Update from Cape Town

Further update on events described below ..

I talked to my dad this morning.  Newspaper story is inaccurate.  They had sustained winds in 50 knot range and gusts of 85-90 knots.  As they were approaching Cape Town they struggled to reduce sail.  They lost their power to furl headsail a few months ago and have been doing it manually.  The mechanism they use to do it manually failed on Saturday and so they had to drop headsail completely, with concurrent chaos on foredeck and Jared and their quite capable mate (whose name I just forgot) tied in and getting beaten around.  With that done, they turned to mainsail, which in theory is also auto-furling.  It jammed on way down.  And something also broke on mizzen mast.  So they were 0-3 and ended up with both mainsail and mizzensail up.

They tried to power their way into Cape Town but literally could not make constant headway on engine.  After a few hours thrashing around trying to do this the rescue squad that had taken Chessie in asked if they wanted help.  My dad, naturally, asked how much it would cost.  When told it was free, they delightedly took the tow, which apparently was quite hairy as was in dark, in storm.  Not entirely clear what his plan was had he decided the help was too expensive.  Insert your own ethnic comment here around his cheapness and stubbornness.

In any case, they have now gotten some sleep and are assessing damage.  Lots of bumps and bruises but nothing too serious to crew.  Hopefully same with boat, though lots of water sloshed around in cabin.  My mom was apparently responsible for sending Coast Guard out to help Chessie as she got a cell phone call from them and pounded on doors at marina until she found someone that could help.

Cape Town but Problems

Sunday, December 12th

Travis here.  Heard confusing story from my mom by email today.  Details a little confusing.  But article below describes some chaos for SV Brown Eyed Girl and another sailboat trying to enter Cape Town yesterday.  I think SV BEG might also have ultimately needed a tow in as well.  My mom reports damage to rigging and sails and fair amount of water in cabin.  My dad hurt wrist and reports through my mom that they had gusts at 95 knots.  He is now sleeping it off.  Further details when I get them -- hope to speak to them tomorrow.

link to newspaper; go to Sunday 12/12 edition

Difficulties in Cape Town

• Article rank 
• 12 Dec 2010
• Weekend Argus (Sunday Edition)
• THANDANANI MHLANGA

Stricken racing yacht rescued

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THE HOWLING south-easter hampered NSRI efforts to help a crippled German yacht into Hout Bay harbour yesterday.

The twin-masted ketch, Chessie, had been taking part in the 2010 Arc Around the World Rally when it lost its rudder about two miles out of Hout Bay yesterday.

NSRI spokesman Craig Lambinon said Chessie’s skipper, Joachim Doehne, had sent out an alert. Local yacht Brown Eyed Girl went out to guide Chessie in, but when the yacht lost its steering they called the NSRI for help.

Hout Bay station commander Brad Geyser, who was at the scene last night, said the weather conditions were “absolutely foul. The wind is really bad. We’re looking at 35 to 40 knots.”

At the time of going to press the yacht was being escorted into Hout Bay by Brown Eyed Girl and the NSRI.

The Weather Office says the wind will moderate tonight, but is expected to pick up again on Tuesday.

“The low pressure will cause foggy conditions along the West Coast on Monday.”

Meteorologist Stella Nake said a strong ridge of high pressure was responsible for the “deep south-easter” experienced around the Peninsula yesterday and today.

“Typically this is the time when the ‘tablecloth’ appears on Table Mountain.”

Yesterday afternoon wind speeds peaked at 60km/h at Cape Town International Airport.

Satellite weather watcher Jean-Pierre Arabonis, of Ocean Satellite Imaging Systems, said although the seas were rough, only small fishing vessels would have a hard time.

“It’s still a nasty piece of wind,” he said.

Disaster Risk Management’s Wilfred Solomons-Johannes said there had been no reported incidents related to the high wind.

Almost to South Africa ...

This one is for the ladies we have left behind.  It has been a while since I've written.  A lot of that has to do with the fact that our Single Side Band radio has been about as helpful as getting messages out via Sailmail as using two Campbell's tomato soup cans with a string attached in the middle.  The other reason, the real reason, is that we have reached that part in the trip where we find ourselves talking and thinking more and more about home, our loved ones, and our beloved ladies and have been less-inclined to talk and write about the places ventured.  When you are getting tossed about in the wild Indian Ocean as 25-30 knot sustained winds for more than a week and continuous 15-20 foot seas pummel your boat, your muscles, and bones; you begin to ask yourself: is it really worth it?  The answer in my opinion is a resounding: "Yes!"  But it is does wear on one.  These are the sea conditions we experienced in our thirteen day run from Cocos-Keeling to Mauritius and the majority of it was, in my opinion, quite miserable.  When weather sets in like this, so does the boredom.  We read our Millennium trilogy books feverishly, thought about what food would have we prepared for us if able, wondered what bliss is would be to hike up a mountain in search of deer (or just go for a walk) and of course, ventured out into the cockpit to do our safety checks and remind ourselves of the reality of our situation, and found comfort in good conversation in what we would do when we made landfall.  But most of all, we thought about our ladies who sustained us through it all, though thousands of miles away.  This blog is dedicated to them who will never fully understand what good they did for us in days that, at times, ironically, left us ill-at-ease and bored us.

Arriving in Mauritius, we found ourselves in a nicely developed waterfront far isolated from the reality of the poverty and horrible drivers in that country (more on that).  Days were spent working on our still defunct generator, fixing some electrical issues so we could finally enjoy AC from shore-power (still don't have it when at to sea), emailing our boat's manufacturer in France to look into buying electrical motor furling kit for Genoa.  With price quotes at close to 8,000 Euros and supposed several strikes going on in France (imagine that) that would make it impossible to assure delivery by a specific date, we decide to forego this option and resort, for now, to use old muscle and sinew to furl and unfurl her.  We did find great delight in our afternoon pizzas at the Sun Cafe eating our pizza napletano.  Media was ablaze with the excitement of the Arc being in port and a waitress said she saw me on the tv.  As we finished up some boat projects, we decided to get a car and head out to a villa that Sean and friends had rented on the East side of the island.  That "wild bunch" had rented a villa on the beach with pool and brick grilling pit.  Being careful as always in checking the car upon delivery, I fired a few snapshots to verify any dings on the car and away we went, to see a little bit of the island, meet up with good people, and get the heck away from the boat.  It did not take us long to see that Mauritians are quite possibly the worst drivers in the world.  Stoplights and signs, if found at intersections, are optional and there seems to be this imaginary third lane that motorcyclists and smaller cars use when wishing to pass, which often occurs at the same time opposing traffic in the "imaginary lane" decide to do the same.  It makes Boston look like a drive through the country.  We were less than 39 minutes from our escape to the villa when the Skip turned on his right hand blinker, approached his turn, and started to make it when a truck foolishly passed on us on the right and slammed into the front  section of dad's door and took out the right panel.  The driver hit us at no less than 55 mph and had Dad been another 1/10th of a second in the turn, we believe, well, you can imagine.  We were able to walk away uninjured and with the other driver admitting fault.  Our car, on the other hand, was a bit messed up with the hub bent down into the front right tire making it inoperable to drive.  Using a lever, we pried the metal off the tire (so delicately-ha!) and limped back to the rental for a new car.  Phew!  Glad I took those pictures of the dings in the car upon receiving it.  A day later we made it to the villa, if only for a few hours, to share a few laughs about the day before and take in some beautiful beach scenery.  We all agreed, though, being next to or in a pool was far more entertaining than looking out onto the deep blue.

