Post 27
September 22, 2010
09:25
We just finished executing our second forced reanchorage in Maeva. Early another morning, this time post-espresso, a Frenchman called to me from shore and alerted me to the fact that we were destroying beautiful Polynesian coral with our ground tackle (the anchoring apparatii) and that we must move. This time I explained our situation to him: we had no motor and we'd have to wait for the right wind conditions to move lest we destroy more beautiful coral, but with this time with our hull. He was a little put off by me not agreeing to immediately move, but complied. “C'est bon.” Three days later, today, the right conditions arrived. The wind was blowing a soft 5 knots in an agreeable direction: not directly onshore. I hanked on and prepped the genny for hoisting before cranking up the rode with our, now, beautifully-smooth, working windlass. The hook pulled free with relative ease and Dan hoisted the genny above my head. Free from the lagoon bed, we speeded along at half a knot towards our new anchoring destination 300 feet north. Five minutes later, after traversing the agonizing 300 feet, I dipped the slimey chain back into the water to lay across the floor. With barely a hint of wind, we weren't able to set the anchor, but maybe the wind will pipe up to help us in that respect.
September 22, 2010
22:30
Let me help you to experience a Tahitian night. Finished with my internet doings, I step away from the fry-oil-infused atmosphere of McDonalds and make my way back down to the beach. I lift and drag the rowboat (the dingbob) across the chill sand and tread into the water. It's warmer than I expect – everytime. I step in, push off the sandy bottom, and ready myself for the 200 foot row back to Leeway. The oars drop into their locks with a slight jerk and I give them a tug to drive me across the still waters of the lagoon. As I row away from the lights of Tahiti, I drift into the pressureless grip of nature.
Gliding across the surface, the full moon lights the shallow ocean floor below. Illuminated a blue-gray tint, sparse coral intermingles with glowing sand creating the impression of a deserted landscape beneath. The ocean displays her disposition tonight by easing my passage with an outflowing current. With each pull of the oars I gain distance from land and deepen my contact with the vast Pacific. The nighttime breeze dimples her surface with capillary waves and, never at a total rest, a slight undulation bulges at her from beneath. She reflects back the warm lights of the anchorage with discordant precision. On each dip of the oars, Leeway grows larger and the sounds of my environment become more distinct.
From behind, crickets strive to outchirp the omnipresent hushing of speeding traffic. To the right, the sounds of the yacht harbor: the tinks, squeaks, and yawns of boats as they roll imperceptibly. Forward, the ocean mounts attacks on the barrier reef emitting bassy thumps that disperse into whispers of rushing water. I draw the oars in and out of the lagoon with barely audible licks on the surface, each pull driving me closer to home. As Leeway fully occupies my vision, I begin to hear her sound too: the lap of bodiless waves against her hull. A smooth flick of an oar brings me alongside where I make fast the dingbob and step into the cabin below. Here I can find a quiet escape from sense-inundating world outside.
September 24, 2010
09:15
Yesterday it was to Tamanu and back. The French government has us jumping through hoops scattered across the ile in order to finalize our visa extensions. Apparently the photos we first provided were gravely inappropriate for identification: Dan wore a white shirt and I brandished a smile. Both obstructions were reasons enough for them to demand a re-shoot. Not wanting to take the lengthy bus ride into Papeete, we opted instead to go south to the small town of Tamanu. After consulting our infinitely helpful yacht agent on the location of a photo center, we headed out. The morning was completely clear, not a cloud in the sky, so we knew the day was going to be a scorcher. The tropical sun is so powerful that it saps you if you tarry too long in the open.
We walked about a mile before we found an uncovered bus stop. We sat there for a moment, received the full brunt of the sun's rays, and quickly decided we'd rather walk and create our own apparent breeze to dampen heat. Not far down the road, I hailed a bus down and we were speeding on our way to Tamanu. We found the photo place and took appropriate pictures. I had to wet my now lengthy hair and slick it back. That coupled with the requested void look on my face made me look like a hardened criminal. A visit with a pearl dealer I had met on my previous visit, a cold beer, and we were on our way back to Marina Taina with a free ride from the pearl salesperson's husband. Sitting at the bus stop and a few more from our spot in Maeva:
October 3, 2010
11:15
We've been sitting in Bora Bora's extensive lagoon for about a week now and are loving every bit of it. This is what we cross oceans for: the wonderful new people, the turquoise waters, and the exotic landscape. The sail over was flown on the normal Easterly trades of this area, but they were a bit stronger than usual on our two-day passage. Bora Bora:
After waiting the days out in Maeva Beach, a proper north wind began flowing from Faa'a Point late one afternoon. It was neither flukey nor strong: a perfect breeze to sail out on. Being fairly close to shore, we had to execute our anchor weighing with precision. With the, now classic, setup of a hanked on jib and Dan at the mast ready to hoist it, I hastily cranked up the rode. She came loose with ease (she was probably never set) and Dan flew the jib above me. We ghosted off our anchor to the amazement of our Finnish neighbor and made a course down the channel towards the pass. It was nearly slackwater, with just a hint of an outflow when we reached the pass. We beam reached out just as the last rays of sun were dwindling away behind Moorea and a course was set for the south tip of Moorea which we would have to round before cutting up NW to the Leeward Islands.
