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A couple of weeks ago when we visited Moso Island with Pieter and Sarah, one of the villages told us they needed fishing gear. So, during our stay in Havannah Harbour earlier this week, we went back to deliver lures, hooks and line. Although this island is not far from the main island of Efate, it is still fairly isolated and the people were very grateful. They told us about a snorkeling spot where we could see many clams and we had a wonderful time in this area which is teeming with life and colour. We spotted some pairs of Rubble Pipefish - these are small thin creatures that look like a sea horse that has been elongated and straightened out. They are always in pairs and camouflage themselves well in the coral rubble. As promised by the locals, we saw hundreds of colourful clams amongst the coral bommies and interesting rock formations.
We left Havannah Harbour on Wednesday. As we came through the pass between Moso Island and Lelepa Island, we caught a 38cm Blue Fin Trevally. Our biggest catch so far this year and a pretty fish. Great eating too! We had a lovely sail in almost perfect conditions for 5 hours, until the last hour, when we had a couple of squally showers pass through. We arrived at Emae Island in time for lunch before going ashore with our special deliveries. We had visited Emae Island on 27th May and dropped off some seeds, but this island stuck in our memories as the one that needed more help than the 14 other islands we have been to. Emae is far away from anywhere. There are 10 villages here, with around 800 people in total. Cyclone damage to trees and houses here is by far the worst we have seen. Most of their income comes from selling copra. Copra is produced from coconuts. The people on the island collect coconuts, take the husks off by hand, crack open the shell and place the flesh on drying racks. Lighting fires under the drying racks helps to dry out the flesh and all remainig shell has to be removed, again by hand. This is quite a labour intensive process, with only hand tools. Once the flesh has been smoked dry, it is packed into sacks - it is now copra. Each person gets 10 vatu per kilo for the copra, this is around 14 cents per kilo in NZ$. While this may not sound like a lot of money (it is not much at all!), the sheer volume of coconuts produced on the island creates a stable income for this tiny economy. Unfortunately, cyclone Pam stripped all the coconuts from the trees and has devastated their harvest. Many coconut trees have been torn down and lie broken on the ground. Others have lost all their leaves and are starting to rot where they stand. From what we saw, they have possibly lost 30% of their coconut t rees. It takes 5 years before a planted coconut grows into a tree that produces coconuts, so it will be a slow recovery. This means that many people here will have no money to buy clothes, or seeds, or any household goods. We had decided to revisit this place and bring more seeds, plus school supplies and fishing gear. Our plans about what to give these people had an unexpected boost, from two very different sources...
When Pieter and Sarah arrived in Vanuatu, they carried in about 10kg of childrens clothing. Sarah had done well, negotiating with Air NZ to accept the excess baggage free of charge as part of the relief effort! Well done Sarah and hoorah to Air NZ! These childrens clothes will now be worn by the pikininis on Emae Island. Pieter and Sarah also donated fishing hooks and line, now safely delivered to Emae as well.
The other boost in supplies came from Jaap and Marijke, a Dutch couple living in Japan! These kind people had sent 20kg of kitchen supplies, clothing and towels to Nettie in Vanuatu, to be given away to cyclone damaged villages. The couple in Japan and Nettie are all mutual Dutch friends of Karl, from many years ago when they were all in NZ. What a coincidence that we were visiting Nettie on the day these boxes arrived from Japan! After a quick discussion with Nettie and a couple of texts to Japan, it was agreed that we should deliver these boxes of goodies to Emae.
