to fit, and don't get fussed about small cracks as long as it doesn't rain in too much. There are three electrical systems. Jim isn't much of a fan of hand tools, and power tools need a good bit of AC electricity, so all during the work day, the audible background is dominated by the steady pounding of a single cylinder Lister diesel turning a 230 volt generator, supplying the European/NZ/Australian standard power system to the house, shop and office. But being American. Jim and Kyoko brought a lot of US standard 115 volt equipment, so there's also a second AC wiring system with outlets to accomodate US, Canadian and Japanese products. That system runs from the generator via a stepdown transformer. After hours, of course, when socializing, eating, doing office work or watching a DVD the generator would be unbearably intrusive. (It's bad enough while working in the shop!) So there are two battery banks which charge from the generator during the day, then run a set of 12 volt lights, the laptop computer, and fans during the evening and night. For appliances that need either 115 or 230 volt AC power at this time, there are an assortment of inverters to turn battery power back into AC. The refrigerator will run on 230 volts, but would put too much of a load on the battery/inverter system through the night, so it runs on propane gas.
The water system is fed from rain collection off the sizable roof area of the complex. It is guttered to a 500 gallon tank behind the kitchen building, and when that is filling up a pump is turned on to transfer part of it to a 2000 gallon tank up on the hill. That supplies plenty of pressure for the sinks, shower and toilet. However, the 2nd day we were here, the big tank mysteriously turned out to be empty. Jim and I have devoted several hours now to testing the whole system for leaks, but none are to be found. In the meantime, since it isn't raining, we're supplying the compound from the river at the village, a half mile from the Island. Daily a couple of us load some 25 jugs of assorted size and shape into one of the small boats, take some hose in 3 sizes with which to jury rig a feed from the continuously running PVC pipe that brings water to Thawaro, and wind our way up the channel to the jetty. It has to be done within 3 hours of high tide, or we can't get the boat to the jetty, and filling and loading takes about 40 minutes, so part of every day is preempted with the need for fresh water for washing, cooking and drinking. It's a good thing Don sent the 5HP outboard with me as a gift to the Island, as that's now the only small motor left running other than Karen's dinghy motor. The water run would be quite a hassel with paddles and poles to move the boat.
We've decided the big tank is too high on the hill anyway, so while it's empty, Pita nd Solomani are moving it down to a new pad. Should be done tomorrow. After that, pray for rain!
Ted
The water system is fed from rain collection off the sizable roof area of the complex. It is guttered to a 500 gallon tank behind the kitchen building, and when that is filling up a pump is turned on to transfer part of it to a 2000 gallon tank up on the hill. That supplies plenty of pressure for the sinks, shower and toilet. However, the 2nd day we were here, the big tank mysteriously turned out to be empty. Jim and I have devoted several hours now to testing the whole system for leaks, but none are to be found. In the meantime, since it isn't raining, we're supplying the compound from the river at the village, a half mile from the Island. Daily a couple of us load some 25 jugs of assorted size and shape into one of the small boats, take some hose in 3 sizes with which to jury rig a feed from the continuously running PVC pipe that brings water to Thawaro, and wind our way up the channel to the jetty. It has to be done within 3 hours of high tide, or we can't get the boat to the jetty, and filling and loading takes about 40 minutes, so part of every day is preempted with the need for fresh water for washing, cooking and drinking. It's a good thing Don sent the 5HP outboard with me as a gift to the Island, as that's now the only small motor left running other than Karen's dinghy motor. The water run would be quite a hassel with paddles and poles to move the boat.
We've decided the big tank is too high on the hill anyway, so while it's empty, Pita nd Solomani are moving it down to a new pad. Should be done tomorrow. After that, pray for rain!
Ted
Monday, July 16, 2007
2007-07-16
With the help of a couple of enthusiastic Fijian teenagers, today we jacked Sequester up as soon as the tide fell below the beach she was on. We dug a trench under her, to allow access to the very bottom, and cleaned her up and painted with anti-fouling paint, then set her down on a pile of sand at the stern and a small log forward. An hour after dark, the tide was high, and with a couple of short dives at the bow I dug the small log out from under her, the sand pile washed away, and we floated her off. So, now we're back at anchor, with the bottom a bit scarred but completely functional and protected, ready for a year or more with no more interludes out of the ocean. A long, hard day, but a much better end to the reef encounter than I had once feared. We'll sleep well tonight, and spend tomorrow trying to clean all the beach sand out of the interior. Success feels good. Ted
2007-07-14
We are pleased to report that Sequester is aground again, but this time intentionally. High water was just about dawn this morning, and having selected the best spot and angle, we motored to the beach, spun her around, and pulled her up to the front of the Also Island boat shed facing out to sea. The profile of her bottom has quite a long, gradual sweep up going aft from the center of the boat, so she sits nearly level up the slope of the beach with the stern inshore. With a couple of sawhorses to stabilize the floats, and a good bit of the weight of cargo moved aft, she sat nicely while the tide dropped this morning. By noon I had a grinder wired up, and was cleaning up the scars, rinsing them with fresh water a couple of times and blotting them dry with a towel, then warming them up with a little butane torch to dry out the plywood. By 1:00 PM I had it all looking pretty good, and started soaking the damage with epoxy, then laying up two layers of fiberglass over any places where the coral had penetrated to the plywood. Had it all sealed up, and it was quite tacky, totally waterproof, before the tide reached the area again at about 3:00.
We had a bit of a water crisis at Also Island this morning when we found that the rain storage tank system had sprung a leak, and drained all but about 20 gallons of the water. So as soon as I had the hull sealed up, the tide had risen enough to allow us to get dinghies to the village wharf. (At low water the whole approach to Thawaro is a mud flat.) So I got out all our water jugs, and we took a couple more and some pails from Also Island, and Jhalay (Charlie) and Kalisi and I went to the village to get 200 liters of water , which we filtered and put into the tank that feeds the kitchen. I took a spare pump I had and rigged up a battery and foot switch so they have pressure water to the sink there. It looks like it will be a week or so getting the big tank moved, repaired and re-plumbed, so I'll refine the temporary system some tomorrow, and we'll bring in some more water unless it rains tonight and fills the tank for us.
It looks as if Jim will have to go to Labasa, then on to Suva within a few days, to get several business matters taken care of. One of those things is application for a work permit for me, so I can start helping him run Also Island, and set up to build the new supply boat. Without the work visa, I can't do anything for him, or we risk immediate expulsion from Fiji. Our visitor visa precludes any sort of work for anyone else, and the govt has plenty of people keeping them informed of what goes on, even in the small villages. We plan to go to church tomorrow morning, and get a chance to see Isei, the chief again. He was quite friendly and gracious at the funeral Thursday, but much too busy to do more than exchange pleasantries, and we want to develop our own relationship with him and the village, independent of Jim and Kyoko. Going to church is a major factor in the social custom in a Fijian village, so that's the place to start showing our respect for them.
Time to get this away, and rest up for another big day tomorrow. As a day of rest, I fear it will hardly qualify. Ted
We had a bit of a water crisis at Also Island this morning when we found that the rain storage tank system had sprung a leak, and drained all but about 20 gallons of the water. So as soon as I had the hull sealed up, the tide had risen enough to allow us to get dinghies to the village wharf. (At low water the whole approach to Thawaro is a mud flat.) So I got out all our water jugs, and we took a couple more and some pails from Also Island, and Jhalay (Charlie) and Kalisi and I went to the village to get 200 liters of water , which we filtered and put into the tank that feeds the kitchen. I took a spare pump I had and rigged up a battery and foot switch so they have pressure water to the sink there. It looks like it will be a week or so getting the big tank moved, repaired and re-plumbed, so I'll refine the temporary system some tomorrow, and we'll bring in some more water unless it rains tonight and fills the tank for us.