A good-sized southwest swell embraced us as we cleared Tahiti, but the sailing was nice in the light Norther. We were holding up all possible sail to cut along at a good pace: full main and genny, when a ~35 knot gust came from a squall that had sneaked up behind us. The wind howled through the rigging and Leeway rounded up into it, heeling hard. We wrestled with the helm for a bit hoping the gust would abate, but it wasn't letting up. We had to drop sail. I clipped into the jackline and, still regaining my sea legs, crawled to the foredeck and dropped the genny. Wearing just trunks and a life jacket, I hoisted the soggy sail out of the water and onto the foredeck before lashing her down. As I crawled back to the cockpit, soaking wet, I thought to myself, “At least it isn't cold.” The sentiment Dan and I have been sharing whenever the sailing isn't smooth after we crossed into tropical latitudes.
The wind was still above 30 knots and the full main was way too much. As I went to reef it down atop the pitching cabin, I ran into an issue: it wouldn't come down. Probably the worst way a sail can fail is by not coming down. Leeway was overpowered and straining against the massive sail, but we were unable to do anything about it. Soon enough, Dan grabbed a shank of line and fashioned a 3:1 purchase to pull it down. We got it to a more practical size and were able to sail on. The autopilot would gybe us if we let it take control, so it was hand steering only at the moment and with the 30 knot wind pushing up 12 foot waves behind us, this soon became a tiring proposition.
We lost our wind that night off the south corner of Moorea, but it came back, stronger, the next morning. Dan and I traded off on hand steering in roughly 1 hour increments throughout the day. She boat rolled and pitched violently through the steep seas before we put up the freedom jib (our smallest foresail) to steady our gait. We broke a few things in the span of this passage. A reefing clew pulled out because it had been affixed with only short wood screws, the hydrovane wind vane (our autopilot) snapped off in a big gust and the jib clew let go for an unknown reason. The complete lack of an autopilot found us hand steering through the days and the nights. As the sun fell on the second day, we decided to forereach through the night to finally allow us each some rest.
The next morning Bora Bora's landscape was visible on the horizon off of Tahaa. It shown as a jagged black silhouette pasted against the orange-gray haze of dawn. A magnificent sight, it infused us with the energy to hand steer her in. Squalls raked over us the entire way there, but in half a day we were just outside the barrier reef. With heavy eyes and an exhaustion-laden body, I marveled at the pure exotic beauty of the island. The light waters of the lagoon weren't visible directly, but could be seen through a glome. Just above the trees of the outermost-lying motus, a turquoise aura was visible. Even higher, steep mountains towered toward the sky and the bottoms of the low-lying cumulus clouds were painted the fantastic shade of the water below. We fervently headed toward the pass. We couldn't find any tidal information, so we beat in hoping for the best. As we neared Teavanui Pass (the name means big pass in Tahitian), it became clear that there was an outflow and a pretty good one at that. The navigational buoys reclined with the current and eddies eddies trailed behind them.
With a good wind and a fatigued crew, we decided to give it a try. It was a dead beat in and at the times when the wind lulled we were slipping backwards. But 15 minutes after entering the pass we slipped into the calm lagoon waters. We scoped out a spot to drop the anchor and soon did. Spaghetti was had and a 12 hour sleep followed. When we rose in the morning, we realized we weren't in a very good location: about halfway between Vaitape and Povai. Vaitape, the main town of the island means water sunset, which is a reference to the fact that the sun sets through the pass over the waters of the Pacific. The next day we upped anchor and set ourselves in Vaitape Bay. How Bora Bora greeted us and the ground tackle going into the deep lagoon:
Bora Bora (actually originally spelled and pronounced Pora-Pora) is the farthest West, well-populated island of French Polynesia. It has attained an exotic, tropical reputation across the Western world When people imagine Bora Bora, they think of Cretaceous-era-sized flora overgrowing rugged volcanic-shaped lands. Pure turquoise water, unperturbed by human kind, that encircles the white sand shores where bungalows are placed for your honeymooning pleasure. And unlike most places in this vast world, it manages to live up to the hype.
Bora was first discovered for the Western world in 1769 by the famous South Seas explorer James Cook. In those days Bora Bora was still known as Pora Pora and it was filled with a people known to be fierce warriors and to have cannibalistic tendencies. The Protestant missionaries soon came and ended the latter of these two fancies by telling them how if they continued, they'd be sharing their afterlives with Satan. French assimilation was next and it became an overseas territory of this once great imperialist empire.