After a quick overnight sail to Reunion, we found ourselves in Le Port and in a marina that offered little more than a cantina with poor wifi.  The Arc, as always did put on some very nice functions.  Oisin and I headed to airport and found what we believe to be last car available for rent.  It was quite nice to park, as you could put it in your back pocket and carry it with you while overlooking wonderful vistas of waterfalls and lava fields.  Oisin and I spent a nice day with Ritchie and Charley off "Grand Filou" in their rental exploring the highlands, which reminded me of a tropical alps.  Quite cool, literally and figuratively.  All the while, we dreamed of South Africa.  We are getting there.  It is November 2nd and we are 278 nautical miles away from the southern tip of Madagascar and that much closer to Richard's Bay, South Africa.  After dodging another tsunami scare in Reunion (remember the Galapagos) to the earthquake in Sumatra and now hearing that a Category 2-3 cyclone is expected to make landfall in Cocos-Keeling today, we can feel fortunate in the bullets we have dodged along the way and to have had this experience to begin with, the good times and tough times.  "It's a beautiful ride," in the profound words of Dewey Cox.  As always love and miss you all.  Love ya, Mom.  Te amo, Merce.  SVBEG out.

Update from Travis as of October 12th

SV Brown Eyed Girl has arrived safely in Mauritius (Port Louis) as of about Saturday, October 9th.  They have not had access to sailmail (their shortband email system) since shortly after leaving Indonesia so we have not had much by way of update (nor blog posts from Jared).  Per my mom, who spoke with them by sat phone, they had a wild crossing of the Indian Ocean, with winds generally in excess of 25 knots.  Hope to hear more soon.

Update from Travis on Saturday, September 18th

As of Saturday, September 18, my dad and brother have left Bali and are headed to Cocos Keeling Islands in Indian Ocean.  They are about a day or two out  as we speak.  Go to Google Earth to see how small these islands are.  The Indian Ocean, upon investigation, strikes me as vast and relatively un-islanded.  After these islands they have a 2400 mile (!) passage across to the Mauritius Islands.  That is a lot of miles.  My mom has just flown home and is back in Boothbay, aiming to meet up with them again when they the African continent at the end of the year ...

Bali, Indonesia

The last few weeks have been a flurry of making headway and keeping schedule with the itinerary and whirlwind of travel destinations in the Northern Territory of Australia and southern Bali.  I find myself sad to be leaving Bali in my wake so soon. It has earned itself a place in the top five of my destinations in this journey so far. A few days spent there is merely a tantalizing taste of a land of wonderment, beauty, and intrigue.  This place deserves weeks, not days.  In my short time there, though, I managed to cross off a few more things on my bucket list (don't worry-planning on the long haul) and experience the kindness and tranquility of the Balinese people.  I have to admit, before making landfall here -- I was a little concerned for our safety, after all the terrorist bombings of Kuta in 2002 and an adjacent city in 2004 (both near our marina) have left a tarnish upon the hearts of those who have yet to visit the island.  What we experienced in our short time here was so far from the media blips I recall a few years back, I have come away with a very different impression about this island, far removed from the uglier politics of the other isles of Indonesia.  These are a people who abhor the violence that was rained down on them and foreigners visiting their country and have re-built and continued to live as spiritual a life as I have ever been privileged to see and experience. A kinder and poorer people, I have never known.

It was nice to rendezvous with the BEG, as we finished made land-fall just before a torrential downpour soured the day for any sight-seeing.  That was ok as the Skip, Oisin, and I were extremely tired from a harrowing last 12 hours of what was a relatively tranquil trip from Darwin (too tranquil-blazing hot, no wind, and noisy as we only sailed four hours over the course of a week).  However, in the last 12 hours currents rose to 6 knots, our speed over ground dropped to 1.2 knots and waves rose to over 4 meters.  In those kind of conditions, a boat is just about at the mercy of the sea and that's never good.  So, as we topped off the tank and jerry cans with diesel and settled into our slip and new marina, we looked forward to what the original BEG had planned and assured would be a venture into tranquility.

Our driver, a nice Hindu man by the name of Kharti, picked us up the next morning and sped us away from the marina and the boat.  Thank God!  Freedom from the world of  boats and yachties (no offense to either, of course).  As moped after moped careened by us as break-neck speeds and we weaved through intersections with no traffic lights, I was wondering when we would get to that tranquility bit.  We had a morning planned of temple viewing, lunch at a popular restaurant where we would feast on suckling pig, travel through the stone and wood-crafts districts, and then make our way up tho the highlands where yes, the "most delicious of all beverages" (see the movie "The Bucket List") would be consumed: Kopi Luwac coffee (coffee beans ingested by a civet cat, then collected by a dedicated and well, patient worker; and slow-roasted in an iron kettle over open fire).  We watched the majority of that process and looked at a sleeping Luwac in a cage and sat there drinking our coffee at a table overlooking a misty, jungle valley.  How did it taste?  At a whopping three dollars a cup for Bali standards, I'd say it lives up to its reputation.  Best coffee I've ever had.  Not quite sure it's worth the 50 dollars or more a cup it will put you back in other time-zones.

As we made our way around the southern part of the island, stone temples adorned with ornately-carved good and bad spirits were aflock with worshipers and wedding ceremonies.  Every village has three temples and every house is a temple in and of itself.  As we were invited into our driver's open-aired house he explained that houses are ceremonial compounds where extended family live together and multiple offering sites are located magnetically as to their purpose.  In the center, is a room that is used for to worship the souls of deceased family members.  The smell of flower baskets lovingly placed at various places of worship in the compound mixed with burning incense.  All of the afore-mentioned combined with that one cup of Kopi Luwac and I was starting to get into the tranquility mode.

Nightfall found ourselves checking into the former royal palace with pools of lotus flowers leading to the royal temple.  I had never slept in a temple before nor bowed before a Queen.  By the next morning, I could say neither anymore.  We ate a healthy breakfast of fresh fruit and then decided to head to the monkey jungle, a place of reverence for the devilishly cunning macaque monkeys.  Among the banyan trees and a thousand monkeys, I made the mistake of putting the bananas I purchased in the same pocket as my camera and ended up feeling the little hand of a crafty macaque yanking both out of my right pocket.  For a few seconds we played tug-of-war, before he took off with  all the bananas and I managed to hold onto my camera.  Draw.  The Skip learned quickly that once a macaque has stolen your bananas, those bananas are rightfully his or hers.  Any attempt to recover purchased bananas will result in a gaping mouth displaying sharp teeth.  Further attempt will more likely than not result in trip to hospital with one wondering why one fought with a monkey to retrieve bananas meant for a monkey.  I stood there watching dad fight to get his bananas back from the monkey and wisely retreat upon the flash of teeth as people took pictures of the two. I wondered who was smarter.

We are headed to Cocos-Keeling and as always love and miss you all.  Te amo, Merce.

"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...    

