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This post is inspired by the story of Salvador Alvarenga, a man who the world once labelled a scammer, but whose story will undoubtedly save lives in two quite different ways.

500 days ago today we took over the boat we now call home. So much water has gone under the bridge deck, it seems like that was an awfully long time ago. We have learned and grown and changed a great deal in this time. More, I expect, than we realise. Friends & family used to ask What will you do in two years when it is time to move on?; We would answer that in two years, when its time to move on, we dont know who we will be!

438 Days is the name of the book I read (cover-to-cover) this morning. I remember when the story broke in the news of a man showing up in the Marshall Islands having had drifted in a small fishing boat all the way from Mexico. At the time, I joined the chorus of sceptics, but the book gives the true account and now sits atop my list of highly recommended! This book is entertaining and inspirational, but also reveals lessons for sailors and non-sailors alike.

Savusavu to Kioa Savusavu to Kioa Position: 16 40.212s 179 54.187e (written from Majuro, July 2016) Mon 26 Oct Fawn Harbour Horrible passage. 20-25 knot headwinds, more easterly than forecast, and we were heading due east. We'd left the wonderful womb of Savusavu the previous day, spending our first night anchored off the nearby Jacque Cousteau resort. We'd embarked on a two-day trip to Kioa, our last anchorage before the ocean passage to Rotuma. At Kioa we planned to join an annual celebration and reconnect with our new friend Kailopa.
After a rough day at sea, having to motor into the wind and sea for much of it, we arrived at Fawn Harbour late in the afternoon. It was absolutely calm in there and we breathed a sigh of relief as the anchor chain clattered over the bow.
*** Tues 27 Coral passage before breakfast anyone? Up early, main up, anchor up, and David up the mast, we headed out the pass. I was slightly queasy but managed a banana-pineapple smoothie for breakfast. We were loaded up with fruit from Savusavu. I usually kept it in a hammock slung under the bimini at the back of the cockpit but with previous day's rough sea it got bashed around. I couldn't put the delicate fruit into plastic bags inside the boat as it would have gone moldy in five minutes in the heat and humidity. I needed a large basket to store it in. I mentally scoured the boat. The laundry basket! I removed the dirty knickers and smelly tea-towels and loaded the fruit into it, putting the basket out on deck at night to get plenty of air. It worked.
The early morning sun glistened on the water. Dead ahead were the high peaks of Taveuni. To our left the eastern end of Vanua Levu was in sight. Out to sea I could see a surf break indicating a coral shelf jutting well out from the land. We'd have to go around it. We were motoring again but appreciated the light winds and calm seas after the previous day's lively seas. *** A breeze! David unfurled the headsail and let the main out. Eight knots of wind. Its cooling effect was bliss. But it soon died and our speed dropped to two knots, so engine on again, We settled into morning tea. Fresh pineapple with coffee. Kioa here we come.
*** Tuesday 27th Oct, Kioa David Kioa was a blast from before we stepped ashore. Kailopa guided us to an anchorage by phone and met us on the beach, garlanded in frangipani. The celebrations that we thought we had missed were still in full swing.
Kailopa, a 67 year old Tuvaluan, you may recall, we had met in September at Nananu I Ra with his nephew, Papu, where we learned a little of the history of his Fijian island, Kioa. Bought in the 1940s by the people of Vaitupu, an island in the Tuvalu chain, of whom a group of 30 moved to Kioa. It is today a thriving Tuvaluan community. Every year the people celebrate their migration and we were invited.
In the large hall by the shore a musical battle royal drowned all conversation as the youth, in two competing groups, pulled out all stops to outdo each other. Kailopa seated us in his allotted portion of the hall which is his, and his family's, for all time.
The drumming, dance and singing was spectacular, especially the drumming. Two men of each group beat empty biscuit tins with drumsticks, sounded like snare drums, loud and very fast. About 10 of each group beat a large mat- covered plywood box with their hands. The combined effect was riveting. Drumming was interspersed with slow, sensual dance by the young men and women, often augmented by spontaneous displays by older villagers. At one point Kailopa got to his feet and hobbled slowly on his arthritic legs to join the dancers. An elaborate grass skirt was tied around him and he began to sway to the rhythm. All evidence of arthritis fell away as his body remembered the moves he knew so well. He was the embodiment of grace and style and drew huge applause.
*** Janet We could tell we were back in Polynesia, this tiny piece of Tuvalu embedded in Fiji, by the pungent frangipane headdresses and bright floral prints everyone was wearing. After the performances a dozen different people got up and spoke. Alas it was all in Tuvaluan so we couldn't understand what was said but the audience was roaring with laughter.
Kailopa gave us a tour of the village. It was thriving, beautifully kept, with virtually none of the litter that often mars Fijian villages. He explained there was no crime here. On the rare occasion someone fell out of line, the person's family had a to make a meal for the whole village as reparation. That means feeding about 500 people. They don't usually transgress again.
Here, as we saw on many other islands, they were building a wall to stop the sea encroaching on the village.
On our tour we met various family members. One woman, a cousin, had just taken four loaves of bread out of the oven and David commented on how good it smelt. She promptly gave us one. This was not the flimsy skinny Fijian bread we'd had till now, but a big buxom loaf. Later we confirmed it's quality with lashings of butter and jam.
"Come for dinner at 6," Kailopa said, as we climbed into the dinghy to head to the boat for a nap. An hour later we were back on shore and David and Kailopa were instantly absorbed into a group of men drinking kava in a fale on the beach. Kailopa's grandson, Robert, materialised and led me to their house where I watched his daughter-in-law prepare our meal. Once the food was all loaded into bowls we carried it to the hall. Everyone had their own picnic dinners, then the dancing began. Not Pacific Island dancing but disco, and I swear everyone was over 50! David At some point in the evening Kailopa commented wistfully, "I always wanted to cross a bit of ocean. Sail to my home island, Vaitupu." "Well, you should come with us then." I replied.
There followed a long silence. "Maybe I will." Exhausted from jiving the night away we said goodnight to Kailopa wondering what the morning would bring. We were fixed on setting out for Rotuma and doubted Kailopa could get organised so quickly.