The next interesting event was the islands occupation by the American Army (who are referred to as the “G.I.s” by the locals). Mid-WWII, the Japanese were quickly advancing across the Pacific. The Americans were concerned about this and after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, most of the remaining fleet was moved into the gigantic lagoon of Bora Bora. What is now accommodates cruise ships and transient yachts was then filled with destroyers and submarines. The American occupation force brought 15,000 men and gave Bora its new name and a jump start. Along with installment of 7 inch guns to guard the pass, the G.I.s built the first airport in French Polynesia, brought the first medicine to the people, built piers and wharfs that are still in use to this day, laid down the main road of the island, and increased its population by 175 (one of the descendents being Francis, a man I'll get to shortly). The G.I.s also removed all the French from the island fearing Vichy spies. For all these things the locals were very thankful to the G.I.s Francis telling the story of the guns:
The American forces were shipped out in 1946 with the end of the war and the and the French trickled back in. The biggest economic asset to this island is now tourism (mostly in the form of Americans) with copra and pearl production trailing far, far behind. And this is how our aforementioned man, Francis, makes his living: a tour guide.
We first met Francis, or Frank, on Ua Pou. His wife is Pesa's wife's brother in law's sister, which makes him family. We saw him at the beach barbeques a few times and were amazed at his magnificent handle on the English language. He liked us and said we should call him up when we arrived in Bora and that he wouldn't be hard to find. In the two months that passed we had lost his number but were reassured by this remark. Just a few steps onto shore, we asked a man if he knew Francis. “Francis? Oh yeah! He's a good friend of mine.” He hits the speed dial and Francis pulls up in just a few minutes. We were invited back for dinner and were glad to have a new local sponsor in Bora Bora.
We soon learned that the man we had, before, only known in passing was something of a Renaissance man. In the past couple of weeks he has proven himself to be a thoughtful steelworker, a talented musician, an ingenious mechanic, and a well-educated medic. Dan has had to ask him on several occasions, “Is there anything you can't do Francis?”. The response is always, “I have no idea.” He played lead guitar in a Tahitian band for many years of his life and now does “land safaris” for money and the rest just for fun. On these land safaris he takes tourists on a partially 4x4 ride around the island while telling them the story behind its beautiful sights. Just a few days after being reunited, he was kind enough to take us on one of these. Francis the tour guide:
A cruise ship had lit up the anchorage the night before, so we knew Francis would have safari patronage the next day. He picked up the tourists at the landing quay and then came around the corner where we hopped in with the other passengers. I sat in the back with two couples from the East Coast while Dan rode shotgun. After a lighthearted, Francis-like introduction, we were zooming on our way around the island. It's only 20 miles around, so the tour only takes a few hours. The first thing we were led to was the American artillery on the pass.
October 11, 2010
11:00
We bumped up a steep 4x4 road to arrive at a ridge that overlooked Vaitape Bay to the south, Teavanui Pass to the west, and Povai Bay to the north. This was our first view of the lagoon from up on high and what a sight it was to be seen. The waters stretched out from the lush vegetation with a dark blue color (about 90ft deep). Leeway held fast in the prevailing Easterlies and was completely dwarfed by a cruise ship in the lagoon. As the sand beneath the dark blue water rose, the color changed in a spectacular range of the deepest blue to the lightest of turquoise. After the tourists were given time to pull their jaws from the ground, Francis was deferred to by the rest of the tour guides to give the story behind the guns. Highlights include how the 15 ton guns were brought up piece by piece and assembled in place and that the G.I.s originally shipped the wrong shells initially rendering them completely useless. The view from up on high and me:
We soon jumped and rattled our way back down to the main road, rounded Faanui Bay, and were soon on the windward side of the island (very noticeable in the open Land Rover). We climbed a different ridge that lacked any historical significance, but gave a fantastic vista. Then we went back down and continued our rounding of the island. After passing the dump, the abandoned Club Med, and the only Tahitian owned hotel on the island, we arrived at what I believe to be the most beautiful part of Bora Bora: Matira Beach. Here white sand shallows stretch from shore all the way to the barrier reef. It's the perfect paradisaical water. Dan and I hopped off here. Francis' wife, Chantal, and the boys were there. After taking a dip, we headed back to the house. Shots from Matira:
October 13, 2010
11:40
In exchange for all of Francis' Polynesian generosity, we knew we couldn't continue to just sit in his yard eating his mangoes while staring googly-eyed at the peaks, we'd have to do some work. He had seen the stairs at Pesa's and knew we were a crack crew, so it didn't take long for him to put us to it. His yard is littered with a dozen cars, some functional and some not, and our first project was to replace a slipping clutch plate in one of them. This entailed removing the engine via a mango-tree-mounted chain hoist (one of the many uses of a mango tree). After that we fitted a trailer with a new axle housing that would give it a wider wheel base. This project involved a little more backyard engineering than the previous. We had to shift the leaf springs and then weld on new mounts. We assessed its strength with our degrees: “That looks pretty strong, don't you think?”, “Oh yeah, looks good to me.” and then loaded her down. The weight quickly found a failure point before it were even out of the yard, “Ooh, that doesn't look good, does it?.”, “Oh no, I don't think so.” A little alteration to the mounts (flipping them around) was bestowed upon me to tackle. After it rained fire for a bit, the new mounts went on and a successful dump run was made the next day. Francis' yard's view, the mango tree mounted engine, and it raining fire on me:
Among the work done for Francis the slave driver, there can also be included mounting a roll bar on one of his jeeps, mowing his extensive yard, the gathering and burning of coconuts, and other automobile work. Now surely a free 3 hour safari doesn't amount to all that work. This is true, he reciprocated our tasks everyday with a never-ending supply of mangoes, piping hot coffee, and the day's meals (our usual Polynesian wage). And in addition, much to my joy, he gave me a Tahitian ukulele.
