Navire's blog

Passage Log 1 Majuro to Wallis At last time to get some posts up about our 1500 mile passage from the Marshall Islands to Wallis, from the northern hemisphere back to the south. Currently we are in Savusavu in Fiji. *** Day 1 April 25, 2017 Janet Position: Majuro Up at dawn, battonning down everything that might fly around the cabin if we fall off a big wave. We were leaving Majuro in the Marshall Islands after a 15- month sojourn. Boarding ladder up, dinghy secured, food ready for snacks and watch meals. I still felt like we could have been better prepared even though fellow sailors in the fleet sagely told us, "You are never completely ready to leave, just go". There were still final tasks to be done but I was psychologically ready to leave, ready to head down to the familiar South Pacific, ready to start our long journey home. I turned the engine on. Motoring gently forward we dropped the mooring that we had been safely secured to for over a year, and turned toward the west. Karen, now one of my dearest buddies, from the yacht Seal, blew on a hooter, and another boat called farewell. Yet more goodbyes came through the VHF. We were seen off properly. I felt sad about leaving the community we'd developed in our time on this tiny atoll. We motored the dozen miles across the lagoon to the pass in light winds and overcast conditions. Before heading out to the ocean we raised the main, shaking out half a year of dust from the sail. We followed a track on our chart out through the well-marked pass, we'd it laid on our incoming journey like the trail of slime a snail leaves in its wake. Just as well because at the very moment we entered the narrow gap in the reef the skies opened up, reducing visibility considerably. I felt rushed and a little anxious. I always do when we set out into the empty endless unknown planes of the ocean. I knew we wouldn't see land for at least a fortnight. I get anxious about the inevitable seasickness and tiredness that I know I will have to endure. Anxious about having to cope with squalls that pounce on the boat with their payload of sudden high winds and downpours, necessitating quick action reducing sail. I'm not a good sailor anyway and in the six months since our last outing I felt like I had forgotten the little I knew. Also this was our longest passage, and with just the two of us. Out in the ocean it was bit breezy so we put a reef in the main. To get east of Majuro atoll we were hard on the wind, bouncing through the waves. Conditions were 'Lumpy' as David wrote in the log. We got around the top of the atoll into the passage between Majuro and the neighbouring atoll Arno, and had Chinese takeaways for lunch on a more comfortable angle. Then the wind died. The wind dying is often not a gradual process where the boat slows down then you turn on the engine. No, it plays with you. Teasingly it flickers in and out. You adjust the sails or the course then the speed suddenly increases and whammo the boat is facing in the opposite direction, or heeled hard over, then it dies again, up and down till eventually the boat just wallows. Now, no wind. Nothing. So engine on. Turning the engine on at the beginning of a 1500 mile passage is no lightly made decision. We don't carry enough fuel to motor that distance. However sometimes motoring just a few miles can get you into an area of more wind, a good strategic move. And sure enough an hour later the wind kicked in, 10, 15, up to 23 knots by the wee hours of the night, so we switched the engine off and saved our precious fuel. Good run day one, 141 miles. Mostly in the right direction. *** Day 2 April 26 Position 5 53.013n 172 48.994e No squalls overnight but put a second reef in the main as the wind speed was 20- 25 knots all day. Chinese takeaways for lunch again. Eat, sleep, on watch, keep us on course. In my case, survive. David is doing just fine. But I'm feeling nauseous. All I want to do is sleep. But the environment is not conducive to it. One of us is always on watch, day and night. We watch for ships, but we hardly ever see one, in our thousands of miles of passages we have seen less than a dozen. We watch for squalls. Lots of these in this region. We watch the course, wind shifts and currents can change our heading. We watch the sails, adjusting them up and down and in and out, responding to the ever changing wind speed. Off watch we try and sleep in our sea berths in the main cabin. At sea the bow goes up and down over each wave making it too rough to sleep in our usual bed in the V berth. If you read any literature on sleep it recommends a cool, dark, quiet environment to get the best rest. Well its hot below, over 30 degrees C. =46rom time to time waves crash on the cabin top so most of the time we keep all the hatches closed. And its far from quiet. Waves crash on the hull, sometimes the wind howls and from time to time the engine roars into life, or the radio. The bunks have lee cloths to catch you as the boat rolls with each wave. Oh, yes, the sleep books say seven to eight hours is ideal. At night we do six hour watches so get five hours sleep in a row, if we are lucky. 