Navire's blog

Arrival in Tuvalu November 8 (Written from Majuro August 2106) Position 31.491s 179 11.376e "Dolphins!" I cried. They danced around us as if saying "Welcome to Tuvalu, well done, you made it." We easily traversed the comfortably wide reef-entrance into the waters of Funafuti, Tuvalu's main atoll. After crossing the unfettered lagoon, no hull snagging coral bombies lurking just below the surface, we dropped anchor behind two other yachts already settled off the town of Fongafale. We easily fell into our arrival routine and dusk fell quickly as it does close to the equator. David had already raised the Tuvaluan flag and Kailopa was cleaning the barracuda we'd caught in the pass. With Navire safely secured to the seabed I slid into the water and rinsed off several days of sweat. *** "Eight hours sleep in a row," David declared as we fell into bed at 8pm. But sure enough at 2.30am we woke to heavy rain. We leapt out of bed excitedly. One of our logistical concerns about this trip north was whether or not we'd get enough fresh water in Tuvalu to see us through the 1000 trip to Majuro. In the cockpit by the light of our head-torches we were a finely tuned machine. Buckets out, hoses up. The four 10 litre buckets filled in minutes, and the showers, and every available pot and bowl, our naked bodies illuminated momentarily by the lightning that blasted the sky. Unfortunately the rain filled the dinghy too which we'd left tied off the back, so I bailed it, and hoisted it off the side, taking the bung out to prevent it filling again. It was hard to get back to sleep and I'd finally dozed off when it was time to get up and listen to the weather forecast. We were very interested in monitoring the low-pressure system nearby that must have been responsible for all the rain we collected. I also kept an eye on a band of clouds lurking near the equator east of us, that area being a potential cyclone spawning ground. *** The next morning we cleaned up the boat in case customs and immigration wanted to come out to clear us in. "There is no way they are coming in out here in our dinghy," said David. Its quite small and tippy, and adult Tuvaluan men can be quite large. We erected shade cloth over the boom to attempt to get some reduction in temperature. Twenty eight degrees and 82% humidity. (Ha! Luxury, I think now as I write here in Majuro in 32 degrees) *** Excerpt from David email: I write this in Tuvalu with droplets of sweat running freely down my arms and gathering on my upper lip. And this is with the weather overcast and drizzling. On a sunny day my shirt is constantly wet through. But somehow it's not unbearable.=20 Funafuti is not the tawdry, litter-strewn town I had been led to expect. The place is thick with mopeds ridden by all - large mothers, infant in one arm, throttle in the other, pillions balanced side saddle or holding a tuna by the tail, drivers balancing ladders, suitcases, umbrellas in the rain, trays of food. The place is overwhelmingly friendly, lush and green, with a vibrant energy in the air. And, thankfully, lots of rain this season. But best of all Kailopa is related to half the population here. We have been swept up in their enthusiastic welcome and some of the awe with which they regard him for having found his way aboard a Palangi vessel and crossed the hazardous open ocean. I expected Tuvalu to be friendly. We, of course, had doors flung wide by delivering Kailopa, one of their own. There was much anticipation and anxiety about his arrival. We stayed in Rotuma nearly a week which they had not understood (Kailopa had hoped to keep his visit a secret but his village in Fiji let it out). So there were frequent scans for yacht arrivals and some were asked if Kailopa was aboard. His nephew was on the dock as we came ashore. The usual round of tedious bureaucratic arrival formalities became a round of family reunions.=20 Kailopa's feat of getting aboard a Palangi yacht and crossing hazardous ocean at his advanced age, just 67, has given him a kind of celebrity status. It's 10pm and still I perspire. I carry a facecloth everywhere to wipe off the rivulets. I seem not to mind the heat but droplets on my glasses, in my eyes, running down my arms, dripping off my nose, that's uncomfortable. *** Janet Fongafale, the main atoll of Tuvalu, is a long narrow island barely extending beyond the road in places. As Kailopa's nephew Edmoni was driving us to the customs office we came to an area of raised sand, reclaimed land, about 1.5 metres high. "This is a New Zealand project," Edmoni told us. "The tides were eroding this area and no one could build here." I'd noticed many houses built up on poles. The ugly spectre of global warming lurks here. We stopped and met Jonathon, Edmoni's dad, going the other way on a step through scooter. At customs one of the two men in the office was Kailopa's cousin Telito. We didn't have a form from Fiji, no problem, health forms to hand in, leave it with me. All done. The easiest clearing in we've ever had. Edmoni