Ever since the night of the Kauehi jam session, when one of these ukuleles was first placed in my hands, I've wanted one. They're a simple stringed instrument and a close spinoff of a regular ukulele. In recent decades, the Tahitians adapted it from the famous Hawaiian instrument. Instead of a hollow sound body, there is a conically drilled hole on which a sound board and the bridge sits. This construction gives it a tangier tone, more akin to the mandolin and also makes for a much more durable instrument.. The one I held in Kauehi was made from a piece of scrap wood with a shred of cardboard for the soundboard, but I had fallen in love.
There were a plethora of these ukuleles in Tahiti, all for a premium price of course, so I resolved to build one myself. I had gathered all of the specifications except for the fret layout which I was delighted to find on entering Francis' house. Upon seeing my interest, he offered me one which I later accepted. I surely didn't receive the most beautiful ukulele in the world. It was missing a few integral parts such as 6 of the 8 tuners, all the strings, and the bridge, but I thought I'd take a luthier's chance. Besides being over varnished, the body was of a hefty build, the same wood as Pesa's stairs, with a nice sized uru (breadfruit tree) sound board flush with the surface. All the metal on it was aluminum meaning it would survive in the harsh salt air we live on. The day after getting it I went to work. I fashioned a new set of tuners out of a piece of scrap from Pesa and created a bridge from the same material. It took much longer than I expected, but I was able to string it that night (with the called for green 30lb test fishing line). It took a night for the strings to settle in, but the next day I tuned her up and she had beautiful tone.
In her short few days in my hands she's probably gotten more use than she's had in her lifetime. Brian and I (did I mention we've met up with Clara Katherine again?) are known to sit around for hours playing songs in late night ukulele/accordion jam sessions. I now play it way too much for my (and Dan's) good and dream ukulele during the nights. I eventually plan to put some work into her with a proper varnish coat and maybe some carving on the body. I think it's true love. Brian strummin' the uke:
Besides the ukulele frenzy, we've finally gotten around to fixing the items we broke on the passage over. A new hydrovane has been fabricated from a gifted piece of plywood, Dan spliced in a new eye for the frayed main halyard, and I resewed our shade awning. Today is rainy due to an occlusion front passing over, so it looks like the final few tasks will have to wait until better weather. Brain and Amanda are departing from us once more, this time en route to shores we don't plan to visit. It has be an extreme pleasure eating all their food across the archipelagos of Polynesia and we wish them the best of luck. I hope Brian gets his own uke so we can have a man-to-man uke off when we find each other again. The final picture I have of Brian after a pressure cooker mishap (that would be black beans all over the place):
Our days are numbering shorter in French Polynesia and even shorter here in Bora. We've been soaking up every bit of life this place has to give and plan never to forget it. It'll be hard to leave the island where I found true beauty, a love for music, and great friends, but that is the life of a sailor. I must sail on.
October 20, 2010
17:48
We have arrived back in Tahiti after a slamming passage. Departing Bora, we knew we'd be beating back to Tahiti, but we'd had never had a windward passage before so we weren't quite prepared for the effects. As soon as we got out from behind the lee of the Leeward Islands, we found the prevailing conditions: 25kt headwinds and 12 foot swells on the nose. We bared down and went to it. It was hard to get a good sail combination to get the right amount of pressure on it to go up wind but still not heel the boat to the rail, so we ended up with the latter most of the time.
It was 4 days of it, dead beating. Sea spray engulfed the entire ship in perpetuity and everything was soaked including us huddled in the cockpit (the only location where seasickness wouldn't bring us to our knees). We stayed here almost 24 hours a day only departing for the necessities: food, sail change, etc. As we tacked back and forth up wind, the orientation of the heel would do a complete turn around, moving everything loose from one side of the boat to the other (including us if we weren't careful). What we ended up doing was strapping ourselves onto the cockpit cushion in a reclined position if on the windward side and just resting in the nook if on the lee.
As we bounded through the seas with resounding thuds, Leeway showed all of her flaws. A sheet winch slipped under load, luckily I was right there in my nook to throw a quick wrap around a cleat before it got far. We figured it to be a rare event and due to the age of the winch. A mast winch for the jib halyard unceremoniously fell off its mount (I still haven't figured this one out, but all parts were saved despite the pitching sea). She also showed all of her known leaks and more: my berth was completely drenched, impelling me to sleep in the cockpit; the vents in the head and the galley took in a few of gallons over the passage; every hatch leaks; and a very inconvenient leak over the chart table occurs. At the end of the passage, one could tell how rough it was by just looking into the cabin and seeing the slosh of clothes, books, spilled laundry detergent, and seawater above the floor boards. Needless to say, we're glad to be back in Tahiti and in a calm anchorage.