128 miles today. Not bad. *** Day 3 April 27 Position 3 46.261n 174 22.051e This lowly crew-member is not in good shape. I'm nauseous, tired and injured. Late last night I was standing by the chart table when a larger than usual wave hit the boat. I crashed into the solid stainless steel bar that surrounds the stove and bruised my ribs. Now its painful to do anything with my left arm and I can't lie on that side. The sky is clear and sunny but the wind is blowing 25-30 knots and its pretty bouncy out there right now. Navire is happy though, in her element, she is leaping over the waves. Its hot, 30 degrees. And not likely to get any cooler as we get closer to the equator. I'd like to get my energy back so I can function and cook and eat. When I move I just want to head for the rail and throw up. My ribs hurt and g-forces from each wave threaten to smash me into something again. So I sit here checking the horizon every so often, making sure there are no ships, and keep us heading south-east. The chart table seems a 100 miles away. Every hour I make a supreme effort and go down and do the log. Then I dash back out, hook myself on, check the horizon and slowly recover.=20 David is on the foredeck. One of the skylights above the V-berth is leaking and our bed and all the stuff stored on it is drenched in salt water. Lovely. David is wearing a harness, clipped onto the jackline, naked. Mmm. I'm trying to make lunch. One trip down to put water on to boil noodles. Another to put the noodles in the pot. When they are done I add a prawn takeaway into it. I have no appetite but I make myself eat. It helps. On my watch we ran out of wind altogether and I turned the engine on. I know, I know, we can't motor all the way but it means we can get some easting and charge the batteries that are worryingly underperforming. 141 miles again. Powering along. ***=20 Day 4 3am April 27 Position: 0 52.604n 176 07. 317e Just endured a big squall that lasted quite a long time. We were all over the place - the wind increased and changed direction, and now the sea is rough. Took a few waves over the bow and one in the cockpit. But now I've got us pointing south-east again. I snuggle back into my dry(ish) corner in the dodger and dream. I'd like a double bed. No, make that queen size, and crisp clean cotton sheets. No salt, no sweat. And a bath. Oh yes, with scented oils, and the room lit with candles. The wind could howl outside my solid house and I wouldn't worry about going off course, reefing sails, or the anchor dragging. But for now we are out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I don't think I'm going to get much dozing this watch. You never know when the next squall is going to hit. I'm just going to give the wind vane another click to port. Less than a thousand miles to go now. Today we cross the equator. In another few days, the dateline. I mentally calculate our arrival time - if we are covering about two degrees a day, and Wallis is at 13 degrees south, we'll arrive in six or seven days. I feel salty and smelly. My hair is going into dreads. I think I'll have a shower today. Ah the joys of sailing. David is doing just fine by the way. He's much hardier than me. =20 =20 =20 =20

=20 Abaiang, Kiribati, One degree north of the equator December 22, 2015 (Posted from Majuro, April 2017) Abaiang, Abaiang. A destination to linger at, not a port of call on the way to somewhere else. I longed to stop awhile somewhere. Till then our journey had consisted of three or four day ocean passages between atolls. No sooner than we=E2=95=92d put the anchor down we were straight into provisioning, fueling up and watching weather for the next leg. But Abaiang was one day=E2=95=92s sail from Tarawa, the main island of Kiribati. It had no main port, or supermarkets or gas stations. A place just to visit. *** The previous morning we upped anchor and followed our path back out through the coral of Tarawa harbour. Despite the forecasted wind not arriving we motored north equipped with letters from Immigration and Customs giving us permission for a ten-day stay at Abiang, an atoll just north of Tarawa. A puff of wind skittered across the glassy surface prompting David to put out the spinnaker and turn the engine off. The wind toyed with us for a moment then dropped to 1.5 knots. The spinnaker drooped so down it came. Motor back on as we had to get to Abaiang on time for high tide to have enough depth to go through the