Sea Anchor Saga
About that sea anchor; I'd always doubted we'd get into NZ without catching a blow, but we got even more than I'd bargained for. The forecast when we left Noumea had us expecting a day of 25 to 30 knot tailwinds, That was too optimistic. When the wind exceeded forty knots, with gusts over 50, it became too exhausting and unsafe to continue sailing. We were glad I had the sea anchor rigged before we left our port of departure. As usual, it wasn't as ready as hoped; I had it rigged to deploy from port side, but fate put us on a stbd tack when we needed it, so I had to move it to the other side deck, around the headstay, before we launched it. My comment to Karen just before I dunked the chute was "it will be a miracle if this works right". But it did. Careful daisychaining and flaking of the shrouds, rode, bridle and tripline paid off. The rode ran out clean and chute took up with authority.
I did, however, have to repair both sides of the bridle during the next 40 hours. The port side of the bridle somehow managed to pop the snatch block open and jump out. It happened a couple hours after dark. I heard the bridle line snap against the hull, then heard the creak of the line dragging across the stem, so went to look. I decided it wouldn't last like that, so I devised a system to rig another snatch block to a long line, led back to a winch at the cockpit. I then clipped the sheave of the snatch block to the bridle line at the main bow. Next was a crawl out the port float to the tip, so I could feed the winch line through the original bridle snatch block. I got pretty wet, and evidently scared Karen. I'd waked her up to watch, because if I fell off the float, my harness would keep me with the boat, but I might need help to get back on board. No problem, though, and with all in place, we winched the replacement snatch block back out to the float tip. I decided not to trust the double blocked setup, though, so crawled back out to lash the working block to the bow.
The next morning I heard a loud bang, and took a look out the forward window to see the starboard bridle line now across the main stem, and its snatch block spinning around on it 3 meters forward of the boat. The block had worked OK, but the lashing for that side had broken. When I'd rigged it in Vanuatu, I'd used line that was old. Bad mistake. But, at least I knew a method that would work to repair it, and this time could do it in the daylight. I was getting a little low on snatch blocks, as I couldn't retrieve the one that had slid out the bridle line. We needed one to replace that one, and another for the winch line. I figured we wouldn't need the storm jib for a while, so pulled the pair from those sheets. I had to lash one to the stbd float tip, and rig the other to the bridle, then winch it out. All went OK, but maybe I was getting stupid with fatigue, as it took 3 tries to get the backup lashing for that side to hold. Still wasn't very pretty, but it held for the next 20 hours.
We were following the weather forecast by voice on the SSB radio by then, as well as via the onboard email, which was having reliability issues. It turns out that most of the Winlink system seems to have been shut down for a major upgrade, and an enormous eruption of sunspots was suppressing radio signals to the sailmail stations. Still, Dave from s/y Chameleon got word to us that the wind should reduce to 15 knots by the wee hours of Sunday morning, and we'd have about 24 to 30 hours before the next front arrived. That matched what George told us on the Seafarers Net. We got what rest we could, and I woke at 2:00 AM to find the wind well down and sea starting to moderate. There was a half moon, and I thought maybe we could get a jump on the weather window, so we started clearing the boat to get under way. We had reservations about recovering the sea anchor by moonlight, though, and weren't that upset when the moon set before we were ready.
We got another couple hours of sleep, now feeling more secure, and at dawn we proceeded to pick up the parachute. The wind was down enough to pose no problem at all, and the sea , though still running a 3 meter swell was smooth and regular. I started the motor, and had Karen take a compass heading toward the marker floats for the chute. We had set it with no additional line between the trip line and floats, so would have to be right next to the parachute before I could pick up the trip floats. As Karen very slowly motored up, I kept tension on the bridle, and then the main rode. Every time the boat slid into a wave trough, I could pick up a few meters of line, which I stuffed into a deck locker to assure that it wouldn't slip overboard and tangle in the propeller. When we were a couple of boat lengths from the floats, I stopped retrieving line, so the weight of the shroud swivel could drag the rope and unloaded parachute straight down, away from the prop. Picking up the trip floats was as easy as grabbing a mooring with the boathook, and as soon as I had the floats Karen took the motor out of gear. It took 30 seconds to haule the parachute out with the retrieving line, and bring the rest of the rode and shrouds up onto the forward net.
Karen proceeded to get us motoring in the right direction, and set the jib, while I rolled and repacked the parachute, and then spent a half hour daisychaining and re-flaking the rode and bridle. If the next front turned out to be the surprise this one had, we wanted to be ready. But we REALLY didn't want to put it out again. For half the day the wind remained too light to make much way without the motor, but by afternoon it had shifted to a broad reach, and increased to near 20 knots. We were sailing between 6 and 8 knots, with the sea only slowly building and quite smooth. It was a fast, easy, dry ride for a change. We cleared things up as best we could, to make boathandling easy, and had a couple of good meals through the afternoon and evening.
Morning brought the beginnings of the next front, with rain showers and higher gusts of wind. We started seeing the most prominent features of the coast of NZ as we approached the Bay of Islands, but would often lose sight of it entirely in rain squalls. As the wind built up parallel to the shoreline, the sea state deteriorated quickly, and once again the autopilot was working pretty hard. As we approached Ninepin Rock, at the mouth of the bay, Karen took over steering, and after a while I engaged the wind vane to give her some help as the stern slewed around on the wave faces. I made a VHF radio call to NZ Customs to notify of imminent arrival, and told them I'd not be able to answer radio calls until we arrived. We had our hands full, with navigation, visibility problems, and steering. Wind gusts were back up over 40 knots, and we had sail area down to a tiny scrap of jib rolled out, about half the size of the storm staysail. As rounded the entrance markers to the river mouth I started the motor and rolled up the last bit of sail. And then we moved in under the big hill ridge, and all the wind stopped. The water was flat, and we could easily see the mile down to the marina. Just like someone threw a switch, it was over. As we approached the quarantine dock, it started to rain again, a straight down soaking downpour. We were astonished to see our friends Von and Janet waving and yelling from the main pier. They'd been trying for days to coordinate to meet us when we arrived, but between weather and email problems none of us had much hope of that. Persistence and luck prevailed. They'd decided we'd be another day out, and were in the process of leaving when Jan saw Sequester motoring down the channel. We cleared in with the friendly, efficient NZ officials, Von and Jan gave us a hand tying Sequester into a berth, and we all went to the cafe. Ted
Thursday, October 15, 2009
October 2, 2009
Life in Opua
Wow. We’re only been here 5 days and we’re almost completely settled in to life here. For the first time ever we are living at the dock. How amazing to just step off the boat on to dry land. The showers and laundry are a short walk at the end of the dock. We are plugged in to power and I have a new electric kettle for instant hot water. We also have a water spigot right next to the boat. The local dairy sells freshly baked bread and pastries for a delicious early morning treat. And this week we will walk up to the Community Hall for yoga classes on Mondays and Thursdays. We have a couple of phones, internet access right from the boat, and a post box at the dairy. We also bought a car this week; a 1993 Mitsubishi Eterna for just over $2000.
Our very good friends Janet and Von met us here on our arrival and were instrumental in getting us settled in. They drove up from Waiheke Island to greet us and spent a couple of days driving us around. It was fantastic having them share our joy of being home. Sequester was just about out of food, so now the pantry is well stocked. We are spending this rainy, cold Sunday reading the paper, writing on the computer and eating well. Ted got our diesel heater running nicely, so we are warm and dry.
We both agree that this passage was our LAST offshore run. From now on we will sail in the beautiful Bay of Islands and other gorgeous New Zealand locations in settled summer weather. After 18 years we’ve had a good run with lots of wonderful memories, but this offshore stuff is a young person’s game. We’ll be happy to tell sea stories by a roaring fire at the yacht club!!
More news later, as we visit old friends and look for work. Karen
Wow. We’re only been here 5 days and we’re almost completely settled in to life here. For the first time ever we are living at the dock. How amazing to just step off the boat on to dry land. The showers and laundry are a short walk at the end of the dock. We are plugged in to power and I have a new electric kettle for instant hot water. We also have a water spigot right next to the boat. The local dairy sells freshly baked bread and pastries for a delicious early morning treat. And this week we will walk up to the Community Hall for yoga classes on Mondays and Thursdays. We have a couple of phones, internet access right from the boat, and a post box at the dairy. We also bought a car this week; a 1993 Mitsubishi Eterna for just over $2000.
Our very good friends Janet and Von met us here on our arrival and were instrumental in getting us settled in. They drove up from Waiheke Island to greet us and spent a couple of days driving us around. It was fantastic having them share our joy of being home. Sequester was just about out of food, so now the pantry is well stocked. We are spending this rainy, cold Sunday reading the paper, writing on the computer and eating well. Ted got our diesel heater running nicely, so we are warm and dry.
We both agree that this passage was our LAST offshore run. From now on we will sail in the beautiful Bay of Islands and other gorgeous New Zealand locations in settled summer weather. After 18 years we’ve had a good run with lots of wonderful memories, but this offshore stuff is a young person’s game. We’ll be happy to tell sea stories by a roaring fire at the yacht club!!
More news later, as we visit old friends and look for work. Karen
September 30, 2009
Wednesday morning 3am
The subject line here is both the present time, and the title of a great Simon and Garfunkle album from 1966. Couldn't resist using it.
I mentioned in the arrival notice that the morning we got in had been less than perfect. We'd gotten spoiled by the previous few hours, right after we got off the sea anchor. The breeze was very light when we picked the parachute up, which made recovery about as easy as it gets; a welcome break, but not uncommon for wind to go light after a major blow. We had to motorsail to make time for the first few hours but by early afternoon the breeze filled in for a broad reach, and settled at the predicted 20 knots before dark. The sea was fairly flat, and generally from behind us, so we could maintain around 7 knots very comfortably all night and into the early morning. But soon after dawn rain moved in, and wind increased to a gusty 30 knots. We could see the coast between rain squalls, and started navigating carefully. I soon remembered the joys of reading glasses in a cold, wet environment; fogging was an issue with reading charts. As we approached the entrance to the Bay of Islands, the autopilot couldn't steer any more in the big sea, so it was back to having Karen help the windvane steer while I handled sails and navigated. Doug, who sailed into Opua with us in 2001 will have a clear picture of this, as it was much the same, peering thru the fog and rain to catch a glimpse of Ninepin Rock.
As we approached the turn into the river near Russell, I called Customs and Immigration on the radio to notify of imminent arrival, adding that I'd be unable to answer any further radio calls as we had our hands full running the boat in the storm. No problem they said. We surfed down to the navigation markers at the river entrance with a tiny scrap of jib out, maybe 60 square feet of area giving us 7 knots boat speed. We made the turn into the river entrance with a jibe, and I got the motor started incase we had to maneuver for traffic. Then we passed into the lee of the hills, and the wind dropped to about 10 knots, with flat water. It was effectively over. We motored down the last mile, set up lines and fenders, and eased onto the quarantine dock. One email asked if we kissed the ground; no, if we'd gotten down there, we'd have been unable to get back up. We were tired.
On the way to the dock we saw our friends Janet and Von waving from the main pier. The custom and MAF officers made quick work of checking in, and I launched the dinghy. I rowed over to arrange with the dockmaster to get us into a marina slip, and to have Jan and Von meet us at the slip to catch dock lines. The rain bands and gusty winds resumed, but without the fury they'd had out in the open sea, so we got a little wet tying up. We made a quick clothing change, and all staggered up to the cafe at the marina for hot food.
Having the luxury of friends to drive us around for a couple days has made it enormously easier to get some control of our lives again. We made a major shopping trip to nearby Kerikeri, stocked up on food, bought cell phones, and got a wireless broadband internet account with Vodafone. I got some electrical fittings, and by last night we were plugged in to the marina power grid. We can use the computer, heat water in Karen's new electric kettle, charge the boat batteries, and never have to worry about solar panels, generators etc. Now we'll be wanting to find a heater. It's 12 degrees C ( about 55 degrees Farenheit) inside the boat, with intermittent rain. We spent some time on the internet shopping with Turner Auctions for cars available at their Whangerai location, about an hour's drive south of here. I see a couple of possibles, and Von says we can drive down there for a look, so that's the big plan for the coming day. I'll catch another little cat nap now, before we start the rat race again. Thanks to all for your emails. We'll catch up on individual letters soon. Ted
The subject line here is both the present time, and the title of a great Simon and Garfunkle album from 1966. Couldn't resist using it.
I mentioned in the arrival notice that the morning we got in had been less than perfect. We'd gotten spoiled by the previous few hours, right after we got off the sea anchor. The breeze was very light when we picked the parachute up, which made recovery about as easy as it gets; a welcome break, but not uncommon for wind to go light after a major blow. We had to motorsail to make time for the first few hours but by early afternoon the breeze filled in for a broad reach, and settled at the predicted 20 knots before dark. The sea was fairly flat, and generally from behind us, so we could maintain around 7 knots very comfortably all night and into the early morning. But soon after dawn rain moved in, and wind increased to a gusty 30 knots. We could see the coast between rain squalls, and started navigating carefully. I soon remembered the joys of reading glasses in a cold, wet environment; fogging was an issue with reading charts. As we approached the entrance to the Bay of Islands, the autopilot couldn't steer any more in the big sea, so it was back to having Karen help the windvane steer while I handled sails and navigated. Doug, who sailed into Opua with us in 2001 will have a clear picture of this, as it was much the same, peering thru the fog and rain to catch a glimpse of Ninepin Rock.
As we approached the turn into the river near Russell, I called Customs and Immigration on the radio to notify of imminent arrival, adding that I'd be unable to answer any further radio calls as we had our hands full running the boat in the storm. No problem they said. We surfed down to the navigation markers at the river entrance with a tiny scrap of jib out, maybe 60 square feet of area giving us 7 knots boat speed. We made the turn into the river entrance with a jibe, and I got the motor started incase we had to maneuver for traffic. Then we passed into the lee of the hills, and the wind dropped to about 10 knots, with flat water. It was effectively over. We motored down the last mile, set up lines and fenders, and eased onto the quarantine dock. One email asked if we kissed the ground; no, if we'd gotten down there, we'd have been unable to get back up. We were tired.
On the way to the dock we saw our friends Janet and Von waving from the main pier. The custom and MAF officers made quick work of checking in, and I launched the dinghy. I rowed over to arrange with the dockmaster to get us into a marina slip, and to have Jan and Von meet us at the slip to catch dock lines. The rain bands and gusty winds resumed, but without the fury they'd had out in the open sea, so we got a little wet tying up. We made a quick clothing change, and all staggered up to the cafe at the marina for hot food.
Having the luxury of friends to drive us around for a couple days has made it enormously easier to get some control of our lives again. We made a major shopping trip to nearby Kerikeri, stocked up on food, bought cell phones, and got a wireless broadband internet account with Vodafone. I got some electrical fittings, and by last night we were plugged in to the marina power grid. We can use the computer, heat water in Karen's new electric kettle, charge the boat batteries, and never have to worry about solar panels, generators etc. Now we'll be wanting to find a heater. It's 12 degrees C ( about 55 degrees Farenheit) inside the boat, with intermittent rain. We spent some time on the internet shopping with Turner Auctions for cars available at their Whangerai location, about an hour's drive south of here. I see a couple of possibles, and Von says we can drive down there for a look, so that's the big plan for the coming day. I'll catch another little cat nap now, before we start the rat race again. Thanks to all for your emails. We'll catch up on individual letters soon. Ted
September 28, 2009
Sequester Arrived
All sailmail and winlink systems have gone down, so had to wait to get to internet to notify of safe arrival. Had a good night's sail, horrendous morning. All OK now. More soon. Ted
All sailmail and winlink systems have gone down, so had to wait to get to internet to notify of safe arrival. Had a good night's sail, horrendous morning. All OK now. More soon. Ted
September 27, 2009
Moving Again
Wind & sea laid down by 2:00 AM, but moon went down before we could pick up sea anchor. Slept til dawn, 06:30, recovered chute no drama. Wind now SW 10 kts, motorsailing to keep above 6 kts boatspeed. Posn 32 02 S, 172 52 E, 140 miles to BOI, expect arrival mid-morning Monday (tomorrow).
Wind & sea laid down by 2:00 AM, but moon went down before we could pick up sea anchor. Slept til dawn, 06:30, recovered chute no drama. Wind now SW 10 kts, motorsailing to keep above 6 kts boatspeed. Posn 32 02 S, 172 52 E, 140 miles to BOI, expect arrival mid-morning Monday (tomorrow).