It looks as if Jim will have to go to Labasa, then on to Suva within a few days, to get several business matters taken care of. One of those things is application for a work permit for me, so I can start helping him run Also Island, and set up to build the new supply boat. Without the work visa, I can't do anything for him, or we risk immediate expulsion from Fiji. Our visitor visa precludes any sort of work for anyone else, and the govt has plenty of people keeping them informed of what goes on, even in the small villages. We plan to go to church tomorrow morning, and get a chance to see Isei, the chief again. He was quite friendly and gracious at the funeral Thursday, but much too busy to do more than exchange pleasantries, and we want to develop our own relationship with him and the village, independent of Jim and Kyoko. Going to church is a major factor in the social custom in a Fijian village, so that's the place to start showing our respect for them.
Time to get this away, and rest up for another big day tomorrow. As a day of rest, I fear it will hardly qualify. Ted
Friday, July 13, 2007
2007-07-12
Today was a very special one. We had the privilege of witnessing a village funeral. Relatives and friends have been arriving all week, and the other day we saw a sevusevu ceremony between the villagers. Sevusevu is an important custom which requires the giving of kava root and the acceptance of it by the chief. In accepting the kava the chief assumes your care while you are in the village. When the other villagers arrived they had woven mats, taro roots and a pig trussed up and hung (alive) from a pole. They set all these down in front of the chief and presented the kava. There was a little ceremony and then they all scattered throughout the village to stay with different friends and relatives. There were a number of these ceremonies as members from many villages attended.
Today we went ashore a little ways from the village, as the tide would not allow the dinghies to get close. We had to walk on a path through the woods and over a stream to get to the village. It started pouring rain, but it was much too hot to wear rain gear, so we all got pretty wet and muddy by the time we arrived. We also found it much easier to navigate the slippery mud with bare feet, so we went "island". The villagers took good care of us, giving us dry clothes to wear. The funeral was about to get underway and there was much keening by the women as the casket was walked to the church. The church (Methodist) is quite small, so only close family could squeeze inside, and the rest of us waited outside. There were many more out than in. We wandered around and observed the cooking preparations. The men had gone out last night fishing and came back with quite a few fish and a few turtles. Turtles are a protected species, but they are allowed to catch a few for an important occasion such as this. They also slaughtered the pigs and a cow and the men were cutting up the meat and cooking over an open fire in huge pots, and also racks for some of the meat. The women had been preparing the taro for the last couple days (similar to potato), and there were also some greens and fresh cucumbers. A lot of the food is prepared with coconut milk and oil. A very delicious feast. Long table cloths were laid on the floor in the community hall and we sat on the floor and ate with fingers. As white folks we had to eat first. As soon as you were done you needed to leave so the next lot could come in and get fed. They probably had a couple hundred people to feed.
More on the funeral: after the church service some young men carried the casket to the gravesite. This was a little ways from the village; down one steep hill, over a bit, and up another steep hill. They had cut out steps in the side of the hill, but it had been raining all morning and it was all mud. We had a difficult time negotiating the path without sliding down the hill. How those young men managed it with a casket I'll never know. All the villagers watched while the casket was covered with dirt, then they placed woven blankets on top and covered it with tapa cloth (bark that is pounded flat and decorated with patterns) and flowers. There were a lot of Fijians taking pictures, so we knew it was okay to take some ourselves.
Once back in the village some of the women were singing and dancing, with much laughter and obvious jokes. Most of the conversation was in Fijian, so we didn't understand much that was said. Many of the adults speak some English, but often not very well, so conversation can be difficult. Schooling is in English, but the little ones only speak Fijian. I found a baby to cuddle, so was happy for awhile!
Ted and Jim made the trek back to get the dinghies and bring them to the village, as the tide was now in. We arrived home tired but happy. Karen
PS.....We feasted on fish and veggies, not the meat. Even if we weren't inclined to vegetarianism, watching the preparation of the pigs, turtles and cow would put most palangis (white people) off. Sanitation is pretty low on the priority list. I guess the fire takes care of it, but we're culturally a bit squeamish. Ted
Today we went ashore a little ways from the village, as the tide would not allow the dinghies to get close. We had to walk on a path through the woods and over a stream to get to the village. It started pouring rain, but it was much too hot to wear rain gear, so we all got pretty wet and muddy by the time we arrived. We also found it much easier to navigate the slippery mud with bare feet, so we went "island". The villagers took good care of us, giving us dry clothes to wear. The funeral was about to get underway and there was much keening by the women as the casket was walked to the church. The church (Methodist) is quite small, so only close family could squeeze inside, and the rest of us waited outside. There were many more out than in. We wandered around and observed the cooking preparations. The men had gone out last night fishing and came back with quite a few fish and a few turtles. Turtles are a protected species, but they are allowed to catch a few for an important occasion such as this. They also slaughtered the pigs and a cow and the men were cutting up the meat and cooking over an open fire in huge pots, and also racks for some of the meat. The women had been preparing the taro for the last couple days (similar to potato), and there were also some greens and fresh cucumbers. A lot of the food is prepared with coconut milk and oil. A very delicious feast. Long table cloths were laid on the floor in the community hall and we sat on the floor and ate with fingers. As white folks we had to eat first. As soon as you were done you needed to leave so the next lot could come in and get fed. They probably had a couple hundred people to feed.
More on the funeral: after the church service some young men carried the casket to the gravesite. This was a little ways from the village; down one steep hill, over a bit, and up another steep hill. They had cut out steps in the side of the hill, but it had been raining all morning and it was all mud. We had a difficult time negotiating the path without sliding down the hill. How those young men managed it with a casket I'll never know. All the villagers watched while the casket was covered with dirt, then they placed woven blankets on top and covered it with tapa cloth (bark that is pounded flat and decorated with patterns) and flowers. There were a lot of Fijians taking pictures, so we knew it was okay to take some ourselves.
Once back in the village some of the women were singing and dancing, with much laughter and obvious jokes. Most of the conversation was in Fijian, so we didn't understand much that was said. Many of the adults speak some English, but often not very well, so conversation can be difficult. Schooling is in English, but the little ones only speak Fijian. I found a baby to cuddle, so was happy for awhile!
Ted and Jim made the trek back to get the dinghies and bring them to the village, as the tide was now in. We arrived home tired but happy. Karen
PS.....We feasted on fish and veggies, not the meat. Even if we weren't inclined to vegetarianism, watching the preparation of the pigs, turtles and cow would put most palangis (white people) off. Sanitation is pretty low on the priority list. I guess the fire takes care of it, but we're culturally a bit squeamish. Ted
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
2007-07-11
Things at Thawaro have been quite unsettled since just before we arrived. When we visited 4 years ago, one of the most helpful of the locals was Apesai, a Fijian man whose age I would estimate at late sixties. He has some farm land, and grows a large crop of cassava, as well as some sugar cane, and he loaned Jim the boat that we were brought up from Labasa in. He also worked on the village boat and the new shop deck some with me, and was good company and a translator for us. We've been counting on seeing Apesai again on this visit. His wife's sister died last week in Suva, and she went down for the funeral. Immediately after the funeral, Apesai's wife had a heart attack and died there in Suva. He has been down there since we arrived, and the whole village has been busy preparing to bury a popular and prominent member. They have brought her home to Thawaro, and we will all be at her funeral tomorrow. As a result, we were here a couple of days before we could arrange to do sevusevu with Isei, the village chief. That is generally not good manners, to be in his territory for more than a day without doing the presentation of kava, so I'm hoping he wasn't offended, and will try to arrange for another meeting and sevusevu soon. In spite of the mess, another village elder and friend, Leoni, is arranging for a group of the village men to come to Also Island on Friday at high tide, and they will literally lift and push Sequester up on the beach, where we can jack her up to repair and repaint the bottom. Meanwhile we continue to do jobs on the boat, try to help Jim and Kyoko keep Also Island moving along, and learn our way around. If we succeed in drying Sequester out on Friday, next week will be a long, hard one, but we'll feel a lot better with the bottom all sealed and painted again. We'll let you know how it goes. Ted
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
2007-07-09
We've only been here 48 hours but it looks like we'll stay for at least a year. I'm astonished at what Jim and Kyoko have done here on Also Island. They've built themselves a house (one large room) with a separate kitchen, bath and guest quarters with 3 bedrooms. They have a lovely decked area with roof that serves as the dining/living area. It's all built on the side of the hill with some steep concrete ramps between the separate areas. The boat shop is easily 4 times the size it was when we were here last and is connected to all the rest. They have moved the village store from the mainland out here to the island, and it is part of the compound. So, the villagers all come out here by boat on a regular basis to go to the store and also to work in the boat yard. They hire a few women to cook, clean, garden and run the store. The grounds are beautiful and they've planted banana, papaya, and lemons, but the cyclone earlier this year ruined their crops, so it will be awhile till that's back on track. Ted is busy off-loading tools from Sequester and has already started work on a few carpentry projects. I've agreed to help Kyoko with the book-keeping in the store and to eventually train some of the local women to do it themselves. Most of my time will be spent on projects on Sequester; first on the list is to sew all the sail covers. There is a nice breeze out here on the boat and it is very comfortable; reminds us of winter in the Virgin Islands. We don't have phones or internet out here. We will have to rely on Sailmail for our communication. The nearest town is Labasa, 40 miles away by boat. The village boat goes about once a week for supplies, but we will mostly be able to put in an order for what we need. We'll be looking at getting Sequester out of the water in the next few days to repair some damage from the reef.
