Marquesan Meanderings

Within 24 hours of arriving another two boats had arrived. After 48 a further four boats squeezed into our small anchorage that already had a fair few boats in it. All had recently made a big passage; whether from Canada, Chile, Mexico or like us from Panama, some but by no means all via the Galapagos. It was like pulling the pin on a party time grenade. Evenings on each others boats late into the night revelling in someone new to talk to; bbq fire pits on the beach where we roasted two chickens amongst all kinds of other treats; to a finale night of a drumming competition in the village. Atuona on Hiva Oa was just what the admiral ordered.

The mountain of Temetiu (1213m) towered above us almost permanently ensconced by a veil of cloud. We decided to set the alarm; somewhat a rarity in our current life, and scale it, or at least get as high as possible. After five weeks at sea our legs needed some exercise and they certainly got it.

We timed it perfectly in that the bakery was already open as we walked through town; proper french baguettes; and there were already plenty of people around to frequently ask for directions. Finally finding the start of the track we picked our way up through the paths in the relative coolness of the early morning. The Marquesans easily tell you 'sure you can go up there, there is a trail which they will point out on the hillside, but ask them if they've ever been themselves and it's a different matter. Consequently the track was far from obvious and at times pretty exciting but we made it as far as we could without turning our hands to rock climbing. 

Atuona was a real highlight of our Marquesan meanderings where we found goats cheese, new friends and fun but after a week there we felt we rather ought to see another island. It was a shock to the system as we ventured out of baie Tahauku. There hadn't been any breeze to speak of inside the natural harbour so we hadn't worried about the windows and were fully prepared to have to motor the 10 miles to our next anchorage. It was a wet and wild ride across to Tahuata and the wind continued to gust alarmingly once we were tucked up into our next beautiful bay anchorage.

 Ua Pou was our next island and is characterised by it's dramatic basalt volcanic plugs. We stumbled upon a rehearsal of a traditional dance/ play in an out of the way village where we were the only boat visiting. The actors and musicians appeared to be largely around the 18-30 age group and were putting a lot of sweat and passion into their performances. Our fellow spectators did not appear to take it all so seriously; children were running about getting in the way, one little girl enthusiastic with her newspaper kite and whenever there was fighting or other such excitement in the performance, the 5 or 6 dogs prowling around would join the melee with howls, pouncing and barking. It was a quite unexpected spectacle.

Now we're at our final Marquesan island 'Nuku Hiva'.  Here we've been cracking on with a few jobs (the dinghy is still wending it's merry way towards being a 'sailing dinghy') and enjoying lovely long walks in the  scenic countryside which ranges from Scottish highland style desolate peaks to tropical and temperate rain forest.

We've been enjoying doing the tourist thing whilst in the Marquesas; we saw the graves of both Guaguin and Jacques Brell, searched extensively for the monument to Herman Melville and have walked many miles.  We managed to get to see the third highest waterfall of the world (there's a bit of a drop off after the first two!) such trips are greatly improved by the excitement of finding fruit trees allover the place and several chilli bushes. 

The Marquesas have been beautiful; the people have been friendly and helpful but we have to leave too soon.  Next stop is the Coral Atolls of the Tuamotus before heading onwards to the Society islands.  Plenty to look forward to!

 

Pacific passage

We were tearing along; rather than reefing we dropped the mainsail altogether. Slewing about at 8 to 9 knots was not how we wanted to catch our first glimpses of land. Once the main was tied up Beryl (our Aries wind vane) was able to bear off on to a dead run.

Ruth went off to sleep and I got the kettle on. A couple of hours later Hiva Oa crawled out of the dawn like a slumbering dinosaur. Her high rocky craggs becoming visible; Land for the first time in five weeks.

We left Isla Mogo Mogo (Las Perlas, Panama) on Saturday evening, the 14^th June delighted to be heading out into the big blue. There were no nerves; just the exhilarating feeling that finally we were doing what we've wanted to do for a very long time.