Australia

Now that we finally have a little bit of signal to send and receive messages via this SSB and this service called Sailmail, I want to do a retro-blog about the beauty of the Northern Territory of Australia.  In fact, to leave out a section regarding the times had there and the people met -- I would feel like I would have betrayed both.  I wrote in an earlier blog that when I was in Queensland, the Aussies there are a bit like the good frontiersman of our western states, similar to the good folks I've met in Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho.  The Aussies of the Northern Territory take that same independent spirit and connection to the land and multiple it by a factor of ten.  These are the real Aussies, that live with the threat of drought, flood, venomous snakes, monster salt-water crocodiles that occasionally kill their brahman cattle and four or more times a year their kinfolk as well, and the logistical difficulties of the every-day life of living in a remote, yet beautiful region.  This is the Australia I've wanted to breathe in, soak up, and relish for years.  Kakudu National Park, the Adelaide river, Yellow Water river, and the lands surrounding did far from disappoint.

The trip up the Arnhem highway to Kakudu National park takes one at this time of year through some very dry scrub growth regions with billabongs (small water holes) that seem to dry before your very eyes.  This is a positive, of course, to game-viewers like me who know that when you find the water in times like these, you find the animals.  Dingos, water buffalo (feral and now being eliminated by the Aussie Fish and Game for the damage they do to the undergrowth), monster salt-water crocs,  kangaroos, one dead eastern brown snake (now salted and frozen in the bench-freezer of the BEG), gouanas, pythons, and myriad bird species were observed, including the painted kingfisher.

Our first stop, very commercial but not too be missed, was the river tour of the Adelaide river aboard "The Adelaide River Queen" to see the famous jumping saltwater crocs.  I'm not sure if feeding 17 foot crocodiles with chunks of pork attached to a line dangling from a pole which is lowered to the water and then quickly raised to tease the croc to propel itself out of the water is exactly a good way to keep Crocs from associating humans with food, but without doubt it has saved the population of crocs in this region.  Crocs are now big money alive, rather than little money dead as their extinction was almost realized by over-hunting in the 1950's and 1960's.  There is no doubt that the sound of the boat brings these bruisers to the boat.  In fact, we watched these territorial creatures race each other to the boat to be the one to get their daily hand-out.  If tours like these prevent the Australians from going on wild killing sprees any time someone is taken by one, then I'm all for them.  The bottom line in Australia:  Don't swim in freshwater or wade across streams at night determining if your rented 4x4 will make it across without being swept downstream (more on that later).

Next we headed to our cabins within Kakadu National Park and took several nice walks on site to their billabong where we witnessed a stand-off between a wallaby and a gouana, which is a large lizard native to Australia.  Wallabies hopped around the grounds and fed on the more succulent green-grass being watered next to the swimming pool.  For a sunset-vista we headed to a famous rock outcropping adorned with aboriginal art dating from 1,000-6,000 years of age.  Paintings made from iron compounds and other organic material have weathered the ages and scenes depicting aborigines hunting crocodiles, kangaroos, and paying homage to "Lightning Man", who brings the rainy season, were there to teach life lessons.  We even observed a positive imprint of a hand.  As we scaled the hill,  we reached the summit just as the sun was falling.  Vibrant purples and oranges shined through clouds resting on the horizon and painted the land and made the iron rich rock out-croppings seem a little less harsh.  The beauty of that sunset quickly faded and we made our way down the hill.  Into the car we hopped, and my heart felt content with the prospects of what we may see crossing the road in the darkness of this frontier. Several snakes were spotted, but the one spotted by the Skip was the second highest on our list: the eastern brown.  Unfortunately, it had been recently killed but we still approached it with great care.  Mom is no fan of snakes, unlike Dad and me, and convincing her to let us take the snake back to room where we could properly skin and salt it and get it cooled down took some careful verbal maneuvering.  It took Dad, some smooth talking, me whacking the snake with a stick several times and holding it, and Dad taking out an empty gas container (a way to detain the dead snake) which assured her that the dead snake would not be able to escape.  As Dad proceeded to stuff the snake into the gas container, red and blue lights light up the night and a police truck pulled up and two bush cops jumped out with puzzled looks on their faces.

"Yeah, that's a bad one I reckon.  Eastern Brown or King Brown from the looks of it.  Not to be mucked with.  Careful the Rangers don't see you with it.  Have a nice night", the taller cop said giving us a bemused look as if he were thinking, "crazy Americans."  Off they went and we still had the snake.  I love the Aussies.

The next day found us on the Yellow river doing another boat tour.  It had a truer feel to it than the Adelaide tour.  Crocs were seen in great numbers and very close but they weren't the highlight of the trip.  The guide's vast knowledge of the bird species we were abundantly seeing gave us more appreciation for this wild river ecosystem we were privileged enough to see for two glorious hours.

Back to that whole deal about not wading into rivers at night.  Deciding how to make the most expeditious way back to Darwin, we were told of a shortcut that would easily save us "30 minutes" (cost us at least an hour) but it would be on a dirt road.  We didn't mind that as we had a nice 4x4.  We even spotted a dingo and two water buffalo and one very large snake that slithered off the road before we could jump out and see it. What we didn't expect to see about an hour down this "shortcut" was a river running through it (the South Alligator-known croc fatalities on it).  So it was dark, we were at the point of no return, and I decided to jump out as Dad followed closely behind in the rental with high beams on and a plan of running a croc over if he saw a v making its way through the water.  I tested the depth, my switch-blade in hand (because everyone knows how effective those are on 1,000 lb. beasts) as we both kept a look-out for Crocs.  The water never got more than knee-deep but then again our reptile friends don't need much water to obscure themselves in the hunt.  The river was quickly deemed passable and I gladly jumped back in.

In retro, we should have turned the vehicle around.  We wouldn't be Metzes if we had. As always, love and miss you all.  Te amo, Merce.

"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...

Mackay to Darwin ....

The Captain studied the paper in front of him and worked the numbers out in a low voice but loud enough to hear.  "It's 1520 miles to Darwin. If we average 5 knts a day; we will make it to Darwin in 12 days, 6 knts would be 10 days, and 6 knts would bring us to freedom from round-the-clock six hour watches split between the two of us.  For all of our time busting hump in Mckay for three weeks, we were well behind schedule and for all of our hard labor we would be repaid with the need to skip the Great Barrier reef (overrated by people I've talked to in comparison to the diving we have done in Polynesia) and not get to do the day-tripping of the Whitsundays, a group of desolate, rugged islands teeming with bird life and rock out-croppings along their shores hiding those tasty red-throated emperor fish.  I was bummed, but understood the logic.  If we could eat up some miles, we could still salvage some time in Darwin and get to Kakadu National Park and do some of what we really want to do: outbacking, croc-viewing, snake-hunting, and getting to know more of these great Aussies.

Mom, being in a right, sane frame of mind, got off the boat in Cairns to experience the beauty of Australia landside; which gave us a night's rest before the round-the-clock sailing would begin.  It's not that I mind the six on and six off routine with two on the boat.  There is great beauty in being the lone Master and Commander (at least to think you are) of a beautiful vessel while gazing at Orion and the Southern Cross while the Skip is catching a few Z's but it has its moments that time-after-time again; one gets weary off.  I had just finished my last blog (quite optimistic with all the work done on the boat), when a resounding "Oh S---!" came from the Skip as the generator petered out.  Didn't we just spend three weeks in Mckay getting this boat ready and completely inspected to finish the second half? Without the generator, our newly installed 240 volt water-maker just sits.  Before the generator went kablooey, we were making 220 liters of sweet water an hour.  To those who have never been on water-restrictions, this may not make an impression; to those who have, remember relishing a nice hot shower or not being so stringent while washing dishes?  The harder truth is that without the generator operating, batteries are not being charged unless the engine is running and we like to minimize that time to conserve fuel.