Karen
Karen
Sunday, July 8, 2007
2007-07-06
This morning, after studying and laying out another alternative until midnight last night, we opted to go outside the Great Ocean Reef at Sau Sau Pass, and head for Nandamu Pass. A light southeast breeze was forecast, so we knew it would mean motorsailing into it if we were to make it, but decided this was as good a chance as we'd get if we wanted to avoid the complex, nerve wracking passage along inside the reef. If we were running too slow, and out of time, we could stop two thirds of the way there at Tilangitha Pass. There was an uncomfortable swell running when we cleared the reef, but the wind was of a strength and direction that was better than no wind, and we made pretty good time, at the expense of 6 gallons of fuel and a day listening to the motor at half throttle. Jim met us at the entrance to Nandamu with Don another sailor who had come in yesterday. Don came aboard and piloted us thru the reef pass, which has not a marker anywhere on it, and thru Mbekana Harbor to the anchorage at Also Island. Hook down in 20 feet of clear water, set in a mud bottom. No significant swell, and trade winds ventilating the boat. Feels pretty good. Karen says this can't be Fiji....the anchorage is too safe and comfortable. We'll sleep well tonight.
Ted
Ted
Friday, July 6, 2007
2007-07-05
Today alternated between reasonably pleasant motorsailing on long, straight courses, and frantic activity trying to find a safe anchorage and get anchors set. Life has its ups and downs. Last night after I sent the email out, I did an anchor check, and found that the boat was slowly dragging out of the bay when we were hit with "williwaw" gusts coming down the slopes of the surrounding mountains. The holding wasn't that great, with a thin layer of soft mud over a hardpan bottom. It was about 11:00 PM when I decided we had to reset, and got Karen up to drive while I picked up the hooks. We went up until the depth sounder showed us we were starting up on the shoal at the head of the bay, then set the two anchors at an angle of about 120 degrees, making the boat less likely to swing around twisting the anchor. That more than double the holding power. By then it was about midnight. Karen stayed up until 3, doing anchor watch and refining the sailing instructions and charts. She tells me we used the waypoint functions of the GPS in 2001, and she just refreshed her memory on it. I don't recall anything but plotting on paper (age related memory loss?), but this is working a lot better passing among the reefs.
By morning there was so little wind we couldn't sail better than 2 knots, so we started the motor and let it run slow, but within an hour I had picked it up to about 1/3 throttle, holding 4 knots, getting an occasional boost from a gust of wind in the sails. We had a couple of tense moments when we had to orient ourselves to accommodate missing markers, and I had to disassemble, dry, and reassemble the autopilot twice more. Water kept evaporating out from under the drive motor, condensing on the top case, and dripping on the circuit board. Karen suggested that I use some of the little silica gel packets I hoard from pill bottles, which was a good call. I baked a few, then tucked them in around the motor and circuit inside the case. It worked well the rest of the day. We'll see what tomorrow brings.
As we passed the entrance to Labasa we saw our friends boat, Stelite, anchored near the shore, about 2 miles off our track. Then we got a VHF radio call from Fay. She and Peter had seen us coming, so we got to talk for a few minutes, though that required that we slow the motor to an idle so we could hear the radio. Having the motor in the cockpit has a down side with the noise level, even though it's a pretty quiet outboard.
Once past Labasa we had a long run beam reaching in about 5 knots of wind, and were so tired of listening to the motor we shut it off and sailed for about 3 hours. We figured even at 2.5 knots we'd get to the selected anchoring spot before 5:00. Eventually we slowed below 2 knots, and after a while I started the motor again, but I'd let it go til the last minute. Hence the panic, when we reached the bay just after 5, and found in 3 tries that the whole bottom seems to be limestone and coral, with no holding we could trust the boat to. Then it was throttle up, and Karen drove while I plotted to get us around a huge fringing reef and into the next bay for another try. At 5:40 we tried to stop in the outer bay, but it was the same hard bottom. We had about 20 more minutes of light, and then it was going to get VERY sketchy, driving around in the dark with reefs on all sides. Far up the bay we found a hump of 15 feet depth with 25 feet on the inner side. It's unlikely that the anchors will drag up a slope like that, so we put 2 down and she held on the first set. By the time we had sails tied up we seriously needed the anchor light, as I could hear one of the local boats coming down the shoreline. I got a flashlite on deck in time to hear them call greetings as they whistled past on the outside and headed out to sea running totally dark. These guys must have outstanding night vision.
During the midday, while the running was easy, and the autopilot would steer, we sat on the cabin top or forward nets and watched the dramatic, jagged line of the mountains pass, looking at the mottled colors of brown, dry grass on the sunny SW slopes, the dark green of trees where it was too steep to harvest them for timber, and the light green of new growth on the cooler, more shaded NE slopes. Most of the easily accessed trees have been cut for boards, plywood, and now chips for making paper pulp. There are patches of trees planted in rows as a timber crop for 20 years in the future. That was a surprise, as few tropical islanders think even 2 weeks ahead, let alone 20 years. Houses were scattered along the way, usually in groups of a half dozen in tiny villages, almost always right down at the water, behind the first row of trees and palms that border the beaches. Small boats were pulled up on the beach or moored in the shallows, usually behind a bit of reef to give protection from waves. Children and adults alike waved and signaled as we sailed past.
Now it's 10 at night, and calm. The sea breeze that kicked up at dusk has died down to a whisper, and the sounds are the chuckle of little wavelets on the hull, the faint chirp of insects from the island, and the odd bird calling. It's almost cloudless, so the sky is studded with stars and planets, and no moon in sight.
I've about finished my "homework", getting ready for a complex zigzag thru the reefs to Tilangatha Pass tomorrow. That's 22 miles from here, and will take most of the daylight. We hear the anchoring is good there, but we'd rather have time for a "plan B" from here on. Then, Sunday morning if the weather is acceptable we hop out to the ocean, around the last piece of the Great Ocean Reef, and enter the Nukundamu Pass to reach Thawaro. My Cmap program is corrupted, and won't let me print the screen on large scale charts. I can't even open them directly, but can open a small scale, and then alternately move and magnify to get what I need to see. I devised a method for getting paper copies tonight, though. Got the screen I wanted, then took a picture of the screen with the old digital camera. Oddly enough, when I plug the camera in to the USB port, the laptop tells me there are no files in the camera. But our printer has a card reader, so I put the card in the printer, and print the pictures of the charts. Do you see a pattern here? In order to get the result from one piece of high tech nav gear, I had to use two others to work around a glitch in the first one. There's a reason I don't really trust all this stuff. I have at least a limited ability to help the electro-mechanical autopilot limp home. Fixing software is out of my league....so far. It seems that if you want to keep sailing now, you have to be able to do EVERYTHING. We aren't ready to quit yet, Monday notwithstanding, so I guess the schooling continues!