pass into the lagoon. We had five hours to make 20 miles. We had crew. On our truck outing around Tarawa we=E2=95=92d fallen in love with our driver Tietau and his wife Meriin. We=E2=95=92d visited their very simple little house in Betio, home to their large extended family, and shared Kiribati food with them. It transpired that Merriin=E2=95=92s parents lived on Abiang, along with her much missed five-year old son. When we offered them a ride up there for Christmas they jumped at it. *** =E2=95=A5We are moving away from the equator,=E2=95=99 I said with delight. =E2=95=A5We may have to use a blanket at night,=E2=95=99 David quipped. Yeah right, I thought, as another rivulet of sweat ran down my back. The blankets were staying stowed till we got back to Fiji the following year. We put Tietau to work grating coconuts and in no time he produced three jars of rich cream. He paused for a cigarette then David had him back straight on the next task. =E2=95=A5Your job is to catch us a fish,=E2=95=99 he instructed. Tietau happily obliged and played the line. I went forward to join Meriin on the bow. She was feeling a little queasy. She told me,=E2=95=A5I woke up this morning and said to Tietau =E2=95=98We=E2=95=92re going on the yacht today.=E2=95=92=E2=95=99 I was delighted that they had been excited as us about the prospect of travelling with on Navire. =E2=95=A5My parents don=E2=95=92t know we are coming,=E2=95=99 she said. =E2=95=A5And they certainly won=E2=95=92t be expecting us to arrive on a yacht.=E2=95=99 She was looking forward to seeing her five- year old son who lived on Abaiang with his grandparents. Long oily swells passed under the hull, but my stomach behaved, as it had all the way from Fiji. I=E2=95=92d had two months of no seasickness over several ocean passages. Now I just needed to nail sleeping well at sea. Headsail up, headsail down, motor on, motor off, the hours passed. =20 I spotted the low profile of Abiang on the horizon. All the islands in the area were less than three metres above high tide. But no one we spoke to seemed particularly concerned about rising sea levels, but there was plenty of evidence of it happening with significant amounts of seawall building activity going on. I longed for a good nights=E2=95=92 sleep. I knew Abiang would be calmer than Tarawa, less fetch likely. But I hadn=E2=95=92t solved the bug problem. At this stage I didn=E2=95=92t know how tenacious the bloody things were and that four months later I would still be trying to eradicate them. The culprits were like very large fleas. That night I caught two on my body, bloated with blood. *** The deck was too hot for us to eat breakfast outside. We had to be careful not touch any of the brass trim on the deck or it burned our flesh. I looked at the clouds on the horizon, peppered with squalls. We could do with one now, I thought, I would stand naked on deck and get drenched with fresh water. But the squalls passed us by. The sea was the deepest royal blue. So calm I could see perfect reflections of the puffy white clouds scattered along the horizon. I checked the fishing lines. Mmmm, looks like pasta for dinner, I thought. The engine rumbled on. Sweat trickled into my eyes. The water in the pass was so clear it looked very shallow. We kept checking the depth gauge to reassure ourselves the bottom was indeed several metres below us. Anahata, one of our fleet, volunteered to go through first and wove her way through the coral bombies, the rest of us following close behind, heading down to Tanuau at the southern end of the atoll, Meriin=E2=95=92s parents=E2=95=92 village. It was very shallow near shore so we had to anchor a long way out. We all dived in for a swim, first one in weeks not having wanted to risk our lives swimming at Tarawa. Chuck declared us the Polar Bears Club =E2=95=A8 maybe a North American thing, as swimming at Xmas is in mid-winter. The water is glorious. We finished the day with drinks on Free Spirit. Now that=E2=95=92s the cruising life. After a blissful calm night=E2=95=92s sleep, not being eaten by insects for a change, Chris from Anahata came by in a dinghy providing a taxi ride to shore. Before we even hit the shore Merriin was on the beach to greet us. We hugged like old friends. Wow, this place was super traditional. Every structure was made of local materials, thatched rooves, cooking fires, and even a sleeping platform out over the tide. No corrugated iron, water tanks, barely any modern building materials. =20 David We were ushered along a couple of logs to their over-water bungalow, recently completed. This was a thatched platform suspended about ten feet above the water, carpeted with pandanus mats and cooled by the breeze. Constructed entirely from local materials, lashed together with coconut fibre twine, it