This is the crucible, though.  This is what makes this an unequaled experience from other travels.  It can't all be lazing it on a Bora Bora beach with an umbrella drink in hand.  Fun, as it sounds, fun never equates to the pride of having tested one's determination in seeing it through.   This is the reality of circumnavigating.  It's tough.  People constantly tell me of how envious they are of me and what a great chance to have a break from work to do this.  I smile and tell them not to envy me too much and this is far from a break from work.  That being said, as weeks go by and still more people drop out of the ARC; we keep on keeping on whatever may come our way.  What I've found interesting in the World ARC fleet, is that the vast majority will tell you knowing how to sail is far from being the most valued skill.  That's easy (unless you're into racing-I'm not). Far above that, in fact the most crucial, is the skill of being able to jury-rig broken equipment while utilizing limited items onboard.  That's a real sailor.  I watched my Skip use medical gauze and 5200 (great adhesive-everyone should have it on a sailboat) to patch a leak at sea in a broken hose between two attached engine parts.  Absolutely brilliant as he applied layer of gauze while smearing the compound on the engine's artery stopping the massive hemorrhage and getting us from Bora Bora all the way to Australia where a mechanic replaced the broken hose.  That's the Skip in his Patton-like determination to push forward quickly toward any obstacles and crush these boat issues one-by-one as they raise their cobra-like heads from the engine room and beyond.  Leave it to a doctor to use his medical supplies in the engine room.  I watch and assist to the best of my ability while carrying on the other tasks crucial to keeping a boat happy.  As I have made friends with the various captains, boat-owners, and crew in the ARC; we have come to one universal and laughable conclusion:  You have to be insane to own a boat.  

As far as traversing the waters interior to the Great Barrier Reef and east of mainland Australia as we make or way northward and west, it is a head's up ball game.  Super-tankers, warships, cargo ships, shrimpers, and anything else that could go bump in the night crowd the channels.  It's a mine-field and no ten-minute shut-eye breaks are allowed.  Thank God for the marvelous creation of the coffee bean.  The rules of the road here are quite simple: the bigger vessel always wins and boats like to pass starboard to starboard here.  They even drive on the wrong side of the channel.  It is quite a lovely trip and its nice to not be out of the sight of land. As I longingly gaze out toward rugged cliffs, boulders, and mountains painting the landscape all shades of earthy yellows and oranges; I dream (and the Skip as well) of getting to Darwin and more interior.  We'll get there.

The fishing report is relatively good.  We caught a 15 lb yellow fin tuna (which I served cubed and raw in coconut milk, lime juice, minced scallions, and ginger) 2 spotted mackerel (a new species for us-meat as white as the driven snow and flaky-excellent pan-friend in butter, salt, and pepper), a tuna mackerel (not edible in my book) and then were cut off on two lines simultaneously while dragging a bloody tuna mackerel behind boat.  Shark?  I wonder if it had eyes like a doll's.  Dark and lifeless.  Time to get out the piano-wire and catch one of those porkers with the serrated, triangular teeth.

We are about half-way from Cairns to Darwin, now, and making 6.5 knts.  We are tired but still making waves.  I imagine in 5-6 days, we will be in Darwin. As always, love and miss you all.  Te amo, Merce.

"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...

Photos from Australia...

Jared out on town.  Nice outfit.

SV BEG getting hauled out in Mackay

Crocodile-16 feet long on Daintree river in Queensland

Flying fox bat-3 feet long fruit eater-doesn't have echolocation like other bats

Red-bellied black snake-danger danger danger, mate!  Dead or I wouldn't handle it

Mackay, Australia

It has been far too long since I've written but it's hard to get inspired when you feel like you are living the movie "Groundhog Day" where every morning you awake to find yesterday repeating itself and moreover, in Mckay, Australia.  Three weeks ago we arrived into the coal-mining town and marina of Mckay for what we knew would be probably (hopefully) the least exciting, but very necessary part of the trip-the hauling of the "Brown-Eyed Girl" out of the water for major mechanical and body work.  I could spend a lot of time boring you with the details of every task done, but I will refrain as we have now put Mckay to our stern and are now sailing through the Whitsunday isles on an amazingly beautiful and brisk day (winter here, down-under).  I would be remiss, though, if I didn't delve a little into the major over-haul of the boat, for those of you who don't own or don't have the pleasure to be around boats and think this journey is a pleasant escape from work and reality.  Quite honestly, this is the toughest job I've ever had and the stresses of major breakage wears on a Captain, as well, but with all that said; we have accomplished quite a lot in these last few weeks and the "BEG", I believe, is quite happy with our hard work and loving attention.

Mckay, Australia with a population of just over 100,000 doesn't offer much to the boater except that which we truly needed-an excellent marina with skilled laborers.  From lifting the boat out and placing on dry-stands, cleaning and painting the bottom, treating the exterior of the hull, oiling the bow-thrusters, taking the prop off and lubricating drive-shaft and changing-out seals, inspecting rigging, welding stress-fractures in booms, cutting and wiring for new and old water-makers, sewing cushions, replacing VHF, complete inventory and re-organizing of food and cleaners, preventive maintenance of engine, cleaning exterior and interior of vessel, and sneaking away for great red-throated emperor fish and chips when a break could be found, dropping boat back in water, working out any bugs with any of the aforementioned, re-cleaning the boat after work had been finished; Mckay was the place for us to accomplish our tasks.  The skilled help is here and the city doesn't offer much more than pubs filled with drunken Aussie coal-miners who are getting their fill of schooners of draft-beer and getting "a skin-full."  The Captain and this 1st mate are glad to have closed this chapter of the trip.  Hats off to the Skip who worked diligently alongside the workers putting in 16-hour days, at times, making it happen. So, if it has been a while since I have written to you, my loyal readers, I must confess I haven't been that inspired, nor had the luxury of writing.

That being said, I did manage to weasel my way away from the boat for a couple of days with the original "BEG" for some true out-backing on a 12 hour drive to Daintree National Forest for some outstanding Croc viewing.  I learned to love driving on the left (scary at first and slightly embarrassing when you get in the wrong side of the vehicle with the keys in your hand and grab air reaching for your seat-belt on the wrong side) and it had been six-months since I been able to quench my need for speed.  Flat, straight stretches of road through desolate Aussie outback, fulfilled that desire.  Along the way, we stopped in Cairns to visit a bit more upscale port and then to Port Douglass where we dined on monster prawns served over ice and with a side of creamy dill dipping sauce and honey dijon sauce with a view of mangrove delta, shrimping boats, and mud flats where those heavenly mud-crabs that go for 90 dollars a kilo dwell.  Sublime.  Arriving to the Daintree is spectacular.  We spent the night on a ranch and awoke in the morning over-looking a pasture leading down to the Daintree with Brahman cattle and horses eating just below our porch.  Nice change of scenery from the deep blue.  The Daintree area is unlike interior Australia and most of coastal Australia.  It is a rain forest and quite different than how one may picture Australia.  Bird life is abundant.  Spectacled fruit bats dangling upside down and are three feet long, roost in the thousands painting the mangrove trees as black as night. Did I mention Crocs?  Of course we had to pursue the infamous salt-water crocodile on a two-hour boat cruise on the Daintree river.  The Discovery channel doesn't do them justice as to show how truly terrifying and amazing beasts they are (and I live in Florida-Gators are as common as snow-birds and oranges).  We spotted several 14-foot salties and one 16 footer that is forever etched into my mind.  Swim in Australia?  Never.  Those beasties have been spotted a hundred miles out to sea.  They say in places you aren't even safe in a dinghy.  Everywhere one goes, the river banks are lined with signs warning non-Aussies not to swim.  The Aussies understand.  I love this country.  What about the snakes?  Yes, they are a reality and Australia has the worst ones in the world as far as size, temperament, and venom.  The Skip and I managed to sneak away from our tasks a few mornings and evenings to an abandoned drive-in movie theater where the taipans (deadliest land snake in the world) warm themselves on the asphalt.  Dad had received the information about this place from a guy at a cocktail party who when asked for directions to this locale refused to give them to us as he thought we were nuts to pursue these 12-foot, highly aggressive, and common snakes.  We managed to find the theater but came up empty-handed on this front, however, as I was driving to Daintree, I did manage to get some photographs of a road-kill, red-bellied blacksnake, another deadly cousin to the cobra.  Beautiful snake.  Beautiful land.