They say that all good things must come to an end. That’s not entirely true, but most things do end and part of our human existence is managing the raft of emotions that come in to play when we are forced to say goodbye. It is usual, I guess, to bring to mind the happiest moments and store them away for safe keeping whilst simultaneously allowing the feelings of loss, however great or small, to accompany the goodbye.
Today we say farewell to Baie De St Vincent and to the Homeless Vikings.
Whilst the optimist believes that we will surely see both again, the realist knows that this is most unlikely. So it is with a happy sad that we are now sailing South, away from Baie De St Vincent, and away from the Vikings who are now sailing North on a long journey to Indonesia.

Baie De St Vincent We came to the Baie to explore the area and find interesting places to take our guests (parents) when they come to visit next week. It’s closer to the airport than Noumea and is a large bay with numerous islands large and small that make up the Baie area.
There is also a small marina that doesn’t appear on any of our charts. With a little help from our landlubber friend (thanks Dave!) and the magic of Google, we found it and went ashore to practice our French. OK, so we actually went ashore to find out if there were markets anywhere, this is French territory, so French practice was the order of the day! For the most part the locals are good about our ignorance, and my conversations usually start with a simple apology. “Desole, je ne pa parle Francais”. One store owner in Noumea smiled broadly and promptly replied “Desole, je ne pa parle Englais”. Our exchange at the little marina called “Port Ouenghi” was similar, but we still managed to talk for a while and the proprietor looked up the number for a taxi and explained that we would need to walk for 20mins if we wanted to hitchhike, and it would take around an hour if we walked all the way to the village for vegetables… not a word of English was spoken. The owner was very kind and didn’t seem to mind our inability to speak the language.
Aside from this visit to Port Ouenghi, we also visited many other islands and bays: Ile Moro – A Giant rock with a petite beach and fascinating baby rock formations assembled like ducklings. We visited twice because we had coverage here and needed to get some Internet to pay bills… yeah, you know who you are invoice senders! :-P Ile Nduke – Where we chose to negotiate the narrow channel with hard coral on either side and we went paddle boarding after big fish in the mangroves.
Baie Uitoe – Where we did boat maintenance and swapped out our anchor chain and admired the manicured grounds of the shoreline.
Ile Ronhua – where it was gusting 25 knots and the white sand beach was overshadowed by our inability to decide where one would anchor in these conditions.
Ile Tenia – where it was still blowing like a birthday boy and we navigated big Bommies (or as the French call them, coral potatoes). We only stayed long enough for lunch and moved on to… The Lepredour Channel – where we found shelter at last. The cliffs from the nature reserve island towered above us, red and scarred and glowing as the sun set. The water was flat and we slept like drunkards.
And finally, the Baie De Mosquitos on Ile Hugon - which seems to be entirely pest free, unless you count the guy with the bonfire on the beach, or the dog on the other boat in the anchorage. Hey, as long as there are no mossies, I’m a happy little larry bird.
Oh, and as we sailed away the next morning, we remarked how the water was so flat you could ski… Thus we discovered Paddle-Sail-Ski-Boarding! Michelle mounted her paddle board and was towed along as we sailed. I sense a new sport in the making.