drove us back towards the dinghy dock and dropped us at a house where two young women were delighted to see Kailopa. We went in to what was a Jehovah's Witness house and met another nephew Jona and his wife Sue, then Joseph, a grandson. They invited us for dinner. I felt warmly welcomed. We were in Kailopa's hands now. Back at the boat we had a swim, then a drink on Exodus and swapped passage stories, before heading back into town to the mission house. We sat and chatted with the family. No food in sight. We told them our plan to hire a motorbike and explore the island and that we have one in New Zealand. "Okay we go now," said Sue gathering up her handbag. We all trooped downstairs and outside to where a phalanx of motorbikes were parked. Jona handed us a key. We had our own bike! He showed David how to operate the lights and gears. Our two-wheeled convoy wended its way through the balmy evening air. David couldn't get the bike to change down a gear but we soon learnt that you just do everything in third. The bikes in front turned into the yard of a large house with dozens of people milling around. We were at a funeral feast! No one seemed at all concerned that we didn't know the deceased's family. We were invited to sit in an almost empty room on a mat. Gradually other people wandered in and sat on the floor. It dawned on us that this was the "old people's" room. Other people, the younger ones, scurried around with large platters of food. One of which held two roasted whole pigs. We were interlopers but because we were Palangi visitors we were invited to help ourselves to the food laid out on the table first. My mouth was watering. Chunks of pork fell off the golden baked carcass onto my plate, then I loaded up from platters of various beef stir fries, cassava, and dalo (taro). *** Nov 10 Spent the morning cleaning up boat while David fixed various leaks made apparent by the heavy downpours. As always almost the first thing we seek out on landing is internet but here its hard to connect, expensive and super slow. Just buy a card at the store and enter the password we were told. An outrageous $10Aus for 250MB. We bought the card but couldn't get a connection. We headed to the Telecom office. It was like the Post Office in New Zealand in the 1970's. A rough hand painted sign graced the door. It was immediately evident that the woman behind the desk was not a techo, in fact there was not even a computer in sight. She didn't know anything about internet problems and after trying to go through obvious stuff regardless of what David told her, eventually directed us to another Telecom building. We walked two blocks. The girl at 'security' box told us "No one there, all gone, back later". David grilled her to no effect. I abandoned David at the government office, went back to first Telecom office and explained that there was no one at Telecom base. She called them and said, "line busy, so must be someone there." Back to Telecom base. "Oh yes," said the girl in the security box, "someone there." Thank god David wasn't there, it wouldn't have been pretty. Inside a large shed a young man said yes, he could help David. Back to government building and sent David back to do battle. A job that would have been dealt with in five minutes in New Zealand. *** Nov 11 The Fleet I sat at the dock waiting for David to collect me. It was so hot I just walked into the sea fully clothed to cool down. The water was not cool but the breeze now wicked heat away from my body. I could see eight yachts anchored off the town. One was heading south, the rest for Majuro, and there were a couple more to arrive yet. Quite a fleet. We would see a lot of each other over the next few months. For some time I'd harboured a dream of having a community in Majuro, in the Marshall Islands, our final destination for this leg of our trip. I was excited about seeing the same people for more than a day or two instead of fleeting connections before our new acquaintances sailed off to another bay or even a different country. In my dream I had a cooking club and a writers group, and regular people to play music with, three of my favourite activities from life in Wellington. Well the community was happening now! In Tuvalu. Deanne from Exodus suggested we set up a daily radio sched for the passage to Majuro. At 0800 each morning we would all tune in to frequency 8173 and report in with our positions, how many fish we'd caught, distance covered, weather conditions and how we were faring. It became one of the highlights of the day once we were underway.