I almost forgot to mention our day-trip to Eungalla National Park which is an pretty, hour-long drive through sugar-cane country and up into the rain forest from Mckay.  It is famous for being a refuge to the elusive and greatest oddity of evolution: the duckbill platypus.  Imagine an egg-laying, venomous, mammal that has a bill, well, like a duck's and a bit of a temper.  They aren't very big, at a couple of feet long, but as we watched a male chasing a non-receptive female (sorry, bloke-the sheila doesn't like ya') as they maneuvered in circles biting each other, I thought the great creator must have a sense of humor.  White cockatoos screeched overhead.  Majestic place and a nice escape from the dust-bowl of the being up on the boat-stands in a boat-yard.

So, all's well that ends well and the BEG is slipping through the water nicely after her three-week and very costly makeover.  To Darwin, via the Whitsundays, we go.  Fishing lines are out.  Hopefully the muses, sirens, and mermaids will inspire me to write more.  We love Australia and the Aussies.  They are as you may imagine them. Strong. Independent.  Frontiersman.  Friendly.  I liken them to a slightly different twist of our westerners.  As always, love and miss you all.  Te amo, Merce.

"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...

Photos prior to arriving in Australia

banded sea-kraits-deadly but friendly

duckbill platypus-strangest animal en the world-venomous,egg-laying mammal, with a bill and webbed feet-rare to see

2 pics of tribal dancing on Tanaa-men wear nothing buy skirts covering front

pig hunt

smallest pig ever killed

Eungalla Park in rainforest-misty park where platypus' abound

Mt. Yassur on Tanna-most accessible active volcano in world people stand at edge of crater, delayed night photo, esxplodes every few seconds-2minutes

Bull shark

On the way to Australia ... Goodbye South Pacific

It's a bit hard to say goodbye to what I feel will be the highlight of the this magnificent journey, and quite honestly, at times, a trying crucible. We are now leaving Polynesia. I shall miss the Marquesas and their rugged, jagged basalt peaks and octopus and grouper-rich waters, and hunting feral goats on volcanic rock that burned my calves and shredded my foot-wear and left me begging for my next breath.  I shall miss the Tuamotos and their labyrinth of coral-rich waters and nights that so lit up with stars I felt like I was embedded into Van Gogh's "Starry Night" from a low-lying palm and white, sugar-sand island.  I doubt I shall ever again breath air as pure as it was there  The Isles of Tahiti, Huahine, Bora Bora, Rarotonga, and Niue leave me reminiscing about the great memories of vibrant open markets, black Tahitian pearls,  beautiful venomous sea-snakes that may just give you a love tap with their nose, old US W.W. II gun-emplacements now rusty and forever-silenced, volcanic and verdant slopes falling into gin-blue waters teeming with fish ready to be viewed...or put on the table, and people that are genuine, tradition and family-oriented, and friendly.  Fiji still calls to me with her giant clams with iridescent green and blue lips that when disturbed shut their shells so forcibly that the water around you moves.  The diverse nature of native Fijians living now with their Indo-Fijian and Chinese neighbors could quite possibly be a social lesson for the world to follow.  The first invite and participation in a Kava ceremony/social is something that will change you...and I will leave it at that in the hope that you force yourself to take that trip you know you have earned with so many days in the 8-5 grind and are still making excuses as to why you can't go.  Go, my friends!  Today is a gift, there is only false promise in tomorrow, and everything is fleeting.

Vanuatu, which is only several hundred miles to our rudder and dancing in my mind entails the experience of ceremonial dance entrancing one, orchid-laden ficus trees as large as a soccer field shading out the sun in a misty jungle, volcanos so active and accessible you look down at the magma being projected at you and followed by the thunderous crash of the cooled rock as it rolls back into the abyss of the mad mountain, and a real pig-hunt where one feels as if you should paint your face with mud and blood before a mad dash through the jungle.  This is magic of Vanuatu.  For those of us who feel, at times, like we were born a bit too late and missed out on the great discoveries and adventures in human history; the isle of Tanaa is where the Skip and I were able to put that inner-need to rest (well, at least for a while).  Discovery is still possible, we've found, from within and tangible if one is willing to trek out a little bit beyond the tired, worn paths of humanity. We ran through the jungle in pursuit of a fleeing animal and bathed in all the glory of her steep peaks and towering canopy of foreign hills.  We learned to drink and eat from the trees and the chase and the kill of a wild boar became a distant thought as we melted into bush.  Our clothes drenched and dirtied, our sweat mixed with the volcanic dirt we wore and dripped off of us to the forest floor below, leaving a faint trace of us on her hills.  She, too, became a part of us leaving an indelible mark on our souls.

Our short stay in Port Villa, was taken up by the usual tasks of provisioning, fueling, taking on water, and maintenance checks but we did manage to buys some DVDs and other items we hadn't seen in quite a while (hey, I'm not completely ready to trade it all in and live in a tree), soak up the open-market which rivals the one in Tahiti, and grab a bite in a local eatery.  The Skip even got a haircut (well-overdue).

We make our way at a blistering 8.5 knts over ground, with apparent winds at 22 knts. to a land down under.  We find ourselves in the Coral Sea and night-watches are not to be taken lightly.  The ARC lost a vessel here last year and we allow ourselves not a minute of shut-eye when its our turn on watch.  It's a mine field of patch coral and tiny isles.  This is the start of day three of what will possibly be six days.  We push forward with no water-maker but with the happiness of having a great, new crew-member aboard the "BEG" by the name of Oisin who hails from Ireland and was previously aboard "Tucanon" and the sublime, often surreal memories of our cultural and natural experiences in the South Pacific.  Life is good, the world is a wilder place than I once thought, and we see beauty in the people who welcome us with open arms and open hearts as we venture around this spinning, blue and green marble.  Talk to you in Australia.  I'm looking forward to making friends with a duck-billed, venomous, egg-laying, mammal and, if lucky, finding one of those truly large toothy critters swimming around the Great Barrier Reef w/o it finding me first.  I have a feeling that Australia will be a strangely, beautiful place; a land of paradox.    As always, love and miss you all.  Te amo, Merce.  Brown Eyed Girl out....

