Suva to Robinson Crusoe Island Aug 3 Janet "I was doing fish whispering last night," said Richard as he sipped his coffee.
"Let me hear some," said David.
Richard sits in the cockpit in silence for a minute.
"Can you hear it?" he asks.
Richard was trying to break our fish drought.
Mmmmm, I'll wait and see the evidence I thought, and went back to my coffee.
*** It's been over two weeks since that idyllic passage from Kadavu to Suva in my last post, and now I want to go, get the sails up again and head out away from the city. In Suva I shopped and shopped, and loaded up Navire with provisions to carry us through to who knows where. David's colon procedure was completed with no worrying findings. We caught up with old New Zealand friend Rita and her husband Ken, then Richard Moss from Wellington joined us for two weeks cruising.
*** Day 1 Suva to Beqa: We woke to mist draped over the bay like a lacy wedding veil. Was it to be another grey damp day, with poor coral spotting visibility, thwarting our plans to depart? I lay in bed dialing up the weather forecast on my phone, seeking assurance the sky was still going to clear. The marine forecast sites promised improving conditions. I jumped into action transforming our floating caravan back into an ocean going vessel.
That first day out gave our guest a taste of open-water sailing with two to three meter swells, rough seas, and 25 knots of wind. Four hours later we dropped the pick on the western side of Beqa, an island on the south coast of Viti Levu. It wasn't particularly sheltered in the anchorage and I was glad to weigh anchor at first light the next morning, after a less than ideal night's sleep.
*** Day 2 Beqa to Cuvu: The wind blew 30-40 knots but being behind the reef we had no swell or sea to contend with so we raced along skimming over the flat water. The sun was out. This always raises the spirits. After lunch the wind eased, and eased, and eventually went ahead, so we reluctantly started the motor. It soon became evident that there was a two-knot current against us and we had doubts about making our destination before dark. We started investigating breaks in the reef but the first two bays looked bleak and exposed, with surf crashing on the beach, a sure sign of a rolly anchorage. Seven hours later we sailed up to Cuvu Bay with Yanuca Island offering some shelter.
In we went, through the 200m wide pass, with surf breaking either side. Here we encountered our first resort of the trip. Tourist Fiji. Not just any resort but the one where David's parents used to hang out in the 60's. The Fijian. They ran charters on their 40' catamaran here. David used to come up there to visit sometimes in his school holidays.
What a contrast to the remote village Fiji life we'd seen till then. The now renamed Sahngri-La Resort (how Fijian is that?) stretched out over a long white sandy beach littered with umbrellas, kayaks and people, all white, and loud music pumped out over the water. A speed-boat zipped back and forwards past us towing para-gliders. One came so close he looked like he was going to catch his parachute on the mast.
As soon as the anchor was down we dived in. First swim in weeks. Bathwater temperture- yum. Finally I felt thoroughly sunbaked and salty, and relaxed.
*** Day 3 Cuvu to Robinson Crusoe Island.
We moved on early the next morning as the weather was due to go south and we didn't want to get caught on the south coast, a lee shore, with nothing between us and the Antarctic . Leaving Yanuca in light conditions the wind speed steadily increased. We made good time. It was gusty though, we kept heeling over and eventually reefed both sails. Then the wind headed so we pulled in the jib and motored again.
Into another surf-fringed pass to Robinson Crusoe Island. Boy has that tale endured. David was up the mast directing me, via our headphones, to keep away away from the coral in the pass. The wind was still north not due to go south yet so we anchored in northernmost part of bay. David and Richard made divine watermelon Margaritas, very sweet, and crisp. Highly recommended.
*** Day 3: Rough night. I woke at 2am to what I thought was a gust but after a while realised it was consistently windy. I got up and saw we were facing the opposite way to when we anchored. The expected front and ensuing southerly had come a day early and we were exposed to it. Not to the sea fortunately as we were inside the reef. I turned on the instruments and started recording the depth, our position, the wind speed and direction every 15 minutes. David got up for a while and we discussed whether to move or not, never an appealing prospect in the dead of night in a bay with scattered shallow patches, ringed by coral reefs. We voted to stay put and do an anchor watch. I took first shift. By the time it was David's turn the wind had eased and it was obvious we were not going to drag. I let him sleep and fell into bed.
As the sun was setting that evening we rowed in to Robinson Crusoe Island. It really did look like the one from the story, small and oval, with coconut palms, fringed with sandy beaches. We had a mediocre meal (hardly any local food content) and saw a touristy but very entertaining show. The Fijians love to dance and joke. First they showed the audience how a kava ceremony worked which of course we knew having participated in several of them by now. They invited the audience to come and drink with them, and I joined in, sitting next to a young absolute hunk, his oiled body wrapped in a green sulu. Turned out he was from Rotuma, an island 250 miles north of here, but still part of Fiji. When we leave here to go north we are thinking of going to Rotuma. Apparently not many yachts go there and those that do are made very welcome.
The show finished with spectacular fire-dancing. We then tried in vain to find somewhere to watch the rugby, the second Bledisloe Cup game but alas no Sky TV. David and Richard ended up listening to it on the radio via a cellphone. Isn't technology wonderful. Alas it was a fairly forgettable sort of game.

Robinson Crusoe Island to Malolo Island Aug 28 Janet "Margarita Janet?" Need the man ask? This has been our evening ritual since Richard arrived in Fiji two weeks ago. To be honest my liver is struggling but I can't say no. There will be time to dry out once Richard gets on a plane back to Wellington.