September 22, 2010
09:25
We just finished executing our second forced reanchorage in Maeva. Early another morning, this time post-espresso, a Frenchman called to me from shore and alerted me to the fact that we were destroying beautiful Polynesian coral with our ground tackle (the anchoring apparatii) and that we must move. This time I explained our situation to him: we had no motor and we'd have to wait for the right wind conditions to move lest we destroy more beautiful coral, but with this time with our hull. He was a little put off by me not agreeing to immediately move, but complied. “C'est bon.” Three days later, today, the right conditions arrived. The wind was blowing a soft 5 knots in an agreeable direction: not directly onshore. I hanked on and prepped the genny for hoisting before cranking up the rode with our, now, beautifully-smooth, working windlass. The hook pulled free with relative ease and Dan hoisted the genny above my head. Free from the lagoon bed, we speeded along at half a knot towards our new anchoring destination 300 feet north. Five minutes later, after traversing the agonizing 300 feet, I dipped the slimey chain back into the water to lay across the floor. With barely a hint of wind, we weren't able to set the anchor, but maybe the wind will pipe up to help us in that respect.
September 22, 2010
22:30
Let me help you to experience a Tahitian night. Finished with my internet doings, I step away from the fry-oil-infused atmosphere of McDonalds and make my way back down to the beach. I lift and drag the rowboat (the dingbob) across the chill sand and tread into the water. It's warmer than I expect – everytime. I step in, push off the sandy bottom, and ready myself for the 200 foot row back to Leeway. The oars drop into their locks with a slight jerk and I give them a tug to drive me across the still waters of the lagoon. As I row away from the lights of Tahiti, I drift into the pressureless grip of nature.
Gliding across the surface, the full moon lights the shallow ocean floor below. Illuminated a blue-gray tint, sparse coral intermingles with glowing sand creating the impression of a deserted landscape beneath. The ocean displays her disposition tonight by easing my passage with an outflowing current. With each pull of the oars I gain distance from land and deepen my contact with the vast Pacific. The nighttime breeze dimples her surface with capillary waves and, never at a total rest, a slight undulation bulges at her from beneath. She reflects back the warm lights of the anchorage with discordant precision. On each dip of the oars, Leeway grows larger and the sounds of my environment become more distinct.
From behind, crickets strive to outchirp the omnipresent hushing of speeding traffic. To the right, the sounds of the yacht harbor: the tinks, squeaks, and yawns of boats as they roll imperceptibly. Forward, the ocean mounts attacks on the barrier reef emitting bassy thumps that disperse into whispers of rushing water. I draw the oars in and out of the lagoon with barely audible licks on the surface, each pull driving me closer to home. As Leeway fully occupies my vision, I begin to hear her sound too: the lap of bodiless waves against her hull. A smooth flick of an oar brings me alongside where I make fast the dingbob and step into the cabin below. Here I can find a quiet escape from sense-inundating world outside.
September 24, 2010
09:15
Yesterday it was to Tamanu and back. The French government has us jumping through hoops scattered across the ile in order to finalize our visa extensions. Apparently the photos we first provided were gravely inappropriate for identification: Dan wore a white shirt and I brandished a smile. Both obstructions were reasons enough for them to demand a re-shoot. Not wanting to take the lengthy bus ride into Papeete, we opted instead to go south to the small town of Tamanu. After consulting our infinitely helpful yacht agent on the location of a photo center, we headed out. The morning was completely clear, not a cloud in the sky, so we knew the day was going to be a scorcher. The tropical sun is so powerful that it saps you if you tarry too long in the open.
We walked about a mile before we found an uncovered bus stop. We sat there for a moment, received the full brunt of the sun's rays, and quickly decided we'd rather walk and create our own apparent breeze to dampen heat. Not far down the road, I hailed a bus down and we were speeding on our way to Tamanu. We found the photo place and took appropriate pictures. I had to wet my now lengthy hair and slick it back. That coupled with the requested void look on my face made me look like a hardened criminal. A visit with a pearl dealer I had met on my previous visit, a cold beer, and we were on our way back to Marina Taina with a free ride from the pearl salesperson's husband. Sitting at the bus stop and a few more from our spot in Maeva:
October 3, 2010
11:15
We've been sitting in Bora Bora's extensive lagoon for about a week now and are loving every bit of it. This is what we cross oceans for: the wonderful new people, the turquoise waters, and the exotic landscape. The sail over was flown on the normal Easterly trades of this area, but they were a bit stronger than usual on our two-day passage. Bora Bora:
After waiting the days out in Maeva Beach, a proper north wind began flowing from Faa'a Point late one afternoon. It was neither flukey nor strong: a perfect breeze to sail out on. Being fairly close to shore, we had to execute our anchor weighing with precision. With the, now classic, setup of a hanked on jib and Dan at the mast ready to hoist it, I hastily cranked up the rode. She came loose with ease (she was probably never set) and Dan flew the jib above me. We ghosted off our anchor to the amazement of our Finnish neighbor and made a course down the channel towards the pass. It was nearly slackwater, with just a hint of an outflow when we reached the pass. We beam reached out just as the last rays of sun were dwindling away behind Moorea and a course was set for the south tip of Moorea which we would have to round before cutting up NW to the Leeward Islands.