was utterly romantic. Just like the bungalows at Likiulikiu without the crisp sheets. We'd seen structures like these at a high end Fijian resort which, with the addition of crisp sheets and a mattress, were let for $NZ2200 per night. Janet On shore we met Merriin=E2=95=92s mother and father, the father had a little English, the mother none, and her gorgeous five year old son. Our arrival was obviously expected and lunch was served immediately. We sat out in the hut on poles above the lagoon. Crayfish arrived, crabs, fried fish, local sweet kumera, fresh coconuts to drink, and the ubiquitous rice. We imitang (white people) ate first, as custom dictates, with our fingers. We learn =E2=95=98kangkang=E2=95=92, delicious. We joked and laughed and the waves crash on the shore under us. We didn=E2=95=92t notice the wind building. We start making arrangements. Merriin explained that they have their Christmas meal on Christmas Eve day and go to church Christmas morning. We had been trying to work out a way we can return their hospitality. I asked if it was okay if we brought food to share to a meal, and Merriin shakes her head. But Lauri is more persistent and explained =E2=95=A5We haven=E2=95=92t got room to host a meal for you on any of our boats but could we bring a meal in on Christmas Day.=E2=95=99 =E2=95=A5Yes=E2=95=99, said Merriin, =E2=95=A5but only if we can supply the plates and do the dishes.=E2=95=99 No argument from me on that score. Back at the anchorage, Navire was bouncing. So much for a period of respite, I wanted tranquility, just a few days, please. *** I sit here in the cockpit and type. Just had a shower in preparation to go to Free Spirit for belated Christmas strategy meeting with Lauri and Berringer. God I=E2=95=92m sweating already. Navire is bucking on her anchor. This is not a good anchorage in this wind but we are committed to Christmas here now. If the wind continues from the north we=E2=95=92ll go and join Clara Catherine at the north end of the lagoon, several hours away. I want peaceful days and nights, calm swimming, no noise of wind, or concerns about dragging. No points for guessing what the weather did=E2=95=94 =20

Kiribati first impressions 01 22.067n 172 55.684e See updates from YIT December 2015 (Posted from Majuro March 2017) *** Just in case anyone thinks we are still on our way to the Marshall Islands, these posts are about our trip north in 2015. I'm still getting up to date. A quick summary of the interim time is that we arrived in Majuro in January 2016 and shortly thereafter decided to settle here for a year. Its now March 2017 and we are again preparing to go to sea, to head back to the glorious South Pacific. I will get the upward journey posts up to Majuro, then jump to our journey south, hopefully interspersing this with posts about our time in Majuro. *** Kiribati (pronounced Kiribas), our first northern hemisphere landfall. Check out our position - 01 22.067n 172 55.684e December 17, 2015 David email to friend: What caught my eye on first gazing around our anchorage was the amount of rusting steel. I counted a couple dozen wrecks in various stages of decay. They were scattered on the reef to the west, on the foreshore of the town, and in the sea all around us. These were the visible ones. What wreckage lay beneath the surface? The holding in Tarawa was good but if you look at the atoll and where the main centre, Betio, is you'll see it's exposed from the east through north to WNW. Its a long fetch across the lagoon and a vicious chop is the norm, at least both times we were there. Our little dinghy actually managed it quite well but we always got soaked in unswimmably filthy water, generally had to bail and often felt in danger of being swamped. The dinghy tie-up area is even more filthy still and backs onto a rubbish tip so the air is disgusting. There is a road resurfacing project in which stage one, the removal of all old tar, was complete but no sign of a new surface. In the dry there was a cloud of dust and in the wet vast mud puddles to be forded. Driving is a slow business of avoiding potholes, which is impossible, and carefully easing your vehicle into and out of endless craters. An unpleasant place to be. *** Janet Yes it was a challenge for our little dinghy. Launching it was difficult with trying not to bash it against the side of the boat, scarring the hull. Motoring in to shore was not too bad but coming back into the waves was damp and dangerous as we were usually heavily laden with food, and diesel. Unloading was a nightmare. The land was dusty. It was hot and we sweated and struggled in the heat, leaking fluids by the gallon. Yet there was a certain vibrancy there. There were people everywhere in the streets, walking, unlike in Tuvalu where almost everyone was on a