*** Another day on the road found us rounding the coast to western Fiji. Through yet another reef we entered the Mamanucas (pronounced Mamanuthas). Finally, I thought, we would get the reputed lighter winds in this yachting mecca. Not. We anchored in Musket Cove, home of marina, yacht club and resort, and bounced around all night in howling winds.
In the morning Richard and I bravely (or foolishly) took the dinghy to shore to shop and do laundry. Arriving on land was like being transported to another world. Gently waiving coconut palms, friendly staff dressed in red and black, people wandering around in holiday mode, and beach bars under thatched roofs.
Having access to a washing machine for a halfway reasonable price is a rare treat. The shop was surprisingly cheap for a resort and I stocked up on pawpaws, bananas and salad stuff including basil and mint which they grow behind the resort.
Scary trip back to the boat. I was driving and the waves were big for our tiny, now very laden, dinghy. We got absolutely soaked. Back on board we quickly hauled anchor and began navigating the coral around to the lee side of the Malolo. As we rounded to corner to Likuliku Bay we breathed a sigh of relief. It was calm. We'd expected it to be full of other boats escaping the wind but no, there was only one other boat anchored there. A kiwi boat. A boat we'd heard on passage on our radio net. We became instant friends with Kat and Seiorse, two gorgeous 30 somethings off Acrux, sharing drinks, meals and computer files within moments. They are foodies too so we delighted in swapping recipes and ideas.
We'd anchored off a very exclusive resort and about three times a day a helicopter came in, plus ferries, runabouts, and sea planes. We swam, we read, we swam. What an indolent time.
Now we are back on the road and I'm glad of it. Heading back to the mainland to drop Richard off and restock, we stopped at Musket Cove to watch the Bledisloe Cup. This time anchoring in idyllic conditions.
The Navire crew had spent several days practicing the New Zealand national anthem in Maori. As the room seemed to fill with people with Australian accents I started worrying about the prospect of being lynched when we sang. On the big screen the teams ran on to the field. To our surprise the Aussies sat mutely through their anthem. Then most of the 50 strong crowd erupted into the New Zealand national anthem, in Maori. I was so proud to be a kiwi. To top it all off we thrashed the Aussies this time.

13 Kadavu passage Date July 21 (several months ago!) Janet At last, I get to sit and write. We are out beyond the reefs that fringe the entrance to Vunasea Bay, with a ten hour sail ahead of us to get to Suva.
*** Rising at 5.30, a bit of an effort for our somewhat indolent systems, I ran through our usual pattern of securing things. Drawers, hatches, musical instruments, and padding the booze cupboard with teatowels. Shipping the anchor we headed out past the first of several layers of coral reefs.
"I'm going to head up there," I said, pointing at a clear spot on the paper chart laid on the deck, "then I'll turn around into the wind and head back towards the wharf. That should give us plenty of room to hoist the main." David nodded, and donning his headset went forward.
As the sail reaches the top of the mast I gun the engine to quickly turn 180 degrees, making for the gap in the next reef.
"I'm going up the mast," said David. He climbed the mast-rungs like a 35 year-old.
In my headphones he directs me quietly. "Starboard 5 degrees, port 10..." "David I need to go to the loo," I said urgently. I'd been hanging on hoping to get through all the reefs but couldn't wait any longer.
"All right I'll come down." I glance at the chart and calculate we have just under a mile to the next reef pass, and race to the head.
Back on the helm feeling a lot more comfortable, I look ahead over the wide clear vista. It looked like you could sail in any direction but in reality it was cruelly strewn with submerged coral.
David had climbed back up the mast. "Can you see the waves breaking at about 11 o'clock?" he asked.
I watch the horizon closely and sure enough I see the telltale line of the white foam of breaking waves.
Glancing to starboard I ask, "Can you see the waves breaking at 2.30?" "Yup, we are dead on target for going through the last pass." He lithely descends the mast.
Clear of the reef David looks back and wistfully says "Goodbye Kadavu." We smile at each other, knowing we just had a very special five weeks in that place. Now as I write this months later we still reflect on this part of our trip and consider it the highlight of our Fijian experience so far.
*** "What's our speed?" David asks.
"6.5 knots." I answer from the chart table.
"Time to go?" "Seven and a half hours," I read from the GPS screen.
"I don't know if we'll make it in time," said David, "that's only to the waypoint at the Suva Harbour entrance. We'll need another hour of daylight to get in and anchor." "Maybe we will have to heave to for the night," I suggest.
"Let's make the call in an hour's time and keep motoring till then." As we moved further into the ocean the wind rose.
*** 0930 "Wind is 16 knots and steady," I said to David, watching the windspeed instrument.
"Okay, put her neutral and we'll see what happens to the boat speed." I watch the number on the screen drop a little then steady. "Speed's good." "Engine off then." We sit and enjoy the silence for a moment before putting Robert Earl on the stereo. The sun is out, no three metre swells and rough sea, like on our passage down to Kadavu.
"Champagne sailing," I said.
"You know what would make today perfect," I said, gazing at the two lures that we have towed for thousands of miles, "A fish." "We'll get two!" said David. And you can tell how the rest of that story goes.
*** Navire rocks gently on her anchor. The sun's just disappeared behind the hills west of Suva.
"May we have many more sailing days like this," I say to David, and raise my glass.