A good-sized southwest swell embraced us as we cleared Tahiti, but the sailing was nice in the light Norther. We were holding up all possible sail to cut along at a good pace: full main and genny, when a ~35 knot gust came from a squall that had sneaked up behind us. The wind howled through the rigging and Leeway rounded up into it, heeling hard. We wrestled with the helm for a bit hoping the gust would abate, but it wasn't letting up. We had to drop sail. I clipped into the jackline and, still regaining my sea legs, crawled to the foredeck and dropped the genny. Wearing just trunks and a life jacket, I hoisted the soggy sail out of the water and onto the foredeck before lashing her down. As I crawled back to the cockpit, soaking wet, I thought to myself, “At least it isn't cold.” The sentiment Dan and I have been sharing whenever the sailing isn't smooth after we crossed into tropical latitudes.
The wind was still above 30 knots and the full main was way too much. As I went to reef it down atop the pitching cabin, I ran into an issue: it wouldn't come down. Probably the worst way a sail can fail is by not coming down. Leeway was overpowered and straining against the massive sail, but we were unable to do anything about it. Soon enough, Dan grabbed a shank of line and fashioned a 3:1 purchase to pull it down. We got it to a more practical size and were able to sail on. The autopilot would gybe us if we let it take control, so it was hand steering only at the moment and with the 30 knot wind pushing up 12 foot waves behind us, this soon became a tiring proposition.
We lost our wind that night off the south corner of Moorea, but it came back, stronger, the next morning. Dan and I traded off on hand steering in roughly 1 hour increments throughout the day. She boat rolled and pitched violently through the steep seas before we put up the freedom jib (our smallest foresail) to steady our gait. We broke a few things in the span of this passage. A reefing clew pulled out because it had been affixed with only short wood screws, the hydrovane wind vane (our autopilot) snapped off in a big gust and the jib clew let go for an unknown reason. The complete lack of an autopilot found us hand steering through the days and the nights. As the sun fell on the second day, we decided to forereach through the night to finally allow us each some rest.
The next morning Bora Bora's landscape was visible on the horizon off of Tahaa. It shown as a jagged black silhouette pasted against the orange-gray haze of dawn. A magnificent sight, it infused us with the energy to hand steer her in. Squalls raked over us the entire way there, but in half a day we were just outside the barrier reef. With heavy eyes and an exhaustion-laden body, I marveled at the pure exotic beauty of the island. The light waters of the lagoon weren't visible directly, but could be seen through a glome. Just above the trees of the outermost-lying motus, a turquoise aura was visible. Even higher, steep mountains towered toward the sky and the bottoms of the low-lying cumulus clouds were painted the fantastic shade of the water below. We fervently headed toward the pass. We couldn't find any tidal information, so we beat in hoping for the best. As we neared Teavanui Pass (the name means big pass in Tahitian), it became clear that there was an outflow and a pretty good one at that. The navigational buoys reclined with the current and eddies eddies trailed behind them.
With a good wind and a fatigued crew, we decided to give it a try. It was a dead beat in and at the times when the wind lulled we were slipping backwards. But 15 minutes after entering the pass we slipped into the calm lagoon waters. We scoped out a spot to drop the anchor and soon did. Spaghetti was had and a 12 hour sleep followed. When we rose in the morning, we realized we weren't in a very good location: about halfway between Vaitape and Povai. Vaitape, the main town of the island means water sunset, which is a reference to the fact that the sun sets through the pass over the waters of the Pacific. The next day we upped anchor and set ourselves in Vaitape Bay. How Bora Bora greeted us and the ground tackle going into the deep lagoon:
Bora Bora (actually originally spelled and pronounced Pora-Pora) is the farthest West, well-populated island of French Polynesia. It has attained an exotic, tropical reputation across the Western world When people imagine Bora Bora, they think of Cretaceous-era-sized flora overgrowing rugged volcanic-shaped lands. Pure turquoise water, unperturbed by human kind, that encircles the white sand shores where bungalows are placed for your honeymooning pleasure. And unlike most places in this vast world, it manages to live up to the hype.
Bora was first discovered for the Western world in 1769 by the famous South Seas explorer James Cook. In those days Bora Bora was still known as Pora Pora and it was filled with a people known to be fierce warriors and to have cannibalistic tendencies. The Protestant missionaries soon came and ended the latter of these two fancies by telling them how if they continued, they'd be sharing their afterlives with Satan. French assimilation was next and it became an overseas territory of this once great imperialist empire.