September 26, 2009
Sequester Still Okay
Trouble with email modem & sunspots. Check Pacific Seafarers YOTREPS for daily posn and cond updates. Storm moderating, hope to head S tomorrow early. Pls return only critical email next 3 days. T
Trouble with email modem & sunspots. Check Pacific Seafarers YOTREPS for daily posn and cond updates. Storm moderating, hope to head S tomorrow early. Pls return only critical email next 3 days. T
September 25, 2009
Lost That Race
Last night wasn't as bad as I expected, though when the trough arrived it kicked us pretty hard and rained for a couple hours. Unfortunately conditions continued to deteriorate all day. Mid afternoon we were getting seas to 5 meters, wind gusting to 50 knots. The storm jib worked well, but we couldn't steer any more, nor could the autopilot or wind vane. Wave shapes and size are just too bad, so we are now on the sea anchor. This is the first time in 5 uses of the sea anchor that we ever had a wave come on deck, but we've had 2 wash right over the boat this afternoon. Forecast seems to suggest this goes on for more than 24 hours, then we get a 24 hour break, then another front arrives, so when we leave it will be as fast as possible to Bay of Islands. We have about 150 miles to get in. May get hit with the next front as we enter NZ. Sure would like to get a break! Ted
Last night wasn't as bad as I expected, though when the trough arrived it kicked us pretty hard and rained for a couple hours. Unfortunately conditions continued to deteriorate all day. Mid afternoon we were getting seas to 5 meters, wind gusting to 50 knots. The storm jib worked well, but we couldn't steer any more, nor could the autopilot or wind vane. Wave shapes and size are just too bad, so we are now on the sea anchor. This is the first time in 5 uses of the sea anchor that we ever had a wave come on deck, but we've had 2 wash right over the boat this afternoon. Forecast seems to suggest this goes on for more than 24 hours, then we get a 24 hour break, then another front arrives, so when we leave it will be as fast as possible to Bay of Islands. We have about 150 miles to get in. May get hit with the next front as we enter NZ. Sure would like to get a break! Ted
September 24, 2009
Thursday Racing South
Wind strong and building from NW, with the barometer dropping fast, and a giant cloud bank filling from the west. Must be a big trough coming in. We're trying to get south of North Cape, NZ within about 30 hours, to stay ahead of a squash zone that will produce 30 plus knots wind. Going pretty fast, almost 7 knots, but may not make it, so I got the storm jib out and put it in a handy place. Looks as if tonight will be very dark and wet, to go along with the cold. I can hardly believe the autopilot is managing to keep us roughly on course. It's working pretty hard, in big confused waves. The fun part is scarce this afternoon, but if we can keep her moving this way, we could be in late Saturday or early Sunday. We're ready. 31 deg 11 min S, 171 deg 01 min E Ted
Wind strong and building from NW, with the barometer dropping fast, and a giant cloud bank filling from the west. Must be a big trough coming in. We're trying to get south of North Cape, NZ within about 30 hours, to stay ahead of a squash zone that will produce 30 plus knots wind. Going pretty fast, almost 7 knots, but may not make it, so I got the storm jib out and put it in a handy place. Looks as if tonight will be very dark and wet, to go along with the cold. I can hardly believe the autopilot is managing to keep us roughly on course. It's working pretty hard, in big confused waves. The fun part is scarce this afternoon, but if we can keep her moving this way, we could be in late Saturday or early Sunday. We're ready. 31 deg 11 min S, 171 deg 01 min E Ted
September 23, 2009
Wednesday’s Run
The wind stayed away almost all night, but as the eastern sky went from black to gray, a breeze brushed the water. By 7:00 AM the spinnaker was drawing, set to pull directly downwind. The forecast was for 10 knots, NW, and here it was. By 10:30 there were whitecaps, and the sea was piling up a little. I've gotten into enough trouble with a spinnaker in too much wind to be easily scared, and fearing the wind would continue to increase, we struck the big sail again. We'd been running at better than 6 knots for a couple of hours, and the drop to 5 with the jib and main out felt slow, as the wind never increased, but putting the "chute" up is work, and would probably make the wind increase again, so we opted for patience. The wind increase has been slow, but steady, and it's nearly 15 knots now, with a big enough sea built up that we surf a little as each wave passes. Expect the rise to continue, until by tomorrow we'll have a bit more than we really want, but no indication of even a near gale. And for 2 days it should be right behind us, so we'll be making time. Looks like a real possibility that we could make the Bay of Islands by Saturday. That would be good, as Sunday the wind should clock forward of the beam, harder sailing for working in and up the bay. For now, it's all hiss and gurgle, and miles sliding under the keel. 29 deg 13 min S, 169 deg 44 min E Ted
The wind stayed away almost all night, but as the eastern sky went from black to gray, a breeze brushed the water. By 7:00 AM the spinnaker was drawing, set to pull directly downwind. The forecast was for 10 knots, NW, and here it was. By 10:30 there were whitecaps, and the sea was piling up a little. I've gotten into enough trouble with a spinnaker in too much wind to be easily scared, and fearing the wind would continue to increase, we struck the big sail again. We'd been running at better than 6 knots for a couple of hours, and the drop to 5 with the jib and main out felt slow, as the wind never increased, but putting the "chute" up is work, and would probably make the wind increase again, so we opted for patience. The wind increase has been slow, but steady, and it's nearly 15 knots now, with a big enough sea built up that we surf a little as each wave passes. Expect the rise to continue, until by tomorrow we'll have a bit more than we really want, but no indication of even a near gale. And for 2 days it should be right behind us, so we'll be making time. Looks like a real possibility that we could make the Bay of Islands by Saturday. That would be good, as Sunday the wind should clock forward of the beam, harder sailing for working in and up the bay. For now, it's all hiss and gurgle, and miles sliding under the keel. 29 deg 13 min S, 169 deg 44 min E Ted
September 22, 2009
Tuesday’s Sail South
To the east, south and north the ocean is dark blue, stippled with the light blue reflection of the sky. There's a breeze of about 3 knots, about what you feel on your face when you walk fast, and the breeze ruffles the surface so that the backs of wavelets show the dark ocean, and between the peaks the sky reflects. Turning west I see a quick progression from copper to bronze to gold, then to a sparkling path of brilliance that repels the eyes from the low angled rays of the sun. The whole surface slowly, gently undulates with a low, heaving swell, tired remainders of waves generated far away, where there's enough wind to push the water up in piles.
The weather forecast for where we're headed predicts that two days from now we'll be watching the sea pile up and crash over, while the wind behind us powers us south, Sequester slicing through the roiling sea. But for now, to make our date with that wind, the outboard motor rumbles, the hulls whisper across the surface. We sailed most of the day, an hour or so with the spinnaker, until a passing squall made us strike it, and got us wet. The wind behind the squall clocked too far forward for the big nylon sail, but had enough authority to keep our pace with mainsail and jib until late afternoon. Generally, a good day, an easy day. We'd like that 10 knot breeze to show up again, so we don't have to hear the motor all night. but as the Rolling Stones sang, you can't always get what you want. But, if you try, sometimes you just might find, you get what you need. Looks OK for now. 27 deg 42 min S, 168 deg 52 min E Ted
To the east, south and north the ocean is dark blue, stippled with the light blue reflection of the sky. There's a breeze of about 3 knots, about what you feel on your face when you walk fast, and the breeze ruffles the surface so that the backs of wavelets show the dark ocean, and between the peaks the sky reflects. Turning west I see a quick progression from copper to bronze to gold, then to a sparkling path of brilliance that repels the eyes from the low angled rays of the sun. The whole surface slowly, gently undulates with a low, heaving swell, tired remainders of waves generated far away, where there's enough wind to push the water up in piles.
The weather forecast for where we're headed predicts that two days from now we'll be watching the sea pile up and crash over, while the wind behind us powers us south, Sequester slicing through the roiling sea. But for now, to make our date with that wind, the outboard motor rumbles, the hulls whisper across the surface. We sailed most of the day, an hour or so with the spinnaker, until a passing squall made us strike it, and got us wet. The wind behind the squall clocked too far forward for the big nylon sail, but had enough authority to keep our pace with mainsail and jib until late afternoon. Generally, a good day, an easy day. We'd like that 10 knot breeze to show up again, so we don't have to hear the motor all night. but as the Rolling Stones sang, you can't always get what you want. But, if you try, sometimes you just might find, you get what you need. Looks OK for now. 27 deg 42 min S, 168 deg 52 min E Ted
September 21, 2009
Monday’s Sail Southbound
It wasn't long after the last message was sent that we started helping the sails out with a bit of motor, and then in a couple of hours put the sails away entirely. For almost 12 hours we used the motor to keep our speed above 4 knots. The main reason for keeping it moving is that in 3 more days, a low pressure system will cross longitude 170E, and if we're down to 30 degrees south that will put us in a strong but favorable wind flow for the rest of the way to NZ. We were about 400 miles north of 30S at that time, so needed to make over 100 miles a day to catch the ride. By midnight the wind was back enough to use some sail with the motor, and by 8:00 AM it was in the west, good enough to fly the spinnaker. By 8:30 the big red & black sail was pulling us along at 5 knots, and the motor got a rest.
At about 10:30 we got a surprise, as what appeared to be a large business jet dropped out of the sky to an altitude of a couple hundred meters, and flew by our east side northbound at a couple hundred miles an hour, then climbed back out of sight. We haven't a clue who that was.
A bit after noon the wind had come around to SW, on the beam, and the spinnaker wouldn't fly right any more. So we've spent the afternoon back under mainsail and jib, making about 4.5 knots in a very moderate sea. Forecast continues to look good. I'm calling in to the Pacific Seafarers Net, so our position should be posted on their "Yotreps" page on the internet. Thanks for the short emails, glad you seem to be enjoying the reports, though they're pretty bland right now. We'll take bland over heavy weather! Ted
It wasn't long after the last message was sent that we started helping the sails out with a bit of motor, and then in a couple of hours put the sails away entirely. For almost 12 hours we used the motor to keep our speed above 4 knots. The main reason for keeping it moving is that in 3 more days, a low pressure system will cross longitude 170E, and if we're down to 30 degrees south that will put us in a strong but favorable wind flow for the rest of the way to NZ. We were about 400 miles north of 30S at that time, so needed to make over 100 miles a day to catch the ride. By midnight the wind was back enough to use some sail with the motor, and by 8:00 AM it was in the west, good enough to fly the spinnaker. By 8:30 the big red & black sail was pulling us along at 5 knots, and the motor got a rest.
At about 10:30 we got a surprise, as what appeared to be a large business jet dropped out of the sky to an altitude of a couple hundred meters, and flew by our east side northbound at a couple hundred miles an hour, then climbed back out of sight. We haven't a clue who that was.
A bit after noon the wind had come around to SW, on the beam, and the spinnaker wouldn't fly right any more. So we've spent the afternoon back under mainsail and jib, making about 4.5 knots in a very moderate sea. Forecast continues to look good. I'm calling in to the Pacific Seafarers Net, so our position should be posted on their "Yotreps" page on the internet. Thanks for the short emails, glad you seem to be enjoying the reports, though they're pretty bland right now. We'll take bland over heavy weather! Ted
September 20, 2009
Sunday Southbound
By late morning yesterday we passed thru the ship channel and left the lagoon of New Caledonia behind. The wind has been slow in backing to the East, so we have spent the first 24 hours going upwind. It was a bit gusty, averaging 15 knots; enough to kick up steep waves about two meters high, which had us bucking, and the autopilot working a bit to keep us straight. Which I'm sure is what brought out the weakness of the circuit breaker that fed the autopilot power. About mid afternoon, the pilot started kicking itself into "standby"mode. So I set up the wind steering vane, and went to work checking out all the connections on the circuit until I found the bad breaker. By the time I had it repaired, I could see that the wind vane was steering better in those conditions than the autopilot did, so after a test run, I put the vane back in charge. It did a great job until well after midnight, when the wind came down below 10 knots, and backed toward the East as predicted. By this morning we were cruising over a smooth, gentle sea, with all the sail set, and no longer able to keep speed above 5 knots. Still, we're going in the right direction, now tracking to pass East of Norfolk on a direct course for Opua. Hope the wind lets us stay on the rhumb line course. As of noon NZ time, Sunday, we are at 24 deg 12 min S, 166 deg 44 min E, steering a course 150 degrees, but going slower by the hour. May end up having to motor a while before this is over. Ted
By late morning yesterday we passed thru the ship channel and left the lagoon of New Caledonia behind. The wind has been slow in backing to the East, so we have spent the first 24 hours going upwind. It was a bit gusty, averaging 15 knots; enough to kick up steep waves about two meters high, which had us bucking, and the autopilot working a bit to keep us straight. Which I'm sure is what brought out the weakness of the circuit breaker that fed the autopilot power. About mid afternoon, the pilot started kicking itself into "standby"mode. So I set up the wind steering vane, and went to work checking out all the connections on the circuit until I found the bad breaker. By the time I had it repaired, I could see that the wind vane was steering better in those conditions than the autopilot did, so after a test run, I put the vane back in charge. It did a great job until well after midnight, when the wind came down below 10 knots, and backed toward the East as predicted. By this morning we were cruising over a smooth, gentle sea, with all the sail set, and no longer able to keep speed above 5 knots. Still, we're going in the right direction, now tracking to pass East of Norfolk on a direct course for Opua. Hope the wind lets us stay on the rhumb line course. As of noon NZ time, Sunday, we are at 24 deg 12 min S, 166 deg 44 min E, steering a course 150 degrees, but going slower by the hour. May end up having to motor a while before this is over. Ted
September 19, 2009
Bound for Opua
At 9:00 this morning, Saturday Sept 19 we picked up the anchor from Port Morelle in Noumea, New Caladonia, and are now on our way to Opua, NZ. The breeze is as predicted, East at about 10 knots, so we're reaching across the big lagoon at a bit over 5 knots boat speed, on nearly flat water. It will take a couple of hours to reach the reef pass out to the ocean. The distance to Opua is a bit over 900 miles. Norfolk Island is on the direct course, at about the halfway point, but we don't intend to stop there. There is no secure anchorage there, so visiting boats must leave at least one capable crew on board all the time, in case conditions require re-anchoring. The island does, however, offer a place to hide in the lee if we should have to wait out a turn of bad weather. The present prediction is for a light air passage to the vicinity of Norfolk, and then a building wind and sea for the next 3 or 4 days into NZ. It may get up to 30 knots, but the direction is expected to be a bit behind the beam so we can make good time with very little sail set. Just might be uncomfortable. We shall see. More to come....Ted
At 9:00 this morning, Saturday Sept 19 we picked up the anchor from Port Morelle in Noumea, New Caladonia, and are now on our way to Opua, NZ. The breeze is as predicted, East at about 10 knots, so we're reaching across the big lagoon at a bit over 5 knots boat speed, on nearly flat water. It will take a couple of hours to reach the reef pass out to the ocean. The distance to Opua is a bit over 900 miles. Norfolk Island is on the direct course, at about the halfway point, but we don't intend to stop there. There is no secure anchorage there, so visiting boats must leave at least one capable crew on board all the time, in case conditions require re-anchoring. The island does, however, offer a place to hide in the lee if we should have to wait out a turn of bad weather. The present prediction is for a light air passage to the vicinity of Norfolk, and then a building wind and sea for the next 3 or 4 days into NZ. It may get up to 30 knots, but the direction is expected to be a bit behind the beam so we can make good time with very little sail set. Just might be uncomfortable. We shall see. More to come....Ted
September 16, 2009
Countdown to Departure
Since arriving in New Caledonia we have continued to watch the weather patterns along the route to NZ. The time pressure to get back to work is building, so we aren't inclined to wait too long. And, the weather patterns this year continue to be a little unusual, so we don't want to pass up a favorable opportunity when it may not be repeated any time soon. Despite the irrefutable beauty of New Caladonia, we do have some difficulty getting things done with no functional French vocabulary, and this is not an inexpensive place to linger. So, we're ready to move on.
The projections for the week starting from Saturday look generally propitious. Wind strength about 3 days out is expected to be light to non-existent, but directions look excellent, and the probability of too much wind looks pretty low. So, if we spend a day or two motor-sailing, and the trip takes a couple extra days, we have no complaints. All considered, we intend to do our clearance documents tomorrow (Thursday) and depart at first light Saturday. It's a little early, historically, to be going into NZ, so it will likely be cooler than ideal, but with the odd weather patterns, it may stay warmer. Barring new and unfavorable information, we expect to sail south this weekend. We'll keep you informed. Ted
Since arriving in New Caledonia we have continued to watch the weather patterns along the route to NZ. The time pressure to get back to work is building, so we aren't inclined to wait too long. And, the weather patterns this year continue to be a little unusual, so we don't want to pass up a favorable opportunity when it may not be repeated any time soon. Despite the irrefutable beauty of New Caladonia, we do have some difficulty getting things done with no functional French vocabulary, and this is not an inexpensive place to linger. So, we're ready to move on.
The projections for the week starting from Saturday look generally propitious. Wind strength about 3 days out is expected to be light to non-existent, but directions look excellent, and the probability of too much wind looks pretty low. So, if we spend a day or two motor-sailing, and the trip takes a couple extra days, we have no complaints. All considered, we intend to do our clearance documents tomorrow (Thursday) and depart at first light Saturday. It's a little early, historically, to be going into NZ, so it will likely be cooler than ideal, but with the odd weather patterns, it may stay warmer. Barring new and unfavorable information, we expect to sail south this weekend. We'll keep you informed. Ted
September 9, 2009
First Day in Noumea
Yesterday we left Port Boise at around 8:00 AM, with a breeze building from the ENE. That was quite a nice direction for the sail around the southern end of New Caledonia, and into Noumea. We kept about half the jib out, and that was enough to give us a boat speed near 6 knots, except in the confines of the Canal Wooden. It's almost 40 miles around the end of the island, so at around 2:00 PM we were approaching Port Moselle. The wind had continued to increase, and by the time we made the turn to enter the harbor, it was blowing 30 knots. Fortunately we were close enough to shore that no big waves could develop, but we needed to go nearly directly upwind for about a mile to reach the anchorage. The 9.9 horsepower Suzuki outboard was just a bit beyond it's limit with that task, so we had to set the staysail, and tack up the harbor motorsailing, with the engine running full bore. Fortunately, having studied the charts for depth, and seeing where the hills afforded some wind shelter, we found good anchor holding on the first attempt, and before 3:00 PM we were well set, and soon had the dinghy in the water. We set a second anchor, to be sure, and had a visit from our friend Graham, who had followed us into the harbor with his yacht, Nutcase. Graham pointed out that it was too late to get to Customs and Immigration before they closed, so we cleaned things up, had dinner, and made it to bed early. This morning Graham guided us to the offices where we all cleared into the country. The process was all very smooth, the officials friendly, and tolerant of our inability to speak French. Much nicer than we experienced when we arrived in French Polynesia in 2001.
The process took all morning, so we were ready to sample the local cuisine (very nice, crisp pizza), and went in search of internet access. There is free wi-fi at the McDonalds, but the place was filled to overflowing, and even when we did get a table and order a snack, we couldn't figure out how to get the password entered. Nobody could give us a clue, as nobody there spoke English. So, it was Plan B; the market. We'd been warned that things were expensive here, and they are compared to some places. But relative to where we've been lately it's not that bad, and they have some products not found in less wealthy countries. We didn't need a lot, but did, of course, buy a couple of baguettes. One MUST, in a French country. They should be eaten either outside, or with a towel on the floor, because each bite produces a shower of crusty flakes. Wow, are they GOOD.
I mention that this is not one of the poor Pacific Island groups. They mine nickel and a few other heavy metals here, as a unique geological event has left the sands near the surface of the hills rich in these valuable commodities. Some hills are pocked with deep, erosion washed gouges, the dark orange/red color of Georgia clay, where the mining companies have extracted ore sand. A local man tells us that it's difficult to regrow vegetation where they have mined, because the metals dissolved in the moisture from the soil poison almost all plants. However, there are exceptions, plants that have evolved tolerance to the metals. The king of these varieties he says is an indigenous pine which simply deposits the nickel within the wood. The nickel can be as much as 20% of the dry weight of the tree. That seems pretty much astonishing to the biologist in me. Once again, a life form sidesteps the rules! There seems to be an active effort to retain the many species of plants and animals indigenous to these islands, so we're looking forward to having a look at the forests and reefs while we're here.
