its happening, and by the time its all over, we may, or may not feel the love enough to publish our sales journey. So... feel like youre being told theres a secret we cant tell you? Haha... enjoy the suspense! For now we are choosing to sell Libertalia privately. This means we dont have a broker working for us, and we dont get to pay $40k for the privilege. Your typical broker will take something like 7-10%, but the world is changing and brokers arent as critical to the process as they once were. As such, some are willing to negotiate fees based on the value they add. A novel idea in the field! So, we may end up in a broker relationship or two. The biggest perceivable advantage of that for now is that we can list on the worlds largest and most popular yacht sale website. There is definitely a hole in the market for someone (maybe me) to build an attractive, intuitive, highly functional website that facilitates the sales and marketing of yachts worldwide, and is open to Joe Public. One of the hundred ideas we have discussed for Life After Libertalia. There is a great deal of water to go under the sales bridge yet. At some stage we need to leave New Caledonia and head somewhere else... It is likely to be NZ or Australia, but if a buyer wanted the boat delivered to Hawaii... The world is still our oyster, even though it is slowly trying to close up around us. Libertalia really is a fantastic boat and we havent yet seen a boat that we would rather have. Weve worked hard and spent an embarrassing amount of money to bring her to where she is today. Assuming we sell her soon, and there is a slim chance we end up keeping her, we will dearly miss her and all the wonderful experiences she has given us. There has already been tears as the reality of saying goodbye has begun to appear through the clouds. If you know someone who might be interested, or just want to have a nosey, this is probably one of the better listings here: https://goo.gl/GUxXD2 We have just completed a 2 day passage from Ouvea and we plan to be in Noumea at the end of this week. For now, life goes on - La Belle Vie!

Billaroo aboard The Cray Trout… no, wait, it was a feed of cray and trout aboard Billaroo!
The Killers suggested that we come along with them the next morning, to a spot a few miles away, where we could dive the reef with the experts and fill our freezer with sea bounty. We made a plan to leave at 8am or 9am or talk in the morning on channel 16 or channel 72 or… something.
At around 8.30, the killers upd anchor and putted away. We discussed this for the next hour and half and wondered if we had made some inappropriate joke, or just missed the departure call, or what? Maybe they had decided to have a quiet killing session all by their lonesome? Maybe they tried to call before we turned on the VHF? Maybe the Sheila had gotten itchy and killed the geezer in the night and was making a run for it? Our wild hypothesise were finally interrupted by a call on the radio.. “Are you guys having a big sleep in, or do you have some kind of problem?”
OK, we clearly missed something. We whipped up our anchor and headed out of the anchorage towards the reef. Only a hundred meters out from the protected bay, the wind picked up so we cut the engines and sailed along at 5 knots with only the headsail. With only a couple of miles to travel, I decided this was my perfect opportunity to try out Paddle Ski Sail Boarding! I grabbed a rope, threw a paddle on to the board (just in case), and made a spectacular running start. 5 knots is less than 10kph, but when youre bouncing around on the waves and trying to step from a boat to a paddle board, its a bit entertaining. However, I made it over and was soon enjoying the views from my giant inflatable single ski. It was great fun and my technique was improving. I was carving it up and then the just-in-case paddle left the board. My brain froze for a moment, but I had to let go of the rope and stay near the paddle or it would be lost forever! I yelled something to Michelle, let go of the rope, and watched as the boat sailed away. Now I was too far from the paddle to reach it and the boat was sailing away at a fair ole clip! Michelle was prepared for this and pulled the boat into the wind, furled away the head sail and started the engines. I made some half-hearted attempts at a surfer style paddle towards my floating stick, but I was rapidly being blown downwind and my mind had created a school of hungry sharks that were waiting just below the surface to devour my limbs. So, I bravely crossed my legs and sat on the paddle board and yelled confusing instructions across the water at my rescuer. “Come and get me!”, “Keep an eye on the paddle!”, “Im over here!”… What ever would she do without my helpful guidance? Libertalia was now somewhere near the lost paddle, but her skipper was demanding rescue, so Michelle dutifully left it floating and came to pluck me from the hungry jaws of my imagination. In my defence, the sharks were reaaally hungry, and I figured that two crew on board was going to make everything a lot easier and safer for part 2 of the rescue.
Fifteen minutes later, I radioed the killers and told them of a rare and wild carbon paddle fish that could be caught in these waters. This was enough to lure them to our aid and four people aboard two boats spent the best part of the next hour hunting this elusive creature. We zigged and zagged, prayed and peered and beat back the demons that wanted to steal our hope and play the blame game. Eagle Eyes was clinging to the mast and scouting from atop the boom. I forced myself to keep some kind of search pattern and scouted with binoculars. We raced downwind to some playing dolphins and asked if they had our paddle,, but they were playing their own game and had nothing useful to contribute. The killers suggested we go back to the scene of the crime so we headed back upwind toward a spec of sea that looked just like all the rest. Our GPS guided us and we slowly drove the boat straight towards a waypoint that would later be renamed to “Davy Jones Paddle”. Billaroo was weaving some strange aboriginal trail behind us and leaving great S trails in their wake. They mostly avoided our track, figuring there was not much point in covering exactly the same patch of water.
Then the radio squealed something… I played the noise back in my head… wait, I think that was a Sheila… what did she say? I played it in my head again… “Eeets hee-ar!”… I rolled the sound around in my head again… “Its here!”. You have got to be kidding me!? They found it!? I spun my head and it looked like the killers had slowed down. They were not far off our starboard stern and I played the sound over one more time to be sure before calling out to the admiral “Theyve found it!”.
We stood on the foredeck, clapped and cheered as our paddle was plucked from the sea and brought safely aboard. The needle had been found! The haystack was no match for the diligence of our new friends. We must have passed by the paddle only 40-50 meters away.
This is why we have AIS PLBs inside our lifejackets. If a person goes overboard at sea without one, there is little hope of even finding them, let alone saving them. The first rule of ocean sailing is “Stay on the boat”, but if you ever do break the rule, I hope you have every bit of technology and know-how you can muster, working to keep you alive. I pray I never have to search the sea for anything more precious than a paddle!