The next interesting event was the islands occupation by the American Army (who are referred to as the “G.I.s” by the locals). Mid-WWII, the Japanese were quickly advancing across the Pacific. The Americans were concerned about this and after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, most of the remaining fleet was moved into the gigantic lagoon of Bora Bora. What is now accommodates cruise ships and transient yachts was then filled with destroyers and submarines. The American occupation force brought 15,000 men and gave Bora its new name and a jump start. Along with installment of 7 inch guns to guard the pass, the G.I.s built the first airport in French Polynesia, brought the first medicine to the people, built piers and wharfs that are still in use to this day, laid down the main road of the island, and increased its population by 175 (one of the descendents being Francis, a man I'll get to shortly). The G.I.s also removed all the French from the island fearing Vichy spies. For all these things the locals were very thankful to the G.I.s Francis telling the story of the guns:
The American forces were shipped out in 1946 with the end of the war and the and the French trickled back in. The biggest economic asset to this island is now tourism (mostly in the form of Americans) with copra and pearl production trailing far, far behind. And this is how our aforementioned man, Francis, makes his living: a tour guide.
We first met Francis, or Frank, on Ua Pou. His wife is Pesa's wife's brother in law's sister, which makes him family. We saw him at the beach barbeques a few times and were amazed at his magnificent handle on the English language. He liked us and said we should call him up when we arrived in Bora and that he wouldn't be hard to find. In the two months that passed we had lost his number but were reassured by this remark. Just a few steps onto shore, we asked a man if he knew Francis. “Francis? Oh yeah! He's a good friend of mine.” He hits the speed dial and Francis pulls up in just a few minutes. We were invited back for dinner and were glad to have a new local sponsor in Bora Bora.
We soon learned that the man we had, before, only known in passing was something of a Renaissance man. In the past couple of weeks he has proven himself to be a thoughtful steelworker, a talented musician, an ingenious mechanic, and a well-educated medic. Dan has had to ask him on several occasions, “Is there anything you can't do Francis?”. The response is always, “I have no idea.” He played lead guitar in a Tahitian band for many years of his life and now does “land safaris” for money and the rest just for fun. On these land safaris he takes tourists on a partially 4x4 ride around the island while telling them the story behind its beautiful sights. Just a few days after being reunited, he was kind enough to take us on one of these. Francis the tour guide:
A cruise ship had lit up the anchorage the night before, so we knew Francis would have safari patronage the next day. He picked up the tourists at the landing quay and then came around the corner where we hopped in with the other passengers. I sat in the back with two couples from the East Coast while Dan rode shotgun. After a lighthearted, Francis-like introduction, we were zooming on our way around the island. It's only 20 miles around, so the tour only takes a few hours. The first thing we were led to was the American artillery on the pass.
October 11, 2010
11:00
We bumped up a steep 4x4 road to arrive at a ridge that overlooked Vaitape Bay to the south, Teavanui Pass to the west, and Povai Bay to the north. This was our first view of the lagoon from up on high and what a sight it was to be seen. The waters stretched out from the lush vegetation with a dark blue color (about 90ft deep). Leeway held fast in the prevailing Easterlies and was completely dwarfed by a cruise ship in the lagoon. As the sand beneath the dark blue water rose, the color changed in a spectacular range of the deepest blue to the lightest of turquoise. After the tourists were given time to pull their jaws from the ground, Francis was deferred to by the rest of the tour guides to give the story behind the guns. Highlights include how the 15 ton guns were brought up piece by piece and assembled in place and that the G.I.s originally shipped the wrong shells initially rendering them completely useless. The view from up on high and me:
We soon jumped and rattled our way back down to the main road, rounded Faanui Bay, and were soon on the windward side of the island (very noticeable in the open Land Rover). We climbed a different ridge that lacked any historical significance, but gave a fantastic vista. Then we went back down and continued our rounding of the island. After passing the dump, the abandoned Club Med, and the only Tahitian owned hotel on the island, we arrived at what I believe to be the most beautiful part of Bora Bora: Matira Beach. Here white sand shallows stretch from shore all the way to the barrier reef. It's the perfect paradisaical water. Dan and I hopped off here. Francis' wife, Chantal, and the boys were there. After taking a dip, we headed back to the house. Shots from Matira:
October 13, 2010
11:40
In exchange for all of Francis' Polynesian generosity, we knew we couldn't continue to just sit in his yard eating his mangoes while staring googly-eyed at the peaks, we'd have to do some work. He had seen the stairs at Pesa's and knew we were a crack crew, so it didn't take long for him to put us to it. His yard is littered with a dozen cars, some functional and some not, and our first project was to replace a slipping clutch plate in one of them. This entailed removing the engine via a mango-tree-mounted chain hoist (one of the many uses of a mango tree). After that we fitted a trailer with a new axle housing that would give it a wider wheel base. This project involved a little more backyard engineering than the previous. We had to shift the leaf springs and then weld on new mounts. We assessed its strength with our degrees: “That looks pretty strong, don't you think?”, “Oh yeah, looks good to me.” and then loaded her down. The weight quickly found a failure point before it were even out of the yard, “Ooh, that doesn't look good, does it?.”, “Oh no, I don't think so.” A little alteration to the mounts (flipping them around) was bestowed upon me to tackle. After it rained fire for a bit, the new mounts went on and a successful dump run was made the next day. Francis' yard's view, the mango tree mounted engine, and it raining fire on me:
Among the work done for Francis the slave driver, there can also be included mounting a roll bar on one of his jeeps, mowing his extensive yard, the gathering and burning of coconuts, and other automobile work. Now surely a free 3 hour safari doesn't amount to all that work. This is true, he reciprocated our tasks everyday with a never-ending supply of mangoes, piping hot coffee, and the day's meals (our usual Polynesian wage). And in addition, much to my joy, he gave me a Tahitian ukulele.