By the way, I mentioned last week that Louis and the crew on S/V Elysium had to abandon her and be rescued. The report wasn't quite right, as is often the case on first reports along the coconut telegraph. They had reported trouble to us on the Rag of the Air when the prop shaft, which they'd had re-trued in Suva came loose and backed out of the shaft log until it hit the rudder, allowing the engine room to flood. The coupling bolts hadn't been safety wired by the mechanic, and Louis failed to inspect it. Small error, but BAD. Louis went in the water and pushed the shaft back into the log, they locked it in with couple of clamps, and went to the nearest island, Fortuna, in the Vanuatu group, to anchor and improve the repair. Anchorage there is not very good, and while there they were caught in the dark by the frontal system I mentioned, with a couple hours of winds to 50 knots. Terrible luck. With no motor, and little searoom, they were driven up on the reef where the boat broke up. They spent a couple hours in the water, but worked their way up on the shallow part of the reef after the wind dropped and went ashore to be cared for by the local villagers. Cuts, bruises, and emotional trauma, but they all survived. The locals were out the next day, carrying salvaged gear off the reef to the beach for Louis. He said that 2 hours after daybreak, six of them came walking down the reef barefoot carrying the diesel engine. Now THAT is TOUGH. Some of the nearby yachts are trying to arrange to have the salvaged gear brought to Port Vila, where it can be sold to give Louis a little something to restart his life with.
So that's the news from the Pacific Paradise. It ain't all roses, but it beats watching TV.
]
Ted
By morning there was so little wind we couldn't sail better than 2 knots, so we started the motor and let it run slow, but within an hour I had picked it up to about 1/3 throttle, holding 4 knots, getting an occasional boost from a gust of wind in the sails. We had a couple of tense moments when we had to orient ourselves to accommodate missing markers, and I had to disassemble, dry, and reassemble the autopilot twice more. Water kept evaporating out from under the drive motor, condensing on the top case, and dripping on the circuit board. Karen suggested that I use some of the little silica gel packets I hoard from pill bottles, which was a good call. I baked a few, then tucked them in around the motor and circuit inside the case. It worked well the rest of the day. We'll see what tomorrow brings.
As we passed the entrance to Labasa we saw our friends boat, Stelite, anchored near the shore, about 2 miles off our track. Then we got a VHF radio call from Fay. She and Peter had seen us coming, so we got to talk for a few minutes, though that required that we slow the motor to an idle so we could hear the radio. Having the motor in the cockpit has a down side with the noise level, even though it's a pretty quiet outboard.
Once past Labasa we had a long run beam reaching in about 5 knots of wind, and were so tired of listening to the motor we shut it off and sailed for about 3 hours. We figured even at 2.5 knots we'd get to the selected anchoring spot before 5:00. Eventually we slowed below 2 knots, and after a while I started the motor again, but I'd let it go til the last minute. Hence the panic, when we reached the bay just after 5, and found in 3 tries that the whole bottom seems to be limestone and coral, with no holding we could trust the boat to. Then it was throttle up, and Karen drove while I plotted to get us around a huge fringing reef and into the next bay for another try. At 5:40 we tried to stop in the outer bay, but it was the same hard bottom. We had about 20 more minutes of light, and then it was going to get VERY sketchy, driving around in the dark with reefs on all sides. Far up the bay we found a hump of 15 feet depth with 25 feet on the inner side. It's unlikely that the anchors will drag up a slope like that, so we put 2 down and she held on the first set. By the time we had sails tied up we seriously needed the anchor light, as I could hear one of the local boats coming down the shoreline. I got a flashlite on deck in time to hear them call greetings as they whistled past on the outside and headed out to sea running totally dark. These guys must have outstanding night vision.
During the midday, while the running was easy, and the autopilot would steer, we sat on the cabin top or forward nets and watched the dramatic, jagged line of the mountains pass, looking at the mottled colors of brown, dry grass on the sunny SW slopes, the dark green of trees where it was too steep to harvest them for timber, and the light green of new growth on the cooler, more shaded NE slopes. Most of the easily accessed trees have been cut for boards, plywood, and now chips for making paper pulp. There are patches of trees planted in rows as a timber crop for 20 years in the future. That was a surprise, as few tropical islanders think even 2 weeks ahead, let alone 20 years. Houses were scattered along the way, usually in groups of a half dozen in tiny villages, almost always right down at the water, behind the first row of trees and palms that border the beaches. Small boats were pulled up on the beach or moored in the shallows, usually behind a bit of reef to give protection from waves. Children and adults alike waved and signaled as we sailed past.
Now it's 10 at night, and calm. The sea breeze that kicked up at dusk has died down to a whisper, and the sounds are the chuckle of little wavelets on the hull, the faint chirp of insects from the island, and the odd bird calling. It's almost cloudless, so the sky is studded with stars and planets, and no moon in sight.
I've about finished my "homework", getting ready for a complex zigzag thru the reefs to Tilangatha Pass tomorrow. That's 22 miles from here, and will take most of the daylight. We hear the anchoring is good there, but we'd rather have time for a "plan B" from here on. Then, Sunday morning if the weather is acceptable we hop out to the ocean, around the last piece of the Great Ocean Reef, and enter the Nukundamu Pass to reach Thawaro. My Cmap program is corrupted, and won't let me print the screen on large scale charts. I can't even open them directly, but can open a small scale, and then alternately move and magnify to get what I need to see. I devised a method for getting paper copies tonight, though. Got the screen I wanted, then took a picture of the screen with the old digital camera. Oddly enough, when I plug the camera in to the USB port, the laptop tells me there are no files in the camera. But our printer has a card reader, so I put the card in the printer, and print the pictures of the charts. Do you see a pattern here? In order to get the result from one piece of high tech nav gear, I had to use two others to work around a glitch in the first one. There's a reason I don't really trust all this stuff. I have at least a limited ability to help the electro-mechanical autopilot limp home. Fixing software is out of my league....so far. It seems that if you want to keep sailing now, you have to be able to do EVERYTHING. We aren't ready to quit yet, Monday notwithstanding, so I guess the schooling continues!
By the way, I mentioned last week that Louis and the crew on S/V Elysium had to abandon her and be rescued. The report wasn't quite right, as is often the case on first reports along the coconut telegraph. They had reported trouble to us on the Rag of the Air when the prop shaft, which they'd had re-trued in Suva came loose and backed out of the shaft log until it hit the rudder, allowing the engine room to flood. The coupling bolts hadn't been safety wired by the mechanic, and Louis failed to inspect it. Small error, but BAD. Louis went in the water and pushed the shaft back into the log, they locked it in with couple of clamps, and went to the nearest island, Fortuna, in the Vanuatu group, to anchor and improve the repair. Anchorage there is not very good, and while there they were caught in the dark by the frontal system I mentioned, with a couple hours of winds to 50 knots. Terrible luck. With no motor, and little searoom, they were driven up on the reef where the boat broke up. They spent a couple hours in the water, but worked their way up on the shallow part of the reef after the wind dropped and went ashore to be cared for by the local villagers. Cuts, bruises, and emotional trauma, but they all survived. The locals were out the next day, carrying salvaged gear off the reef to the beach for Louis. He said that 2 hours after daybreak, six of them came walking down the reef barefoot carrying the diesel engine. Now THAT is TOUGH. Some of the nearby yachts are trying to arrange to have the salvaged gear brought to Port Vila, where it can be sold to give Louis a little something to restart his life with.
So that's the news from the Pacific Paradise. It ain't all roses, but it beats watching TV.