So, together with our load of educational materials and more seeds, we loaded up the dinghy with a total of 40kg of supplies to go ashore at Emae. This was far too much for us to carry down the 5km road to the school, so we waited for an hour until a ute came by. Some local lads had waited with us and flagged down the ute, who gladly transported us and all our goods to the school. The Principal, Richard spotted us and said "Welcome back!" He was very very grateful for the parcels we unloaded and promised to distribute everything to the 10 villages. He also gave us an update on our first delivery, proudly telling us that all the villages had been busy planting the seeds and these were now growing! It gave us a great feeling to know we had helped to make a difference here. Many thanks to all who have been part of the donation chain :-) Yesterday we had another early start, departing at 7am for the 45 mile trip to the Maskelyne Islands. We had 20-25 knots from the SE, which was basically from behind, plus a following sea, so good conditions pushing us along at around 6.5 to 7 knots. Great sailing, until the tide changed. About 1pm we noticed that our speed had slowed down to 3.5 to 4knots and the seas were getting lumpy. Wind against tide was producing steep waves, which built to 4-5m. The wind increased to 30knots gusting 35 at times and the sea became very rough, with a cross swell that developed as we got closer to land. The 5m waves pushing us from behind and 2m waves on the beam created a washing machine motion. Everything that was not tied down was flying around the cabin! So the last hour of our journey was more about holding on tight to the boat so we wouldn't get tossed about. Finally, about 3.30pm we entered the northern pass into the reef system around the Maskelyne islands. What a difference! Suddenly we were in calm tranquil waters. Bliss! Back to our favourite anchroage at Sanko Island, we dropped anchor at 4pm and marveled at the crystal clear, calm glassy water around us. In here you would never imagine that the sea is raging outside. We will enjoy the tranquility today, go for a dive and relax. Tomorrow we will continue our journey north.

Passage to Ono June 13 Janet "This is like being in the Sounds, only warmer," I said to David as another howling gust slewed Navire around on her anchor.
"Yeah, but we're not on a mooring," he replied, as he set the anchor alarm on the GPS in case we dragged in the night.
*** "The gribs show 20 knots south east, 2.5 metre swell, and showers." I relayed.
Gribs are surface pressure charts with arrows that show wind direction and velocity.
We'd had enough of Suva Harbour, engines running all night, diesel streaked water, ships weaving their way through anchored yachts, and grey muggy weather. We were ready for the tropical experience, sunshine, turquoise water, diving, swimming. The social life had been good in town, regular drinks with other cruisers and a meal out, but many boats had headed off to outer islands, time to go. Shopping done, fueled up, my cold in abeyance, the only thing to sort was the weather.
*** "Is it light out there yet?" David called from the V berth, rudely awakened by the alarm.
"No, but it will be by the time we tie everything down," I said.
As David wound the anchor up, half expecting it not to budge having perhaps wrapped itself around some rusting old car body, he called for a bucket. The snubber line and anchor buoy line were coated in slime threatening to sully the decks. Suva's last gift to us.
We motored out through the coral pass in the grey dawn. David has a penchant for famous last words. Outside the harbour the boom was slatting as we motored over large swells, no wind in our sails.
"I'm really concerned we are going to have to motor all the way." He said grimly.
I just laughed. The first of these prophecies that he lived to regret was when he uttered the words "Looks like we are in for a trouble-free trip," on our delivery trip bringing Navire down the east coast from Auckland in 2007. The following day we encountered 70 knots of wind off Palliser Bay (64 is hurricane force), got towed in to Wellington by Lady Elizabeth (police boat), and ended up featuring on Coastwatch.
Sure enough a few miles off Vita Levu the wind rapidly rose to 20 knots, 25, 30 and peaked at 40 just north of Kadavu, five hours later. It was grey all day and wet in frequent squalls. Waves splashed over the boat, mostly missing us as we huddled under the dodger, a miserable pair singing to keep our spirits up.
I actually reefed, twice (did the cabin end). There is hope for me yet as a useful crew-member. The wind kept shifting left and right making it hard to keep our course.
Not far out of Suva our navigation computer went down. I hadn't set up a back up route on my Mac, the second of our three computers, normally standard practice.
Now me and going below were not compatible, but David wasn't 100% either, so I took a deep breath and went below to enter the route and connect the laptop to the GPS. I had to scramble for the rail a couple of times but finally it was heartening to see Navire trucking across the screen, faithfully following her route.
Now ideally you navigate coral reefs in full sunlight so you can see the various colours that indicate depth. Brown is not a good colour, brown with foaming is definitely not good. We stared at the wall of gray where the chart said Ono was. It appeared and disappeared in squalls. Bloody hell we were going to have to trust the GPS completely, which they say you should never do. Just outside the reef I had the inspired idea of copying the coordinates of a track someone had given us, from another computer, onto the Mac. As we were entered a bay on the east side of Ono the cloud lifted and we could see the island. At least we wouldn't bump into that.