motorbike. And they were active, building the new road, building seawalls (lots of evidence of global warming), shopping, going places. *** We were a fleet of eleven yachts by then. I'll introduce you as these people had been our constant companions since Tuvalu and would be till we joined the larger fleet in Majuro Free Spirit, Lauri and Chuck, American, only together a year, and recently married. Delightfully and refreshingly in love. Anahata - David, South African but now resident in Canada, photographer, Crew - Chris, southern American gentleman from Virginia. Exodus - Deanne and Tim American aeronautical engineers, and their teenage boys Brendan and Alex Eos II - brave little Australian boat. Slade and Lahnee and their two very small and very gorgeous daughters Kiani and Ahia Kai. True Blue V - Australians Leanne and Craig Menkar - crazy French Giles and his professional online gambler son Sylvan Skua - French Paul, Aussie/French Berrenger and her lovely four-year old son Ulysses Clara Catherine - Americans Amanda and Brian (piano accordion player) Arial IV - Swedish, Eric, fleet doctor, and Bergitta Catharpin Blue - Marylin and Sam, American who we never managed to meet up with en route but they were in our daily radio net. Stella - Canadian Bob who we later visited in Victoria =20 We looked out for each other. People gave us rides in to land when the sea was too rough, and we shared information on what to buy where. The group shared a truck to immigration, and went out for dinner together. What a great chance to get to know people for more than five minutes. *** David Janet arranged a tour of the atoll for four yacht crews, on the back of a truck. One couple had the foresight to bring squabs which made all the difference. An absolute highlight. Our driver, Tiitau, pronounced Sitau - s is represented as ti - and his wife, Meriin, were special. They had good English, understood our wishes and did everything in their power to see that these all came true. Fresh produce and eggs, scarce on the island, were at the top of our wish list and we returned with fresh limes, bok choy, pumpkin, bananas, fresh basil, drinking coconuts, pawpaw but no eggs. We never tired of returning the enthusiastic waves of children, open mouthed at a truckload of Imitang, white people driving along the island's one road. At the end of the road not far past the airport we waded thigh deep to the next islet, Tiitau's home island. He explained the custom of visitors brushing their faces with sand, the gesture representing a joining with the new land. Faces suitably adorned we enjoyed a superb lunch of local ingredients, most dishes based around a seafood. No one was disappointed. Meriin and Tiitau, whom we had to arm-twist to join us for lunch, sang a local song in beautiful harmony so, of course Janet and I responded with Tu Tira Mai. We reveled in a couple of hours of textbook island paradise: thatched table looking out over turquoise coral palm-fringed foreshore on to a rippling cobalt sea, mysterious islets in the misty distance. Magnificent food, congenial company. Before crossing back to the truck we were shown through a boat-building yard - all wood construction of vessels ranging from local interisland launches, canoes, to a large trimeran for an Australian client. OSH would close the place in a heartbeat. The skies opened up on the homeward journey. We all got happily soaked and pleasantly cooled. Everyone's number one day in Kiribati. =20 =20 =20

Kiribati first impressions TE 01 22.067n 172 55.684e See updates from YIT December 2015 (Posted from Majuro March 2017) *** Just in case anyone thinks we are still on our way to the Marshall Islands, these posts are about our trip north in 2015. I=92m still getting up to date. A quick summary of the interim time is that we arrived in Majuro in January 2016 and shortly thereafter decided to settle here for a year. Its now March 2017 and we are again preparing to go to sea, to head back to the glorious South Pacific. I will get the upward journey posts up to Majuro, then jump to our journey south, hopefully interspersing this with posts about our time in Majuro. *** Kiribati (pronounced Kiribas), our first northern hemisphere landfall. Check out our position - 01 22.067n 172 55.684e December 17, 2015 David email to friend:=20 What caught my eye on first gazing around our anchorage was the amount of rusting steel. I counted a couple dozen wrecks in various stages of decay. They were scattered on the reef to the west, on the foreshore of the town, and in the sea all around us. These were the visible ones. What wreckage lay beneath the surface? The holding in Tarawa was good but if you look at the atoll and where the main centre, Betio, is you'll see it's exposed from the east through north to WNW. Its a long fetch