This morning as we sipped on our sunrise coffee, we received a message that we had been expecting, but not eagerly.
Our Finnish friends aboard “Homeless” sent a message to say farewell. We protested, and told them there was no wind to sail, and you can’t very well start a 3,000 mile trip by motoring! But they had cleared out of the country and were hoping to find breeze further out from land.
So, we hatched a plan, hoisted the sails, and plotted a course to intercept the Vikings! The Vikings were sailing North so we sailed out to the West and found them. We sailed fast below them and then came up along their windward side. “Fancy seeing you here” we beamed :- I had written a farewell poem with my second coffee and we had printed it out for them to take on their journey. We packed this into a dry bag along with a native New Caledonian flag and some tinfoil wrapped goodies (Chocolate!). We agreed that Homeless would maintain course and speed and we would maneuverer ourselves into position for the exchange. The bag, attached to a long line, was thrown between the boats and the contents were emptied. This is a bit like mum trying to pass the forgotten school lunch through the window of the bus to little Maxy as it speeds along the highway. So not something to be done without care.
After taking some photos of our little flotilla, we turned around and sailed South, happy that we had said our goodbyes in true style! Farewell Homeless Vikings, it really was too brief, and we hope we can meet again.
Farewell Baie De St Vincent, thanks for the adventures, we will see you in our memories.

Bon Voyage to the Vikings
It’s a beautiful morning with sun and calm seas All is quiet, there is barely a breeze.
We sit and ponder what today will hold Until the sat phone beeps and we are told “Dear friends we are leaving – it was too brief, but we are now heading out through reef.” No, You cant leave! We have not said goodbye! And look, up above, not a cloud in the sky There is barely a breeze and there’s too far to go You have yet three thousand miles to go! The time is not right we stand and protest But all is prepared, this is no test.
But good things must end and yachts sail away, And our Homeless Vikings will leave us today.
So we utter a prayer that you will be well That the waves will be friendly as you ride the swell And as the journey grows long, be good to each other.
May the friends that you make be close like a brother Fair winds to our friends, may the sea be kind.
May the wind always blow from somewhere behind.
So we sailed to sea and cast our eyes We intercepted their boat and spoke our goodbyes.
I took a pen to the ships log and wrote Farewell dear Vikings… in the blood red boat!

Many a sailor has been heard to talk of respect for the ocean. The wind and the waves harness great power, and man can quickly realise just how small he is. Beneath the waves is another world again and guide books are quick to warn about the dangers of touching the wrong kind of coral and the necessity to avoid standing on stonefish or stingrays or jelly fish or sea snakes. They also offer helpful advice if running afoul of some of the more commonly known sea creatures. A guide we were perusing recently instructed that “In case of being attacked by shark, you should immediately get out of the water”. Who would have thought!? Oddly, the same advice is not given if one is bitten by a “non-aggressive” sea snake. We are, however, sea people. We’ve chosen to make it our home, and we are somewhat acclimatised to storms and sharks – although I doubt either will ever leave us entirely peaceful.
Today we ventured into sea and land.