We had a beautifully auspicious start; reaching along at 5 knots. Only half an hour out a whale sounded near our boat three or four times. We put two fishing lines out and caught Mackerel on each within an hour; yum... When the wind died down later that evening we were barely drifting along, we were pleased to see that we were still going in the right direction at 1-2 knots, the current was wafting us out.

We were expecting the first leg of our trip to be arduous however, and we weren't disappointed. The sea between Panama and the Galapagos islands is characterised by fickle winds and calms. There is talk of this year being the beginning of an El Nino which may explain why there was even less wind than expected.

Our first two weeks were hard work getting nowhere slowly and at times working pretty hard to stem Impetuous going North or backwards. For two weeks we averaged only 60 miles a day with one memorable day tacking into a light head wind with occasional squalls; out one way and then back, reefing and shaking them out frequently, making a net gain of 10 miles over 24 hours! Not entirely disheartened we gradually edged our way into the Pacific and slipped further in to the enjoyment of ocean passage making, despite the unreliable wind.

It was a welcome juxtaposition from preparing Impetuous for a long passage. Endless provisioning and checks upon the various yacht systems. Stark contrast of the serenity of actually being gone. We read, tidied and relaxed between sail changes and steering adjustments. It did get increasingly frustrating however; after nights and days of rocking on the oceans wave with the sails down, sometimes loosing the hard won miles by drifting up and back; we occasionally decided to motor a little. Slowly, but at least in the right direction.

This lasted until we were a few hundred miles north and to the east of the Galapagos. Little by little a southerly wind developed; the sails went up, the engine silenced for good and we slipped away in to the second part of our crossing; the trade winds.

For the first few days we alternated between one and two reefs in the main, staysail and yankee, our daily runs smashed through their previous poor averages. We expected the pacific to be, well, pacifying, relaxing, steady wind, rolling ocean waves, puffy trade wind clouds and weeks of comfortable steady sailing. We'd pulled in the second reef and still roared along over 7 knots. For almost the next two weeks the reefs were never let out. The yankee was furled at times partially, at others fully as we bouldered along; the lee rail awash as we rolled in the excited sea. We stayed dry, if a little hot inside as the occasional breaking wave would break into the cockpit partially filling it.

As we got closer to the equator we benefited from a favourable current. Our daily averages increased beyond what we thought possible; our record was 192 miles in 24 hours noon to noon. For most of the two weeks we were rarely below the 170 mark. Our tactic of waiting later in the season for the trade winds to fully develop had certainly been effective, if not a little too so.

I'd started peering into the toilet bowl with great interest. We were soon to cross the equator, where upon the water would swill the opposite way on route back to the ocean. For a dyslexic such as myself it takes some remembering which way it swills usually so that one can truly appreciate the change. I even thought of a sentence to help me remember; 'Antipodeans go backwards down the toilet.' As we drew closer I would spend time just curiously flushing away. Well you can imagine my delight and slight surprise when about four miles north of the equator the direction changed. As we edged closer still, I woke Ruth not wanting her to miss out on the celebration. 'We're almost at the equator,' I whispered as I gently rocked her to consciousness, 'and the toilet is already swirling the opposite way!'

Though the first two weeks were frustrating, these next two weeks of tearing along with all sails reefed, were odd. We'd look at each other, 'this is not what I expected'. We'd say. Cowering inside, trusting Beryl to keep us going the right way as another huge wave smashed down on our cabin top. A bit would inevitably find it's way in through the companion way. Our watches were fulfilled by keeping an eye on how things were going from inside. Peeking out to check occasionally, then quickly diving back inside.

With little more than 1000 miles left, there was a gradual slowing. We finally shook out our reefs, opened a few windows to allow some air to circulate and relaxed in to the final stage. We managed to put up the sunshade and sprawled out in the cockpit without fear of frequent drenchings. The sea calmed a little and puffy clouds appeared on the horizon. Our fishing luck changed somewhat too. We had lost several lures to the giants of the deep as well as having some hooks bent straight before we managed to bring our first Mahi mahi on board. With our new ingredient, calmer seas and so boat, we launched with relish into a variety of new meals. Sushi being the first.