We got a tip on where to find a laundry, and an internet cafe, so we have a couple of items on the "to do" list for tomorrow. But we'll also start walking around the city, having a closer look at the art, the Melanesian carvings, and the monuments we noticed as we passed well kept, shady parks around town. Some of the affluence here is clearly being used to project some class. Ted
Yesterday we left Port Boise at around 8:00 AM, with a breeze building from the ENE. That was quite a nice direction for the sail around the southern end of New Caledonia, and into Noumea. We kept about half the jib out, and that was enough to give us a boat speed near 6 knots, except in the confines of the Canal Wooden. It's almost 40 miles around the end of the island, so at around 2:00 PM we were approaching Port Moselle. The wind had continued to increase, and by the time we made the turn to enter the harbor, it was blowing 30 knots. Fortunately we were close enough to shore that no big waves could develop, but we needed to go nearly directly upwind for about a mile to reach the anchorage. The 9.9 horsepower Suzuki outboard was just a bit beyond it's limit with that task, so we had to set the staysail, and tack up the harbor motorsailing, with the engine running full bore. Fortunately, having studied the charts for depth, and seeing where the hills afforded some wind shelter, we found good anchor holding on the first attempt, and before 3:00 PM we were well set, and soon had the dinghy in the water. We set a second anchor, to be sure, and had a visit from our friend Graham, who had followed us into the harbor with his yacht, Nutcase. Graham pointed out that it was too late to get to Customs and Immigration before they closed, so we cleaned things up, had dinner, and made it to bed early. This morning Graham guided us to the offices where we all cleared into the country. The process was all very smooth, the officials friendly, and tolerant of our inability to speak French. Much nicer than we experienced when we arrived in French Polynesia in 2001.
The process took all morning, so we were ready to sample the local cuisine (very nice, crisp pizza), and went in search of internet access. There is free wi-fi at the McDonalds, but the place was filled to overflowing, and even when we did get a table and order a snack, we couldn't figure out how to get the password entered. Nobody could give us a clue, as nobody there spoke English. So, it was Plan B; the market. We'd been warned that things were expensive here, and they are compared to some places. But relative to where we've been lately it's not that bad, and they have some products not found in less wealthy countries. We didn't need a lot, but did, of course, buy a couple of baguettes. One MUST, in a French country. They should be eaten either outside, or with a towel on the floor, because each bite produces a shower of crusty flakes. Wow, are they GOOD.
I mention that this is not one of the poor Pacific Island groups. They mine nickel and a few other heavy metals here, as a unique geological event has left the sands near the surface of the hills rich in these valuable commodities. Some hills are pocked with deep, erosion washed gouges, the dark orange/red color of Georgia clay, where the mining companies have extracted ore sand. A local man tells us that it's difficult to regrow vegetation where they have mined, because the metals dissolved in the moisture from the soil poison almost all plants. However, there are exceptions, plants that have evolved tolerance to the metals. The king of these varieties he says is an indigenous pine which simply deposits the nickel within the wood. The nickel can be as much as 20% of the dry weight of the tree. That seems pretty much astonishing to the biologist in me. Once again, a life form sidesteps the rules! There seems to be an active effort to retain the many species of plants and animals indigenous to these islands, so we're looking forward to having a look at the forests and reefs while we're here.
We got a tip on where to find a laundry, and an internet cafe, so we have a couple of items on the "to do" list for tomorrow. But we'll also start walking around the city, having a closer look at the art, the Melanesian carvings, and the monuments we noticed as we passed well kept, shady parks around town. Some of the affluence here is clearly being used to project some class. Ted
September 7, 2009
Anchor Down in New Caledonia
Yesterday after I got my last email sent, we evaluated things and were leaning toward slowing down so we would arrive at Havannah Pass for a Tuesday entrance. But then the wind eased enough to allow the sea to settle into long, smooth rollers. There was plenty of power still in the breeze, and it backed just enough to let us put on a little bit of jib and get the boat moving. We decided to push a bit and see if we could get in on Monday. We started averaging better than 6 knots, with the accompanying hiss and splatter of passing water, and the occasional boat shuddering crash as we passed through an out of sequence wave.
In the afternoon we passed through several clusters of sailboats racing from New Cal to Port Vila. They had the wind behind the beam, and were flying all plain sail. All unoccupied crew perched along the weather side rail, to help make the boats stand up to the wind. These were fairly high dollar, high tech vessels, and they were making pretty good time, paying for it with a pretty low comfort factor. They were wearing mighty nice wet weather suits, too. I saw the last of the fleet pass northbound just as the sun set.
With all that boat traffic as a reminder, we kept a good watch all night, but the sailing was relatively easy compared to the first day, and the wind continued to back until we were on a beam reach by midnight. The moon lit up the sea nicely, and the visibility was a comfort at 1:00 AM as we passed within 2 miles of Lifou Island lighthouse, 80 miles north of Havannah Pass.
With the dawn came showers of misty rain, with very light, shifty wind while it rained. But the showers were of short duration, and between them the wind filled in strong from the east, pushing up a big but fairly smooth sea. We were pleasantly surprised to be able to average almost 8 knots all morning, arriving at the pass entrance just before noon. It's a good thing that our friend Teddy from the boat Alice Colleen had warned us about the state of the water in the pass if the tidal current was against the wind. Even forewarned, it was hard to make ourselves sail into the seething, heaving pass. We were surprised at how far into the channel the big breaking waves persisted. Karen steered, surfing town the wave faces for a half hour while I ran around looking for markers through the rain, and plotted our position every few minutes, since we couldn't actually hold a course more than just a general direction.
By the time we cleared the rough water, it was clear that we couldn't even get close to making it around the end of the island to Noumea before dark. A friend who comes here regularly had told us about a conveniently placed small harbor where we could make a stop for the night, and though there was some anxiety when the channel markers weren't where our chart showed them, we did find it, and by a bit after 3:00 PM were anchored. We had spent a day in Port Vila removing, restitching, and refastening the forward nets on Sequester, but age and the extraordinary workout of this passage has done for the port side. The explosive force of hitting the big, irregular waves tore the net fabric along most of the outer side. I'll have to decide what to do about that while we're here, before we leave for NZ. But the project for tomorrow is just to get around the island to Noumea and get cleared in. Should be a fairly easy day, which is just as well. Ted
Yesterday after I got my last email sent, we evaluated things and were leaning toward slowing down so we would arrive at Havannah Pass for a Tuesday entrance. But then the wind eased enough to allow the sea to settle into long, smooth rollers. There was plenty of power still in the breeze, and it backed just enough to let us put on a little bit of jib and get the boat moving. We decided to push a bit and see if we could get in on Monday. We started averaging better than 6 knots, with the accompanying hiss and splatter of passing water, and the occasional boat shuddering crash as we passed through an out of sequence wave.
In the afternoon we passed through several clusters of sailboats racing from New Cal to Port Vila. They had the wind behind the beam, and were flying all plain sail. All unoccupied crew perched along the weather side rail, to help make the boats stand up to the wind. These were fairly high dollar, high tech vessels, and they were making pretty good time, paying for it with a pretty low comfort factor. They were wearing mighty nice wet weather suits, too. I saw the last of the fleet pass northbound just as the sun set.
With all that boat traffic as a reminder, we kept a good watch all night, but the sailing was relatively easy compared to the first day, and the wind continued to back until we were on a beam reach by midnight. The moon lit up the sea nicely, and the visibility was a comfort at 1:00 AM as we passed within 2 miles of Lifou Island lighthouse, 80 miles north of Havannah Pass.
With the dawn came showers of misty rain, with very light, shifty wind while it rained. But the showers were of short duration, and between them the wind filled in strong from the east, pushing up a big but fairly smooth sea. We were pleasantly surprised to be able to average almost 8 knots all morning, arriving at the pass entrance just before noon. It's a good thing that our friend Teddy from the boat Alice Colleen had warned us about the state of the water in the pass if the tidal current was against the wind. Even forewarned, it was hard to make ourselves sail into the seething, heaving pass. We were surprised at how far into the channel the big breaking waves persisted. Karen steered, surfing town the wave faces for a half hour while I ran around looking for markers through the rain, and plotted our position every few minutes, since we couldn't actually hold a course more than just a general direction.
By the time we cleared the rough water, it was clear that we couldn't even get close to making it around the end of the island to Noumea before dark. A friend who comes here regularly had told us about a conveniently placed small harbor where we could make a stop for the night, and though there was some anxiety when the channel markers weren't where our chart showed them, we did find it, and by a bit after 3:00 PM were anchored. We had spent a day in Port Vila removing, restitching, and refastening the forward nets on Sequester, but age and the extraordinary workout of this passage has done for the port side. The explosive force of hitting the big, irregular waves tore the net fabric along most of the outer side. I'll have to decide what to do about that while we're here, before we leave for NZ. But the project for tomorrow is just to get around the island to Noumea and get cleared in. Should be a fairly easy day, which is just as well. Ted
September 5, 2009
Bound for Noumea
At 07:00 Saturday morning, Sept 5, we dropped the mooring line in Port Vila to sail for New Caledonia. We'd been watching the weather prognosis, and could see a low pressure system south of us, moving east, which would turn the wind from southeast to nearly east in the next few days. The wind Friday was very strong, up to 30 knots, but was expected to drop off by Saturday, so we cleared customs for departure. The sailing yesterday made it clear that we'd been a day premature. For the 3rd time in 18 years, I took a seasick pill. We had to sail as close to the wind as possible, with very little sail up, because the wind direction was still SE, and gusts were still over 20 knots. The sea was still very short, steep, big and confused, so in any case we had to keep boatspeed down to around 4 knots to keep from stuffing the bows under the waves. It was pretty wet, and doing anything at all was hard work. Between gusts, the wind would drop to about 15 knots and back around toward the east, so the sail area was never just right, the trim was always wrong, and the poor autopilot just couldn't get it quite right. We trimmed and corrected all day. Fortunately the wind eased a little, and the sea smoothed off a bit as night approached, so things got a little easier. With the moon only a few days after full, and the cloud cover lightening up, we could see enough to run the boat fairly well, and we held course until this morning. The wind continues to slowly back, so we can go a little faster, with a bit more jib out. We need to do as many miles as possible today, so we arrive at the entrance to the Havanna Channel with enough daylight left to enter and find a safe place to anchor. The wind seems to be following the forecast, still gusty but easing and ever so slowly backing, so if we're careful we should be inside the reef at New Caledonia before dark tomorrow. The fact that I can type is a good sign. Now we'll see if I can connect a winlink station to send this. More later.....Ted
At 07:00 Saturday morning, Sept 5, we dropped the mooring line in Port Vila to sail for New Caledonia. We'd been watching the weather prognosis, and could see a low pressure system south of us, moving east, which would turn the wind from southeast to nearly east in the next few days. The wind Friday was very strong, up to 30 knots, but was expected to drop off by Saturday, so we cleared customs for departure. The sailing yesterday made it clear that we'd been a day premature. For the 3rd time in 18 years, I took a seasick pill. We had to sail as close to the wind as possible, with very little sail up, because the wind direction was still SE, and gusts were still over 20 knots. The sea was still very short, steep, big and confused, so in any case we had to keep boatspeed down to around 4 knots to keep from stuffing the bows under the waves. It was pretty wet, and doing anything at all was hard work. Between gusts, the wind would drop to about 15 knots and back around toward the east, so the sail area was never just right, the trim was always wrong, and the poor autopilot just couldn't get it quite right. We trimmed and corrected all day. Fortunately the wind eased a little, and the sea smoothed off a bit as night approached, so things got a little easier. With the moon only a few days after full, and the cloud cover lightening up, we could see enough to run the boat fairly well, and we held course until this morning. The wind continues to slowly back, so we can go a little faster, with a bit more jib out. We need to do as many miles as possible today, so we arrive at the entrance to the Havanna Channel with enough daylight left to enter and find a safe place to anchor. The wind seems to be following the forecast, still gusty but easing and ever so slowly backing, so if we're careful we should be inside the reef at New Caledonia before dark tomorrow. The fact that I can type is a good sign. Now we'll see if I can connect a winlink station to send this. More later.....Ted
August 29, 2009
Pt Vila: Stores and Internet
Since the last general newsletter we have wrapped up our months long stay in Havanna Harbor, North Efate Island, and sailed back around to the capital city. We had scheduled to meet friends from New Zealand, who were flying in for a conference and would be staying in Port Vila for a few days. That meeting came off just as planned, and was quite a pleasant interlude. Now we're focused on preparing for the coming short sail down to New Caledonia, which could happen any time in the next 3 weeks. New Cal is conveniently located along the best wind route to NZ, and since it levies no charges for clearance in and out, there's no economic deterrent to visiting there. I say it's on the wind route, but if you look at it on the map you'll see it is NOT on the direct direction line between Efate and NZ. The southeast winds that prevail at these latitudes make it near impossible to sail directly to Opua, but allow us to go south to around latitude 28 south, where the winds begin to frequently come from the west. So, the plan is to wait for a prediction of east southeast winds, for an easy 2 day reach to Noumea. There we can get a 30 day permit to look around and use up a little more of the NZ winter, while we're still in the relative warmth of the tropics. Even in late October it's going to be pretty cool and blustery in northern NZ, so later is better. But when a moderate high pressure system starts to move east from Australia, it will give us those fair westerly breezes for what we hope will be an easy one week sail, southeast to Opua.
It's a little bit of a shock to the system to come from the undeveloped quiet of North Efate back to the 24 hour rumble and clatter, and the all night glare of Port Vila Harbor. Again, anchoring near town is pretty limited, so we're eating up the bank balance on a mooring for $12 a day. That does encourage us to move south sooner rather than later. On the plus side, it's an easy walk to many stores. Having eaten almost everything in the food lockers except some of the rice and beans, it was time to re-stock. The continuous flow of fresh fruit and vegetables in Havanna Harbor certainly kept us in good nutrition, but for an ocean passage we want to have stores of flour, eggs, coffee, peanut butter.......easily prepared, easily stored foods. Those things, the gardens of Tassarikki could not supply. And, as we're still addicted to communications and news, having internet access is stimulating. We came back to a couple hundred messages on the hotmail inbox. Many of those are back issues of the New York Times online page, which I will try to scan through for items of interest and value. But also there were a few messages from friends, including several from people we haven't heard from for years. Those are by far the best part of the internet. The intellectual stimulation, and the entertainment available add to the pleasures of life, but the ability to connect with our far flung community of friends is the best. Don't forget to write to your friends and family. Ted
Since the last general newsletter we have wrapped up our months long stay in Havanna Harbor, North Efate Island, and sailed back around to the capital city. We had scheduled to meet friends from New Zealand, who were flying in for a conference and would be staying in Port Vila for a few days. That meeting came off just as planned, and was quite a pleasant interlude. Now we're focused on preparing for the coming short sail down to New Caledonia, which could happen any time in the next 3 weeks. New Cal is conveniently located along the best wind route to NZ, and since it levies no charges for clearance in and out, there's no economic deterrent to visiting there. I say it's on the wind route, but if you look at it on the map you'll see it is NOT on the direct direction line between Efate and NZ. The southeast winds that prevail at these latitudes make it near impossible to sail directly to Opua, but allow us to go south to around latitude 28 south, where the winds begin to frequently come from the west. So, the plan is to wait for a prediction of east southeast winds, for an easy 2 day reach to Noumea. There we can get a 30 day permit to look around and use up a little more of the NZ winter, while we're still in the relative warmth of the tropics. Even in late October it's going to be pretty cool and blustery in northern NZ, so later is better. But when a moderate high pressure system starts to move east from Australia, it will give us those fair westerly breezes for what we hope will be an easy one week sail, southeast to Opua.
It's a little bit of a shock to the system to come from the undeveloped quiet of North Efate back to the 24 hour rumble and clatter, and the all night glare of Port Vila Harbor. Again, anchoring near town is pretty limited, so we're eating up the bank balance on a mooring for $12 a day. That does encourage us to move south sooner rather than later. On the plus side, it's an easy walk to many stores. Having eaten almost everything in the food lockers except some of the rice and beans, it was time to re-stock. The continuous flow of fresh fruit and vegetables in Havanna Harbor certainly kept us in good nutrition, but for an ocean passage we want to have stores of flour, eggs, coffee, peanut butter.......easily prepared, easily stored foods. Those things, the gardens of Tassarikki could not supply. And, as we're still addicted to communications and news, having internet access is stimulating. We came back to a couple hundred messages on the hotmail inbox. Many of those are back issues of the New York Times online page, which I will try to scan through for items of interest and value. But also there were a few messages from friends, including several from people we haven't heard from for years. Those are by far the best part of the internet. The intellectual stimulation, and the entertainment available add to the pleasures of life, but the ability to connect with our far flung community of friends is the best. Don't forget to write to your friends and family. Ted
August 19, 2009
Political Winners
The last few weeks, listening to the American health care shouting match which passes for debate has reinforced my conclusions regarding current U.S. politics. Out here in Vanuatu my news sources are all from the shortwave radio. I get quite a good sampling of the New Zealand and Australian national stations, a little access to the BBC, and a range of what is aired on the American Armed Forces Network. America is sufficiently important to the Pacific nations, and health care is sufficiently important to America, that the progress of this battle is a common topic on all of these sources. Armed Forces radio is geared to provide a range of all significant points of view on all things political, so I get to hear some NPR programming, some CNN and ABC news, and a couple each of right wing and left wing talk shows.
The difference between the Limbaugh clones and the more left wing shows aired to counter them is marked. Ed Schultz and Alan Colmes accept calls from all persuasions, but they make the caller stay with a single subject, they require source identification for any "facts" cited, and they follow a rational process of interpretation. The right wingers seem to rely heavily on loaded language, emphasize their own emotional response to the subject, and pepper the discussion with unsubstantiated and demonstrably false allegations.
The personality who has triggered this observation of mine is Mike Huckabee, an early candidate for the Republican presidential campaign, previously a Christian minister, now a radio host. I had the impression from campaign press releases that he was a moderate and rational individual. So, he caught my attention last week when he referred to the Democratic health care reform proposals as "socialist". He followed that with a rant about Obama pushing for a bill submission before the Senate recess. He stated that this was a partisan rush, that the reforms had only been under discussion for 2 months, and forming positions would require time. My mind went back to the 2004 campaign, when I saw 92 pages of discussion of the health care crisis, with recommendations, on the John Kerry web site. Those documents were the work of people who had been studying the issue for a decade at that point. According to my "fuzzy math" analysis, that makes AT LEAST 15 years that the issues have been under investigation and discussion, in hundreds of forums. Did Mike somehow forget the first 14 years and 10 months? Did he believe the Republican allegations that Kerry had not released any substantive policy positions, too busy to have a look himself? Or is it possible he was being disingenuous?