With our paddle safely in their possession, The Killers decided we would need to prove ourselves worthy before any transfer could take place. A vague destination was agreed, the sails were hoisted, and we danced for 12 nautical miles. Of course, we were just having a relaxed cruise, but the sails were trimmed just right and there was no time for idle banter. The lead changed hands numerous times and we jostled for position. Libertalia took a longer course, looking for more wind out further from land. It paid dividends, but then we got distracted and lost our wind at a critical juncture. We were neck and neck going into the final few miles and we made another move that cost us boat lengths. Their bigger boat accelerated past 9 knots, reaching in the higher winds. We were pointing high and fighting to keep in the game as our courses converged. The end was in sight and Billaroo was barely ahead as we entered the long Bonne Anse inlet. We were accelerating again and only the exact placement of the finish line would determine who would collect the honours.
…but of course, we were just having a relaxed cruise, so we meandered into Anse Majic, dropped our sails and prepared our boats for the evening.
We had proven ourselves worthy and Davy Jones Paddle could come home with his paddle-head held high.

when it is time to move on?; We would answer that in two years, when its time to move on, we dont know who we will be!

438 Days is the name of the book I read (cover-to-cover) this morning. I remember when the story broke in the news of a man showing up in the Marshall Islands having had drifted in a small fishing boat all the way from Mexico. At the time, I joined the chorus of sceptics, but the book gives the true account and now sits atop my list of highly recommended! This book is entertaining and inspirational, but also reveals lessons for sailors and non-sailors alike.

283 days since we arrived on the shores of New Zealand, complaining about the cold, but glad to be home, if even for a visit. We never really thought of NZ as being cold, but when you have acclimatised to the tropics and you sail into the NZ winter, you discover that in actuality, The Winterless North, isnt!

27 days since we arrived in New Caledonia. Wow, one third of our time has gone already! Those 90 days will be gone in a flash. We are glad we are taking the time to record our memories in words and photos. Far too soon that is all we will have.

13 days until our next guests arrive and we get to give a taste of our life to our friends. Real life aboard is so much more than the glorious snippets we get to post online. Our first guests have departed last night (Au revoir Mum & Dad!) and got to experience the broader spectrum which includes wet dinghy rides and sun soaked paddle boarding, fast downwind sailing and bumpy upwind beating, calm bays and rolly anchorages, isolated tropical islands and busy bays, fast sharks and slow turtles, gourmet meals and unsettled stomachs (unrelated, I promise!), and of course a sneak peek into the world of boat maintenance. If youre not doing it, its doing you!