]
Ted
Thursday, July 5, 2007
2007-07-05
We were too traumatized, and too focused on navigation on Tuesday to look at the scenery much, but after a night in Mbua Bay we started to settle down and look around. We've gotten much better at pre-planning routing and using the electronic navigation devices we have on hand.. Karen figured out how to place waypoints into the GPS, and use the "go to" function to get a course and distance. Without doing that before we get under way, there's just no time to adequately find directions between reefs. I can't imagine trying to do this without at least 2 people on board. One of us is always in the cockpit, and one is almost always either scanning with binoculars for markers (which may or may not be where they're shown on the charts), or plotting our exact position on the paper chart. Even with two of us, it's a lot easier with the autopilot, so we weren't pleased yesterday when it went crazy and started steering erratically. This morning I decided to have a look inside and found it had water in it, which was splashing up on the drive belt and shorting out the signal circuit. It hadn't gotten to the motor yet, so I cleaned it all up with cotton swabs and tissues and reassembled it, and it seems OK. But it didn't do it any good, and it's SUPPOSED to be waterproof. At least it should get us to Also Island.
This part of the island group is quite sparsely settled, so we just see an occasional smoke plume from a little village, and maybe five or six small fishing boats a day. We were flagged down by an 18 foot skiff with 10 people aboard this morning, to see if they could buy a gallon of gas for their outboard motor, as they were getting down to fumes on their way to another island to work a farm plot. They only had a couple dollars with them, so I just gave them 2 gallons of premix, which made them very happy indeed. We had an excellent day, able to sail 90% of the time as we came across the top of Vanua Levu. We would lose the wind at times in the shadow of high mountains, but just a short run of the motor would get us back to sailing. We got further than we'd expected, and picked out a nice bay to anchor at about 4:00 PM. As soon as we got the hook down, a skiff came alongside to invite us over to their village, nearby. They had been fishing and saw us on their way home. We thanked them for the invitation but begged off saying it was pretty late in the day. They understood, visited a few minutes, then gave us a nice big fish for dinner and headed home themselves. I thought later I wish I'd offered them some fuel too. It's probably a hassel to get out here in the weeds, and they rely on their outboard motorboats for all transport, as well as fishing.
The wind has come up to a pretty stiff breeze tonight, for the first time since we arrived in Fiji. Sort of hope it comes down a bit by morning, but for now it's charging the batteries nicely with the wind generator spinning away. We're well fed, getting some rest, and planning for the days run tomorrow, in a fabulously green, lush bay in the middle of nowhere. Saw the "green flash" at sunset, and the sky is brilliant with stars. It's a nice place to be....Ted
This part of the island group is quite sparsely settled, so we just see an occasional smoke plume from a little village, and maybe five or six small fishing boats a day. We were flagged down by an 18 foot skiff with 10 people aboard this morning, to see if they could buy a gallon of gas for their outboard motor, as they were getting down to fumes on their way to another island to work a farm plot. They only had a couple dollars with them, so I just gave them 2 gallons of premix, which made them very happy indeed. We had an excellent day, able to sail 90% of the time as we came across the top of Vanua Levu. We would lose the wind at times in the shadow of high mountains, but just a short run of the motor would get us back to sailing. We got further than we'd expected, and picked out a nice bay to anchor at about 4:00 PM. As soon as we got the hook down, a skiff came alongside to invite us over to their village, nearby. They had been fishing and saw us on their way home. We thanked them for the invitation but begged off saying it was pretty late in the day. They understood, visited a few minutes, then gave us a nice big fish for dinner and headed home themselves. I thought later I wish I'd offered them some fuel too. It's probably a hassel to get out here in the weeds, and they rely on their outboard motorboats for all transport, as well as fishing.
The wind has come up to a pretty stiff breeze tonight, for the first time since we arrived in Fiji. Sort of hope it comes down a bit by morning, but for now it's charging the batteries nicely with the wind generator spinning away. We're well fed, getting some rest, and planning for the days run tomorrow, in a fabulously green, lush bay in the middle of nowhere. Saw the "green flash" at sunset, and the sky is brilliant with stars. It's a nice place to be....Ted
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
2007-07-03
Yesterday was a very bad day, with a better ending. We came much closer to losing Sequester than probably ever before, and still don't know whether there's significant damage below the water line. but at least no leaks. We misread a channel marker and sailed her onto a reef, going straight downwind, about 2 hours after high tide at about 9:15 in the morning. We haven't been around channel markers for 7 years now, and let the skills deteriorate. I doubt if we're through paying the price for that lack of vigilance.
It was quite calm, so there was no breaking wave showing on the surface, or maybe we'd have been warned in time. The up side of the calm is that she wasn't pounded up and down on the coral as much as I feared she would be. The pounding is what usually breaks the hull. Even the small waves coming over the reef as the tide dropped away, and then rose again, made her roll and bump with a fearsome niose, and just before she floated again I could see the starbord aft hull panel flexing as she crunched against the coral head that had propped us upright all day. As bad as that was, that coral holding us almost straight up was a blessing, as we could work around the boat more easily through the day, getting ready to float her when the water came back in. Having once screwed up so completely, we both worked pretty efficiently to save her, and that along with the benevolence of fate has left us still in possession of the boat and all our belongings in her. When it looked rather doubtful, I kept working on reducing weight on board, while I had Karen put together a more extensive "ditch bag". That's the waterproof bag carrying what you expect to need to survive if you have to abandon the boat. Normally all we have packed is passports and ownership documents, but this brought to the fore the need for medications, all the cash, and such things that don't take much space or weight, but are important. We had wetsuits out to survive exposure if we managed to swamp the dinghy, as we were over 2 miles from shore. I wore mine most of the day to protect from coral cuts, as I was in and out of the water working.
When we first went on, I had gone down to the galley to get Karen some breakfast, and she was in the cockpit with the autopilot steering. That close to a reef, I doubt we'll do that again. But then, we thought we were passing on the correct side of the marker. Everyone says the marking system here in Fiji is a bit "off", so maybe it's not entirely our fault. But mostly. When I heard the centerboard start to drag on the coral, I knew we were in trouble. but it took Karen a few more seconds to identify the sound. (She's just told me that because I had the generator running to charge batteries, she never heard the board touch down on the coral.) By the time I was on deck, we had stopped against a ridge of coral about fifty feet from the edge of the reef. At the edge the depth dropped very quickly, forming a ragged vertical shelf with a difference of about 6 feet.
Within less than 10 minutes I had an anchor out,which I walked and swam over the edge and set in the coral. We tried to use the windlass to back her to the edge, then tried to turn her. But the water had already dropped too much, and she was firmly wedged. We knew right then that we were more in the hands of luck than skill or effort, but had to do everything well even if luck was to let us escape.
This was serious enough that we were willing to pay as much as thousands of dollars for assistance if it would improve our chances. There's a sizable village surrounded by a half dozen big antennas about 6 miles south of the reef, visible from the boat. We did an emergency call with the VHF radio. No response. We were baffled, still containing panic. I got on the SSB radio, and started going through the International Distress frequencies, calling. I got a response from Radio Taupo in NZ, but my signal was just too weak for them to read, after several tries on diffeent frequencies we decided we were on our own.
Due East about 2 miles there was a large wharf, with a small road winding down to it from a building up on a hill. Karen set off an orange smoke flare. No response. we decided one of us had to go for help. so we launched the dinghy, got the outboard on it, and I grabbed a bottle of juice and the handheld VHF radio so I could contact Karen from shore. I had to row out past the reef edge to keep from damaging the motor prop, then took off for the wharf. It seemed a long ride. Just as I was closing in on it, a truck came bouncing down it, with two Fijians in the cab. They saw me as I was tying the dinghy to a ladder, 20 feet below the dock surface, and asked if I was the one who made the orange smoke. They'd seen it, but had no idea what it meant. I explained the problem, and they loaded me into the truck and took me up to the project office on the hill, to see Tony. I tried to call Karen, but the batteries in the handheld radio were flat. Evidently it had turned itself on when a button was hit in my knapsack. She was on her own til I could get back.