On his program yesterday he followed up, with a rant about a Maureen Dowd op ed. Dowd had been remonstrating about the "older, white Republican base" showing up at political town hall meetings, to wave signs, shout, and disrupt any discourse. Huckabee says these are concerned citizens, the most likely voters, there to teach their elected representatives what their constituents believe. What I want to know is, what do they base their belief on, if they won't allow the representatives to answer questions about what's in the proposals? I would bet a lot of money that not one in a hundred of the rabble rousers has seen a copy of the proceedings. But they arrive full of righteous indignation about what they won't allow to be foisted off on them. The legislators are there to tell them, AND all curious attendees, what is or isn't in the proposal. The rousters Dowd mentions won't allow the other voters to hear what's on the table. WHY DO YOU SUPPOSE THAT MIGHT BE? And is Huckabee actually too stupid to formulate this question, or might there be some collusion there?
This political style reminds me of an event that hit the sports news some years ago. Tonya Harding was at the top of the figure skating world, but was expected to meet her match in a challenger scheduled for the next big competitive event. Before the event, two thugs waylaid the challenger, and broke her kneecaps with hammers. Eventually it was established that Harding had contracted the job. Turns out that she wasn't interested in finding out who was the best. She wanted to maintain the status quo, and decided that if the contest could be eliminated, then she clearly would retain the title.
Politically, we are now faced with a party which harbors very few players who want to compete with their ideas in a rational debate, to determine what would be best for the most people, and for the country. They want to win. They want to maintain the status quo on this issue, to stabilize their support base. They want to eliminate any contest they don't believe they can win. This is like winning the basketball tournament by shooting the opposing team. Is that what we hired these people to do?
The last few weeks, listening to the American health care shouting match which passes for debate has reinforced my conclusions regarding current U.S. politics. Out here in Vanuatu my news sources are all from the shortwave radio. I get quite a good sampling of the New Zealand and Australian national stations, a little access to the BBC, and a range of what is aired on the American Armed Forces Network. America is sufficiently important to the Pacific nations, and health care is sufficiently important to America, that the progress of this battle is a common topic on all of these sources. Armed Forces radio is geared to provide a range of all significant points of view on all things political, so I get to hear some NPR programming, some CNN and ABC news, and a couple each of right wing and left wing talk shows.
The difference between the Limbaugh clones and the more left wing shows aired to counter them is marked. Ed Schultz and Alan Colmes accept calls from all persuasions, but they make the caller stay with a single subject, they require source identification for any "facts" cited, and they follow a rational process of interpretation. The right wingers seem to rely heavily on loaded language, emphasize their own emotional response to the subject, and pepper the discussion with unsubstantiated and demonstrably false allegations.
The personality who has triggered this observation of mine is Mike Huckabee, an early candidate for the Republican presidential campaign, previously a Christian minister, now a radio host. I had the impression from campaign press releases that he was a moderate and rational individual. So, he caught my attention last week when he referred to the Democratic health care reform proposals as "socialist". He followed that with a rant about Obama pushing for a bill submission before the Senate recess. He stated that this was a partisan rush, that the reforms had only been under discussion for 2 months, and forming positions would require time. My mind went back to the 2004 campaign, when I saw 92 pages of discussion of the health care crisis, with recommendations, on the John Kerry web site. Those documents were the work of people who had been studying the issue for a decade at that point. According to my "fuzzy math" analysis, that makes AT LEAST 15 years that the issues have been under investigation and discussion, in hundreds of forums. Did Mike somehow forget the first 14 years and 10 months? Did he believe the Republican allegations that Kerry had not released any substantive policy positions, too busy to have a look himself? Or is it possible he was being disingenuous?
On his program yesterday he followed up, with a rant about a Maureen Dowd op ed. Dowd had been remonstrating about the "older, white Republican base" showing up at political town hall meetings, to wave signs, shout, and disrupt any discourse. Huckabee says these are concerned citizens, the most likely voters, there to teach their elected representatives what their constituents believe. What I want to know is, what do they base their belief on, if they won't allow the representatives to answer questions about what's in the proposals? I would bet a lot of money that not one in a hundred of the rabble rousers has seen a copy of the proceedings. But they arrive full of righteous indignation about what they won't allow to be foisted off on them. The legislators are there to tell them, AND all curious attendees, what is or isn't in the proposal. The rousters Dowd mentions won't allow the other voters to hear what's on the table. WHY DO YOU SUPPOSE THAT MIGHT BE? And is Huckabee actually too stupid to formulate this question, or might there be some collusion there?
This political style reminds me of an event that hit the sports news some years ago. Tonya Harding was at the top of the figure skating world, but was expected to meet her match in a challenger scheduled for the next big competitive event. Before the event, two thugs waylaid the challenger, and broke her kneecaps with hammers. Eventually it was established that Harding had contracted the job. Turns out that she wasn't interested in finding out who was the best. She wanted to maintain the status quo, and decided that if the contest could be eliminated, then she clearly would retain the title.
Politically, we are now faced with a party which harbors very few players who want to compete with their ideas in a rational debate, to determine what would be best for the most people, and for the country. They want to win. They want to maintain the status quo on this issue, to stabilize their support base. They want to eliminate any contest they don't believe they can win. This is like winning the basketball tournament by shooting the opposing team. Is that what we hired these people to do?
August 8, 2009
A review of Bernard Goldberg's book, Bias
Goldberg copyrighted the book in 2001. He wrote a short foreword mentioning that network TV news did a pretty good job with the Sept 11 attacks, but that this was an anomaly. He clearly wrote most of it before the attacks, and the event that focused him on the project occurred in 1996. He was a reporter and presenter for CBS, working with Dan Rather pretty much from the inception of the evening news show as entertainment, and as a profit vehicle rather than a public service. Years in the industry, and close working relationships with most of the names in it lend him considerable authority as an observer. His history offers weight to his premise that the nation's conservatives do in this case have a valid claim, that news presentation as a whole in the USA has a liberal bias.
The author makes the point that during his tenure in news during the 1970s and 80s he frequently made suggestions, in a low key manner, when he saw opinion creeping into broadcasts presented as news. But he didn't make an issue of it, and was courteously ignored. Then, in 1996, a building contractor who was doing work for him called to point out a CBS "news" piece which was so blatantly opinionated that he found it insulting. Goldberg took a look at the show, and had to agree. He brought it up with his colleagues. They told him he was imagining things. He wrote a carefully constructed editorial , pointing out the clear bias in the show, and suggested that the industry needed to examine itself. Viewer ratings were dropping, and he attributed it to loss of trust, as the audience saw a lack of balance. The Wall Street Journal published the editorial, and he became an instant pariah, not just at CBS, but across the networks. The backlash seemed entirely out of proportion. They did indeed protest too much. Nobody attacked or contested the logic or the evidence. They savaged the messenger. He managed to hang on to his job…sort of…for several more years, but his career was on ice.
Goldberg's writing style, I think, may suffer a bit from being a TV script man. When the presentation is aural, points probably need to be made several times, to be sure they didn't slip past the viewer at a moment of inattention. When the case is written on a page, though, the reader moves at a pace that's comfortable, and can review at will. The book's text tends to beat the point to death at times, so that eventually I found myself breaking into "skim" mode to move on to the next point after having been bombarded with sufficient examples. But despite the repetitious sections, and the author's obvious outrage at his treatment, the case is made based on logic. It's not ideological justification, and aside from part of the motive clearly being emotional blowback, every point is upheld by clear, defined logic applied to documented examples.
The basic thesis of the book is that the reporters, editors and presenters honestly believe they are presenting the unvarnished facts, because it is part of the mechanics of the brain to discard as irrelevant that which is not believed. Every study, every poll in the last 30 years shows that the news media is staffed by people who, 3 to 1, describe themselves as liberals, or progressives. Goldberg himself has argued and voted along those ideological lines since Nixon was in the White House. But he is willing to submit that the conservatives truly believe what they say, and have a right to publish it in the context of the national debate, which the media is intended to provide. He and one of his supporters make a good case that right wing talk radio could never have achieved popularity and power without the mainstream media having destroyed its own credibility. It's a good point.
Early in my reading I found a good excuse for myself not having recognized the level of the problem; I have rarely owned a TV since 1970. I have seen so little of the evening news since Walter Cronkite retired that I couldn't put a face on the presenters he cites. And when I started reading newspapers, I read ALL the editorials. Safire and Brooks and Buckley as well as Freidman and Krugman. And if I hadn't learned to read news with skepticism by 2002, I developed a permanently raised eyebrow reading the New York Times in the run-up to the Iraq invasion. My BS detector must have been working pretty well; Cheney's moles are no longer on the staff, and barely escaped prosecution. But I didn't see it as a systemic problem until I read Goldberg's book. He cites a couple of cases that absolutely enrage me….but they didn't enrage the nation because the newsroom staff didn't see them as controversial, and cut them out, or DID present them as so controversial that there was no need to judge their importance . Their opinion determined how they were presented, or whether they were presented at all. I don't think the book has actually made much of a change in the news (or general TV programming) culture in the ensuing 8 years, but it helps develop a perspective from which to view the media. It's worth a look. Ted
Goldberg copyrighted the book in 2001. He wrote a short foreword mentioning that network TV news did a pretty good job with the Sept 11 attacks, but that this was an anomaly. He clearly wrote most of it before the attacks, and the event that focused him on the project occurred in 1996. He was a reporter and presenter for CBS, working with Dan Rather pretty much from the inception of the evening news show as entertainment, and as a profit vehicle rather than a public service. Years in the industry, and close working relationships with most of the names in it lend him considerable authority as an observer. His history offers weight to his premise that the nation's conservatives do in this case have a valid claim, that news presentation as a whole in the USA has a liberal bias.
The author makes the point that during his tenure in news during the 1970s and 80s he frequently made suggestions, in a low key manner, when he saw opinion creeping into broadcasts presented as news. But he didn't make an issue of it, and was courteously ignored. Then, in 1996, a building contractor who was doing work for him called to point out a CBS "news" piece which was so blatantly opinionated that he found it insulting. Goldberg took a look at the show, and had to agree. He brought it up with his colleagues. They told him he was imagining things. He wrote a carefully constructed editorial , pointing out the clear bias in the show, and suggested that the industry needed to examine itself. Viewer ratings were dropping, and he attributed it to loss of trust, as the audience saw a lack of balance. The Wall Street Journal published the editorial, and he became an instant pariah, not just at CBS, but across the networks. The backlash seemed entirely out of proportion. They did indeed protest too much. Nobody attacked or contested the logic or the evidence. They savaged the messenger. He managed to hang on to his job…sort of…for several more years, but his career was on ice.
Goldberg's writing style, I think, may suffer a bit from being a TV script man. When the presentation is aural, points probably need to be made several times, to be sure they didn't slip past the viewer at a moment of inattention. When the case is written on a page, though, the reader moves at a pace that's comfortable, and can review at will. The book's text tends to beat the point to death at times, so that eventually I found myself breaking into "skim" mode to move on to the next point after having been bombarded with sufficient examples. But despite the repetitious sections, and the author's obvious outrage at his treatment, the case is made based on logic. It's not ideological justification, and aside from part of the motive clearly being emotional blowback, every point is upheld by clear, defined logic applied to documented examples.
The basic thesis of the book is that the reporters, editors and presenters honestly believe they are presenting the unvarnished facts, because it is part of the mechanics of the brain to discard as irrelevant that which is not believed. Every study, every poll in the last 30 years shows that the news media is staffed by people who, 3 to 1, describe themselves as liberals, or progressives. Goldberg himself has argued and voted along those ideological lines since Nixon was in the White House. But he is willing to submit that the conservatives truly believe what they say, and have a right to publish it in the context of the national debate, which the media is intended to provide. He and one of his supporters make a good case that right wing talk radio could never have achieved popularity and power without the mainstream media having destroyed its own credibility. It's a good point.
Early in my reading I found a good excuse for myself not having recognized the level of the problem; I have rarely owned a TV since 1970. I have seen so little of the evening news since Walter Cronkite retired that I couldn't put a face on the presenters he cites. And when I started reading newspapers, I read ALL the editorials. Safire and Brooks and Buckley as well as Freidman and Krugman. And if I hadn't learned to read news with skepticism by 2002, I developed a permanently raised eyebrow reading the New York Times in the run-up to the Iraq invasion. My BS detector must have been working pretty well; Cheney's moles are no longer on the staff, and barely escaped prosecution. But I didn't see it as a systemic problem until I read Goldberg's book. He cites a couple of cases that absolutely enrage me….but they didn't enrage the nation because the newsroom staff didn't see them as controversial, and cut them out, or DID present them as so controversial that there was no need to judge their importance . Their opinion determined how they were presented, or whether they were presented at all. I don't think the book has actually made much of a change in the news (or general TV programming) culture in the ensuing 8 years, but it helps develop a perspective from which to view the media. It's worth a look. Ted
August 6, 2009
Independence Day
The last news we sent from Efate, Vanuatu, was that their independence celebration was coming up, and that we'd be spending a good bit of time in Tasserikki Village during the weeklong event. It did turn out to be quite a happening, enjoyed by all participants as far as we could tell. For us it wasn't a strenuous as it was for the villagers though. We are like most sailing cruisers; we've come to rule our lives, when not on a passage, by the sun. It's a rare thing for us not to be back on Sequester after dark. That scheduling meant that we missed most of the dancing, the string band performances, and perhaps worst of all, some of the political speeches.
Well, maybe missing the speeches wasn't so bad. We couldn't vote anyway. The interesting thing about the coming election is that it was called to re-run the contest for four of the parliament seats from Efate. In the recently completed main election, four of the winners were judged by a commission to have used financial inducements and favors to influence voters, and their wins were nullified. For an election in any Pacific Island nation to be nullified for such offenses is considered simply stunning. It has been considered business as usual for as long as elections have been held here. As such, the politicians involved were not charged with crimes or misdemeanors, or even disqualified from running again. They just had to run strictly by the rules. There's been a big double take all over Oceania, to see how this works out. And Vanuatu is increasingly being scrutinized by the other Pacific nations, as the economy here has grown at over twice the rate of the neighboring groups. This will be an interesting development to watch, to see if corruption/instability/poor economy is seen as a curable cause and effect sequence.
Anyway, we did get to see such independence day openers as the Vanuatu Defence Force Band doing a medly that included a segment of The Macarena, with several members doing some credible "dirty dancing" in full uniform. There were four yachts near the village that first day, and we were all drafted to march in a short parade with the children from the elementary school. On ensuing days, Karen brought weaving materials (salt cured, dyed coconut frond fiber) and spent hours teaching children and some of the women how the Marshallese braid jewelry cords for bracelets and necklaces. The women started showing us their weaving techniques, and brought out some nice pandanus frond bags.
Meanwhile, there was a soccer tournament under way for us to watch, and I was drafted to do more generator repairs. One of the food stands was selling ice cream, and generators were being alternated to keep the freezer cold. Also, there were at least 3 seperate P A systems churning out sound. Electricity was in high demand. About half the food we ate that week was bought by someone from the village to show appreciation for something we had done. To us, just as good as the food was the commentary on it. We found out about the distinctions between lap-lap (a stone baked casserole based on yams and manioc flour) and tuloc (leave out the yams, so you can wrap the manioc dough around the filling and bake it in banana leaves). Everything, always is seasoned with the smoky flavor of burning coconut husks and wood. It's very nice.
Following the week of the party, we spent a day hiking to the nearest store with the crew of another yacht (one British, one Scottish, one German/Kiwi!) to see if we could restock the dwindling supplies, and maybe get a newspaper. The store was a qualified success, but on the walk back up the road we found an access road to a new resort on the harbor. We'd watched in the distance from our anchorage as the construction was completed, and saw an opening day party a copuple weeks ago, so thought we'd have a look in. I'm not a big connessiur of resorts, but the Australian owner, Greg, has done a masterful job with the planning and construction of The Havannah. The comfort and class are evident without being gaudy or opulent. The decor is varnished native timber and top quality thatching, with cement, stucco and terrazzo are used where appropriate for durability and cleanliness. Everywhere a guest might spend any time, dining, sleeping, or soaking in the tub, there is a clear view of the harbor and the western islands. I have no idea what it would cost to stay there, but the coffee is about $4 US a cup, quite nice, but out of my financial range! Still, for those who can afford it, it's worth consideration. A couple days ago we moved Sequester to the northern-most end of Havanna Harbor, near the village of Sunai. The harbor opens back to the ocean on this end over a large, shallow coral patch. There's a moderate current flow in and out with the tides, the water is clear and the snorkeling pretty good. A half day working in the village has ensured our welcome, and anyway, these folks are all related to our friends in Mitten and Tasserikki. The weather held up nicely for all the independence day festivities, then went to overcast with intermittent rain, and has stayed that way for 6 days now, so we're getting in a good bit of reading, listening to the radio from NZ, Australia and the USA, and starting to plan next months passage to Noumea, New Caledonia. Just before we left Majuro, Spike gave me a book called "Bias" by Bernard Goldberg. It's an interesting read, worthy of another book review. Coming soon. Ted
The last news we sent from Efate, Vanuatu, was that their independence celebration was coming up, and that we'd be spending a good bit of time in Tasserikki Village during the weeklong event. It did turn out to be quite a happening, enjoyed by all participants as far as we could tell. For us it wasn't a strenuous as it was for the villagers though. We are like most sailing cruisers; we've come to rule our lives, when not on a passage, by the sun. It's a rare thing for us not to be back on Sequester after dark. That scheduling meant that we missed most of the dancing, the string band performances, and perhaps worst of all, some of the political speeches.
Well, maybe missing the speeches wasn't so bad. We couldn't vote anyway. The interesting thing about the coming election is that it was called to re-run the contest for four of the parliament seats from Efate. In the recently completed main election, four of the winners were judged by a commission to have used financial inducements and favors to influence voters, and their wins were nullified. For an election in any Pacific Island nation to be nullified for such offenses is considered simply stunning. It has been considered business as usual for as long as elections have been held here. As such, the politicians involved were not charged with crimes or misdemeanors, or even disqualified from running again. They just had to run strictly by the rules. There's been a big double take all over Oceania, to see how this works out. And Vanuatu is increasingly being scrutinized by the other Pacific nations, as the economy here has grown at over twice the rate of the neighboring groups. This will be an interesting development to watch, to see if corruption/instability/poor economy is seen as a curable cause and effect sequence.