Lords of the Flies

As we made arrival to the isle of Tanaa, the extremely active volcano, Mt. Yasur, greeted us with huge plumes of black smoke rising into the azure sky and its bellows carried across the water and met us with intensity. We made the narrow passage around the coral surrounding the isle and entered the anchorage below the rumbling volcano. Gazing into the steep slopes and verdant jungle, plumes of smoke rose from various points among the hills. Geothermal hot spots oozed smoke above the jungle canopy. The sound of people exchanging conch calls from one side of the bay to the other, carried over the water. I wondered what messages they were conveying. Melanesian women were seen cooking along the shoreline in a boiling, geothermal pool. A small, white sandy beach lay just beyond a labyrinth of coral heads waiting to chew up a prop. Even before stepping foot on her wild slopes, the Skip and I knew we had arrived to a special place, far from civilization and the lives we left behind. Little did we know, how surreal the entire experience would be. We were quick to find that this would be the isle where we could become lords of the flies in our own time.

Tanaa is an isle among a chain of isles called Vanuatu. You won't find wireless here and if you find the one guy with a satellite dish and a television, he will charge you an hourly rate. Well, he charges his neighbors anyway. Malaria is prevalent, will be found, and anti-malarial's are a must. The people are tribal oriented and bound to the land and shores in tradition, ceremony, and work. They are extremely friendly to sailors and are quick to invite people to a Kava ceremony (guys only-and no I didn't go but I heard it was very different than those in Fiji-no talking, Kava powder is mixed strongly with spit of all those participating, and two cups may take down an elephant-no thanks), let you observe ritualistic tribal dance where males wear only grass penis sheaths, or help you make your way up to the most accessible active volcano in the world. If you really extend yourselves, you may just line up a wild boar hunt through the brush as we did by making friends with the local chief, Whery.

The road to Mt. Yasur had been washed out in areas by a major rainstorm storm that hit a couple weeks ago. As we piled into the flat beds of pick-ups, we ascended the jungle road, amazed at the size of the wild Ficus with their aerial roots drooping down and obscuring the sun. Our driver precariously avoided the huge wash-outs in the road while maintaining a pretty good clip. One tire in those massive washouts and we all would have been flying like rag-dolls. Dust kicked up from the road and domestic pigs darted across in front of us, headed to their beds. Epiphytic orchids adorned much of the landscape. As we passed by, people were proud to show off their English skills with a resounding and genuine, "Hello!" As we encroached upon the volcano, the landscape changed dramatically and ash and lava rock dominated the scenery and turned into a moonscape. We hiked only 300 meters and there we were at the edge of the rim, looking down into the abyss of lava. Boom! Boom! The volcano thundered every 2 minutes, sometimes more often, and because of the vertical trajectory of the lava, we were looking directly at and above the chunks of lava being hurled thousands of feet. Truly spectacular and slightly dangerous. From time to time, they do lose a tourist or two here when the rocks take an unexpected trajectory. Four were killed a couple of years ago in one explosion. We stayed into the night to take some delayed-aperture shots. The Skip and I have been lived around volcanoes (he in Hawaii and I, in Costa Rica) and I have to say that Mt. Yasur earns its reputation because of its deep crater as being the most accessible active volcano and therefore quite likely the best way to truly feel what an active volcano is like up close and personal and get remarkable photos. I love an angry mountain and this one has a bad temper. After several hours of jaw-dropping viewing, we reluctantly piled back into the trucks and descended down the mountain and back to the village and our dinghy ride back to the "BEG".

The following day, the village extended an invite to a gift-giving ceremony with dance and blessing of the fleet from the Chief. Boats in the Arc assembled together bags of school supplies, fishing tackle, dive gear, medical supplies, building material, and anything else we could think of that would be hard for them to acquirer. We made our way to shore with bags in tote and were greeted by the village elders singing song and performing ceremonial dance. Entranced by the music and dance, we all made our way to grass veranda. Everyone in the fleet was presented a grass-weaved hat and necklace upon passing into the ceremonial center. Captains then lined up on one side of a grass field and the village patriarchs and matriarchs on the other, gift-bags were walked to the middle and placed down, first by the tribe and then by the Captains. The women of the tribe had weaved together fruit baskets filled with bananas, grapefruit, cacao, and limes and adorned them with a feathered dart stuck into the fruit. Amazing, experience. When the children started to sing, "This Land is Your Land" to lyrics written for Tanaa, some of us actually become a little teary-eyed. Not me, of course. Ha! That evening, the village invited us to a pig-feast of epic proportion. We ate pig, yucca, taro, rice, and various fruits with our fingers while reliving what only occurred a few hours ago and talking about the next venture on this isle. Great time.

The next day, Dad and I had to let our savage inner-souls out and prepped ourselves for the hunt, the kill. Dad, with M-16 bayonet affixed via cable and electrical tape to a short aluminum pole and I with a hunting pack and switch-blade, we picked up Silvio, a Brazilian sailor/hunter aboard "Matajusi" we'd meet the day before and made our way to shore to meet up with a local hunter with dogs for a jungle pig-hunt. Over the course of the next four hours, we covered 4-5 miles through mountainous, jungle terrain chasing the wild boar that reside and do a lot of destruction to crops on the island. Running, walking, treading lightly; we pursued them and managed to take a very small one; perfect for eating. An A-frame pack was made from branches and vines to carry dinner out. Over the course of the hunt, we learned different species of plants to eat, saw hundreds of flying fox bats with a wing-span of 2 feet or more, wore the jungle dirt and mud with pride, and received a great cardio-vascular work-out (well-overdue). For the Skip's birthday dinner, I basted the pig with a special BBQ sweet sauce and baked in whole, with bananas and pears stuffed inside and around the pig with a side of boiled taro and curried rice. The Skip said I out-did myself and Silvio was impressed. Meals are crucial to happiness aboard a boat and I take my cooking very seriously. Thanks! Happy Birthday, Skip!

Today has been a work-day, with this edition of the blog being a nice break. With all the maintenance issues and gift-giving, we have torn the boat apart and are slowly putting her back together. We are still without a water-maker but the good crew aboard "Wild Tigris" offered to bring us some. Let's hope we can get it fixed today or we may just have to take them up on their offer. We are down to 200 liters. Just another normal day aboard the "BEG". No-shower policy in effect and dish-washing is a scientific endeavor. Wind has just shifted and black ash from the volcano is now raining down on the boat. As always love and miss you all. Te amo, Merce. BEG out.
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Link to gallery of photos from my mom

Click on picture below for an album of photos from my mom after she flew back from South Pacific...  Covers wide range of locations...

blog

Kava and Jim Morrison

We leave Fiji in our wake, headed to the isle country of Vanuatu with truly a sense of having stepped into and been welcomed by the people of Nirvana. Is Fiji as amazing as everyone says? No. It's a thousand times better if you take the time to get to know the people, do the rituals, and explore the waters and lands. Sorry to have been so long without writing a blog for you loyal readers of this truly amazing experience. One has to realize the Fiji experience is, at times, like feeling you are at the end of the earth. Communications, as one travels around the outer isles, even with a SSB radio is truly unreliable and furthermore, to be in a place where one is forced to get away from these "things and necessities" is actually a nice cleansing of the soul for an internet and radio junky like me.

