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...

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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.