Anyway, we did get to see such independence day openers as the Vanuatu Defence Force Band doing a medly that included a segment of The Macarena, with several members doing some credible "dirty dancing" in full uniform. There were four yachts near the village that first day, and we were all drafted to march in a short parade with the children from the elementary school. On ensuing days, Karen brought weaving materials (salt cured, dyed coconut frond fiber) and spent hours teaching children and some of the women how the Marshallese braid jewelry cords for bracelets and necklaces. The women started showing us their weaving techniques, and brought out some nice pandanus frond bags.
Meanwhile, there was a soccer tournament under way for us to watch, and I was drafted to do more generator repairs. One of the food stands was selling ice cream, and generators were being alternated to keep the freezer cold. Also, there were at least 3 seperate P A systems churning out sound. Electricity was in high demand. About half the food we ate that week was bought by someone from the village to show appreciation for something we had done. To us, just as good as the food was the commentary on it. We found out about the distinctions between lap-lap (a stone baked casserole based on yams and manioc flour) and tuloc (leave out the yams, so you can wrap the manioc dough around the filling and bake it in banana leaves). Everything, always is seasoned with the smoky flavor of burning coconut husks and wood. It's very nice.
Following the week of the party, we spent a day hiking to the nearest store with the crew of another yacht (one British, one Scottish, one German/Kiwi!) to see if we could restock the dwindling supplies, and maybe get a newspaper. The store was a qualified success, but on the walk back up the road we found an access road to a new resort on the harbor. We'd watched in the distance from our anchorage as the construction was completed, and saw an opening day party a copuple weeks ago, so thought we'd have a look in. I'm not a big connessiur of resorts, but the Australian owner, Greg, has done a masterful job with the planning and construction of The Havannah. The comfort and class are evident without being gaudy or opulent. The decor is varnished native timber and top quality thatching, with cement, stucco and terrazzo are used where appropriate for durability and cleanliness. Everywhere a guest might spend any time, dining, sleeping, or soaking in the tub, there is a clear view of the harbor and the western islands. I have no idea what it would cost to stay there, but the coffee is about $4 US a cup, quite nice, but out of my financial range! Still, for those who can afford it, it's worth consideration. A couple days ago we moved Sequester to the northern-most end of Havanna Harbor, near the village of Sunai. The harbor opens back to the ocean on this end over a large, shallow coral patch. There's a moderate current flow in and out with the tides, the water is clear and the snorkeling pretty good. A half day working in the village has ensured our welcome, and anyway, these folks are all related to our friends in Mitten and Tasserikki. The weather held up nicely for all the independence day festivities, then went to overcast with intermittent rain, and has stayed that way for 6 days now, so we're getting in a good bit of reading, listening to the radio from NZ, Australia and the USA, and starting to plan next months passage to Noumea, New Caledonia. Just before we left Majuro, Spike gave me a book called "Bias" by Bernard Goldberg. It's an interesting read, worthy of another book review. Coming soon. Ted
July 26, 2009
Chief Edward’s Dry Dock
A couple of folks have let us know we've slacked off a bit on the reports about our Vanuatu stay. It does seem as if the time flies by, and we lose track of days here. We've become so involved with the villagers from Essen Bay and Moso Island that it's getting a little hard to do maintenance on Sequester. My repair work on small generators, chain saws, outboard motors, weed whackers, and even a sewing machine have slowed a little, but continue. Karen gets called for a medical assessment at times, and the ladies and children always like to talk to her. One change in her routines that I've noticed is a result of the relatively cooler climate here, as compared to the Marshalls. Karen's started doing a lot more cooking and baking, so I'm eating better in that regard as well as having a lot more fruit and vegetables available than we've had for a couple of years. This week Chief Edward gave us some of the first tomatoes and lettuce of the season. It was great to have a tossed salad.
Edward controls over 1000 hectares of land here, including several sand bars along the beach, ideal for allowing a multihull yacht to dry out on a low tide. Last week we asked and received permission to use his beach during the extreme tide around the eclipse to clean and repaint the bottom of Sequester. So, for several days I was busy scraping and starting to wet sand the undersides of the boat. It was quite windy and cool, and my time in the water was limited by my "shiver factor". We paid a villager to get us a couple of logs, 3 meters long, and about as big around as his leg. These were to be tied to the sides of the float hulls as legs, to keep the boat from falling over with one float down in the sand. It's a good thing his leg wasn't any bigger than it is! He brought fresh hardwood tree trunks that were pushing my weight limit pretty hard as I maneuvered them into place the next morning. He had expected to be there to help me set up for the tide, at dawn. But this is the Pacific islands, and he's on island time. I knew better than to wait for him to arrive, so when it got light, we moved in. We tied the stern to a tree ashore, set an anchor off the bow, and managed to get the legs planted and lashed. The position of the beach was well protected and calm, so it went as nearly perfect as we could have hoped for. As we waited for the tide to fall, young Jerry arrived to apologize for being late. He had me repair his broken canoe paddle, then headed off to his job at a nearby resort while we started final prep for the anti-fouling paint.
The next 6 hours were a blur of scrubbing, sanding, washing, drying, taping, and painting. Near the end, we got paint on the lowest part of the hull, as the returning tide approached, then went back and taped and rolled paint along the waterline as the water came up to our knees. The last hour we had an audience of Edward's son Kenneth and his two nephews. Kenneth waited patiently, holding a broken generator starter, until the paint was on. Then, as Karen put things away and cleaned up a bit, I drilled and wired the recoil spool, trying to make it usable again. In the end it was futile, but Kenneth decided he could get another used one from his friend's broken down generator, and he'd learned how to assemble it, so he borrowed a couple of sockets and left. We had about another hour before the tide would float us, and I started to prepare a warm shower. I hurt all over from the continuous scrubbing, sanding, hauling, and crawling around in awkward positions. Then I heard Teacher Paul's outboard approaching, sputtering, backfiring, dying. I saw two boys frantically trying to paddle the unwieldy boat upwind to the beach, using a couple of floorboards as they perched on the transom. Nobody here carries a decent paddle in their motor boat. With the incidence of water in the fuel and corroded electrical connectors, it's a good thing there's only a small pass from the harbor to the open ocean. I got in our dinghy and towed them back, tied them alongside Sequester, and got out the tool box. It took a few minutes to diagnose water in the carburetor, and a half hour to clear it from the filter, pump, and lines. As I finished up, the sun was setting, and Sequester was starting to rock and twist in the little wavelets of the bay. The boys gave me a hand getting the legs untied, then took off for Moso Island. We fired up our motor, retrieved the anchor, and went back to our preferred spot, south of the small stream that produces the sand bars. By 6:30 PM we were hanging on two anchors in a quiet bay. By 7:30 we were asleep.
Now, 3 days later, the sore muscles are improving, and we've got most of the boat cleaned up from all the sand and detritus surrounding the work on the beach. The villagers saw that we were pretty trashed, and have limited repair requests to those urgently needed for the big Independence Day celebration that starts on Moso tomorrow. The generators for the church audio systems are up and running, and a dozen villagers have checked to be sure we'll be there in the morning to start the party. I'd best go get some rest. This may be as strenuous as working on the boat. Ted
A couple of folks have let us know we've slacked off a bit on the reports about our Vanuatu stay. It does seem as if the time flies by, and we lose track of days here. We've become so involved with the villagers from Essen Bay and Moso Island that it's getting a little hard to do maintenance on Sequester. My repair work on small generators, chain saws, outboard motors, weed whackers, and even a sewing machine have slowed a little, but continue. Karen gets called for a medical assessment at times, and the ladies and children always like to talk to her. One change in her routines that I've noticed is a result of the relatively cooler climate here, as compared to the Marshalls. Karen's started doing a lot more cooking and baking, so I'm eating better in that regard as well as having a lot more fruit and vegetables available than we've had for a couple of years. This week Chief Edward gave us some of the first tomatoes and lettuce of the season. It was great to have a tossed salad.
Edward controls over 1000 hectares of land here, including several sand bars along the beach, ideal for allowing a multihull yacht to dry out on a low tide. Last week we asked and received permission to use his beach during the extreme tide around the eclipse to clean and repaint the bottom of Sequester. So, for several days I was busy scraping and starting to wet sand the undersides of the boat. It was quite windy and cool, and my time in the water was limited by my "shiver factor". We paid a villager to get us a couple of logs, 3 meters long, and about as big around as his leg. These were to be tied to the sides of the float hulls as legs, to keep the boat from falling over with one float down in the sand. It's a good thing his leg wasn't any bigger than it is! He brought fresh hardwood tree trunks that were pushing my weight limit pretty hard as I maneuvered them into place the next morning. He had expected to be there to help me set up for the tide, at dawn. But this is the Pacific islands, and he's on island time. I knew better than to wait for him to arrive, so when it got light, we moved in. We tied the stern to a tree ashore, set an anchor off the bow, and managed to get the legs planted and lashed. The position of the beach was well protected and calm, so it went as nearly perfect as we could have hoped for. As we waited for the tide to fall, young Jerry arrived to apologize for being late. He had me repair his broken canoe paddle, then headed off to his job at a nearby resort while we started final prep for the anti-fouling paint.
The next 6 hours were a blur of scrubbing, sanding, washing, drying, taping, and painting. Near the end, we got paint on the lowest part of the hull, as the returning tide approached, then went back and taped and rolled paint along the waterline as the water came up to our knees. The last hour we had an audience of Edward's son Kenneth and his two nephews. Kenneth waited patiently, holding a broken generator starter, until the paint was on. Then, as Karen put things away and cleaned up a bit, I drilled and wired the recoil spool, trying to make it usable again. In the end it was futile, but Kenneth decided he could get another used one from his friend's broken down generator, and he'd learned how to assemble it, so he borrowed a couple of sockets and left. We had about another hour before the tide would float us, and I started to prepare a warm shower. I hurt all over from the continuous scrubbing, sanding, hauling, and crawling around in awkward positions. Then I heard Teacher Paul's outboard approaching, sputtering, backfiring, dying. I saw two boys frantically trying to paddle the unwieldy boat upwind to the beach, using a couple of floorboards as they perched on the transom. Nobody here carries a decent paddle in their motor boat. With the incidence of water in the fuel and corroded electrical connectors, it's a good thing there's only a small pass from the harbor to the open ocean. I got in our dinghy and towed them back, tied them alongside Sequester, and got out the tool box. It took a few minutes to diagnose water in the carburetor, and a half hour to clear it from the filter, pump, and lines. As I finished up, the sun was setting, and Sequester was starting to rock and twist in the little wavelets of the bay. The boys gave me a hand getting the legs untied, then took off for Moso Island. We fired up our motor, retrieved the anchor, and went back to our preferred spot, south of the small stream that produces the sand bars. By 6:30 PM we were hanging on two anchors in a quiet bay. By 7:30 we were asleep.
Now, 3 days later, the sore muscles are improving, and we've got most of the boat cleaned up from all the sand and detritus surrounding the work on the beach. The villagers saw that we were pretty trashed, and have limited repair requests to those urgently needed for the big Independence Day celebration that starts on Moso tomorrow. The generators for the church audio systems are up and running, and a dozen villagers have checked to be sure we'll be there in the morning to start the party. I'd best go get some rest. This may be as strenuous as working on the boat. Ted
July 15, 2009
Some Vanuatu Culture
The outrigger canoes of Vanuatu are not like the sophisticated sailing machines that slice through the waters of Micronesia. In Efate island, they are made from the soft wood trunks of a rapid growing tree, hollowed out with saws and axes and maybe an adz, with the ends of the log shaped to points. The edges of the hollowed side of the canoe are extended upward with small planks, as wide as a hand, nailed or stitched to the edge to give the canoe a little more freeboard above the water’s surface. The tree is rarely very straight, so the canoe hull has small curves and lumps, which increase the drag as it moves through the water. The canoes aren’t rigged with sail, and at paddling speed the drag is nearly negligible, so the lumps don’t matter much. Two rows of sticks, one near each end of the boat, are lashed across the top of the canoe. They extend a couple of feet off one side, and about 6 feet the other way. The outer half of the short side is planked fore and aft with more sticks, nearly the length of the canoe, to form a platform. Enough room is left open next to the canoe body to allow the paddle to be worked. The long side of the cross sticks has some platform area too, but at the outer end they are lashed to a series of short, roughly vertical sticks which project up at angles from a small log outrigger. The angled sticks hold the platform a foot above the water. The outrigger log is buoyant, but moderately heavy, providing stability both up and down, so the canoe is near impossible to capsize. These outrigger canoes make a good work platform, a moderate load carrier, but are work to paddle, and require both finesse and strength to move and steer. If they weren’t so low in profile, they’d be impossible in strong winds, but there’s not much for the air to blow against. There’s also not much distance from the water to the rail, so when the wind kicks up much of a chop, there is a need to bail between paddle strokes. The children have a paddle in their hands about 6 months after they learn to walk. Any villager more than 8 years old makes it look a lot easier than it is.
Often while they paddle, they sing, loudly, some in good tune, others abysmally. Sometimes the singing is to let us, and others, know they’re coming. It’s courtesy, not to surprise someone by appearing unannounced in a silent canoe. Sometimes they sing just to pass the time. It takes a while to cross the bay, and they don’t have to think about the paddling any more than one normally thinks about walking. So they sing hymns, and sometimes mangled, bislama versions of pop songs or country/western favorites. The words don’t often rhyme or flow well. Bislama was derived as a practical necessity, and is not a flowing, rhyming language. Translations of lyrics are simply wedged into the available musical bar. It makes for interesting listening, even if you don’t understand 95% of the words. And knowing there’s a paddler about, we will stick a head out of a hatch and wave, to let them know we’re aware of them, and they’re welcome if they wanted to stop here. It’s courtesy.
In recent years a few of the wealthier families, some schools, a few businesses, have purchased big fiberglass or aluminum skiffs, with 20 or 30 horsepower outboard motors. That allows for more flexibility in moving people and materials to and from gardens and social events. It buys more time for work or play, at the cost of the investment in the boat, and the fuel to run it. I notice that, unlike everyplace else we’ve visited in the Pacific, the ni-Vanuatu hardly ever run the motors fast. They’ve made the connection between sporting around at speed and fuel consumption, and they opt for frugality over the ego rush. A different choice than that of most other Pacific islanders, or of American motorists and boaters. The boat is a valued tool, not a status symbol, not a toy.
Vanuatu villagers seem to have a work ethic closer to that of our Western culture than that of most other Pacific islanders. They seem to plan a little further ahead, and they work two gardens. One is their own food supply, a subsistence farm. The other is exclusively for growing cash crops. They have adopted a seasonal pattern for when each crop is planted. Techniques change very slowly.
Peter explained that the stakes we saw in his tomato garden were unusual, and were part of an experiment. A Japanese advisor had convinced him to try pruning the terminal buds from his plants, to make them fill out but remain short, supported by the stakes. It’s a technique I learned about as a teenager, forty plus years ago. Peter wasn’t so sure it would work, but being a progressive farmer, he decided to try it out. I asked why, in this stable, fairly uniform climate, nobody ever plants tomatoes except in late April. It appeared to take him by surprise. He’d never thought about it. They just don’t.
There are however rules that I understand. They cultivate by “slash and burn”. They clear a plot of jungle with a bush knife, then burn it off to kill grass and weeds, and to fertilize the ground with the ash layer. The plot will be used for tomatoes, cabbage or lettuce for a year, then switched to beans, yams or kumara for a year. Then it is abandoned for a few years, to revert to jungle. Bananas, papayas, breadfruit, mango and coconut trees grow between cultivated plots, breaking up the monoculture, separating clusters. That greatly reduces the likelihood of a pest epidemic affecting everyone’s crop. They don’t use fertilizers or pesticides, and they don’t wear out the topsoil. They rotate crops, and allow fallow time. It’s worked for them for hundreds of years. In terms of the deforestation issue, they rarely take down large trees, but rotate through the near coastal land where the jungle canopy is low and broken. The impact is a tiny fraction of what results from clearing for livestock pasture or plantation monoculture.
Of course, modern medicine, and a changing culture that has reduced violence means there are more people for the land to support. Until now, when a village became unwieldy because of size or social friction, one of the chiefs would simply move a sizeable fraction of the people to a fresh section of jungle. Chiefs attain their leader status by merit and consensus, and they have the power to bring about a move like that without having to resort to coercion. But they’re getting a little short on new sites now, and land disputes are beginning to work through the courts of the young nation. The losers have little choice but to try their luck looking for work in a town or city. They lose the land, the community, the way of life. The rules that sustained them for a thousand years here are no longer sufficient. Other cultures changed the game. Resources are not infinite, regardless of what some economists would have us believe. The people work a bit harder than before, clear a little bigger garden, because when they sell the crop, they want to buy a generator, some lights for the house, and a DVD player. It’s understandable, but it can’t go on forever.
As in the rest of Pacific Oceania, the protestant missionaries of the last two centuries have had their effect in Vanuatu. And what the ni-Vanuatu accepted from the Western religions loosely follows the pattern of the rest of the region, but with significant limitations.
A considerable portion of time is spent in church services, and church projects. But, unlike in Tonga, Fiji, and to a lesser extent Micronesia, the ni-Vanuatu don’t spend a great proportion of their money on buildings. In other island nations homes are a conglomeration of woven mat walls with thatched roofs, pole buildings with corrugated sheet metal walls and roofs, or combination buildings. But churches are substantial frame or concrete block structures with steeples and ornate windows and doors. In Vanuatu, the church building is pretty similar to the houses, and for big services, they simply put up a temporary shade tent, with benches and mats for seating.
All over the Pacific, modest, Western influenced dress codes are part of the church. Men come to church in shirt and necktie, usually with a jacket, and depending on the country, with either a formal sulu ( a wrap-around skirt) or suit trousers. Women wear long, loose fitting dresses, called “Mother Hubbards” made from bright patterned cottons, covering shoulders and upper arms, down to the ankles. After the Sabbath, the men revert to shorts and t-shirts, or in some places just the shorts. The women stay in the voluminous dresses, even if they go in the water to swim or work. And yet, for all the public modesty culturally enforced on the women, the evidence indicates that childbirth is as common outside of marriage as in, and functional monogamy is rare indeed. And in Vanuatu there is another departure from the daily modesty. They still have holidays when the celebrations include traditional dancing. The male costume for this includes a variety of head-dresses, body paint, and a namba. A namba is a penis sheath, woven from grass and leaves, secured around the hips with a string which maintains it in an upright orientation. That is the total extent of clothing for men at traditional dances. Women don’t do the head-dress, or the body painting, but go topless, and wear a knee length grass skirt. They all spend the day singing and dancing, naked, then the next day the women are back in their bright colored sacks. I don’t know how much of the traditional dancing is for the benefit of the increasing tourist traffic, and how much is for the villagers own sense of cultural identity. We may get to attend one of those events this month, and maybe we’ll get a better insight to that.