=20 True Blue V, an Aussie boat arrived at dusk. Our fleet was nine strong. Meanwhile we waited to see how a nasty looking low developed. It promised up to 40 knots of wind by end of the week. But for now there was little wind and it was bloody hot. *** Nov 12, Janet journal Really hot today, trundling my trolley of groceries through town, sweat pouring down my back. No taxis in this town. Spent the morning at customs trying to negotiate outer island visits. Shopping done I settled in at the Filomena 'hotel' overlooking the runway to get internet. Suddenly the fire engine appeared and sounded its siren. Then everyone from the hotel moved next door to the airport, the twice-weekly flight was coming in, a much anticipated event. I gave up on trying to connect and had lunch and cold beers with some of the fleet. Sleepy after the lunchtime drinking we had a quiet night at home collecting buckets of rainwater in passing squalls. Still no sign of wind to take us north and out of the hurricane zone, so we waited. I put the last of the old potatoes from Fiji in the oven and made barracuda lolo, using Kailopa's coconut cream, tinned cherry tomatoes, garlic, last of the fresh coconut cream, and red onion. Fry the fish then put it in lolo. Yum. *** The boat was infested with bugs that were eating me. I didn't know what they were and they were keeping me up at night with insanely intense itching. Hopefully they would disappear when we left the land. However it looked like we would be in Tuvalu for at least another week. There was very little wind predicted and what there was would come from the north. We fully expected to spend time wallowing out there on the ocean but we wanted to pick at least a zephyr of easterly to leave with. Well we got the Easterly but it was a bit more than a zephyr. =20 =20 =20 Tuvalu 1

Rotuma to Tuvalu Position 8 56.91s 17178 59.56e Nov 6, 2015, (Posted from Majuro Aug 2016) Ahead the ocean was completely empty. Behind me the hills of Rotuma were growing smaller by the hour. Probably the last hills I'd see for five months. We were bound for Tuvalu 260 miles north, 65 hours sailing at four or five knots boat speed. The sea was pretty tame, a deep royal blue half metre swell, with a light chop on the surface. Two fishing lines trailed behind us in David's endless quest for that elusive tuna. Back in Rotuma we had a salutary lesson on eating the 'safe fish' up here. Many South Pacific reef fish carry the disease ciguatera. If you eat this fish you may get ill with flu-like symptoms that can be quite severe and sometimes last for several months and there is no cure. Sylvan off the French boat, and Tim off Exodus came back from spearfishing two days ago with a huge barracuda, a red snapper and a trevally. We asked Kailopa if any of the fish were not safe to eat and he said the snapper could be poisonous. We heard the French ate the snapper anyway. I saw Sylvan at the wharf just before we left and he didn't look so well. Gilles' philosophy, "You must try things. Sometimes good. Sometimes not so good." He gave a French shrug.=20 *** November 7, 0130 My watch. I'd woken hot, sweaty, and itchy. I quickly gathered up my things vacating the bunk for David. Dropping my watch bag on the deck I sat in the cockpit while he briefed me. The main thing he told me was to avoid accidentally going about, definitely a risk with the auto-helm which holds the course set regardless of wind direction. If it backed a little more we'd go about. The mechanical wind vane, on the other hand, holds the boat at a constant angle to the wind. When the wind shifts the boat moves with it. But these winds were too light for that instrument. David went below to collapse into his bunk for six hours shut eye. For a moment I envied him. I glanced at the sail and saw it was nearly flat. We were hard on the wind. I checked the horizon for ships (in the whole 1500 miles to Majuro I think we only saw one). More importantly there was no sign of any squalls. Squalls meant rain, good. But often they came with sudden wind shifts and large increases in speed, bad. Then I have to act very quickly and adjust the sails. I'm not very confident at that and occasionally have to wake David to help. I really hate disturbing his precious sleep. *** To pass the time I made a meal out of the last dregs of fresh produce on board. A piece of slightly soft cucumber, sprouts, a little brown on the ends, tinned corn and my new best friend, red onions. They last for ages without refrigeration and bring life to any kind of salad. I finished my snack off with brownie from the freezer and a banana.=20 Some of you sailors may gasp at this terrible risk we take. We sailors have a number of superstitions. Carrying bananas on passage is supposedly bad luck. I guess if you carry them for long enough some bad luck may occur, says David, but we've got this far safely with them on board. We have some ocean sailing friends, normally sane-minded people, who will absolutely not carry bananas at sea, nor leave port on a Friday, another nautical superstition. One that has come down through David's step-father, a naval man, is no whistling at sea or you risk a dramatic jump in wind speed. I've tried whistling when becalmed in the ocean and it doesn't work. Replete, I settled into the cockpit. Blast, the wind started faltering and coming more from the east. At the beginning of my watch it was a pleasant 18 knots, propelling us along at 4-5 knots. The boat was much harder to sail in