Nous Sommes Arrivons

After 21 days at sea, we arrived at Hiva Oa, one of the southern islands in the Marquesas.  These islands are roughly halfway between South America and Australia, and are, I’m told, the most remote area on earth relative to other continents.  These are volcanic islands of recent origin, mountainous and jagged, with peaks up to 3000 feet, shrouded daily in clouds.  The bay we’re in – just off the small town of Atuona – is the flooded crater of an ancient volcano.


Just after we arrived, we helped a fellow cruiser raise his anchor, and scraped off a dense layer of soaked dusty basalt, sticky and sulfurous-smelling.  The bay itself is reasonably well protected, and looks up at tightly-spaced vertical ridgelines and a lush mix of trees, shrubs, and flowering plants.  We could smell the offshore drifting of the fresh and lovely scent of the flora as we passed along the southern cliffs.

It was a rather straight forward passage; headed southwest for a few days from the Galapagos to pick up the trade winds, and then rode the trade winds emanating from the southeast now that we’re south of the equator, for the next few weeks, before encountering lighter winds from the east.  A few modest squalls, a few days of crossing swells that made for bumpy sailing, but for the most past, it was set the sails and let the autopilot do its job. Some lovely sunsets as well!  

And can we give it up for the Furuno autopilot?  It steered our modest little vessel continuously for three weeks, making constant adjustments to our rudder so that we stayed on the proverbial straight-and-narrow.  Without it, we’d have been hand-steering the boat, demanding a constant vigil as the boat carved S-turns up, over, and down the endless procession of swells.  It’s been done, to be sure, and I’ve done more than my share of hand steering on long voyages – both before the days of reliable autopilots, and in that interregnum period when they were unreliable.   It might seem to non-sailors that autopilots are “cheating,” and in the “old school” sense, one can make that case, but few from the cruising or racing communities begrudge this innovation.  I don’t.

Most everything proceeded to plan on our passage; the constant seas slapping the southern sides of our two hulls revealed that the vent for our washing machine was not high enough:  every wave managed to squeak one or two drops to and over the top of the vent.  Over a few weeks, this collected in our bilges, setting our starboard bilge alarm off.  Faithful readers may recall we have had bilge alarm issues on our port side; the beep-beep-beep of the starboard alarm created an intense but brief search for the source of the water; a simple plug for the top of the vent solved the issue.

We also spent a fair amount of time fishing, with my brother Stephen taking the lead.  We managed a few small mahi mahi, and lost several rigs to fish larger than we wanted.  We also managed to retrieve one fishhook back, bent considerably by the teeth of something rather large.    Just over halfway here, we had a curious encounter revolving around boats’ proclivity to fish.

One day, just as we were setting a second reef into our main (the wind having picked up to about 20-25 knots), an albatross appeared out of nowhere and drifted around our boat for a few minutes.  These birds carry many connotations to sailors, with opinion divided on whether they are good or bad omens.  In either event, they are viewed auspiciously,

Not three hours later, we spotted another sailboat on our stern, which, it turned out, had seen us three hours earlier (being forward-looking types).  The boat’s name?  Albatross.  Being as to how we were each the first boat seen by the other in about two weeks, we established radio contact, and not a day later, still in touch, our fellow travelers (from South Africa, on their way to New Zealand), caught a large sailfish – about 5 feet long.

Consistent with sailing traditions, they rang us up on the VHF, and offered to share some of the fish with us, mid-ocean.  After a bit of maneuvering, we came alongside, about 50 feet apart, and I tossed them a line attached to a bag (containing a reciprocal gift of a nice bottle of Georgian wine).  Retrieving the line a few minutes later, we were delighted to see four huge sailfish steaks, enough for four meals.  Into the freezer they went, and we stayed in daily touch with our new friends via Ham radio for the balance of our trip.  Here, in Hiva Oa, we are anchored alongside Rob, Ruth, and Jon, a delightful gang of sailors.

Another part of our day's activities included weather watching; in addition to a gorgeous double rainbow, we spent many evenings stargazing at the Southern constellations, including the Southern Cross, and Scorpio laid out in all its glory.  Jennifer and Guita would often lay on their back, on the helm station bench, and look upward; a number of shooting stars, and planetary sightings (Venus brilliant in the sun-setting western sky) were highlights.

For most of our trip, we spent most of our waking time, whether on watch or not, reading.  I managed to get through about a dozen books, including a nice mix of serious and light, fact and fiction.  Sociological tomes on the history of the South Pacific, including the devastating impact of missionaries, traders, and explorers, reminded me that the islands we are now set to explore have been subject to outside influences since the days of Captain Cook.  Polynesians were making multi-thousand miles sailing trips to other islands when Europeans were still hugging the coastlines and congratulating themselves for crossing the Mediterranean.  Their cultures nearly disappeared altogether by the Second World War, with its island-hopping armies and navies laying siege to coral atolls and mountainous islands.  Somehow, though, most islands retain a sense of historical identity, and we hope to explore them over the next 6 months.

The Marquesas are functionally divided into two sets:  the northern, with three primary islands -- Nuku Hiva, Ua Pou, and Ua Huka; and the southern set, with Hiva Oa (where we are now,) and Fatu Hiva.  In a few days, having notionally cleared into French Polynesia (the “real” clearance occurs when we arrive in Tahiti, in a few months), we will sail to Fatu Hiva, a large island without an airport, without internet, and one of the most untouched and un-Westernized islands in this small archipelago.  Tomorrow we take a day tour of Hiva Oa and its many pre-colonial ma’ae sites (where the priests could communicate with the gods, and vice versa), its tikis (monuments to various gods), and its post-colonial attractions, including Paul Gauguin’s and Jacques Brels’ graves, both of whom came here and died here, having fallen in love with the land and the people.

We’re looking forward to our continuing “letting-go” of things Western.  It’s largely a barter economy down there, and we’ll be anchored in one of the world’s most picturesque bays, flanked by two huge pillars of stone. 

After the Marquesas, we sail 600 miles southwest to the Tuomotus, or the “dangerous islands.” These low-lying atolls will be a sharp departure from these jagged peaks known as the Marquesas; there, the palm tree is the highest point of any island, and there, the people are even more isolated.  They make their living growing coconuts (for copra), and raising cultured black pearls.  We’re halfway across the Pacific, and from to Australia, it’s one small island grouping after another:  Marquesas, Tuomotus, Societies, Cook Islands, Tonga, Fiji, Vanoatu, and beyond.  We’re only scratching the surface – many more island groups lie off our intended path – both northward and westward.  It’s tempting to try and stay here for years; for now, we’re focusing on this little jewel called Hiva Oa, in this little volcanic outcropping called the Marquesas.