1 day until we return to Noumea to resupply and prepare for our journey south toward Ile Des Pins. We will take our time and explore Canal Woodin and Baie Du Prony on the way.

Here is to you Alvarenga. If we may be so bold as to call ourselves fellow seaman, we raise our glasses and thank you for your endurance and willingness to share your story.
May we never have the misfortune to be cast adrift at sea, or to consider suicide as an answer to our ails. Yet, if our vessel or hope is to ever fail us, may your faith and words be ours to carry us through.

Vikings.
Whilst the optimist believes that we will surely see both again, the realist knows that this is most unlikely. So it is with a happy sad that we are now sailing South, away from Baie De St Vincent, and away from the Vikings who are now sailing North on a long journey to Indonesia.

Baie De St Vincent We came to the Baie to explore the area and find interesting places to take our guests (parents) when they come to visit next week. It’s closer to the airport than Noumea and is a large bay with numerous islands large and small that make up the Baie area.
There is also a small marina that doesn’t appear on any of our charts. With a little help from our landlubber friend (thanks Dave!) and the magic of Google, we found it and went ashore to practice our French. OK, so we actually went ashore to find out if there were markets anywhere, this is French territory, so French practice was the order of the day! For the most part the locals are good about our ignorance, and my conversations usually start with a simple apology. “Desole, je ne pa parle Francais”. One store owner in Noumea smiled broadly and promptly replied “Desole, je ne pa parle Englais”. Our exchange at the little marina called “Port Ouenghi” was similar, but we still managed to talk for a while and the proprietor looked up the number for a taxi and explained that we would need to walk for 20mins if we wanted to hitchhike, and it would take around an hour if we walked all the way to the village for vegetables… not a word of English was spoken. The owner was very kind and didn’t seem to mind our inability to speak the language.
Aside from this visit to Port Ouenghi, we also visited many other islands and bays: Ile Moro – A Giant rock with a petite beach and fascinating baby rock formations assembled like ducklings. We visited twice because we had coverage here and needed to get some Internet to pay bills… yeah, you know who you are invoice senders! :-P Ile Nduke – Where we chose to negotiate the narrow channel with hard coral on either side and we went paddle boarding after big fish in the mangroves.
Baie Uitoe – Where we did boat maintenance and swapped out our anchor chain and admired the manicured grounds of the shoreline.
Ile Ronhua – where it was gusting 25 knots and the white sand beach was overshadowed by our inability to decide where one would anchor in these conditions.
Ile Tenia – where it was still blowing like a birthday boy and we navigated big Bommies (or as the French call them, coral potatoes). We only stayed long enough for lunch and moved on to… The Lepredour Channel – where we found shelter at last. The cliffs from the nature reserve island towered above us, red and scarred and glowing as the sun set. The water was flat and we slept like drunkards.
And finally, the Baie De Mosquitos on Ile Hugon - which seems to be entirely pest free, unless you count the guy with the bonfire on the beach, or the dog on the other boat in the anchorage. Hey, as long as there are no mossies, I’m a happy little larry bird.
Oh, and as we sailed away the next morning, we remarked how the water was so flat you could ski… Thus we discovered Paddle-Sail-Ski-Boarding! Michelle mounted her paddle board and was towed along as we sailed. I sense a new sport in the making.

This morning as we sipped on our sunrise coffee, we received a message that we had been expecting, but not eagerly.
Our Finnish friends aboard “Homeless” sent a message to say farewell. We protested, and told them there was no wind to sail, and you can’t very well start a 3,000 mile trip by motoring! But they had cleared out of the country and were hoping to find breeze further out from land.
So, we hatched a plan, hoisted the sails, and plotted a course to intercept the Vikings! The Vikings were sailing North so we sailed out to the West and found them. We sailed fast below them and then came up along their windward side. “Fancy seeing you here” we beamed :- I had written a farewell poem with my second coffee and we had printed it out for them to take on their journey. We packed this into a dry bag along with a native New Caledonian flag and some tinfoil wrapped goodies (Chocolate!). We agreed that Homeless would maintain course and speed and we would maneuverer ourselves into position for the exchange. The bag, attached to a long line, was thrown between the boats and the contents were emptied. This is a bit like mum trying to pass the forgotten school lunch through the window of the bus to little Maxy as it speeds along the highway. So not something to be done without care.
After taking some photos of our little flotilla, we turned around and sailed South, happy that we had said our goodbyes in true style! Farewell Homeless Vikings, it really was too brief, and we hope we can meet again.
Farewell Baie De St Vincent, thanks for the adventures, we will see you in our memories.