Also with the calming of the weather our attitude to the crossing relaxed once more in to the enjoyment of the passage. Days spent relaxing in the shade as the gentle trade wind graced us. No longer pounding along, all the sails were out. We rolled on the left over waves and made a steady 6 knots. As the final days slipped away I slowly realised that I hadn't done any of the tasks I had set myself for the long ocean crossing. I am still only on tape three of French lessons. The Trumpet notes and fingering which I specially downloaded before departure remain on the hard drive of a broken computer as the ocean roll has not been condusive to taking said computer to bits to retrieve the hard drive, broken or not. The list of blog ideas has remained a list. In truth we spent almost all the time doing one of four things; cooking, eating, sleeping and reading.

So here we are. After 35 days at sea we have arrived. Stepping back into the world at the stunningly mountainous and beautifully remote island of Hiva Oa in the Marquesas. We dropped the anchor in the bay and are told the Gendarme doesn't work weekends so there's no hurry to check in yet. We'll make our way in tomorrow, relishing the miles potter in to the village to check our legs still work. 

Another country, a new flag, this time we've got the French flag with the French Polynesian flag below it.  There is a Marquesan flag too but we thought making three would be excessive. 

Provisioned!

 The hot sauce is made...

The veg is all aboard...

$8 buys you a lot of aubergines in Panama. 10 litres of olive oil and hundreds of bulbs of garlic will make plenty of baba ganoush when this lot start going off...

It would seem we're done with shopping; Impetuous has not a locker left with space and we both feel if we spend any more time in Panamas' supermarkets; wonderfully cool as they are; we will explode!

So goodbye Panama city, we're off to the Perlas Isles for just a day or two and then we're off across the Pacific; possibly straight to the Marquesas.

Though we will obviously be writing as we're on passage; we both have a back log of titles we want to try to finish whilst on passage, there will be no blogs until we arrive, recover and post something. With almost 4 thousand miles to cover this won't happen until some time mid July.

Though sailors all agree how wonderfully lucky they are to sail.  There seems to be some discrepancy about the love of ocean passages; obviously we will let you know our opinion once we have arrived.  At the moment we are really looking forward to being off shore; with our books, music, instruments, new films (thanks Colin), five weeks of the Archers to catch up with; aren't we lucky, and of course each other.  Not to mention our wonderful Boat.

To Skip or to Jump

The idea came up a long while back and was dismissed straight away. Surely it would seem churlish to go right by the Galapagos islands and not stop to have a look around. To miss these unique islands famed as an ecologists delight; the birthplace of Darwins' thoughts on evolution; may seem outright crazy to you but it's seeming like a more sensible plan as each day slips past.

We're still here, the other side of Panama in La Playita anchorage. We can't set out until the United States Postal Service gets a wriggle on. For some reason our bag of sail building hardware is dragging it's brass rings.

The whole dynamic was brought home to us as we evesdropped upon two boats talking on the radio net here. They were discussing (illegally) extending their stay in the Marquesas beyond the 3 months permitted for Americans. The rules are more relaxed for us so it emphasised the point that we are trading time in the Galapagos for time in French Polynesia. Add to this the fact that the Equadorian guardians of the Galapagos deem fit to charge visiting yachts through the nose for extremely restrictive permits. We just have to wonder...though money isn't necessarily perilously short we really hate spending it. As we have not arranged a special advance permit we may only stay at one anchorage and will have to join tourist excursions if we want to see other parts of our chosen island or other islands.

We think it's great that the islands are being properly protected from the ravages of tourism. Though many visit, the rules on seeing other than the tiny permitted areas are prohibitive for most. Hopefully this allows the ecosystem to remain preserved. This might just mean though, that to preserve it, we won't see it.