across the lagoon and a vicious chop is the norm, at least both times we were there. Our little dinghy actually managed it quite well but we always got soaked in unswimmably filthy water, generally had to bail and often felt in danger of being swamped. The dinghy tie-up area is even more filthy still and backs onto a rubbish tip so the air is disgusting. There is a road resurfacing project in which stage one, the removal of all old tar, was complete but no sign of a new surface. In the dry there was a cloud of dust and in the wet vast mud puddles to be forded. Driving is a slow business of avoiding potholes, which is impossible, and carefully easing your vehicle into and out of endless craters. An unpleasant place to be. *** Janet Yes it was a challenge for our little dinghy. Launching it was difficult with trying not to bash it against the side of the boat, scarring the hull. Motoring in to shore was not too bad but coming back into the waves was damp and dangerous as we were usually heavily laden with food, and diesel. Unloading was a nightmare. The land was dusty. It was hot and we sweated and struggled in the heat, leaking fluids by the gallon. Yet there was a certain vibrancy there. There were people everywhere in the streets, walking, unlike in Tuvalu where almost everyone was on a motorbike. And they were active, building the new road, building seawalls (lots of evidence of global warming), shopping, going places. *** We were a fleet of eleven yachts by then. I=92ll introduce you as these people had been our constant companions since Tuvalu and would be till we joined the larger fleet in Majuro Free Spirit, Lauri and Chuck, American, only together a year, and recently married. Delightfully and refreshingly in love. Anahata =96 David, South African but now resident in Canada, photographer, Crew =96 Chris, southern American gentleman from Virginia. Exodus =96 Deanne and Tim American aeronautical engineers, and their teenage boys Brendan and Alex Eos II =96 brave little Australian boat. Slade and Lahnee and their two very small and very gorgeous daughters Kiani and Ahia Kai. True Blue V =96 Australians Leanne and Craig Menkar =96 crazy French Giles and his professional online gambler son Sylvan Skua =96 French Paul, Aussie/French Berrenger and her lovely four-year old son Ulysses Clara Catherine =96 Americans Amanda and Brian (piano accordion player) Arial IV =96 Swedish, Eric, fleet doctor, and Bergitta=20 Catharpin Blue - Marylin and Sam, American who we never managed to meet up with en route but they were in our daily radio net. Stella =96 Canadian Bob who we later visited in Victoria We looked out for each other. People gave us rides in to land when the sea was too rough, and we shared information on what to buy where. The group shared a truck to immigration, and went out for dinner together. What a great chance to get to know people for more than five minutes. *** David Janet arranged a tour of the atoll for four yacht crews, on the back of a truck. One couple had the foresight to bring squabs which made all the difference. An absolute highlight. Our driver, Tiitau, pronounced Sitau - s is represented as ti - and his wife, Meriin, were special. They had good English, understood our wishes and did everything in their power to see that these all came true. Fresh produce and eggs, scarce on the island, were at the top of our wish list and we returned with fresh limes, bok choy, pumpkin, bananas, fresh basil, drinking coconuts, pawpaw but no eggs. We never tired of returning the enthusiastic waves of children, open mouthed at a truckload of Imitang, white people driving along the island=92s one road. At the end of the road not far past the airport we waded thigh deep to the next islet, Tiitau's home island. He explained the custom of visitors brushing their faces with sand, the gesture representing a joining with the new land. Faces suitably adorned we enjoyed a superb lunch of local ingredients, most dishes based around a seafood. No one was disappointed. Meriin and Tiitau, whom we had to arm-twist to join us for lunch, sang a local song in beautiful harmony so, of course Janet and I responded with Tu Tira Mai. We revelled in a couple of hours of textbook island paradise: thatched table looking out over turquoise coral palm-fringed foreshore on to a rippling cobalt sea, mysterious islets in the misty distance. Magnificent food, congenial company. Before crossing back to the truck we were shown through a boat-building yard - all wood construction of vessels ranging from local interisland launches, canoes, to a large trimeran for an Australian client. OSH would close the place in a heartbeat.=20 The skies opened up on the homeward journey. We all got happily soaked and pleasantly cooled. Everyone's number one day in Kiribati.