Tony is from NZ, and had been in Fiji to oversee the building of the new wharf, where chipped wood was to be shipped from the inland forests to international buyers. It was the last day he was to be there, the last day there would be a phone there. He said radio was useless here in the "back blocks of Fiji". We couldn't raise any authorities nearby, so I had him call Eco DIvers in SavuSavu. The girl there took my message and soon Curly called back. Curly knows his way around in Fiji. He started looking for a boat to assist us, and we set up a radio schedule for the SSB on a frequency we expected would work. With that under way, Tony took me back down to the wharf, and I set out in the dinghy for Sequester, a tiny speck on the horizon. Then a light misting rain set in, and I lost sight of her, but I figured when I got closer either the rain would blow over or I'd see her through it. I set a course using the wharf and hill as references, and headed on out. In a few minutes the little squall passed, and I could see the boat again. When I got there, Karen was calmly putting things in order, clearing the deck for action. She says she never once considered that we might actually not get back off the reef. I had a lot less confidence about that.
We had let the rudder kick up to avoid damage when we went on, and now I tied it up out of harm's way but rigged the retrieving line so it could be back in functional position in seconds after we hit the deep water. We needed to get as much weight off the boat as possible, to let her float in less water. We set aside some jugs amounting to 12 liters of water, then Karen poured the rest over the side. I put the canoe down on the reef behind Sequester and started pulling the heaviest things out of the float hull storage areas, loading them into the canoe. A few things I considered just leaving on the reef, if it would improve our odds, but decided I'd leave that option until the last minute. I didn't really want to leave trash on the reef. Even in the crisis, I felt bad that I was breaking off some of the beautiful, slow growing coral heads. But there is a lot of it there. Several acres on that one reef.
After about an hour, I tuned up the SSB radio to a four megahertz frequency that Curly had told me he'd have monitored. Pretty quickly I had a decent copy on Dave, from the S/V La Vie, anchored just outside of SavuSavu. Steve on Red Sky and Curly on Stella Rosa were still in the creek right in front of the town, and the radio black hole was working as usual. They were unreadable. Dave said he was recovering from a strained back, and couldn't do much anyway, so he'd monitor the radio all day. Steve would also be there, with Dave relaying, and Curly would be back and forth working the phone to get a rescue crew together. They got us tide and weather info. High water at 8:16 (very dark by then) and the tide about 8 inches less than when we went on. Bad news. The good news; wind and swell light and abating. A boat was located in the village 6 miles south, but it was dried out on the beach until about 6:00 PM when the tide got back up to it, about the time we hoped to float. They would come out as soon as possible, and if we hadn't gotten clear, would try to give us a tow off. If we got clear, they would get us to a safe anchorage. This was their yard, and they could navigate it in the dark with complete confidence. Now I was at least pretty confident we wouldn't end up in the water all night. Dave and Steve made suggestions, asked questions, provided some company in the breaks between our projects. The moral support made things easier. I stacked on deck, but out of the way, things that could go in the big dinghy if required, but kept the dinghy empty except for a long tow line, which I would row out to the rescue boat if we needed to. I walked around the boat looking over the hulls. No visible damage , and we knew the bottom was the strongest part of her, so that was almost surely OK at this point. By about 3:00 PM the water started to come back in around the main hull, and by 4:30 she was rocking gently, grinding in the coral rubble with each little wave that passed around her. All day small misty rain showers had passed over, bringing a little wind increase, and wetting the deck, keeping that sorry nonskid surface slick. The wind and the slick deck we didn't need, but at least it kept us tolerably cool. Almost everything had two sides all day, but the balance held in our favor.
By 5:20 she was moving quite a bit, so I told Dave we'd be on deck for a while trying to turn her bow out using the anchor and the windlass. The windlass is a new addition, so I didn't know how well it would work. It wasn't perfect, but without it we might not have gotten off. The line would at times lose friction on the winch head and being nylon, which we had stretched like a huge rubber band, it would snap back a foot or so. At one point, just as we had retrieved the shackled joint between two sections, it did that and the shackle hammered my hand. The fingers hurt pretty badly, but still worked, so we carried on, with me tailing the line, and Karen working the switch and making off the tail between pulls. Slowly the boat started to turn a bit as each wave lifted her. When she jammed. I went below ad gave Dave a short update. As I talked, I watched the bilge panel flexing as we rolled against the coral. I headed back up and we started pulling again. I decided to have a look under the boat, and judge whether we could put the motor prop back down, and while under the wing deck, I gave her a hard push just as a wave surged. She lifted up and swung away from me. In seconds I was back on the windlass, and in a few minutes she was directly head to wind, pointed straight at the anchor. Any progress now would be directly toward the edge. We had to be patient, to be sure we didn't pull the anchor out trying too hard before there was enough water. I gave Dave one more update while we killed 10 minutes, then we loaded up the line, put the motor down, and got the rudder ready to deploy.
The stretch in the line gave her a pull, and on one wave she came clear and the crunching stopped. Karen fired up the motor and started driving, while I retrieved the anchor line as fast as it would come in. One last yank as the chain snagged a bit of coral, and suddenly the anchor was flying up toward the bow roller. I cleated it and ran for the stern, yanked loose the slipped knot holding the rudder up, jumped out on the transom and stepped on the rudder back while Karen pulled the retrieving line, simultaneously steering. We were away! And it was still nearly 10 minutes before complete dark. I looked back at the canoe, being dragged thru the chop at 4 knots with 600 pounds of gear in it. It was taking water over the bow. I had a little trouble convincing Karen to slow enough for me to pull it alongside and lean over to drag each piece of gear out onto the deck. Once it was empty, Karen let the boat drift for a minute while she helped me drag the canoe on deck and dump out the water, then we headed for the shoreline. In a couple more minutes we were just using the lights from Tony's office as a guide, running in the dark. I turned on the navigation lights and kept watch for the rescue boat. In a few more minutes, they were shouting from behind us, and we slowed more to let them come alongside. Typical of Fijians, there was one steering, and five sitting on the cabin top with the boat rolling from rail to rail, running entirely dark, not a light on board. They were apologetic that they hadn't been able to get their boat off the beach earlier, but genuinely pleased that we were off OK. They showed us a good place to anchor, visited for a few minutes, asking questions and looking over the "yacht". I suggested that we pay for their fuel, and $20 each for coming out to help. They said that was too much, but we insisted that we wanted to be sure they were happy to do it again if it was ever needed. They seemed pretty happy when they all trooped back onto their big skiff and motored off into the darkness with best wishes all around. We were pretty happy too, even with all the sore muscles and the now purple finger on my right hand. We got away with it. We're navigating VERY carefully now, moving slowly, both rechecking the plot. We're a bit short of confidence, but, so far, so good.
Later addition: Inspection shows only 2 small places where the fiberglass was scuffed thru to the plywood panel. Damage is almost entirely lost paint.
It was quite calm, so there was no breaking wave showing on the surface, or maybe we'd have been warned in time. The up side of the calm is that she wasn't pounded up and down on the coral as much as I feared she would be. The pounding is what usually breaks the hull. Even the small waves coming over the reef as the tide dropped away, and then rose again, made her roll and bump with a fearsome niose, and just before she floated again I could see the starbord aft hull panel flexing as she crunched against the coral head that had propped us upright all day. As bad as that was, that coral holding us almost straight up was a blessing, as we could work around the boat more easily through the day, getting ready to float her when the water came back in. Having once screwed up so completely, we both worked pretty efficiently to save her, and that along with the benevolence of fate has left us still in possession of the boat and all our belongings in her. When it looked rather doubtful, I kept working on reducing weight on board, while I had Karen put together a more extensive "ditch bag". That's the waterproof bag carrying what you expect to need to survive if you have to abandon the boat. Normally all we have packed is passports and ownership documents, but this brought to the fore the need for medications, all the cash, and such things that don't take much space or weight, but are important. We had wetsuits out to survive exposure if we managed to swamp the dinghy, as we were over 2 miles from shore. I wore mine most of the day to protect from coral cuts, as I was in and out of the water working.