Bon Voyage to the Vikings (the poem)
----------------------------------------------------
Its a beautiful morning with sun and calm seas,
All is quiet, there is barely a breeze.
We sit and ponder what today will hold.
The sat phone beeps and we are told
"Dear friends we are leaving! It was too brief,
But we are now heading out through reef."
No, You cant leave! We have not said goodbye!
And look, up above, not a cloud in the sky
There is barely a breeze and there's too far to go
You have yet three thousand miles to go!
The time is not right! We stand and protest
But all is prepared, this is no test.
Good things must end and yachts sail away,
Our Homeless Vikings will leave us today.
So we utter a prayer that you will be well
That the waves will be friendly as you ride the swell
As the journey grows long, be good to each other.
May the friends that you make be close like a brother
Fair winds to our friends, may the sea be kind.
May the wind always blow from somewhere behind.
So we sailed to sea and cast our eyes
We intercepted their boat and spoke our goodbyes.
I took a pen to the ships log and wrote
Farewell dear Viking... in the blood red boat!

recently instructed that “In case of being attacked by shark, you should immediately get out of the water”. Who would have thought!? Oddly, the same advice is not given if one is bitten by a “non-aggressive” sea snake. We are, however, sea people. We’ve chosen to make it our home, and we are somewhat acclimatised to storms and sharks – although I doubt either will ever leave us entirely peaceful.
Today we ventured into sea and land.

We paddled ashore on our boards, intent on seeing what Ilot Signal (Marker Island) had to show us. During our initial exploration we were attacked by some kind of ball-of-thorns plant and I would later spend an hour pulling a hundred thorns from our crocs. Technically someone else’s crocs, but if the person who left a black pair of size 10 crocs aboard would like to claim them back, you know where to find me.
After dodging the thorn balls, we found ourselves on some kind of track that encircled the island. Michelle was walking timidly. She didn’t sleep too well last night. After seeing a couple of snakes in the sea, her subconscious was still processing and they slithered into her dreams and even sent her checking in odd places for stowaways. I have now learnt that whilst walking on a deserted island, it is not humorous to point at an S-shaped stick and loudly declare it to be a snake! I didn’t stay in the dog box for long. We rounded a bend and came across a magical little mini-lagoon where we stopped to take the obligatory photos. As we left the mini lagoon and headed back on to the track, what goes around came around. Territorial New Caledonian attack birds came squawking and swooping down at me. Why me? Was it the hat, or just the fact that I was the leader of our party? …or did they somehow know about my little snake joke? We moved on quickly and once free of attack bird territory, began to enjoy the uniqueness of the island again. The sandy track was riddled with holes as big as your head. It looked like a combination of sand crabs and erosion… Of course, Michelle wondered if they were snake holes! Then it happened… Whilst enjoying the view, the path under Michelles foot gave way and she fell into a shallow hole. She fell forward and then bounced up quickly, hopping and babbling and squealing. It seems she had fallen into one of the mysterious holes and her hands had landed either side of a snake skin. The snake was nowhere to be seen, but after a quick second look at the deflated snake clothes, we moved on quickly.
With her bird-like vision, Michelle then claimed to have spotted an eagle. It turns out it was actually an Osprey, but who knows these things? It was a huge carnivorous bird gliding about on the wind and carrying a small tree in its talons. At first we were confused about its cargo, but then old eagle-eyes spotted the nest. This was a birds nest in the same way that Buckingham Palace is a council flat. If the bird wasn’t a little daunting before, the fact that we could probably sleep cosily in the nest was enough. We moved on quickly! Why do I always have to walk in front? I stopped very suddenly and we both took a half step back. A moment before I had walked into it, the light had bounced on a web that hung across the path like a zip line. I don’t mind admitting I’m squeamish around spiders (among other things) and I was happy to duck under this web and generally keep well clear of its maker.
“Good call” eagle-eyes called out behind me. I turned around and followed her gaze. A spider, bigger than my hand, was crawling quickly away from her foiled trap. She sat, watched and waited at a safe distance. After ducking under the web herself, Michelle remarked “I think we would have fed that guy for a week!”. I shuddered, and we moved on… quickly.
Our path turned down to the beach where we came across another man sized bird nest and we eventually discovered the chimney structure that gives the island its name. An elevated wooden pathway then led us over the eroding crab holes and under a canopy of trees and led us back to our paddle boards. Land time was over! We paddled back to the boat, grabbed our masks and snorkels and jumped over board. The water is surprisingly cool here, but there is nothing disappointing about the reef. We swam with large tropical fish of all varieties and messed about with brightly coloured schools of smaller fish. The turtles regarded us with little concern and were quite happy for us to swim up close and personal. A shark meandered by and made a close arc around us before carrying on his way. We only looked back once or twice to check.
As we made our way back to the boat through mountains and tunnels of coral, we discovered it must be turtle nap time. Several times we came across a turtle, wedged in amongst the coral and lying motionless.
If the wise old turtles say it’s nap time, then nap time it must be! We are, after all, sea people.
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forms you will complete where you repeat certain information so often, it quickly becomes memorised.
If everything goes accordin to plan (you’d be surprised how often it doesn’t!),
you find yourself in the territorial waters of the country you notified, and then raise the mighty Q flag.
Mariners just love their flags!
The Q flag is a simple yellow flag “Quarantine” flag, and it is raised up the flag halyard to announce to the world that you are a foreign vessel, and as such, potentially hazardous to the environment, and are hereby under quarantine. No person or object shall enter or exit the boat until such time as the captain has completed his or her clearances with the relevant authorities.
After a radio call or two you find yourself anchored or tied up in the designated area and the great foot shuffle begins.
This usually takes somewhere between 3-8 hours depending on how many officials you need to see, how far you have to walk to get to the next place, how well hidden they are, and how consistent the information is between bureaus. It is not unheard of for office A to send you to office B who tells you to go away because you dont have the pink form which is obtained from office C. Office C is closed for lunch, so you massage your feet for an hour and arrive at C, only to be told that the pink form comes from office A, but you don't need it to go to office B anyway... and so the shuffle proceeds. In some places, the officials thoroughly enjoy their power, but seldom seem to like their job, and it's not uncommon for officials to want more than the prescribed amount for their services rendered.