Anchor down, engine off. I was completely buggered. Encrusted with salt, I stripped off and wiped down. I heated up leftovers, threw in an instant curry and ravenously made up for the day's complete lack of food, the fish well fed on the way. The couch beckoned. It swallowed me. 7.30pm saw us in bed, our promised margarita relegated to another day.
***

Suva May 22 Day 1 Fiji Janet Like a possum stunned by car headlights I almost didn't know which way to turn.
The city a garish rainbow, red signs, purple, yellow, women in bright pink saris, Fijians in loud floral shirts. Signs, signs, Digicell, Vodaphone, Coca-Cola, Curry Eat Here. Every second shop had loud music blaring into the street, one shop shrill Indian tunes, next place western top of the pops, then lilting Fijian melodies, punctuated by a cacophony of car horns. After two weeks of various shades of blue and grey and the only noise the swishing of the ocean around Navire's hull, being in downtown Suva was like tripping on acid.
*** It was glorious to wake up that first full day in port, not be shaken awake by a crew mate in the dead of night, and having to climb into the cockpit, jostled by stormy black seas, but slowly coming to, the day gently seeping in. Just for a moment anyway.
Chaos reigned in the main cabin. We'd cleared the V berth of detritus stored on passage to use our double bed. Now provisions were strewn around the boat, piles of salty sailing kit threatening to grow mildew, and a day's dishes littered the galley.
That first day we were on a military mission. Shopping lists, two weeks rubbish, dirty laundry, fuel and water jerry cans to fill, and officialdom to satisfy. We only had one day in town before we headed off for a few days rest and recreation at a nearby anchorage to give Piet some tropical time before he flew south again.
Everybody wanted a form filled in and had their hand in our pockets. Up the hill from central Suva we entered the first building of many in this official mission.
Ground floor - 'not this office, go to 4th floor, not here, wait here, ah yes, go around the corner and pay, go to 2nd floor,' each time we were taken through a warren of office cubicles, through the staff cafeteria, the cloakroom. We'd find the right person, she signs, 'now go to immigration,' the well dressed official pointed to a building on a map, on the other side of town. We walked back down cluttered chaotic streets to the city centre.
An hour later we sat in a Hare Krishna cafe picking at a curry, dazed, trying to sort out our phones after visiting the Vodaphone shop. They'd made an easy task incomprehensible. My sleep-deprived brain reeled and could barely absorb the simple instructions the staff gave us. The youthful staff probably had us down as untech savvy geriatrics.
Communication systems semi-sorted the next most urgent tasks were applying for our cruising permit, and harbour clearance. We weren't allowed out of the Suva without these bits of paper. It was now Friday afternoon, and I hadn't even got near the market yet.
Note to self. When arriving in port, 1. Make a list of what needs to be done, 2.
Estimate how long it takes to do, 3. Triple the estimate. Did the first two, but failed on point 3. And then point 4, locate everything on a map first and don't take anybody's assurance that everything is in the same building.
*** Cruising permit place on one side of town, harbour clearance on the other. As we plodded wearily along the edge of the harbour the Grand Pacific Hotel, its huge white portals a bastion of colonialism, beckoned us, lured us in with the prospect of air conditioning and cold beers. Two minutes later we parked our weary bodies in white cane chairs, poolside, with a waiter loitering, ready for our order.
We loved the hotel's luxury and Europeaness. Beer was cheap, internet was free, clearance was relegated to the morrow.
Got 109 emails and all your comments. It feels wonderful that some of you followed right along with our journey *** You'd think we'd know better than to rush straight into provisioning, water, fuel, phones that we could do without for another week, having done the island cruising thing once before. But no, seduced by the trappings of civilization, we rushed on. Anchored next door was a boat called Midnight Sun, its crew John and Wendy, relentlessly cheerful friendly Australians, with 20 years sailing the Pacific under their belts. They knew the drill.