Ever since the night of the Kauehi jam session, when one of these ukuleles was first placed in my hands, I've wanted one. They're a simple stringed instrument and a close spinoff of a regular ukulele. In recent decades, the Tahitians adapted it from the famous Hawaiian instrument. Instead of a hollow sound body, there is a conically drilled hole on which a sound board and the bridge sits. This construction gives it a tangier tone, more akin to the mandolin and also makes for a much more durable instrument.. The one I held in Kauehi was made from a piece of scrap wood with a shred of cardboard for the soundboard, but I had fallen in love.
There were a plethora of these ukuleles in Tahiti, all for a premium price of course, so I resolved to build one myself. I had gathered all of the specifications except for the fret layout which I was delighted to find on entering Francis' house. Upon seeing my interest, he offered me one which I later accepted. I surely didn't receive the most beautiful ukulele in the world. It was missing a few integral parts such as 6 of the 8 tuners, all the strings, and the bridge, but I thought I'd take a luthier's chance. Besides being over varnished, the body was of a hefty build, the same wood as Pesa's stairs, with a nice sized uru (breadfruit tree) sound board flush with the surface. All the metal on it was aluminum meaning it would survive in the harsh salt air we live on. The day after getting it I went to work. I fashioned a new set of tuners out of a piece of scrap from Pesa and created a bridge from the same material. It took much longer than I expected, but I was able to string it that night (with the called for green 30lb test fishing line). It took a night for the strings to settle in, but the next day I tuned her up and she had beautiful tone.
In her short few days in my hands she's probably gotten more use than she's had in her lifetime. Brian and I (did I mention we've met up with Clara Katherine again?) are known to sit around for hours playing songs in late night ukulele/accordion jam sessions. I now play it way too much for my (and Dan's) good and dream ukulele during the nights. I eventually plan to put some work into her with a proper varnish coat and maybe some carving on the body. I think it's true love. Brian strummin' the uke:
Besides the ukulele frenzy, we've finally gotten around to fixing the items we broke on the passage over. A new hydrovane has been fabricated from a gifted piece of plywood, Dan spliced in a new eye for the frayed main halyard, and I resewed our shade awning. Today is rainy due to an occlusion front passing over, so it looks like the final few tasks will have to wait until better weather. Brain and Amanda are departing from us once more, this time en route to shores we don't plan to visit. It has be an extreme pleasure eating all their food across the archipelagos of Polynesia and we wish them the best of luck. I hope Brian gets his own uke so we can have a man-to-man uke off when we find each other again. The final picture I have of Brian after a pressure cooker mishap (that would be black beans all over the place):
Our days are numbering shorter in French Polynesia and even shorter here in Bora. We've been soaking up every bit of life this place has to give and plan never to forget it. It'll be hard to leave the island where I found true beauty, a love for music, and great friends, but that is the life of a sailor. I must sail on.
October 20, 2010
17:48
We have arrived back in Tahiti after a slamming passage. Departing Bora, we knew we'd be beating back to Tahiti, but we'd had never had a windward passage before so we weren't quite prepared for the effects. As soon as we got out from behind the lee of the Leeward Islands, we found the prevailing conditions: 25kt headwinds and 12 foot swells on the nose. We bared down and went to it. It was hard to get a good sail combination to get the right amount of pressure on it to go up wind but still not heel the boat to the rail, so we ended up with the latter most of the time.
It was 4 days of it, dead beating. Sea spray engulfed the entire ship in perpetuity and everything was soaked including us huddled in the cockpit (the only location where seasickness wouldn't bring us to our knees). We stayed here almost 24 hours a day only departing for the necessities: food, sail change, etc. As we tacked back and forth up wind, the orientation of the heel would do a complete turn around, moving everything loose from one side of the boat to the other (including us if we weren't careful). What we ended up doing was strapping ourselves onto the cockpit cushion in a reclined position if on the windward side and just resting in the nook if on the lee.
As we bounded through the seas with resounding thuds, Leeway showed all of her flaws. A sheet winch slipped under load, luckily I was right there in my nook to throw a quick wrap around a cleat before it got far. We figured it to be a rare event and due to the age of the winch. A mast winch for the jib halyard unceremoniously fell off its mount (I still haven't figured this one out, but all parts were saved despite the pitching sea). She also showed all of her known leaks and more: my berth was completely drenched, impelling me to sleep in the cockpit; the vents in the head and the galley took in a few of gallons over the passage; every hatch leaks; and a very inconvenient leak over the chart table occurs. At the end of the passage, one could tell how rough it was by just looking into the cabin and seeing the slosh of clothes, books, spilled laundry detergent, and seawater above the floor boards. Needless to say, we're glad to be back in Tahiti and in a calm anchorage.
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