To arrive in Savusavu, a large city by Fijian standards (40,000) and to immediately be welcomed to dinner and a Kava ceremony by a Indian-Fijian family was a heart-warming experience. To understand a people, of course, one must get to know them and the best way is to accept an invitation to a Kava ceremony. Your notion of what that might be may be quite different than what the reality is. So let me explain, before you all start imagining us dancing around like Jim Morrison on a peyote trip in a south-west desert and chanting ridiculous things about a snake being seven-miles long. First, Kava is in the botanical pepper family and the root has a mild toxin that when grounded and mixed with water produces a bitter drink that numbs the lips and mouth within seconds of ingestion. What happens next, varies slightly from person to person, but its medicinal qualities produce the effect of a mild muscle relaxant. Imagine a strong aspirin that provides the calming effects of tea. That's basically the physical effect. But what a Kava ceremony is truly about is sharing, talking, showing respect, and making an offering to the inviting family (usually unground Kava root). The powder is mixed in a wooden bowl by the Chief of a village or patriarch of a house. We were fortunate enough to experience both on sperate occasions. After saying a prayer in Fijian for the visitors and the family, the bowl made from coconut shell is passed to the patriarch or leader of the visitors. The bowl is to be drunk in one constant tip of the shell at which point, once consumed, everyone else clap hands (usually three times). At any point when someone is offered and they have had enough they can decline but must stay within the group and socialize. Since families in this region can be quite large and members of the extended family are often invited, one spends more time socializing than drinking the bitter, light green liquid. I'll be frank with you. I've been on a boat now for seven months and that can make a body sore and mine has been and the Skip's has been pretty beat up in some harsh weather and the non-stop rocking motions of the boat. The Kava came at a good time, socially and medicinally.

After Savusava, we sailed to the island of Mokangai, an island known for its great diving and being home to the giant sea clams that get to be several hundred pounds. Upon arrival, one must make way to find the Chief and present an offering of Kava roots, which we did and then were invited to a Kava Ceremony where the Chief blessed us and wished us safe passage in a beautifully rhythmic chant with his family members. Once you join a Kava ceremony, you become a member of that tribe or family. Neat experience. It was such a nice way to be greeted and accepted to the isle. But we couldn't spend too much time partaking in the ceremony as the waters were calling us and we needed to see the great giant sea-clams.

Some of you have probably heard stories of free-divers sticking their arm inside and being drowned as the clam forcible shuts its shell. I haven't be able to confirm or deny these stories but having swam around them and made these iridescent green and blue-lipped giant clams shut their massive shells, we tend to believe that one would be in a world of hurt should they ever make that mistake. When they shut their shells, it is so forcible it can be felt and heard through the water. Amazingly beautiful creatures and the island has a reintroduction program where one can tour different tanks and see the various life-stages of the clams, including the mother clam, plus two green-sea turtles that loved feeding on a six-foot moray eel that dad shot for them and produced to the Chief. After spending a couple nights here, we had to unfurl the sails. Dad blew on the conch and the Chief came out and waved his arms profusely to say good-bye. I think he may have been wearing our boat's t-shirt that the Skip presented to him.

Next we made way to Nadia where we could deal with a slew of issues that went awry and that we dealt with accordingly. Nadi has the best marina we've yet to see as far as availability of good mechanics, a tremendous social scene and the comfort of knowing the security guards are doing their work. On this last passage our water-maker's solenoid went shutting it down, a circuit breaker caught on fire, hydraulics on the autopilot went and shut it down. Re-wiring needed to be done due to compounding issues. In all probability, some of the breakdowns were do to the fact that, in the past, someone wired our 24 v cooling fans in the engine room with 12 volts. Twenty-four volts will kill a 12 v motor and vice-versa. We are a good-way into the trip and we have had tremendous luck with things running smoothly but this last passage was hellish in the break-down department. Luckily, our temporary 2nd Mate, Fabien, was as diligent a worker as I have ever seen and a classically trained engineer. At twenty-six years of age, he's wise well-beyond his years and was able to diagnose a lot of troubles so when we made it to port, it made it easy for the electricians to do their work. The amazing thing about him is that he did what he was able to do and confident enough in his skill that he didn't have to praise himself or seek praise from others. The man just did what he was trained to do and did it extremely well. Furthermore, he is a helluva' guy to have around and socialize with and spend time. He works hard and plays hard. When the work is done, he makes it a point to pull out the ukelele and I the guitar, and we'd play a little Izzy and sing "Somewhere over the Rainbow" Hawaiian-style. I like that. The man understands the important balances of life. We will miss you, Fabien! Bon voyage, our friend! We shall meet again. As always, love and miss you all. Te amo, Merce. Brown-Eyed Girl out.

Jared did not like Tonga....

Remember the days when you were driving down the road and you waved to everyone you passed coming the other way and everyone waved back? If you do, do you remember why you did it? Typically you knew the person and to do anything different would be rude or you didn't know the person and to do anything different would be, well, rude. Keep that thought in mind. Now add a tropical paradise isle which is constantly ranked in the top five dive sights of the world for its visibility that often reaches 70 meters (not a typo-meters) and has such an abundance of coral patch reef that you could spend days just diving in the mooring field alone, amazing rain-forests with the elusive coconut crab, underwater and shoreline cave systems, great food, some powder-sand beaches, amazing cuisine, and a Commodore of the yacht club (Keith Vail) who is such a nice guy he may just hail you on the radio out of the blue(as he did us) and take you on an afternoon dive of some of their premier sights. That is the great isle of Niue.

As we make our way to Fiji via Tonga, we wish we had just stayed in Niue and bypassed Tonga altogether. Niue has everything good that Tonga has and far more, and none of the bad. Tonga, from what we experienced in our days in Nieafu and around Vava'u, is a self-imploding society that could take a lesson from former Mayor Guilianni in "broken-windows theory" crackdown on crime and a good category 5 Cyclone to clean its streets of the rubbish. Alright, the cyclone comment may be a bit harsh but the so-called "successful street clean-up" projects that were hailed by the local yachties on the morning net were not noticed by us. It is a place of filth.

The tiny island nation of Niue, at the other end of the spectrum, is blessed with that small-town feel that I hope most of you reading this will understand and if you never experienced it, you still can and do it in a verdant tropical paradise. Be aware, though that Niue is also known for its abundance of sea-kraits, a highly venomous, front-fanged member of the Elapidae family (cousin of the cobra packing one of the most potent neurotoxins in the world). But it seems, even the snakes know to be nice as bites are basically unheard of, though quite possibly fatal if you are the one to foolishly grab one in the water while impressing your love for the last time. I swam with hundreds of them over the course of a few days. At one point while photographing three while I was on the surface, I felt something tap me on the back. Turning around, the tail section of a banded sea-krait rubbed against me and the snake bolted for the bottom. I'm quite sure the snake's intent was to give me a little krait love-rub with its head because I saw this same behavior shared among the snakes on the surface as they came up for air. So, even the snakes know to behave here. Though, even for a herpetologist like me, that was a little too close for comfort.

Christian values are the norm here and regardless of one's religious beliefs, the notion that tourists be treated with respect and friendliness is carried on from the elders to the young ones. Crime is not tolerated here and nearly unheard of. On Sunday, not only do people not work; fishing and swimming is considered taboo. Besides, most of the people are dressed in their lovely white suits and dresses to give praise to the Lord and then head to the family cook-out. Sound familiar for some of you?