the light fluky winds. I whistled for a few minutes, to no avail. *** 1830 Sitting in the cockpit watching an ocean sunset I was feeling pretty intrepid. Only about 15 yachts each year take the northern option, sailing up to Majuro for the hurricane season. The weather conditions are so different in the area north of Fiji compared to between New Zealand and Fiji and Tonga requiring us to learn a new set of rules. And there is no real shelter to be had. We were still in the hurricane zone, we needed to be north of 5 degrees south but we were still at 11 degrees. We had to keep going. We hoped to arrive in Tuvalu the next day but knew we may need to heave to overnight in order to go through the pass in daylight. David talked to Exodus on the radio. They were way back in the dark cloud behind us. It was nice to hear a familiar voice. (I know, we'd only known them for a week but that's a lot of history around here). They reported that Sylvan, from the French boat was taken by ambulance to hospital with severe dehydration. =46rom ciguatera we suspected. *** Sunday Nov 8 Cumulus clouds towered all around the horizon, fortunately none bearing down on us. We were a happy ship for a while. Kailopa was grating all our coconuts into thick sweet cream. If we caught that bloody tuna I would make ceviche. The sun was out and the breeze gentle. Too gentle alas. We commissioned the iron sail and resigned ourselves to motoring all day in order to get us to Funafuti, the main island of Tuvalu, before dark. We had goat curry from the freezer for lunch. Excellent. But the night before wasn't so excellent. I got five hours sleep in a row, superb, but came up on deck to really changeable conditions. A squall hit with 33 knot of winds and I had to get David up to help me reef. On the plus side we had heavy rain and I collected two bucketsful. The wind jumped around in speed, 22 knots, 8 knots, 20, and direction eventually settling in from the north-east. I accidentally went about. In my attempts to get back on course I lost all sense of direction. I didn't know which way to turn the boat nor what to do with the sails. When David came on deck to see what was going on we were heading back the way we'd come. He started the engine and got us back on course. I could have done that! Just would have taken me a while to figure it out. Alas when the GPS is on there is no hiding tactical errors, my delinquent path showed up on the electronic track that followed us across the screen. =20

Kailopa He slept little, turning over in his mind a great decision. Palau, his daughter-in-law had consented but worried that it was perhaps too great a distance. His son, Batiki, had offered no opinion other than to ask "Dad, what if something happened to the boat?" Here was an adventure the like of which he had long dreamed, right here in his hands. He had only a few hours to decide. Maybe he was too old now for the journey. That cannot be, he thought. I am only two years older than the skipper and I have much experience. I must take this opportunity. I will get no better. But will Batiki agree? His nephew, Levi, had observed that it was the start of the hurricane season. "Most of the hurricanes that have hit Fiji started around Rotuma and Tuvalu, just where this boat that you know nothing about is going." Others had said he was crazy to go in so small a boat. But this was his dream, to make a passage in a small sailing vessel, not just among the islands of Fiji which he had done many times, often alone, but across an ocean to another country. What could be better than a passage to his home island in Tuvalu? The thought was intoxicating. Sleep finally came. In the morning Batiki was not enthusiastic about the idea but said, "Is up to you, Dad. We know this is your dream. We know you love the sea, the wide ocean. I cannot stand in your way." Levi too had softened. "It's a good chance uncle. Take it." "Yes but the most important is that my passport is up to date." Kailopa looked troubled. "I think not. My passport will expire at the end this year, 2016." Batiki examined the passport. "Yes Dad, it does expire as you say. But this is 2015. You a have a whole year left." On Navire we were sure Kailopa's family would not agree and busied ourselves with departure preparations when Janet's phone rang. It was Kailopa. "I will come." A few minutes later Kailopa heaved on board his suit case, a box of food and his broad smile. =20 I think we both made a good decision. Kailopa has been wonderful company, relentlessly cheerful, generous with stories of his people and fishing methods. He has a remarkable ability to sit quietly and observe, often for hours at a time. He was the first to notice we had a fish on the line and to sight the smudgy outline of Rotuma. He knows the tides from observing the moon and the approaching weather from the cloud formations, the swell and rings around the moon. In his village on Kioa he is a radically independent thinker. He believes there should be a separation of church from leadership