In our case, we arrived after dark and there was nobody to answer our radio calls. A cruise ship had just left - actually, lets pause and talk about this cruise ship for a moment...

...a few miles out of port Moselle, I watched a cruise ship heading out of the harbour. A few quick calculations and I said to Michelle "That guy is going to get in the way”. She thought he would go another way, and the bet was on! As we headed across the channel, the cruise ship disappeared under our sail and turned toward us. I watched on our AIS system which tells me about his speed and direction, and estimates the closest point of interest, and calculates when that will happen. The numbers were changing rapidly and he was coming toward us at 16 knots and accelerating. Meanwhile, the crew aboard another yacht we shall call “Muppet” were starting to become concerned. They were motoring in rapidly falling light with no lights, and a huge cruise ship bearing down on them! They turned to starboard... fair enough. Then they turned to port... errr what? Then they turned to starboard again... Michelle ran to get the camera.
I figured the cruise ship captain was going to have his hands full, so I made a courteous turn to port, indicating to him I not be any trouble.
The TCPA (Time until we get as close as it will be) was now less than three minutes.
Muppet was still changing course and clearly panicking.
The spectacle was hilarious, but quickly moving toward dangerous!
Muppet finally decided that port was the best option, and turned enough to avoid a catastrophic event.
In another senseless move, they then remained only meters from the ship, while the crew stood on the bow and chatting to the passengers who watched from their balconies.
The matter of the bet was long forgotten in the shenanigans.

OK, so the cruise ship had departed, and we decided we could fit into the space they had left :).
They next day, while I was out doing the shuffle, the port authorities came by (twice) to inform Michelle that we were anchored in the cruise ship area, and we had better move before the next one came along at 2pm.