Niue, translated, means "Behold, the coconut tree!". It is also know as "The Rock" because it is one of the largest uplifted coral islands and because it is a diamond of a place. The beauty of it lies in the fact that the locals don't let on that they known how special their island is. They don't rest on their laurels and treated us as in a genuine way while being a unpaid welcoming committee. They understand how much a smile as you pass by and a wave from a car means to a new arrival. Because this place is a little difficult to get to, even though it has an international airport (one flight a week, I believe) it is a place that is not yet commercialized, nor over-run with resorts. I know in my writing, I may sound as if I have been paid off by the tourism board, but from the amazing time I had in Niue, if I get just one of you to go there and experience it, I will be happy that I helped their economy that was hurt and still a little scarred by a Category 5 cyclone that washed over the island causing catastrophic damage. Considering the way we were treated in Niue, I feel like I owe it to them to sing their praise. Since the cyclone, they have rebuilt and put on a campaign for tourism. Now's the time to go and when you arrive you will notice how cheap crafts, food, car rentals, and all other touristy things are. That's a nice bonus to mitigate the cost of what it will put you back if you intend to fly here.

Dad and I had a great time driving the back roads at night looking for one of the 1300 coconut crabs that reside on the island. That's actually a healthy population and we found many signs of their existence in the coconuts on the ground that had been peeled and snipped into by their extremely powerful claws, but no luck in actually seeing a live one. The health of their numbers is more land-dependent which is why 12,000 acres of this tiny island has been protected as the Huvalu Conservation Area A limited harvest of coconut crabs is allowed and we were fortunate enough to get to try this delicacy. It has a nice, sweet smoky flavor.

As for our time sailing around Tonga it wasn't all that much to be praised. The islands are pretty, but the coral was not as vibrant nor as abundant as Niue or the Tuamotos, which surprised me, and the number of ornamental species far outweighed those of the game species. However we did manage to find one chunk of coral where I did take a couple of nice grouper and lost a monster peacock grouper. The only place we found any spiny lobster was on our plates at the local eatery. Our great excitement occurred at the isle of Ovalau, oddly a pick-me-up after the burglary, was awakening to realize our anchor had pulled in the heavy winds (a first for our marvelous, 40 kilo rocna due to steep anchorage and heavy winds) and to find our boat adrift. Tragedy possibly averted as it is a labyrinth of islands in those parts. One has to put things in perspective. The Skip, treated our short-term crew-member, Fabian, and me to a steak and lobster dinner for saving the "BEG". Well, at least, for preventing us from waking up in a different anchorage. As always, love and miss you all. Te amo, Merce.

"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...

the Hell of Neiafu

I'm a firm believer that 99% of the people of the world are fundamentally good people. That other 1% that rear their heads up from time to time are evil and can ruin a day quickly. The vast majority of the places we've have had the privilege to see has been sublime and the people divine. I can't say that for the vast majority of the encounters we have had in the city of Neiafu in the Northern Group of Isles in Tonga. Below is a true story of burglary, dirty streets, inept (possibly corrupt) government, and a people that for the most part I don't like.

We arrived in Neiafu on Thursday the 10th of June. We had more a four day passage from the splendid isle of Niue without the aid of autopilot with four hour shifts on and off for those four days. Needless to say we were very tired when we arrived in Neiafu. As winds had been non-existent, we had run our engine a lot and were thus down to the very last of our fuel and decided not to run the generator that night. We waited on the fishing wharf (guarded by a guard we now know sleeps on shift) for the fuel delivery by truck the next morning. As I was down below, I heard two unfamiliar voices calling, "Anybody Aboard?", several times. I did not answer and the boys put hand to rails. I ran up and confronted the boys who sheepishly stood there while I chewed them out, asked them for their names which they gave as "John and Moses" and then offered them a Coke. I took a picture of them while they watched and told them if anything came up missing, the first people I would come looking for would be them. Before going to sleep, I had mingled a little with people on a boat called the "Royal Princess", two young Indonesian males. Exhausted, I headed to bed. In the morning, I awoke and quickly saw that my camera, laptop, and one of dad's knives were gone. We couldn't believe that someone/s would have the audacity to make their way into the salon where my camera and laptop were. The knife was in the cockpit above. It could have been very bad for everyone involved had we awakened

Of course, the camera with the photo of the young Tongan boys was gone with the camera and computer. I quickly made my way up to the police department, that lacked a filing system, a photocopier, and cops with much interest in helping. One detective followed me down to the "Royal Princess" where I approached the boat asking to talk to the young Indonesians, one of whom ducked quickly into the cabin. The detective was afraid to approach the boat. I received a very defensive response from the owner of the boat. When I explained that I just "wanted to ask a few questions to see if his crew saw anything," he angrily told me to get the police which I did. I told the detective that he needed to board the boat. He was hesitant but finally did, missing the opportunity to possibly see the kid stashing our belongings.

Over the course of the next four days, I talked to several hundred people and offered a large reward with no questions asked, sent a message over the sailor's net, and had friends in the Arc keep a sharp look-out. Talking to Tongans in a very respectful manner, they seemed disinterested in helping, some even lied about finding the two boys "John and Moses". As I walked the streets, looking at the filth, the chains and locks on the doors, the garbage strewn everywhere, kids making obscene gestures as we passed by, I wished I had never made landfall in this wretched place. Coincidentally, in my investigation I found the young Indonesians walking the street who then saw me, turned to each other, and changed direction when I approached them. I got them to stop and got them to show me their sandals (a track had been left on the boat). They didn't match, unfortunately, but then again, it's possible to have more than one pair of sandals, right? One of the kids quickly showed me his sandals as the other looked down at his before lifting his feet. I found out later, the boat "Royal Princess" is aptly named for it is owned by the relative of the King of Tonga. Think that may have something to do with the fear the police had in boarding it? Sailors, if you must stop here to fuel up, do so and be on your way. If you have to stay the night, lock up and don't be as trusting as we were. Most of the boats in the Arc would agree with me on this one. Much beauty to be had around here, but not here in Neiafu.

As far as the boys: "John and Moses". Fairly common names here, actually, and the kids here all look pretty similar. To add to our wonderful time here, a 220 volt/30 milliamp circuit breaker caught on fire. Luckily all that burned was the breaker. We could have had a major electrical fire and lost the boat. Look at the sunny side of life. We were fortunate in the fact that we didn't join some of the crowd in port who had one of the myriad jellyfish get sucked up into the intake of the generator and destroy the impeller. One boat actually had one get sucked up into their toilet bowl. Beats a sea-krait, I guess.

The fourth time that I went to the police station to find a detective, I actually found one, the one who had approached the young Indonesians on the boat. The boys had said that they had at no point during the night left the boat. There's where they put the foot in the trap. They had indeed left the boat that night, as I had been talking to them on the pier. I told the Detective that he had been lied to and there's never a reason to lie in an investigation, unless there is a reason to lie in an investigation. He actually looked at me as though, he had learned an investigative technique. So, they will continue to "keep a keen eye out" (laughable). I will, too (not laughable). I will also not let my guard down again.

I'm thankful for the fact that I and/or my father didn't lose our lives and/or take two. I'm thankful I had backed up my photos, have more than they ever will(not just possessions), and that currently this wretched place is in our wake. I still wear a smile. I look forward to the next dive, seeing my wonderful family and all of you, and seeing my beautiful Merce. I have to go and set a fishing line out. A tuna is waiting for us. As always miss and love you all. Te amo, Merce.

"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...