and management of his community. "The community should run itself and the church run itself. But they mix the two together. We have three churches on Kioa but the biggest is the Methodist. The Methodist pastor lives on the island and gets his electricity free. Is a dollar a week for one bulb, two for a fridge or tv. Most people have one, maybe two bulbs. The pastor, he has one for every room, maybe seven or eight bulbs." Kailopa rolls his eyes and his voice is more angry. "You add that up. A lot of money over a year. Free. Council pays. Same for fuel for the boat. If he goes to Labasa or Savusavu for meetings he gets the council boat and his fuel is free. Why?" "The pastor gets $2 a month from every church household. But once a year is pastor's day. He comes away with fifteen or twenty thousand on just the one day. A lot of pressure to pay lots. Name gets read out and goes in the book with how much you give. Lot of pressure. When you fishing the best fish goes to the pastor. He gets a lot more than he can use. Does he give this back to the community? Maybe to the widows or others who cannot go fishing? No. He feeds it to the pigs. =20 He has several times turned down invitations to take an honoured place at one of the posts of the maneapa, the community hall. He tells them he would attend only the non-religious gatherings. The rest of the time his post would be empty. "You know what they do?" he says. "At New Year they meet for a week, just chatting and feasting, chatting and feasting. What a waste of time. They should be at their farms or fishing, earning the school fees for their children." He shakes his head. =20

One day Kailopa and I decided to hitch around the island. We walked to the one road that circled the island and turned right expecting a vehicle to come our way, any minute, but none came. It was hot and getting decidedly hotter. We sought out the shaded parts of the dirt road and ambled on in hope. The sweat ran down my back, poured down my front, dripped from my nose and stung my eyes. No car passed in either direction. We took an interest in the house that slowly separated itself from the thick foliage on the seaward side.=20 A man in the driveway hailed us, "Bula." We both replied, "Bula, bula." "Come. Have a seat." He beckoned us to a shaded table and presently iced water was brought by his wife. We passed a very pleasant hour with our host who, it turned out, had had a lot to do with Rotuman politics. It was he who had lobbied for Rotuma to be made a Fijian Port of Entry. "So that you could trade with Tuvalu." I chipped in, showing that I knew a thing or two. "That was never going to work. We didn't grow enough produce to make the ship, Tuvaluan, economically viable. That business folded soon after we got the port of entry status. No, we lobbied for that status for all the development that goes with it - airport expansion, new hospital, better roading. Infrastructure. And we're getting it. You'll see the hospital under construction if you ever go to the top of the island." When our host discovered our interest in seeing his island he suggested he drive us. Our lifted spirits dropped when he realised he didn't have enough petrol for the journey and, being Sunday, gas stations would be closed. But a moment later they were lifted again. "Ah, but I can get some from Boaz on the other side of the island. He'll be there." "How can you be sure he'll be there and have you enough fuel to get half way round the island?" "Oh he'll be there. Should be enough fuel for half the island. Let's go." Our host, I wish I could remember his name, gave us a thorough tour of the island, stopping to show us sights and take photos and providing a running commentary. Rotuma is a mountainous island, lush and green with classic palm-studded, white sand beaches. The soil is rich and easily produces an abundance of fruit and vegetables. We knew that we would soon be cruising among coral atolls where the soil is poor and water often scares. I wanted to soak up as much as possible this idyllic, exceptionally beautiful place. The island gave a well-cared for impression, clean, very little litter, lawns mowed and gardens tended. All was as close as I'd come to the perfect, postcard Pacific Island of everyone's dreams.=20 Our driver never mentioned the petrol situation but I watched the fuel needle move inexorably toward empty and began wondering about where we might spend the night, should it come to that. We passed no petrol stations. I had no idea how far around the island we were. With the needle hard on the empty pin we stopped outside a house. Our driver came back shaking his head. "No petrol. All empty." Then he disappeared into another house, re-emerged and drove us a few houses further into the village. =46rom this he returned with a two litre milk bottle of petrol which he poured into the tank. Remarkably this got us home. Postscript Since leaving Rotuma we have had consistent unconfirmed reports that the port of entry status for the island has been withdrawn.