We'll probably push off with open minds; we won't have missed it until we sail right by. If we do decide not to go, we just have to remember; there are many more islands in the sea! 

Pacific Bound

I turned over in bed, wondering how I was going to flush the toilet without awakening our three slumbering guests. I wasn't worried about Duncan; a) he's used to the sucking squelching noise our toilet makes and my weak bladder, but also b) I was pretty sure he was restless with anticipation too... In the end I just got up and put the kettle on. It was light outside after all and as I recall as a backpacker we were always a pretty well rested bunch.

We spent the day ticking off our jobs list. Dunc pedaling off for fuel, one can at a time; it was cheaper in town than dockside. In no time at all Sandro was rowing out to meet Dunc and swap an empty can for a full, retrieving it back where Colin or Tanja would help syphon it into the tank. I promise we didn't make them; they were interested and wanted to be helpful! The solar panels got covered and stored, our new sunshade got rigged up, the tires were rigged up and all fenders were placed, the ropes were unravelled and readied, we read through the instructions again to check we had everything covered and prepared LOTS of food... we were ready!

Our time to meet our advisor was 4pm so we motored round to the specified anchorage and waited, eyeing up the other boats we would be going through with. How to explain the mixture of excitement and apprehension we felt... Several people have enthused to us how they've always wanted to, or remember so fondly, when they went through the Panama canal. I can't say either of us shared this feeling. We wanted to get to the Pacific in one piece and felt slightly anxious about crossing a canal with enormous ships in enormous locks with risks we understand only too well knowing our little English locks so intimately. Whenever I feel like this I have to remember that all kinds of idiots manage to do this.

Our advisor, Moses arrived at 16.30 and we were away! We'd considered that it might be necessary for Duncan to helm the boat purely because we anticipated the canal zone workers to be unused to dealing with women; we couldn't have been more wrong. As I started the engine whilst Dunc pulled up the anchor, not an eyelid was batted and so we saw no reason to change. With Dunc's strength and experience the place for him was to be managing our lines and line handlers and providing the force needed when necessary on the ropes.

We were quietly pleased to hear that as the longest boat we would be rafted as the middle of three. That would mean that once we were tied together, our backpackers could relax and take photos. As we passed the bank where the lock gates for the new locks being built were stored (made in Italy), they were delighted to see a crocodile lounging in the sun. As we approached the first lock the plans changed. 

Duncan says that there are two different reasons people buy steel boats; one is so they can tread the paths less trodden amongst the ice and snow, and the other is that they are nervous. We had one of each with us on this journey and one of the skippers got the jitters and must have requested that they be in the centre, citing that our length on deck was less and they must be heavier too...

From the start this proved to have been a poor decision and there was no doubt that our boat with it's full keel, big rudder and greater weight was dictating the direction of travel. This was exacerbated by the fact that the boats hadn't been tied squarely and their boat had the fore and aft bitter ends so we couldn't alter this; despite suggesting that this may help. As we zigg-zagged towards the lock gate, their advisor; who was therefore the co-ordinator of the three; quickly realised that our tiller was centred as requested, and that he would be needing Impetuous to steer us too if we were to manage a straight course; we got on first name terms and things went more smoothly.

The lines were passed up, the gates slowly shut and we took our last look out to the Atlantic sea. As the lock filled and the boats rose the long lines from our bow and stern were suprisingly difficult to keep evenly tensioned, the forces of the water bubbling up seemed to be trying to push us over to the left. A moment of excitement came when our stainless steel cross bar on the samson post snapped right off. Luckily no-one was in it's path and Duncan quickly got the rope under control again. The offending bar had been bent previously in Belize when we were digging an anchor in with the engine... we really distrust old stainless steel and are delighted that we chose to replace our fatigued chainplates with thumping big bronze ones when we had the chance.