When we first went on, I had gone down to the galley to get Karen some breakfast, and she was in the cockpit with the autopilot steering. That close to a reef, I doubt we'll do that again. But then, we thought we were passing on the correct side of the marker. Everyone says the marking system here in Fiji is a bit "off", so maybe it's not entirely our fault. But mostly. When I heard the centerboard start to drag on the coral, I knew we were in trouble. but it took Karen a few more seconds to identify the sound. (She's just told me that because I had the generator running to charge batteries, she never heard the board touch down on the coral.) By the time I was on deck, we had stopped against a ridge of coral about fifty feet from the edge of the reef. At the edge the depth dropped very quickly, forming a ragged vertical shelf with a difference of about 6 feet.
Within less than 10 minutes I had an anchor out,which I walked and swam over the edge and set in the coral. We tried to use the windlass to back her to the edge, then tried to turn her. But the water had already dropped too much, and she was firmly wedged. We knew right then that we were more in the hands of luck than skill or effort, but had to do everything well even if luck was to let us escape.
This was serious enough that we were willing to pay as much as thousands of dollars for assistance if it would improve our chances. There's a sizable village surrounded by a half dozen big antennas about 6 miles south of the reef, visible from the boat. We did an emergency call with the VHF radio. No response. We were baffled, still containing panic. I got on the SSB radio, and started going through the International Distress frequencies, calling. I got a response from Radio Taupo in NZ, but my signal was just too weak for them to read, after several tries on diffeent frequencies we decided we were on our own.
Due East about 2 miles there was a large wharf, with a small road winding down to it from a building up on a hill. Karen set off an orange smoke flare. No response. we decided one of us had to go for help. so we launched the dinghy, got the outboard on it, and I grabbed a bottle of juice and the handheld VHF radio so I could contact Karen from shore. I had to row out past the reef edge to keep from damaging the motor prop, then took off for the wharf. It seemed a long ride. Just as I was closing in on it, a truck came bouncing down it, with two Fijians in the cab. They saw me as I was tying the dinghy to a ladder, 20 feet below the dock surface, and asked if I was the one who made the orange smoke. They'd seen it, but had no idea what it meant. I explained the problem, and they loaded me into the truck and took me up to the project office on the hill, to see Tony. I tried to call Karen, but the batteries in the handheld radio were flat. Evidently it had turned itself on when a button was hit in my knapsack. She was on her own til I could get back.
Tony is from NZ, and had been in Fiji to oversee the building of the new wharf, where chipped wood was to be shipped from the inland forests to international buyers. It was the last day he was to be there, the last day there would be a phone there. He said radio was useless here in the "back blocks of Fiji". We couldn't raise any authorities nearby, so I had him call Eco DIvers in SavuSavu. The girl there took my message and soon Curly called back. Curly knows his way around in Fiji. He started looking for a boat to assist us, and we set up a radio schedule for the SSB on a frequency we expected would work. With that under way, Tony took me back down to the wharf, and I set out in the dinghy for Sequester, a tiny speck on the horizon. Then a light misting rain set in, and I lost sight of her, but I figured when I got closer either the rain would blow over or I'd see her through it. I set a course using the wharf and hill as references, and headed on out. In a few minutes the little squall passed, and I could see the boat again. When I got there, Karen was calmly putting things in order, clearing the deck for action. She says she never once considered that we might actually not get back off the reef. I had a lot less confidence about that.
We had let the rudder kick up to avoid damage when we went on, and now I tied it up out of harm's way but rigged the retrieving line so it could be back in functional position in seconds after we hit the deep water. We needed to get as much weight off the boat as possible, to let her float in less water. We set aside some jugs amounting to 12 liters of water, then Karen poured the rest over the side. I put the canoe down on the reef behind Sequester and started pulling the heaviest things out of the float hull storage areas, loading them into the canoe. A few things I considered just leaving on the reef, if it would improve our odds, but decided I'd leave that option until the last minute. I didn't really want to leave trash on the reef. Even in the crisis, I felt bad that I was breaking off some of the beautiful, slow growing coral heads. But there is a lot of it there. Several acres on that one reef.
After about an hour, I tuned up the SSB radio to a four megahertz frequency that Curly had told me he'd have monitored. Pretty quickly I had a decent copy on Dave, from the S/V La Vie, anchored just outside of SavuSavu. Steve on Red Sky and Curly on Stella Rosa were still in the creek right in front of the town, and the radio black hole was working as usual. They were unreadable. Dave said he was recovering from a strained back, and couldn't do much anyway, so he'd monitor the radio all day. Steve would also be there, with Dave relaying, and Curly would be back and forth working the phone to get a rescue crew together. They got us tide and weather info. High water at 8:16 (very dark by then) and the tide about 8 inches less than when we went on. Bad news. The good news; wind and swell light and abating. A boat was located in the village 6 miles south, but it was dried out on the beach until about 6:00 PM when the tide got back up to it, about the time we hoped to float. They would come out as soon as possible, and if we hadn't gotten clear, would try to give us a tow off. If we got clear, they would get us to a safe anchorage. This was their yard, and they could navigate it in the dark with complete confidence. Now I was at least pretty confident we wouldn't end up in the water all night. Dave and Steve made suggestions, asked questions, provided some company in the breaks between our projects. The moral support made things easier. I stacked on deck, but out of the way, things that could go in the big dinghy if required, but kept the dinghy empty except for a long tow line, which I would row out to the rescue boat if we needed to. I walked around the boat looking over the hulls. No visible damage , and we knew the bottom was the strongest part of her, so that was almost surely OK at this point. By about 3:00 PM the water started to come back in around the main hull, and by 4:30 she was rocking gently, grinding in the coral rubble with each little wave that passed around her. All day small misty rain showers had passed over, bringing a little wind increase, and wetting the deck, keeping that sorry nonskid surface slick. The wind and the slick deck we didn't need, but at least it kept us tolerably cool. Almost everything had two sides all day, but the balance held in our favor.
By 5:20 she was moving quite a bit, so I told Dave we'd be on deck for a while trying to turn her bow out using the anchor and the windlass. The windlass is a new addition, so I didn't know how well it would work. It wasn't perfect, but without it we might not have gotten off. The line would at times lose friction on the winch head and being nylon, which we had stretched like a huge rubber band, it would snap back a foot or so. At one point, just as we had retrieved the shackled joint between two sections, it did that and the shackle hammered my hand. The fingers hurt pretty badly, but still worked, so we carried on, with me tailing the line, and Karen working the switch and making off the tail between pulls. Slowly the boat started to turn a bit as each wave lifted her. When she jammed. I went below ad gave Dave a short update. As I talked, I watched the bilge panel flexing as we rolled against the coral. I headed back up and we started pulling again. I decided to have a look under the boat, and judge whether we could put the motor prop back down, and while under the wing deck, I gave her a hard push just as a wave surged. She lifted up and swung away from me. In seconds I was back on the windlass, and in a few minutes she was directly head to wind, pointed straight at the anchor. Any progress now would be directly toward the edge. We had to be patient, to be sure we didn't pull the anchor out trying too hard before there was enough water. I gave Dave one more update while we killed 10 minutes, then we loaded up the line, put the motor down, and got the rudder ready to deploy.
The stretch in the line gave her a pull, and on one wave she came clear and the crunching stopped. Karen fired up the motor and started driving, while I retrieved the anchor line as fast as it would come in. One last yank as the chain snagged a bit of coral, and suddenly the anchor was flying up toward the bow roller. I cleated it and ran for the stern, yanked loose the slipped knot holding the rudder up, jumped out on the transom and stepped on the rudder back while Karen pulled the retrieving line, simultaneously steering. We were away! And it was still nearly 10 minutes before complete dark. I looked back at the canoe, being dragged thru the chop at 4 knots with 600 pounds of gear in it. It was taking water over the bow. I had a little trouble convincing Karen to slow enough for me to pull it alongside and lean over to drag each piece of gear out onto the deck. Once it was empty, Karen let the boat drift for a minute while she helped me drag the canoe on deck and dump out the water, then we headed for the shoreline. In a couple more minutes we were just using the lights from Tony's office as a guide, running in the dark. I turned on the navigation lights and kept watch for the rescue boat. In a few more minutes, they were shouting from behind us, and we slowed more to let them come alongside. Typical of Fijians, there was one steering, and five sitting on the cabin top with the boat rolling from rail to rail, running entirely dark, not a light on board. They were apologetic that they hadn't been able to get their boat off the beach earlier, but genuinely pleased that we were off OK. They showed us a good place to anchor, visited for a few minutes, asking questions and looking over the "yacht". I suggested that we pay for their fuel, and $20 each for coming out to help. They said that was too much, but we insisted that we wanted to be sure they were happy to do it again if it was ever needed. They seemed pretty happy when they all trooped back onto their big skiff and motored off into the darkness with best wishes all around. We were pretty happy too, even with all the sore muscles and the now purple finger on my right hand. We got away with it. We're navigating VERY carefully now, moving slowly, both rechecking the plot. We're a bit short of confidence, but, so far, so good.