We used our dinghy to get close to the various offices and Michelle, who is not allowed on the shore at this point, stayed in the dinghy and floated around while I filled out forms and smiled nicely.
Harbour master - Check!
Immigration - Check!
Customs - Check!
Quarantine / Biosecurity...
…We had been informed that New Caledonia is a bit like NZ. ie. they take everything! Cheese, meat, eggs, fruits & veges, frozen goods... everything!

The shuffle become a more involved exercise as we hauled bags of food from the dinghy and I hobbled to & fro (with my broken jandal). Biosecurity let us keep heaps of stuff we thought we would lose! Frozen beans, frozen fish, frozen chicken, pies, pizzas, even a cheesecake! Apparently, the fact that we had bought this stuff in NZ meant it was not a risk. Brilliant!! The fruit and vegetables were taken away, but they would easily be replace at the local markets the next morning.

The last item to surrender was the garden... Michelle likes to nest, and our assortment of succulents and ferns were to be handed over to the surprised biosecurity officials. I made the short hobble-hike back to the dinghy to collect the box full of plants. The officials were so impressed with the garden that they took photos. Michelle thinks they just wanted a record of her cool home made candle-pots.

Everything here was very straightforward and friendly. The French authorities have been well organised and easy to deal with. We are officially cleared in and can stay for three months.

We will stay anchored near town for now so we can work with local people to find the parts we need and make a few minor repairs.

usually a helpful person around who will offer to take your lines and secure them for you. This allows a short handed crew to concentrate on manoeuvring the boat and to avoid all manner of mishaps that can happen in these last few
moments of a vessels voyage.
A good dock hand is golden, but a bad one can be rather troublesome!
Things can end badly with well meaning people who lack the competence to do the job, or occasionally, think they know better and will do various hazardous things contrary to instructions. A good skipper will be very firm and clear, but we generally find it best to just do it ourselves.
Our modus operandi, is for Michelle to smile and say, "Thanks, but I'll do it - I need the practice". We all need the practice right :)
Once in Tahiti, a helpful boatie watched Michelle tying up, looked at her sideways, chuckled and said "Oh, I think you've had plenty of practice!"

As we docked at the town basin in Whangarei, NZ, a relaxed looking young couple hopped off a small red Finnish flagged boat and offered to take our lines. They looked safe enough, and had a vested interest in helping us to dock cleanly as we attempted to slide into a gap between them and
another
boat.
I gave Michelle the secret nod and she threw the lines and relayed instructions like a pro. The Finnish crew were golden.
Over the next few days while we replaced our chart plotter and did last minute boat maintenance, we got to know our new neighbours and shared a meal, stories, tools, itineraries, and handwritten ‘boat cards’.
Their 27 foot boat is aptly called "Homeless" and thus, we have named them "The Homeless Vikings"

We agreed that we would have a very unofficial race from NZ to Noumea. The winner would be required to have champagne on ice for the second boat to arrive. As the bigger, faster boat, we would need to provide a measured head start to make things interesting. As fate conspired, the Homeless Vikings left from Whangarei and we finally left from Opua a couple of days later. We figured it would take a few days to catch them. We shot out of New Zealand in a strong sou'westerly and sailed a longer, but faster course at thri
lling
continuous speeds of 8-11 knots for 2 days. Within 24 hours we were ahead and Michelle was wondering how the Vikings would like "Libertalia champagne". Recipe – take cask wine, carbonate using soda stream maker, and then put into the freezer in a glass 'presentation' bottle. Nothing but the best here baby!
As the winds eased, we matched speeds and have stayed a little over 100nm ahead for a couple of days. But today, they must start rationing diesel as we both motor sail in uncooperative and fickle conditions, and so we will extend our lead again.
We've never sailed an ocean in company before, and though we have never been close enough to even radio them, we have been able send texts over satellite and it has been fun to know there is someone else out there on this incredibly wide ocean.

My poem sounds best when read slowly by Sean Connery. OK, so most things do.

From lands to the north and far beyond,
came the seafaring Vikings, fair and blonde
They sailed the seas to find a free land,
and took their time to survey New Zealand.
They were young and brave with a need to be free!
So once again they pushed out to sea.
They set off in waves and winds that were violent,
and yelled at the ocean until she was quiet.
Now they motor and long for a breeze,
that will carry them on to Noumea palm trees.
The race may be lost but they still stand to gain
On ice at arrival is the contenders champagne
Their progress is modest, they cannot gloat,
but the Vikings are coming... in their blood red boat!