"There's no rush," Wendy often said when they came by. They just anchored and waited, looking ever so relaxed. Even sunbathed on deck. How could this be? I was still trying to clean a month's worth of grime from Navire's innards, and instill some semblance of order aboard. But I watch and learn from them.
Alas we paid the price for our haste. David has written of our ill health, UTI and diarrhea. I continued the trend, falling over at the yacht club and spraining my thumb badly, then laid low with a cold for a week, and all the while suffering the debilitating post-passage tiredness. Is there a message in all this? Wendy would say so.
We belatedly learned from several other experienced cruisers that we need to allow several weeks, not days, but weeks, to recover fully from the demands of passage. Note to self....
***

Music In The Park January 20, 2015 I'm calling this a retrospective as David was a little late posting it David On Barrier Radio Janet caught a brief ad “Music in The Park at Okiwi. Bring your own instruments.” This sounded like us. What clinched it was Loma, from whom we had hired a car, who was intending to go and offered us a lift.
Loma, large as life and well into party mode, roared into the Port Fitzroy parking lot not much more than an hour late. Janet and I and our instruments piled in.
We soon learned that Loma is one of eleven. She has six of her own, eighteen grandchildren and a couple of great-grandchildren. She looked about sixty, if that. But not much about her said Maori. She appeared bottle blond, light skinned, a little ditsy at first meeting, voluble, irreverent and great fun to be with.
We took to her immediately. In describing her lack of sea legs she quipped, “Before I’ll take the ferry to Auckland it’s got to be calm enough for me to apply lipstick in my reflection.” She turned out to be foundation tangatawhenua.
The length of time your family have been on the island, as elsewhere, is defining, third and fourth generation conferring unparalleled status. "We moved back to the island about four years ago," Loma said as she negotiated the narrow, winding road to Okiwi. "But we've been here more than seven hundred. Weíre Ngatiwai. Just the one iwi which makes things simple although there’s two hapu." Thatís about thirty generations of continuous occupation.
“I’m not that familiar with my tikanga,” Loma confessed, a little wistfully. “Some of my grandkids who have grown up in kohanga come and speak to me and I have no idea what theyíre saying," she laughed. Sheís tried learning. “It goes in and then goes out. But I've enrolled again.” Loma eased the car along a near invisible track, overhung with trees that momentarily blocked most of the sunlight. Once inside, the space opened out to reveal a cosy glade, a small grassy clearing enclosed by native bush thick with ferns and nikau palms. There were people gathered on rugs under a huge spreading Puriri tree and others standing around barbeques and chili bins of beer. As the sun slid across the sky small groups moved to occupy other patches of shade. A stage had been set up, complete with amps, mikes, speakers, even a fold-back speaker so that the musicians could hear themselves.
Loma found us a space under the Puriri and settled into her chair where she held court with family and friends all afternoon. She had a constant flow of grandchildren making requests and waiting on her. It slowly became clear that she is a much revered kuia, related, one way or another, to every Maori on the island, many of whom were at the park. There was always much banter and laughter emanating from around her spot.
It was an intimate group of no more than forty with people coming and going.
We felt we had gate crashed a large family gathering but, attached to Loma’s coat tails, we were soon absorbed into the fold.
Elaine, a diminutive copper-haired woman with an arresting, effortless, Aretha Franklin voice, played MC. She provided backing vocals and took the stage herself from time to time, supported by her husband Opo, on guitar. Remarkably she and Opo live on remote, exposed Mahuki, the outermost of the aptly named Broken Islands. They are the unofficial custodians of the island’s gannet colony.
A dozen or so musicians, including the two of us, performed solo or in varying combinations. Elaine joined us during our second set which was a treat. There were several performers who would have been well received on much larger stages, especially a trio of gorgeous, young sisters from one of the two Katherine Bay marae. One guitar, three voices, sublime harmony. And Elaine could rival any diva.
Janet and I rowed back to the boat in the lengthening shadows, warmed through with music, people, food, beer and sun and with a pocketful of invitations in the anchorage and across the island.