Later addition: Inspection shows only 2 small places where the fiberglass was scuffed thru to the plywood panel. Damage is almost entirely lost paint.
Monday, July 2, 2007
2007-07-01
The forecast looked OK, so we left SavuSavu at dawn. As we were passing the lighthouse, just getting into the rather big swell from the SE, I checked in on the Rag of the Air radio net. The standard call for emergency traffic got a return, so I spent the next 30 minutes doing relays on the radio while Karen steered, and tended the autopilot. Seems that Louis, on S/V Elysium had called in with trouble 2 days ago, but seemed to have it under control. Then he didn't check in yesterday. This morning Russ told us the Pacific Seafarers had a call that the EPIRB beacon from Elysium had been activated and a search was under way. We all did a lot of information sharing, contingency plans were under way for a number of possibilities, and Steve on Red Sky stayed on frequency monitoring for 2 hours after the net, when it was determined that the crew of Elysium had been rescued, and the boat abandoned by Vanuatu Search and Rescue. They'd already had problems when they were hit by a powerful front with 50 to 60 knot squalls, and apparently the boat opened up. Elysium was an old trimaran, so though she was pretty rotten and broke, she wouldn't sink. Once the epirb location was established, a rescue vessel was dispatched and soon had them safe. Great relief among the cruisers.
Meanwhile, we had an extremely rough trip down the east side of Vanua Levu, an area notorious for big steep swell and overfalls. Boat got pretty wet with a lot of spray, and though we started out with all plain sail up, we were soon down to half the jib, and that's all we ran with until about 11:00, when we were through the pass into the reef lagoon. From there it was much more comfortable sailing, though the whole day required considerable vigilance to stay off the reefs. Covered over 40 miles, and by 4:30 were anchored in the shelter of a small patch of reef along the coast. It was hard to find a suitable bottom for the anchor in less than 100 feet of water. Finally set it in about 50 feet, too deep for this old guy to dive and check it any more. Maybe after I get to practice freediving again.... Anyway, had a good NE breeze all day, but would now like E or SE for the rest of the run to Labasa. Looks like we'll break it up into 3 days of 25 miles run each, in order to only move with the sun high for good visibility, and be able to reach decent harbors. It's pretty coastline, but the stress level is going to be a bit high for the next couple days. Wish us luck. Ted
Meanwhile, we had an extremely rough trip down the east side of Vanua Levu, an area notorious for big steep swell and overfalls. Boat got pretty wet with a lot of spray, and though we started out with all plain sail up, we were soon down to half the jib, and that's all we ran with until about 11:00, when we were through the pass into the reef lagoon. From there it was much more comfortable sailing, though the whole day required considerable vigilance to stay off the reefs. Covered over 40 miles, and by 4:30 were anchored in the shelter of a small patch of reef along the coast. It was hard to find a suitable bottom for the anchor in less than 100 feet of water. Finally set it in about 50 feet, too deep for this old guy to dive and check it any more. Maybe after I get to practice freediving again.... Anyway, had a good NE breeze all day, but would now like E or SE for the rest of the run to Labasa. Looks like we'll break it up into 3 days of 25 miles run each, in order to only move with the sun high for good visibility, and be able to reach decent harbors. It's pretty coastline, but the stress level is going to be a bit high for the next couple days. Wish us luck. Ted
Sunday, July 1, 2007
2007-06-30
Today, Saturday the 30 of June would have been a pretty good day for us to have headed for the southern tip of Vanua Levu, bound for Also Island. The down side was that there was NO WIND at all until nearly noon, so the start would have been a motoring run. But we had made a date for today to meet Curly, the cruising guru of SavuSavu, and we were glad we got to see him. I've talked to him on the radio for about 5 years, and run errands in NZ to get him things and information he had no access to from a variety of South Pacific islands. Over a dinner of terrific curry he gave us a much more nuanced and complete political and economic picture of Fiji than we had been able to put together ourselves. When we arrived, he was away on a yacht delivery, but sailed back in yesterday, so we at least got one good visit before we left.
Tomorrow looks to be similar to today, so barring unforseen changes, we'll head out around dawn, and try to be thru the pass and around to the west side of the island by tomorrow night. Once we're inside the reef on the west side we should be able to pick our way up to Labasa in a couple of days, probably stop there to resupply, then make Also Island (at Thawaro) the next day. We feel pretty ready to move again, though we've found some great people here. We know there'll be more at the next stops, so we're away.
Ted
Tomorrow looks to be similar to today, so barring unforseen changes, we'll head out around dawn, and try to be thru the pass and around to the west side of the island by tomorrow night. Once we're inside the reef on the west side we should be able to pick our way up to Labasa in a couple of days, probably stop there to resupply, then make Also Island (at Thawaro) the next day. We feel pretty ready to move again, though we've found some great people here. We know there'll be more at the next stops, so we're away.
Ted
2007-06-29
The last few days here have been dominated by frequent light misting rain
squalls. In the creek in front of the town it's very sheltered from the
wind, but the general conditions in Fiji have been reinforced trade winds,
only about 10 to 15 knots at night but 25 gusting over 30 during the day.
We can't seem to talk ourselves into going sailing it that yet and are still
hoping it will lay down a bit in the next couple of days. But we're ready
to move on around the island to Thawaro, and get started with the project we
hope to do with Jim Bandy at Also Island Ltd. We had a discussion with the
customs and immigration officials today, about where we'll be and what our
plans are, and they reminded us that we are on a visitors visa, not allowed
to work for pay in Fiji. We have hopes of getting me a work permit when we
get to Also Island, but unless we do, I'm strictly volunteer labor. First
we have to get there, so on Sunday or Monday we plan to head out for the
Nasonisoni Pass. If we can get thru there (and it's notoriously rough when
the wind is up) then we will be inside the reef all the way around the south
and west sides of Vanua Levu. It will require care among the coral, but
should be flat water and easy reaching with the prevailing wind nearly on
the beam. Looking forward to a change of scenery, and new challenges.
Ted & Karen
squalls. In the creek in front of the town it's very sheltered from the
wind, but the general conditions in Fiji have been reinforced trade winds,
only about 10 to 15 knots at night but 25 gusting over 30 during the day.
We can't seem to talk ourselves into going sailing it that yet and are still
hoping it will lay down a bit in the next couple of days. But we're ready
to move on around the island to Thawaro, and get started with the project we
hope to do with Jim Bandy at Also Island Ltd. We had a discussion with the
customs and immigration officials today, about where we'll be and what our
plans are, and they reminded us that we are on a visitors visa, not allowed
to work for pay in Fiji. We have hopes of getting me a work permit when we
get to Also Island, but unless we do, I'm strictly volunteer labor. First
we have to get there, so on Sunday or Monday we plan to head out for the
Nasonisoni Pass. If we can get thru there (and it's notoriously rough when
the wind is up) then we will be inside the reef all the way around the south
and west sides of Vanua Levu. It will require care among the coral, but
should be flat water and easy reaching with the prevailing wind nearly on
the beam. Looking forward to a change of scenery, and new challenges.
Ted & Karen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)