Marriage is another thing that seems to have evolved with the changing times. In the distant past, the genetic diversity of a village was sustained by bringing home the women of other villages defeated in inter-tribal warfare. Now, to avoid incestuous couplings, marriages are arranged among far flung communities, on a trial basis. One of our frequent visitors from Essen village is Kenneth, the chief’s son. On his first visit, he had two little girls, his daughters, with him. He wanted to have me show him how to work on his generator, and we set up a day and time. The morning of the appointment, I got a message from his brother that he couldn’t come that day. His new wife had just arrived on the ship from Epi Island. It seems that the mother of his daughters had never married him, and had decided to go home to her village. She took the youngest daughter, and left the 4 year old with Kenneth and his sister. A friend promptly arranged for a new wife for Kenneth. Everyone seemed pleased with the prospect. Three weeks later, things had changed. I asked Kenneth how the new wife was getting on with the new life, and he explained that his father, Chief Edward had decided to “send it back”. When a marriage is arranged, the new husband’s family pays a bride price to the family of his new wife. It seems that the new wife’s family thought 2 weeks was enough trial time, and was demanding payment now. Edward insisted that nobody could tell if a relationship would work long term with such a short trial, and wanted to hold off payment for a while. No compromise had been reached, so Edward, as chief and head of the family, decreed that they should “send it back”. In Bislama, there is no need to define a person differently from any other object, so the ex-bride is “it”. Kenneth seemed a little saddened, but philosophically resigned. After all, 5 years had been required for his first woman to decide it wasn’t a viable pairing, so what can you tell in 2 weeks. Right now, Karen and I have Sequester on a mooring in Port Vila harbor for a few days re-provisioning and catching up on internet. We’ve found a couple of cafes with free wi-fi internet now, so for the price of a couple of (fairly expensive) fruit smoothies we can work on correspondence, do a little research, and hopefully, we can get the blog caught up. On our last attempt to update it, last month, we got entangled in having forgotten the password, exacerbated by internet access so slow that it kept timing us out and dropping the site. This time there’s no cruise ship in town, so the traffic on the server will be lighter, and I think we can reset the password. Wish us luck. Ted
The outrigger canoes of Vanuatu are not like the sophisticated sailing machines that slice through the waters of Micronesia. In Efate island, they are made from the soft wood trunks of a rapid growing tree, hollowed out with saws and axes and maybe an adz, with the ends of the log shaped to points. The edges of the hollowed side of the canoe are extended upward with small planks, as wide as a hand, nailed or stitched to the edge to give the canoe a little more freeboard above the water’s surface. The tree is rarely very straight, so the canoe hull has small curves and lumps, which increase the drag as it moves through the water. The canoes aren’t rigged with sail, and at paddling speed the drag is nearly negligible, so the lumps don’t matter much. Two rows of sticks, one near each end of the boat, are lashed across the top of the canoe. They extend a couple of feet off one side, and about 6 feet the other way. The outer half of the short side is planked fore and aft with more sticks, nearly the length of the canoe, to form a platform. Enough room is left open next to the canoe body to allow the paddle to be worked. The long side of the cross sticks has some platform area too, but at the outer end they are lashed to a series of short, roughly vertical sticks which project up at angles from a small log outrigger. The angled sticks hold the platform a foot above the water. The outrigger log is buoyant, but moderately heavy, providing stability both up and down, so the canoe is near impossible to capsize. These outrigger canoes make a good work platform, a moderate load carrier, but are work to paddle, and require both finesse and strength to move and steer. If they weren’t so low in profile, they’d be impossible in strong winds, but there’s not much for the air to blow against. There’s also not much distance from the water to the rail, so when the wind kicks up much of a chop, there is a need to bail between paddle strokes. The children have a paddle in their hands about 6 months after they learn to walk. Any villager more than 8 years old makes it look a lot easier than it is.
Often while they paddle, they sing, loudly, some in good tune, others abysmally. Sometimes the singing is to let us, and others, know they’re coming. It’s courtesy, not to surprise someone by appearing unannounced in a silent canoe. Sometimes they sing just to pass the time. It takes a while to cross the bay, and they don’t have to think about the paddling any more than one normally thinks about walking. So they sing hymns, and sometimes mangled, bislama versions of pop songs or country/western favorites. The words don’t often rhyme or flow well. Bislama was derived as a practical necessity, and is not a flowing, rhyming language. Translations of lyrics are simply wedged into the available musical bar. It makes for interesting listening, even if you don’t understand 95% of the words. And knowing there’s a paddler about, we will stick a head out of a hatch and wave, to let them know we’re aware of them, and they’re welcome if they wanted to stop here. It’s courtesy.
In recent years a few of the wealthier families, some schools, a few businesses, have purchased big fiberglass or aluminum skiffs, with 20 or 30 horsepower outboard motors. That allows for more flexibility in moving people and materials to and from gardens and social events. It buys more time for work or play, at the cost of the investment in the boat, and the fuel to run it. I notice that, unlike everyplace else we’ve visited in the Pacific, the ni-Vanuatu hardly ever run the motors fast. They’ve made the connection between sporting around at speed and fuel consumption, and they opt for frugality over the ego rush. A different choice than that of most other Pacific islanders, or of American motorists and boaters. The boat is a valued tool, not a status symbol, not a toy.
Vanuatu villagers seem to have a work ethic closer to that of our Western culture than that of most other Pacific islanders. They seem to plan a little further ahead, and they work two gardens. One is their own food supply, a subsistence farm. The other is exclusively for growing cash crops. They have adopted a seasonal pattern for when each crop is planted. Techniques change very slowly.
Peter explained that the stakes we saw in his tomato garden were unusual, and were part of an experiment. A Japanese advisor had convinced him to try pruning the terminal buds from his plants, to make them fill out but remain short, supported by the stakes. It’s a technique I learned about as a teenager, forty plus years ago. Peter wasn’t so sure it would work, but being a progressive farmer, he decided to try it out. I asked why, in this stable, fairly uniform climate, nobody ever plants tomatoes except in late April. It appeared to take him by surprise. He’d never thought about it. They just don’t.
There are however rules that I understand. They cultivate by “slash and burn”. They clear a plot of jungle with a bush knife, then burn it off to kill grass and weeds, and to fertilize the ground with the ash layer. The plot will be used for tomatoes, cabbage or lettuce for a year, then switched to beans, yams or kumara for a year. Then it is abandoned for a few years, to revert to jungle. Bananas, papayas, breadfruit, mango and coconut trees grow between cultivated plots, breaking up the monoculture, separating clusters. That greatly reduces the likelihood of a pest epidemic affecting everyone’s crop. They don’t use fertilizers or pesticides, and they don’t wear out the topsoil. They rotate crops, and allow fallow time. It’s worked for them for hundreds of years. In terms of the deforestation issue, they rarely take down large trees, but rotate through the near coastal land where the jungle canopy is low and broken. The impact is a tiny fraction of what results from clearing for livestock pasture or plantation monoculture.
Of course, modern medicine, and a changing culture that has reduced violence means there are more people for the land to support. Until now, when a village became unwieldy because of size or social friction, one of the chiefs would simply move a sizeable fraction of the people to a fresh section of jungle. Chiefs attain their leader status by merit and consensus, and they have the power to bring about a move like that without having to resort to coercion. But they’re getting a little short on new sites now, and land disputes are beginning to work through the courts of the young nation. The losers have little choice but to try their luck looking for work in a town or city. They lose the land, the community, the way of life. The rules that sustained them for a thousand years here are no longer sufficient. Other cultures changed the game. Resources are not infinite, regardless of what some economists would have us believe. The people work a bit harder than before, clear a little bigger garden, because when they sell the crop, they want to buy a generator, some lights for the house, and a DVD player. It’s understandable, but it can’t go on forever.
As in the rest of Pacific Oceania, the protestant missionaries of the last two centuries have had their effect in Vanuatu. And what the ni-Vanuatu accepted from the Western religions loosely follows the pattern of the rest of the region, but with significant limitations.
A considerable portion of time is spent in church services, and church projects. But, unlike in Tonga, Fiji, and to a lesser extent Micronesia, the ni-Vanuatu don’t spend a great proportion of their money on buildings. In other island nations homes are a conglomeration of woven mat walls with thatched roofs, pole buildings with corrugated sheet metal walls and roofs, or combination buildings. But churches are substantial frame or concrete block structures with steeples and ornate windows and doors. In Vanuatu, the church building is pretty similar to the houses, and for big services, they simply put up a temporary shade tent, with benches and mats for seating.
All over the Pacific, modest, Western influenced dress codes are part of the church. Men come to church in shirt and necktie, usually with a jacket, and depending on the country, with either a formal sulu ( a wrap-around skirt) or suit trousers. Women wear long, loose fitting dresses, called “Mother Hubbards” made from bright patterned cottons, covering shoulders and upper arms, down to the ankles. After the Sabbath, the men revert to shorts and t-shirts, or in some places just the shorts. The women stay in the voluminous dresses, even if they go in the water to swim or work. And yet, for all the public modesty culturally enforced on the women, the evidence indicates that childbirth is as common outside of marriage as in, and functional monogamy is rare indeed. And in Vanuatu there is another departure from the daily modesty. They still have holidays when the celebrations include traditional dancing. The male costume for this includes a variety of head-dresses, body paint, and a namba. A namba is a penis sheath, woven from grass and leaves, secured around the hips with a string which maintains it in an upright orientation. That is the total extent of clothing for men at traditional dances. Women don’t do the head-dress, or the body painting, but go topless, and wear a knee length grass skirt. They all spend the day singing and dancing, naked, then the next day the women are back in their bright colored sacks. I don’t know how much of the traditional dancing is for the benefit of the increasing tourist traffic, and how much is for the villagers own sense of cultural identity. We may get to attend one of those events this month, and maybe we’ll get a better insight to that.
Marriage is another thing that seems to have evolved with the changing times. In the distant past, the genetic diversity of a village was sustained by bringing home the women of other villages defeated in inter-tribal warfare. Now, to avoid incestuous couplings, marriages are arranged among far flung communities, on a trial basis. One of our frequent visitors from Essen village is Kenneth, the chief’s son. On his first visit, he had two little girls, his daughters, with him. He wanted to have me show him how to work on his generator, and we set up a day and time. The morning of the appointment, I got a message from his brother that he couldn’t come that day. His new wife had just arrived on the ship from Epi Island. It seems that the mother of his daughters had never married him, and had decided to go home to her village. She took the youngest daughter, and left the 4 year old with Kenneth and his sister. A friend promptly arranged for a new wife for Kenneth. Everyone seemed pleased with the prospect. Three weeks later, things had changed. I asked Kenneth how the new wife was getting on with the new life, and he explained that his father, Chief Edward had decided to “send it back”. When a marriage is arranged, the new husband’s family pays a bride price to the family of his new wife. It seems that the new wife’s family thought 2 weeks was enough trial time, and was demanding payment now. Edward insisted that nobody could tell if a relationship would work long term with such a short trial, and wanted to hold off payment for a while. No compromise had been reached, so Edward, as chief and head of the family, decreed that they should “send it back”. In Bislama, there is no need to define a person differently from any other object, so the ex-bride is “it”. Kenneth seemed a little saddened, but philosophically resigned. After all, 5 years had been required for his first woman to decide it wasn’t a viable pairing, so what can you tell in 2 weeks. Right now, Karen and I have Sequester on a mooring in Port Vila harbor for a few days re-provisioning and catching up on internet. We’ve found a couple of cafes with free wi-fi internet now, so for the price of a couple of (fairly expensive) fruit smoothies we can work on correspondence, do a little research, and hopefully, we can get the blog caught up. On our last attempt to update it, last month, we got entangled in having forgotten the password, exacerbated by internet access so slow that it kept timing us out and dropping the site. This time there’s no cruise ship in town, so the traffic on the server will be lighter, and I think we can reset the password. Wish us luck. Ted
June 20, 2009
E blow tumas Efate
E blow tumas Efate! I'm practicing a little Bislama language here. "E" can be just about any object. Derived from "he" but just as good for "it" or "she". Tumas comes from "too much", but can be used for "a lot". In this case it really does mean too much. We got strong wind warnings for all of Vanuatu yesterday, with 25 to 30 knots predicted from the SE. I wasn't worried. We'd had 25 knots SE several times here, and our anchorage was comfortable and well protected. I'll blame part of my poor judgment on having a terrific cold, too. Sore throat, fever, what the medical journals describe as "general malaise". When it's going to blow hard and load the anchor up heavily, paying out more line improves the angle of pull and reduces shock loads, so long scope on the anchor is just good sense. I left all as it was when we went to bed, early, to sleep off the cold. That didn't play out.
Just before midnight I woke up with the canvas awning thrashing, threatening to destruct. Karen was sleeping like the dead, so I just ran out and pulled it down. Before I finished the noise of the wind rising still more had Karen up, asking if everything was OK. I thought so, but sat up a few more minutes to see. Soon we both were noticing a motion that wasn't right. It was now misting rain, so we threw on jackets before we went out again. The pitch black was pretty disorienting, but I had an idea where the little dots of light from 3 other yachts in the bay should have been, and they weren't there. We were drifting in the harbor, headed for the lee shore of Moso Island. It was going to be a hard night.
We shut off all the lights, to let eyes adjust for night vision, and I got the engine started, then turned on the compass light. Sometime in the last couple weeks we must have snagged the wire with a jib sheet. One wire terminal was gone. I grabbed a jumper wire and in a minute we could soon see directions. Karen hit the power button for the depth sounder. It cocked to one side and stuck down. Backlighting on, but no readout. No more time to fool with instruments. We were blowing downwind, NW, so it was safest to go slowly back upwind, SE. And I needed to pick up the 80 feet of chain and anchor dangling off the bow. As I went to do that, we noticed we were suddenly no longer beam on to the wind, but headed up. The anchor must have caught as we approached the shore. A sweep with the big searchlight showed trees behind us, but not getting closer. That gave us a couple of minutes to get oriented again. We saw what we thought were the anchor lights of the other boats. We couldn't stay where we were safely, as building waves would probably break the anchor out again. Karen started driving, and I retrieved the anchor. We headed for the lights. In the biggest gusts, I couldn't stand up on the deck, but had to crawl. That's a good bit more than 30 knots. Fortunately, it would drop to less than 20 for a minute or two between gusts, so we could make headway.
We were beginning to make out the skyline of the surrounding hills, in the tiny bit of light from the cloud-shrouded sliver of a moon. I periodically swept around us with the spotlight, confirmed no land in range of the beam, then ran below and got out the GPS and started it up, as I laid out a chart. Electronics to the rescue again. I'd written down our coordinates when we first anchored, so we just needed to get back there. It turned out the first set of lights we targeted were from a little village on Efate. That became clear when I charted our position. We adjusted course, and found two more lights, which we could soon identify as anchor lights. As we approached them we found shelter from the worst of the wind, blocked by the Efate shore. We eased in toward the trees until I could see a little pattern of the bottom when I played the searchlight on the water. No time for niceties now, we put the anchor down, and payed out a hundred feet of scope. We stopped. This was good.
A check of position against the chart showed us somewhere north of our previous anchorage, but we weren't going hunting again unless we had to. We squared things away a bit, and I found that with a complete shutdown and reboot the depth sounder worked. 12 feet of water. Good enough. I had the VHF radio on, and heard a couple of other boats checking with each other as they dragged, and one picked up and re-anchored. Knowing they'd probably seen us out motoring around, I got on the radio and let them know we were anchor down and stable. All vessels set an anchor watch for the next couple hours, until the gusts settled down to less than 30 knots. I napped and checked anchors until dawn.
In the morning light we could see that the anchor lights were from two boats we hadn't known were around, hidden from our previous anchorage by a point of land. Our anchor chain snaked between and over a dozen coral heads. With the tide down, we couldn't get Sequester in to pick it up. I collected the anchor using the dinghy, after a swim to untangle things, and we drifted out to clear water. By 07:00 AM we were back where we wanted to be, with TWO anchors set, with PLENTY of scope. Took a lot of naps today, and the gusty wind has dropped a good bit. We're feeling better. But we understand people who trade in the cruising boat for a camper van. Ted
E blow tumas Efate! I'm practicing a little Bislama language here. "E" can be just about any object. Derived from "he" but just as good for "it" or "she". Tumas comes from "too much", but can be used for "a lot". In this case it really does mean too much. We got strong wind warnings for all of Vanuatu yesterday, with 25 to 30 knots predicted from the SE. I wasn't worried. We'd had 25 knots SE several times here, and our anchorage was comfortable and well protected. I'll blame part of my poor judgment on having a terrific cold, too. Sore throat, fever, what the medical journals describe as "general malaise". When it's going to blow hard and load the anchor up heavily, paying out more line improves the angle of pull and reduces shock loads, so long scope on the anchor is just good sense. I left all as it was when we went to bed, early, to sleep off the cold. That didn't play out.
Just before midnight I woke up with the canvas awning thrashing, threatening to destruct. Karen was sleeping like the dead, so I just ran out and pulled it down. Before I finished the noise of the wind rising still more had Karen up, asking if everything was OK. I thought so, but sat up a few more minutes to see. Soon we both were noticing a motion that wasn't right. It was now misting rain, so we threw on jackets before we went out again. The pitch black was pretty disorienting, but I had an idea where the little dots of light from 3 other yachts in the bay should have been, and they weren't there. We were drifting in the harbor, headed for the lee shore of Moso Island. It was going to be a hard night.
We shut off all the lights, to let eyes adjust for night vision, and I got the engine started, then turned on the compass light. Sometime in the last couple weeks we must have snagged the wire with a jib sheet. One wire terminal was gone. I grabbed a jumper wire and in a minute we could soon see directions. Karen hit the power button for the depth sounder. It cocked to one side and stuck down. Backlighting on, but no readout. No more time to fool with instruments. We were blowing downwind, NW, so it was safest to go slowly back upwind, SE. And I needed to pick up the 80 feet of chain and anchor dangling off the bow. As I went to do that, we noticed we were suddenly no longer beam on to the wind, but headed up. The anchor must have caught as we approached the shore. A sweep with the big searchlight showed trees behind us, but not getting closer. That gave us a couple of minutes to get oriented again. We saw what we thought were the anchor lights of the other boats. We couldn't stay where we were safely, as building waves would probably break the anchor out again. Karen started driving, and I retrieved the anchor. We headed for the lights. In the biggest gusts, I couldn't stand up on the deck, but had to crawl. That's a good bit more than 30 knots. Fortunately, it would drop to less than 20 for a minute or two between gusts, so we could make headway.