We paddled ashore on our boards, intent on seeing what Ilot Signal (Marker Island) had to show us. During our initial exploration we were attacked by some kind of ball-of-thorns plant and I would later spend an hour pulling a hundred thorns from our crocs. Technically someone else’s crocs, but if the person who left a black pair of size 10 crocs aboard would like to claim them back, you know where to find me.
After dodging the thorn balls, we found ourselves on some kind of track that encircled the island. Michelle was walking timidly. She didn’t sleep too well last night. After seeing a couple of snakes in the sea, her subconscious was still processing and they slithered into her dreams and even sent her checking in odd places for stowaways. I have now learnt that whilst walking on a deserted island, it is not humorous to point at an S-shaped stick and loudly declare it to be a snake! I didn’t stay in the dog box for long. We rounded a bend and came across a magical little mini-lagoon where we stopped to take the obligatory photos. As we left the mini lagoon and headed back on to the track, what goes around came around. Territorial New Caledonian attack birds came squawking and swooping down at me. Why me? Was it the hat, or just the fact that I was the leader of our party? …or did they somehow know about my little snake joke? We moved on quickly and once free of attack bird territory, began to enjoy the uniqueness of the island again. The sandy track was riddled with holes as big as your head. It looked like a combination of sand crabs and erosion… Of course, Michelle wondered if they were snake holes! Then it happened… Whilst enjoying the view, the path under Michelles foot gave way and she fell into a shallow hole. She fell forward and then bounced up quickly, hopping and babbling and squealing. It seems she had fallen into one of the mysterious holes and her hands had landed either side of a snake skin. The snake was nowhere to be seen, but after a quick second look at the deflated snake clothes, we moved on quickly.
With her bird-like vision, Michelle then claimed to have spotted an eagle. It turns out it was actually an Osprey, but who knows these things? It was a huge carnivorous bird gliding about on the wind and carrying a small tree in its talons. At first we were confused about its cargo, but then old eagle-eyes spotted the nest. This was a birds nest in the same way that Buckingham Palace is a council flat. If the bird wasn’t a little daunting before, the fact that we could probably sleep cosily in the nest was enough. We moved on quickly! Why do I always have to walk in front? I stopped very suddenly and we both took a half step back. A moment before I had walked into it, the light had bounced on a web that hung across the path like a zip line. I don’t mind admitting I’m squeamish around spiders (among other things) and I was happy to duck under this web and generally keep well clear of its maker.
“Good call” eagle-eyes called out behind me. I turned around and followed her gaze. A spider, bigger than my hand, was crawling quickly away from her foiled trap. She sat, watched and waited at a safe distance. After ducking under the web herself, Michelle remarked “I think we would have fed that guy for a week!”. I shuddered, and we moved on… quickly.
Our path turned down to the beach where we came across another man sized bird nest and we eventually discovered the chimney structure that gives the island its name. An elevated wooden pathway then led us over the eroding crab holes and under a canopy of trees and led us back to our paddle boards. Land time was over! We paddled back to the boat, grabbed our masks and snorkels and jumped over board. The water is surprisingly cool here, but there is nothing disappointing about the reef. We swam with large tropical fish of all varieties and messed about with brightly coloured schools of smaller fish. The turtles regarded us with little concern and were quite happy for us to swim up close and personal. A shark meandered by and made a close arc around us before carrying on his way. We only looked back once or twice to check.
As we made our way back to the boat through mountains and tunnels of coral, we discovered it must be turtle nap time. Several times we came across a turtle, wedged in amongst the coral and lying motionless.
If the wise old turtles say it’s nap time, then nap time it must be! We are, after all, sea people.
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