Goat curry (from Jared)

We set the anchor in the little harbor as the sun began to make its fall into a deep sleep. Gazing ashore, we saw a Polynesian family having a beach party and carrying on no differently than we all have done. Parked nearby we noticed a truck. Mom was arriving after a several day, multiple-leg flight from the states with many bags of goodies the Captain and I had asked for and the prospect of hoofing it up to the airport on that dusty road and then making our way back with the luggage didn't seem too appealing. Maybe, if we could speak a little French, we could arrange a way to get one of them to take us to the airport to pick up the Brown Eyed Girl. I ran down into the cabin and got on the computer. I typed in my English-French dictionary what we needed to say and made our way via dingy to the pier and hopefully, to the family before they packed up their gear and headed on their way.

As we wound our way down the path to the beach, I hoped we could befriend these people, if only to be nice and hopefully to make our lives a little easier. As the Skip and I made our way onto the beach, a resounding "Bon Soir!" came from the family and smiles flashed on their faces. One of the young boys was carrying some spear guns up to the truck. I liked these people already. "Bon soir!", we returned and walked over to the patriarch of the family, a large Polynesian guy with a big grin and Polynesian tattoos adorning his body. At one glance, you could size this guy up as being the best of friends or worst of enemies, with best of friends most likely being his choice and definitely being ours. I handed him the paper explaining our situation and he agreed to meet us in the morning. He looked at me and looked at his boys and in English far better than my French or Polynesian said, "You hunt?"

"Love to hunt," I said with a big grin on my face hoping he was about to invite me on a goat hunt.

"I take your dad to airport. Pick up mom. You hunt with my boys the goat in the morning. 9 AM you be ready," he said with a smile from ear to ear.

I looked at the Skip and he gave me a nod. He wanted to see the lady, right away, and knew how much I needed to get a hunt in. The skip and I shook hands with the man and headed back to the BEG.

At 0900hrs sharp, there was the truck pulling in as we headed into the pier. We piled into the back and shook hands with the boys, the eldest proud to be carrying a single-shot shotgun and a few shells tucked in his pocket. His empty rucksack told me the possibilities of getting one would be good as surely the meat would be processed in the field and stuffed in the pack to be carried back down the rugged volcanic hills we began to climb in the truck. 10 minutes into the truck ride, the truck stopped and the boys piled out.

The eldest looked at me, broke open the shotgun, dumped a 00 Buck shell into it, and said, "We go!"

I'm in fairly good shape, do a lot of diving, hunting, most of my activities revolve around outdoor sports but I will tell you these boys were more goat-like than the goats in climbing up and down the large volcanic boulders as we made our way to the peak on the isle of Nuka Hiva. They were great hunters. They moved quickly and yet, their feet cupped the ground and little noise was made as we made our way through the sage and loose basalt. I kept up with them and was happy with that but my eyes had to keep checking my footing, when a hunter who knows his land eye's are looking for a slight movement in the brush, the glint of a horn in the morning sun, or the horizontal line of a back in terrain that stands vertical. They knew the food source, a small seed the younger son showed me and pretended to eat. We moved quickly and then it happened quickly, as it often does. A wise animal trying to hide was found and the gun roared once and two families from different cultures, half a world apart, would eat from the same animal. Time was not wasted in getting to business and I wasted no time in getting photographs of us all and our future meal as the young men hung the ewe from the tree and dressed it out.

Hours later the young men, gazed at the printer on the boat with amazement. They shouted in glee, words I will never know, but understand, as the printer kicked out the photos of the two brothers with their trophy. Mom, Dad, and the patriarch arrived shortly afterward and our two families drank coke with ice and communicated with the best language of all, smiles (with some hand gestures and the patriarch's English thrown in a times). It was a superb morning. Tonight I shall fix goat with a carrot coconut curry sauce. I will think of them and wonder if the young men are looking at their photographs.

Brown-Eyed Girl out ...