We were beginning to make out the skyline of the surrounding hills, in the tiny bit of light from the cloud-shrouded sliver of a moon. I periodically swept around us with the spotlight, confirmed no land in range of the beam, then ran below and got out the GPS and started it up, as I laid out a chart. Electronics to the rescue again. I'd written down our coordinates when we first anchored, so we just needed to get back there. It turned out the first set of lights we targeted were from a little village on Efate. That became clear when I charted our position. We adjusted course, and found two more lights, which we could soon identify as anchor lights. As we approached them we found shelter from the worst of the wind, blocked by the Efate shore. We eased in toward the trees until I could see a little pattern of the bottom when I played the searchlight on the water. No time for niceties now, we put the anchor down, and payed out a hundred feet of scope. We stopped. This was good.
A check of position against the chart showed us somewhere north of our previous anchorage, but we weren't going hunting again unless we had to. We squared things away a bit, and I found that with a complete shutdown and reboot the depth sounder worked. 12 feet of water. Good enough. I had the VHF radio on, and heard a couple of other boats checking with each other as they dragged, and one picked up and re-anchored. Knowing they'd probably seen us out motoring around, I got on the radio and let them know we were anchor down and stable. All vessels set an anchor watch for the next couple hours, until the gusts settled down to less than 30 knots. I napped and checked anchors until dawn.
In the morning light we could see that the anchor lights were from two boats we hadn't known were around, hidden from our previous anchorage by a point of land. Our anchor chain snaked between and over a dozen coral heads. With the tide down, we couldn't get Sequester in to pick it up. I collected the anchor using the dinghy, after a swim to untangle things, and we drifted out to clear water. By 07:00 AM we were back where we wanted to be, with TWO anchors set, with PLENTY of scope. Took a lot of naps today, and the gusty wind has dropped a good bit. We're feeling better. But we understand people who trade in the cruising boat for a camper van. Ted
June 17, 2009
Vanuatu Variations
Since we moved out to Havanna Harbor, on the N coast of Efate, I haven't been spending a lot of time at the computer keyboard. I think of something interesting to pass on a couple times a day, but having told the villagers that I'd be happy to go over their mechanical and electrical equipment, I've been going about as hard as my body will allow. Between jobs on generators and chainsaws, I've been reading. I've never read much of LeCarre's series of novels about the British spy service and when I found one at an exchange, decided I should take a look at his style and character development. I can see why he's sold a lot of books. Pretty good entertainment. Now I'm working through "1968, The Year That Rocked The World" by Mark Kurlansky. It's pretty good history, especially interesting to those of us who lived thru it. Even for those too young to remember, there are a lot of explanations and insights that help explain how we got to where we are now. Great background on the USA, Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia, Germany, France, Mexico.
Karen told you all about the 4 hour church service we went to last Sunday. I had some questions about the Vanuatu brand of Christianity when we went. From our first night in Port Vila, almost every night, I could hear what sounded like a revival meeting going on near the market, from late afternoon until dawn. Continuous, intense preaching interspersed with hymns. The vocal intonation and the volume (they do love amplifiers) left me with the impression of a religion heavy on the hellfire and damnation. Most of it was in Bislama language (a pidgin English that is the official language here), so with the distortion of the amps and speakers I couldn't follow a sentence, but the inflection of voice invariably dripped scorn, hatred, disgust. Hard for me to figure carrying on like that all night and still having an audience in the morning.
The church service in Tassarrikki was shared among 5 preachers, and was a lot more varied in tone. The woman who was the lead pastor of the event took a more even tempered and somewhat rational approach, reassuring and explanatory. One of the men went for the "ecstatically happy" impression, interspersing statements with a whooping laugh reminiscent of a Disney cartoon character when he runs off the edge of a cliff. And then came the guy who has to be the one preaching on the Port Vila waterfront. Big, serious, uncompromising, scowling, he excoriated the congregation for not expressing the overwhelming joy they should feel at the offer of redemption. A fascinating character for a psych study, but unable to hold my attention for very long. Not very dynamic, and functionally irrational.
Church aside, the community started out friendly and became even more outgoing when we showed an interest in spending some time with them. Part of it clearly is their appreciation of the repair facility. One "customer" watching me do a carburetor cleanup yesterday on the side deck of Sequester told me I have "Nambah Wahn shop here". The procession of equipment includes several units covered with spider webs and dust, with wires nibbled off by rodents. They've been sitting unusable for up to a couple of years. They have interesting side issues too. As in the Marshalls, I follow Spike's Law; Pay no attention to the diagnosis the owner gives you. Check for repairs they have made and repair their repairs. Then look for the original problem. I am astounded to have now returned to service 7 generators and a chainsaw, using no parts other than odd screws, epoxy, a soldering kit, some wire, and some fuel tubing. There's a lot of cleaning going on here. They often watch, and are getting the importance of clean fuel and wire connections. They desperately want the power, for entertainment, lighting, and power tools, and they're paying attention. They'll get better at technology pretty quickly. I started a little course in solar panel and wind generator installations too, working on the non-functional system someone sold the chief. I'll be evaluating math skills this week, to see if I can teach someone how to determine charging requirements for different types of equipment.
I was a little surprised to see the chainsaw, not having heard one running since we arrived. Now I know, it's not because they don't want them, or don't have them. They just don't have many that run. A visual impression of Chief Robson's ancient Husquvarna saw makes it hard to imagine that it would still run. But after shovelling the sawdust out of the carb, jury rigging the muffler back on, and redesigning the air cleaner, it fires right up, ear-shattering and authoritative. Looking at their dugout outrigger canoes, it's clear why it's such a valuable tool. About 4 years is as long as a dugout will last here. By then the thin wall of the hollowed out log is checking and splitting, and there's a lot of bailing going on between paddle strokes. So there's a lot of shaping and hollowing going on all the time to keep the village in boats. Without boats, they can't get to the gardens. The gardens provide most of the food, and virtually all of the cash income.
In common with most other Pacific Islanders we've visited, these people aren't comfortable taking something without reciprocating. We're getting an increasing stream of pamplemousse (big, sweet local grapefuit), coconuts, chinese cabbage (bok choy) papayas, bananas, lemons, and long beans. The bananas as usual came as a stalk of a hundred or so, and all ripen within a couple days. Banana pudding, banana bread, bananas sliced with other stuff, and a few a day just peeled and eaten. We're down to the last 20 now. May take a short break before we get another stalk. One generator owner brought us a very nicely made model outrigger canoe, detailed and accurate. A couple of guys I did work for invited us to dinner in the village. They made a party of it, showing videos of some local string bands, one of "my" generators puttering behind the house, the TV surrounded by about 30 children, all eating and singing along. About half the songs were written about the social issues they're trying to deal with; pollution, sexually transmitted diseases, integration into the global society. We were pretty impressed with both the message, and the quality of music and video production. There's some talent, commitment, and intelligence at work here. I figure in a couple more days I'll have caught up with most of the generator work, and I think I'll take a couple days to work on Sequester, and refurbish my canoe. This so far seems the best climate we've been in for years to allow for repair work outside. Enough words for now, but I hope this gives a taste of what it's like here. More soon. Ted
Since we moved out to Havanna Harbor, on the N coast of Efate, I haven't been spending a lot of time at the computer keyboard. I think of something interesting to pass on a couple times a day, but having told the villagers that I'd be happy to go over their mechanical and electrical equipment, I've been going about as hard as my body will allow. Between jobs on generators and chainsaws, I've been reading. I've never read much of LeCarre's series of novels about the British spy service and when I found one at an exchange, decided I should take a look at his style and character development. I can see why he's sold a lot of books. Pretty good entertainment. Now I'm working through "1968, The Year That Rocked The World" by Mark Kurlansky. It's pretty good history, especially interesting to those of us who lived thru it. Even for those too young to remember, there are a lot of explanations and insights that help explain how we got to where we are now. Great background on the USA, Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia, Germany, France, Mexico.
Karen told you all about the 4 hour church service we went to last Sunday. I had some questions about the Vanuatu brand of Christianity when we went. From our first night in Port Vila, almost every night, I could hear what sounded like a revival meeting going on near the market, from late afternoon until dawn. Continuous, intense preaching interspersed with hymns. The vocal intonation and the volume (they do love amplifiers) left me with the impression of a religion heavy on the hellfire and damnation. Most of it was in Bislama language (a pidgin English that is the official language here), so with the distortion of the amps and speakers I couldn't follow a sentence, but the inflection of voice invariably dripped scorn, hatred, disgust. Hard for me to figure carrying on like that all night and still having an audience in the morning.
The church service in Tassarrikki was shared among 5 preachers, and was a lot more varied in tone. The woman who was the lead pastor of the event took a more even tempered and somewhat rational approach, reassuring and explanatory. One of the men went for the "ecstatically happy" impression, interspersing statements with a whooping laugh reminiscent of a Disney cartoon character when he runs off the edge of a cliff. And then came the guy who has to be the one preaching on the Port Vila waterfront. Big, serious, uncompromising, scowling, he excoriated the congregation for not expressing the overwhelming joy they should feel at the offer of redemption. A fascinating character for a psych study, but unable to hold my attention for very long. Not very dynamic, and functionally irrational.
Church aside, the community started out friendly and became even more outgoing when we showed an interest in spending some time with them. Part of it clearly is their appreciation of the repair facility. One "customer" watching me do a carburetor cleanup yesterday on the side deck of Sequester told me I have "Nambah Wahn shop here". The procession of equipment includes several units covered with spider webs and dust, with wires nibbled off by rodents. They've been sitting unusable for up to a couple of years. They have interesting side issues too. As in the Marshalls, I follow Spike's Law; Pay no attention to the diagnosis the owner gives you. Check for repairs they have made and repair their repairs. Then look for the original problem. I am astounded to have now returned to service 7 generators and a chainsaw, using no parts other than odd screws, epoxy, a soldering kit, some wire, and some fuel tubing. There's a lot of cleaning going on here. They often watch, and are getting the importance of clean fuel and wire connections. They desperately want the power, for entertainment, lighting, and power tools, and they're paying attention. They'll get better at technology pretty quickly. I started a little course in solar panel and wind generator installations too, working on the non-functional system someone sold the chief. I'll be evaluating math skills this week, to see if I can teach someone how to determine charging requirements for different types of equipment.
I was a little surprised to see the chainsaw, not having heard one running since we arrived. Now I know, it's not because they don't want them, or don't have them. They just don't have many that run. A visual impression of Chief Robson's ancient Husquvarna saw makes it hard to imagine that it would still run. But after shovelling the sawdust out of the carb, jury rigging the muffler back on, and redesigning the air cleaner, it fires right up, ear-shattering and authoritative. Looking at their dugout outrigger canoes, it's clear why it's such a valuable tool. About 4 years is as long as a dugout will last here. By then the thin wall of the hollowed out log is checking and splitting, and there's a lot of bailing going on between paddle strokes. So there's a lot of shaping and hollowing going on all the time to keep the village in boats. Without boats, they can't get to the gardens. The gardens provide most of the food, and virtually all of the cash income.
In common with most other Pacific Islanders we've visited, these people aren't comfortable taking something without reciprocating. We're getting an increasing stream of pamplemousse (big, sweet local grapefuit), coconuts, chinese cabbage (bok choy) papayas, bananas, lemons, and long beans. The bananas as usual came as a stalk of a hundred or so, and all ripen within a couple days. Banana pudding, banana bread, bananas sliced with other stuff, and a few a day just peeled and eaten. We're down to the last 20 now. May take a short break before we get another stalk. One generator owner brought us a very nicely made model outrigger canoe, detailed and accurate. A couple of guys I did work for invited us to dinner in the village. They made a party of it, showing videos of some local string bands, one of "my" generators puttering behind the house, the TV surrounded by about 30 children, all eating and singing along. About half the songs were written about the social issues they're trying to deal with; pollution, sexually transmitted diseases, integration into the global society. We were pretty impressed with both the message, and the quality of music and video production. There's some talent, commitment, and intelligence at work here. I figure in a couple more days I'll have caught up with most of the generator work, and I think I'll take a couple days to work on Sequester, and refurbish my canoe. This so far seems the best climate we've been in for years to allow for repair work outside. Enough words for now, but I hope this gives a taste of what it's like here. More soon. Ted
June 11, 2009
Tassarikki Village
I believe we have found “our” village in Vanuatu. We have spent a couple of days in the village now and we also see the locals every day when they pass by Sequester to go to their garden plots on the main island. We are anchored in Havannah harbor, in between the main island of Efate and their island of Moso. It only takes about 10-15 minutes to dinghy across the protected water from one to the other. The farmers come across in the morning and spend the day in their gardens; or else they take the transport into Pt Vila to sell the produce at the local market. Every evening the outrigger canoes or power boats take the people back to the village and we sit out on deck and wave goodnight to them. Everyone is very friendly and we were invited to visit the village and attend church with them. So we went on Sunday.
The service was a special one for Proclamation Day and all the surrounding villages gathered in Tassarikki. There were even a number of people who came from Pt Vila. Of course, they all had to be transported to the village by boat, so the service was late starting. We had brought our computer with pictures of the Marshall Islands, so entertained them before the service. Everyone was very interested in seeing how other islanders live, and they realized that their lives were very similar.
The church service was different than any we have attended in the Pacific. It was very interactive, with lots of singing, praising and rejoicing. Every sentence was punctuated with “Halleluiah”, and we must have heard that about a thousand times during the 4 hour service!! There were 5 churches represented, so they all had to do their bit. The young people put on skits with singing and dancing. The preacher was very lively and the boisterous crowd ate it up. It was all in English, so we understood everything. Our experience with church in the Marshalls was that the congregation seemed to be asleep and no one even looked at the pastor. This was the total opposite, and even though it was VERY long, it wasn’t boring.
The next day we sailed back to Pt Vila to stock up on food. The trip takes about 5-6 hours. We only spent 2 nights in town and sailed back out here yesterday. We should have enough provisions to stay out here for a few weeks.
Ted had promised to look at some generators and solar systems, so today he packed up his tools and took them in. He drew quite a crowd around him as he was fixing a generator.
I took the opportunity to walk to the school for a visit. It was a half-hour walk through the woods by the lagoon, quite pleasant, and I caught the kids at recess. The 4 teachers made we welcome, showed me around the school, and we talked about where we have visited and what they are teaching. I was invited to come back, so will probably do that. The preschool wasn’t in session, as the teacher was sick, so would like to visit that class.
The whole village was in a “meeting” when we first arrived, and we found out later that a visiting nurse was talking to them about reproductive health. Maybe next visit I’ll get to see the health clinic and talk to the nurse a little bit. Most people speak very good English, so it is nice to carry on conversations. So far we are the only yacht out here, but we understand that in “season”, which is from July to October, there can be many yachts here. There were lots of yachts in Vila, with many more arriving each day. We probably won’t be alone here much longer. But there is plenty of room and good protection with good holding in sand. I rowed around a little bit this morning and found a lovely area of coral that should be great to snorkel. That will be for tomorrow. Karen
I believe we have found “our” village in Vanuatu. We have spent a couple of days in the village now and we also see the locals every day when they pass by Sequester to go to their garden plots on the main island. We are anchored in Havannah harbor, in between the main island of Efate and their island of Moso. It only takes about 10-15 minutes to dinghy across the protected water from one to the other. The farmers come across in the morning and spend the day in their gardens; or else they take the transport into Pt Vila to sell the produce at the local market. Every evening the outrigger canoes or power boats take the people back to the village and we sit out on deck and wave goodnight to them. Everyone is very friendly and we were invited to visit the village and attend church with them. So we went on Sunday.
The service was a special one for Proclamation Day and all the surrounding villages gathered in Tassarikki. There were even a number of people who came from Pt Vila. Of course, they all had to be transported to the village by boat, so the service was late starting. We had brought our computer with pictures of the Marshall Islands, so entertained them before the service. Everyone was very interested in seeing how other islanders live, and they realized that their lives were very similar.
The church service was different than any we have attended in the Pacific. It was very interactive, with lots of singing, praising and rejoicing. Every sentence was punctuated with “Halleluiah”, and we must have heard that about a thousand times during the 4 hour service!! There were 5 churches represented, so they all had to do their bit. The young people put on skits with singing and dancing. The preacher was very lively and the boisterous crowd ate it up. It was all in English, so we understood everything. Our experience with church in the Marshalls was that the congregation seemed to be asleep and no one even looked at the pastor. This was the total opposite, and even though it was VERY long, it wasn’t boring.
The next day we sailed back to Pt Vila to stock up on food. The trip takes about 5-6 hours. We only spent 2 nights in town and sailed back out here yesterday. We should have enough provisions to stay out here for a few weeks.
Ted had promised to look at some generators and solar systems, so today he packed up his tools and took them in. He drew quite a crowd around him as he was fixing a generator.
I took the opportunity to walk to the school for a visit. It was a half-hour walk through the woods by the lagoon, quite pleasant, and I caught the kids at recess. The 4 teachers made we welcome, showed me around the school, and we talked about where we have visited and what they are teaching. I was invited to come back, so will probably do that. The preschool wasn’t in session, as the teacher was sick, so would like to visit that class.
The whole village was in a “meeting” when we first arrived, and we found out later that a visiting nurse was talking to them about reproductive health. Maybe next visit I’ll get to see the health clinic and talk to the nurse a little bit. Most people speak very good English, so it is nice to carry on conversations. So far we are the only yacht out here, but we understand that in “season”, which is from July to October, there can be many yachts here. There were lots of yachts in Vila, with many more arriving each day. We probably won’t be alone here much longer. But there is plenty of room and good protection with good holding in sand. I rowed around a little bit this morning and found a lovely area of coral that should be great to snorkel. That will be for tomorrow. Karen
June 3, 2009
Out of Port Vila
We've moved from the bay where Port Vila is located, and are now in an area known as Havanna Harbor. The harbor is located on the NW coast of Efate Island, and is enclosed by two long islands that shelter it from the ocean. The water between Efate and the barrier islands is a couple of miles wide, and most is too deep for anchoring in a small vessel. There are a few places along the edges were there are sandy shoals, rather than reefs or abrupt drop-offs, and these plateaus, sheltered from winds by the high hills, are favorite places for yachts to spend some time away from town. There is a road that roughly follows the perimeter of Efate, and the American and Japanese govts have contributed to paving it. As we sailed up the harbor area we saw activity with heavy equipment working on that project, and also development of several resorts. Where the road is good, tourism becomes a viable industry.