The Gatun locks are a staircase of three, at the top we motored in the dark to all moor up on a big rubber buoy. The heavens opened and we introduced our new friends to the joys of a shower outside in the rain.

Next morning I was up again with the grey dawn, still dehydrated despite all the water and widdleing; it's got to be the adrenaline. The coffee was made for everyone before our new advisor, Carlos arrived and all had to blearily rise to cast off our lines at 7am. Sandro took the helm for most of the 27 miles across the lakes and through the Gaillard cut. Along the way, Carlos showed us the dredging he does as his full time job; both our advisors did this as an extra part time job, described by both as 'for fun' jobs. He also pointed out the jail where Noriega languishes still and an ancient floating crane built by the Nazis which still has swastika stamped into it, which they use to float up the lockgates during maintenance.

With all the spare power we had; running the engine fast for all this time; everyone enjoyed eating icepops we'd been given as a leaving present by Joan in Texas!

Carlos showed us the sheet that he had, detailing all craft transitting that day, saying you're in the centre, right? We chuckled to ourselves and said sure. Rafted up we proceeded to the first lock. Once in, we had a long wait for a big ship that failed to materialise before the powers that be decided there was too much turbulence at the lock gate and sent us down on our own. Inside the second lock we had to wait... for an hour!

Carlos explained that the Canal authority makes a loss on us little boats going through and only keeps the fees reasonable for good foreign relations. The expenses of the advisors, tugs which need to be on hand, delivery boats to ferry workers about, shoreside line handlers and a tiny portion of the maintenance bill add up to more than our fees. We must wait for the big boat; us paying just less than $1,000 each, them paying around the $50,000 mark and the biggest who only just fit alone in some circumstances paying up to $400,000. It was interesting to find out that the volume of rain experienced makes a massive difference to their operating costs and therefore profits; presumably their pumps are very expensive to run. According to Carlos, deep into the rainy season they just about break even with little boats and start making proper good proffits on the big boats. It's easy to see where the money goes though, there were various work boats dotted all over and all sorts of specialists on hand. We watched a fire boat practicing with an impressive plume of water once we'd passed. Hearing how the electric locomotives work, which run alongside the big ships through the locks was fascinating.

Carlos gave us a big build up for the gap between the second and third lock. He explained how there was a current flowing down the locks, the big boat behind would be pushing a current too, the wind was blowing that way and that the fresh water meets the salt water at this point. He said it was very important to go slowly but under control to stay straight and that where the confluence occurred there was a risk of the boats all being spun around as one. I went out to the bowsprit to look at what lay ahead and was pleased to see that it was only a very short distance and there was no widening between the two locks so we would be able to gauge our squareness against the walls.

As the gates opened all three of us at the helms were totally focussed and prepped. Carlos directed each individually to use their engines forward and reverse to keep our speed optimal and we managed to steer our way through without too much problem much to everyone's relief. At the time I was not at all conscious of the fact that this was where the canal authorities has chosen to put the tourist's viewing platform and restaurant together with the webcam; my mind was on other things, but in retrospect I wish I'd washed my hair in that thunderstorm!

Out through the last lock and we all congratulated ourselves and untied. Just a few more miles to where Carlos got picked up and we went on, found ourselves an anchorage and dropped Colin, Tanja and Sandro ashore. They seemed delighted with their experience and we went our seperate ways all beaming with what we'd achieved. Last night we slept very well indeed!

Thanks to our line handlers; Colin, Tanja and Sandro some of whom took some of these photos!

San Blas Pictures

I'm afraid we had no control over the weather, but just to give you an idea here is a picture of some rain.

This guy would have liked to sell us a lot more Molas for a lot more money. The needle work on them is amazing, very intricate. To be fair, we would have liked to have bought a lot more too. 

Routine maintenance and checks of our new wooden mast always offer opportunity for some great photos. Just glad its Ruth who does the ascending.  

There was some blue sky

We have changed our fishing technique to great effect.

The administrative centre of the San Blas. Not a bad place to work.