We had intended to move out here to the more rural Vanuatu a few days earlier than we did. We needed to get off the mooring that Yachting World was supplying for 1200 Vatu ($12) a day. We hadn't budgeted for such a cost when we left Majuro; we were supposed to be back working in NZ in a month. But, as we readied to head out of town, Karen came down with flu symptoms, and felt far too bad to go anywhere. We spent another night on the mooring, and I went out in the dinghy looking for likely spots to anchor in the town harbor. From what I saw, and what I heard from a few local sources I determined that those who own the moorings and the resort facilities strongly discourage staying without paying. The resorts want to protect a perimeter of open water around their little piece of shoreline, and the mooring owners want to collect revenue. Only a couple of spots near the town looked reasonable, and we only stayed a couple of hours at the first one. Then a "security" guy in a rough old skiff came by to say it was "not safe" there and we had to move. I don't know what the danger was, but it seemed inadvisable to object. We had met a NZ couple who had arrived by yacht, and had recently bought a house, and we had asked them about anchoring. They said that although the mooring owners will tell you that you can't anchor anywhere near the quarantine buoy, where arrivals are cleared in, it is in fact unrestricted. They had lived there for two months while they shopped for a house. There are rocks on the bottom, which cause annoying problems with tangled anchor chain if the wind shifts, but it's legal and possible. So that's where we spent the next couple of days.
Early Tuesday morning we were ready to go. We started to pick up the anchor, but in the end I had to get in the water and untangle the chain from a rock overhang. From there it was a pleasant sail for a few miles, to the mouth of the Baie de Mele. The chart shows rough water and wave overfalls there, caused by current and wind encountering a projection of the island called Devils Point. Once you sail through there, the nomenclature is obvious. It's only a couple of miles, but a 20 knot trade wind was producing 4 meter seas, closely spaced with the crests breaking. It gets the attention. I can't say I'm looking forward to gong back against that when we return to town. But soon enough we were running along the coast, increasingly protected from the wind, and by the time we entered the Hilliard channel which leads to Havanna Harbor, the wind was light, gusting up to moderate. We were also experiencing very light, misting squalls of rain. Not much of a squall, just enough to require some sail trimming, so we had to be out where we got good and wet, and a little cooler than was comfortable.
We'd been offered the use of a mooring by a local charter operator, whose boat is being repaired at the moment, with the proviso that we might have some trouble FINDING it, unless another charter boat was on a nearby mooring, which would give us a reference point. We arrived in the area while the other boat was out working, and couldn't locate it, so carried on down the coast until we found a suitable sandy spot which was over a mile from the nearest road construction. It has proved to be both secure and quiet. Very soon after we arrived we felt and heard a rumble. It sounded like the anchor chain dragging across the bottom, but the whole boat was shaking. We ran up on deck, but it was completely calm, with not a wave in sight. Karen said jokingly it was probably an earthquake. Sure enough, 2 hours later on NZ radio they announced there had been a 6.2 quake just 45 km from us!
We saw a skiff on the beach, but no evidence of a house. And just before dark around 30 locals piled into the skiff and made their way across the bay to Moso Island. It turns out that the villagers from Moso, the barrier island across the harbor, have an extensive garden plot here. I had an early morning chat with a fellow who paddled in with a wheelbarrow tied onto his outrigger canoe. He told me "We kip carton her". It took a few minutes for me to figure out that he wasn't coming with a wheelbarrow to get boxes. That was "We keep a garden here". So far they've shown no more interest in us than a friendly wave and greeting on the way in and out. It seems that the skiff makes two trips each way daily, loaded so deep with garden workers and children that I'm sure they must sink it a couple of times a year if the water gets a little rough. No place in the Pacific does anyone seem to have any concept of a safety margin when it comes to boat capacity.
Since we've been in Vanuatu I've been exploring the HF radio bands, looking for good information programs. I find that between 3:00 and 5:00 in the morning Radio Australia has a couple of "ideas" programs, interviewing some pretty interesting people. Why they do this when most of the population is asleep is a question that comes to mind, but I suspect the answer. Can't intrude on sports commentary time for the bulk of the population, just to feed the thought process of a minority who aspire to the "elite intelligentsia". Anyway, the speaker this morning was George Friedman, editor of Stratfor, and author of a book, "The Next 100 Years". He tries to predict the big geopolitical events of the future, and makes quite a good case for his reasoning. I expect I'll try to get my hands on the book. If you have some time for an internet search, I think he's worth a look. And last night on Armed Forces Radio, on a lighter note, we listened to Car Talk with Click and Clack, the Tappet brothers. Entertainment from Cambridge, Massachussetts via NPR. And we are able to pick up Radio New Zealand for much of the day. So we are in touch with all things Kiwi and don't feel so far from home. Cruising to out of the way places is a lot different now than it was a few years ago. The communications improvements continue to delight us. Ted
We've moved from the bay where Port Vila is located, and are now in an area known as Havanna Harbor. The harbor is located on the NW coast of Efate Island, and is enclosed by two long islands that shelter it from the ocean. The water between Efate and the barrier islands is a couple of miles wide, and most is too deep for anchoring in a small vessel. There are a few places along the edges were there are sandy shoals, rather than reefs or abrupt drop-offs, and these plateaus, sheltered from winds by the high hills, are favorite places for yachts to spend some time away from town. There is a road that roughly follows the perimeter of Efate, and the American and Japanese govts have contributed to paving it. As we sailed up the harbor area we saw activity with heavy equipment working on that project, and also development of several resorts. Where the road is good, tourism becomes a viable industry.
We had intended to move out here to the more rural Vanuatu a few days earlier than we did. We needed to get off the mooring that Yachting World was supplying for 1200 Vatu ($12) a day. We hadn't budgeted for such a cost when we left Majuro; we were supposed to be back working in NZ in a month. But, as we readied to head out of town, Karen came down with flu symptoms, and felt far too bad to go anywhere. We spent another night on the mooring, and I went out in the dinghy looking for likely spots to anchor in the town harbor. From what I saw, and what I heard from a few local sources I determined that those who own the moorings and the resort facilities strongly discourage staying without paying. The resorts want to protect a perimeter of open water around their little piece of shoreline, and the mooring owners want to collect revenue. Only a couple of spots near the town looked reasonable, and we only stayed a couple of hours at the first one. Then a "security" guy in a rough old skiff came by to say it was "not safe" there and we had to move. I don't know what the danger was, but it seemed inadvisable to object. We had met a NZ couple who had arrived by yacht, and had recently bought a house, and we had asked them about anchoring. They said that although the mooring owners will tell you that you can't anchor anywhere near the quarantine buoy, where arrivals are cleared in, it is in fact unrestricted. They had lived there for two months while they shopped for a house. There are rocks on the bottom, which cause annoying problems with tangled anchor chain if the wind shifts, but it's legal and possible. So that's where we spent the next couple of days.
Early Tuesday morning we were ready to go. We started to pick up the anchor, but in the end I had to get in the water and untangle the chain from a rock overhang. From there it was a pleasant sail for a few miles, to the mouth of the Baie de Mele. The chart shows rough water and wave overfalls there, caused by current and wind encountering a projection of the island called Devils Point. Once you sail through there, the nomenclature is obvious. It's only a couple of miles, but a 20 knot trade wind was producing 4 meter seas, closely spaced with the crests breaking. It gets the attention. I can't say I'm looking forward to gong back against that when we return to town. But soon enough we were running along the coast, increasingly protected from the wind, and by the time we entered the Hilliard channel which leads to Havanna Harbor, the wind was light, gusting up to moderate. We were also experiencing very light, misting squalls of rain. Not much of a squall, just enough to require some sail trimming, so we had to be out where we got good and wet, and a little cooler than was comfortable.
We'd been offered the use of a mooring by a local charter operator, whose boat is being repaired at the moment, with the proviso that we might have some trouble FINDING it, unless another charter boat was on a nearby mooring, which would give us a reference point. We arrived in the area while the other boat was out working, and couldn't locate it, so carried on down the coast until we found a suitable sandy spot which was over a mile from the nearest road construction. It has proved to be both secure and quiet. Very soon after we arrived we felt and heard a rumble. It sounded like the anchor chain dragging across the bottom, but the whole boat was shaking. We ran up on deck, but it was completely calm, with not a wave in sight. Karen said jokingly it was probably an earthquake. Sure enough, 2 hours later on NZ radio they announced there had been a 6.2 quake just 45 km from us!
We saw a skiff on the beach, but no evidence of a house. And just before dark around 30 locals piled into the skiff and made their way across the bay to Moso Island. It turns out that the villagers from Moso, the barrier island across the harbor, have an extensive garden plot here. I had an early morning chat with a fellow who paddled in with a wheelbarrow tied onto his outrigger canoe. He told me "We kip carton her". It took a few minutes for me to figure out that he wasn't coming with a wheelbarrow to get boxes. That was "We keep a garden here". So far they've shown no more interest in us than a friendly wave and greeting on the way in and out. It seems that the skiff makes two trips each way daily, loaded so deep with garden workers and children that I'm sure they must sink it a couple of times a year if the water gets a little rough. No place in the Pacific does anyone seem to have any concept of a safety margin when it comes to boat capacity.
Since we've been in Vanuatu I've been exploring the HF radio bands, looking for good information programs. I find that between 3:00 and 5:00 in the morning Radio Australia has a couple of "ideas" programs, interviewing some pretty interesting people. Why they do this when most of the population is asleep is a question that comes to mind, but I suspect the answer. Can't intrude on sports commentary time for the bulk of the population, just to feed the thought process of a minority who aspire to the "elite intelligentsia". Anyway, the speaker this morning was George Friedman, editor of Stratfor, and author of a book, "The Next 100 Years". He tries to predict the big geopolitical events of the future, and makes quite a good case for his reasoning. I expect I'll try to get my hands on the book. If you have some time for an internet search, I think he's worth a look. And last night on Armed Forces Radio, on a lighter note, we listened to Car Talk with Click and Clack, the Tappet brothers. Entertainment from Cambridge, Massachussetts via NPR. And we are able to pick up Radio New Zealand for much of the day. So we are in touch with all things Kiwi and don't feel so far from home. Cruising to out of the way places is a lot different now than it was a few years ago. The communications improvements continue to delight us. Ted
May 31, 2009
Immigration Policy
That was an interesting petition about the illegal aliens and social security. I have some questions about it. First, I'd like to examine why they came north from their homeland, entered a foreign culture and risk arrest ( after risking death crossing the desert). If there wasn't an opportunity for them, they wouldn't make the trip. The jobs they do are in the category of the cane cutters in the sugar industry; there are nowhere near enough legal Americans willing to do the work. The govt have to run a complicated temp worker program for the cane, bringing temp cutters in from the Caribbean countries for the harvest working them in conditions that can best be described as indenture, or temporary slavery. They have no provision for the fruit and veg picking, so the vacuum got filled illegally, prompted by the employers as much as the workers.
Why don't the Mexican's stay home? Maybe because the farms they used to have don't exist any more, because the USA has taken 100% of the water out of the Colorado River before it crosses the border to Mexico. Now US water regulators are sealing leaks in the reservoirs near the Mexican border, because enough water seeps out to support a few dozen vegetable farms on the Mexican side. How do you figure the Egyptians will respond if the countries the Nile passes thru decide that it's their water, and take it all? Does fairness figure into this at all, or only cash and guns? In California they're growing cattle fodder with the water that used to feed Northern Mexico before there were nations and borders. If no services are supplied for a workforce that's doing a needed service, they will increasingly be pushed to desperation. They actually have no real option to go back to Mexico. If they're pushed hard enough economically, they'll turn to crime. Pretty much all of us will steal rather than starve. I think it may be cheaper to avoid that. Also, as long as they are illegal, they have no option to appeal to the law if their employers treat them illegaly or unfairly. That further weakens any sort of agricultural union, any counterbalance to the power of corporate agriculture. Take a really good, dispassionate look at what corporate agriculture has done to the US economy, and environment, and tell me they don't need to have some opposition to temper their decision making. What total percentage of my social security check would end up being siphoned off to provide decent living conditions for this small sliver of the population? Would I actually miss it? I know I can't live on my SS pension in the states, which is part of the reason I can't actually afford to sail on around the world and return home. I need to stay in a less expensive country. But a 3 or 4 % reduction won't make a damn bit of difference. In any case, if the subsidies the US govt is paying to big agriculture were rescinded, that would far more than pay for SS for immigrant farm workers. The country needs the workers, and needs to have leverage to encourage social responsibility from them as it does the rest of the workforce. A program to allow them to become legal citizens or residents is the only answer I see. Ted
That was an interesting petition about the illegal aliens and social security. I have some questions about it. First, I'd like to examine why they came north from their homeland, entered a foreign culture and risk arrest ( after risking death crossing the desert). If there wasn't an opportunity for them, they wouldn't make the trip. The jobs they do are in the category of the cane cutters in the sugar industry; there are nowhere near enough legal Americans willing to do the work. The govt have to run a complicated temp worker program for the cane, bringing temp cutters in from the Caribbean countries for the harvest working them in conditions that can best be described as indenture, or temporary slavery. They have no provision for the fruit and veg picking, so the vacuum got filled illegally, prompted by the employers as much as the workers.
Why don't the Mexican's stay home? Maybe because the farms they used to have don't exist any more, because the USA has taken 100% of the water out of the Colorado River before it crosses the border to Mexico. Now US water regulators are sealing leaks in the reservoirs near the Mexican border, because enough water seeps out to support a few dozen vegetable farms on the Mexican side. How do you figure the Egyptians will respond if the countries the Nile passes thru decide that it's their water, and take it all? Does fairness figure into this at all, or only cash and guns? In California they're growing cattle fodder with the water that used to feed Northern Mexico before there were nations and borders. If no services are supplied for a workforce that's doing a needed service, they will increasingly be pushed to desperation. They actually have no real option to go back to Mexico. If they're pushed hard enough economically, they'll turn to crime. Pretty much all of us will steal rather than starve. I think it may be cheaper to avoid that. Also, as long as they are illegal, they have no option to appeal to the law if their employers treat them illegaly or unfairly. That further weakens any sort of agricultural union, any counterbalance to the power of corporate agriculture. Take a really good, dispassionate look at what corporate agriculture has done to the US economy, and environment, and tell me they don't need to have some opposition to temper their decision making. What total percentage of my social security check would end up being siphoned off to provide decent living conditions for this small sliver of the population? Would I actually miss it? I know I can't live on my SS pension in the states, which is part of the reason I can't actually afford to sail on around the world and return home. I need to stay in a less expensive country. But a 3 or 4 % reduction won't make a damn bit of difference. In any case, if the subsidies the US govt is paying to big agriculture were rescinded, that would far more than pay for SS for immigrant farm workers. The country needs the workers, and needs to have leverage to encourage social responsibility from them as it does the rest of the workforce. A program to allow them to become legal citizens or residents is the only answer I see. Ted
May 26, 2009
Another Good Book
I promised another report on a good book I was reading weeks ago, and haven't delivered yet. Here we go.
The book is "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle; a year of food life" by Barbara Kingsolver (and her family). The family decided to try a year of eating only food grown within 100 miles of their home. Having a small farm in Appalachia, they grew a good bit of it themselves. They also relied heavily on local farmers markets, and describe in detail how many of these foods were cultivated using organic principles of agriculture. In the process, they deliver a lot of rather surprising statistical data. It turns out that they spent LESS money eating high quality, organically grown, locally supplied foods than they previously had buying mass marketed corporate supplied products. The available data don't really support the supposition that factory farming and corporate monocultural agriculture are the most efficient ways to produce food from acreage, and the extensive bibliography and appendices support every claim made. On the subject of genetic engineering, Kingsolver points out the corporate motive for portraying it as a tool for increasing food volume and nutrition, then refutes claims that such products as "Golden Rice" will improve nutrition. Although she has primarily made a living as an author of a dozen books (novels, essays, short stories), her university degree is in biology, so she has no trouble with comprehension of scientific journals on nutrition. She also points out that most undernourished people live in countries which export food. It makes no difference what or how much is grown if those who need it have no access to it. Distribution is actually the problem. The undernourished simply don't have some critical factor....skills, or infrastructure, or social standing... that would allow them to provide a service for which the "market" is willing to barter food.
Along with presenting the economic and political realities of our current food delivery system, this book is studded with appealing recipes for eating seasonally without sacrificing quality of life. It's perhaps a little more of a lifestyle manual than a lot of people will be willing to accept, but it's hard to imagine that any reader with an open mind won't come away with value exceeding the effort of reading it. And the effort isn't that great....she's an entertaining writer.
Take a look at it, and pass it around. Ted
I promised another report on a good book I was reading weeks ago, and haven't delivered yet. Here we go.
The book is "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle; a year of food life" by Barbara Kingsolver (and her family). The family decided to try a year of eating only food grown within 100 miles of their home. Having a small farm in Appalachia, they grew a good bit of it themselves. They also relied heavily on local farmers markets, and describe in detail how many of these foods were cultivated using organic principles of agriculture. In the process, they deliver a lot of rather surprising statistical data. It turns out that they spent LESS money eating high quality, organically grown, locally supplied foods than they previously had buying mass marketed corporate supplied products. The available data don't really support the supposition that factory farming and corporate monocultural agriculture are the most efficient ways to produce food from acreage, and the extensive bibliography and appendices support every claim made. On the subject of genetic engineering, Kingsolver points out the corporate motive for portraying it as a tool for increasing food volume and nutrition, then refutes claims that such products as "Golden Rice" will improve nutrition. Although she has primarily made a living as an author of a dozen books (novels, essays, short stories), her university degree is in biology, so she has no trouble with comprehension of scientific journals on nutrition. She also points out that most undernourished people live in countries which export food. It makes no difference what or how much is grown if those who need it have no access to it. Distribution is actually the problem. The undernourished simply don't have some critical factor....skills, or infrastructure, or social standing... that would allow them to provide a service for which the "market" is willing to barter food.
Along with presenting the economic and political realities of our current food delivery system, this book is studded with appealing recipes for eating seasonally without sacrificing quality of life. It's perhaps a little more of a lifestyle manual than a lot of people will be willing to accept, but it's hard to imagine that any reader with an open mind won't come away with value exceeding the effort of reading it. And the effort isn't that great....she's an entertaining writer.
Take a look at it, and pass it around. Ted
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