Amanu, Tuamotus 30 May 2010 17.8566S 140.8496W

We made it! A couple more 170 mile days for SL, and those at a close haul! She loves them. I’m not so enamoured. Slamming into 2-3 meter seas with 20 tons of steel sends ripples of pleasure through her hull, but each slam sends wake up thoughts into my attempts at dreaming. I can’t say that sailing 30-60 degrees into the wind for 3.5 days is pleasant, but I think it’s worse for many other boats. And thinking back to similar conditions on “Bille en Tete” brings back memories, of wondering if the next slam would shatter the hull. Now, with each slam, I’m more worried about any dolphins riding our bow getting whacked on the head. Upwind slams do not elicit a shudder or a quake in SL, but a bold and determined, “get the hell out of my way, my crew is destined for the Tuamotus!” Still – a bit exhausting for the crew.

What an amazing and surprising arrival though (maybe made extra exquisite by 3 days of beating). It was not at all like the Marqueses where Islands are visible many miles away. We’d been looking eagerly seeing nothing, then we looked up and wondered how we’d missed such a bright green strip of coconut trees earlier. As we sailed into the lee of the atoll, we went from 20 knot winds and 2 meter seas, to 20 knot winds and flat seas – as if we’d sailed out of the ocean and onto a lake. It is amazing to me how quickly a mood can swing from exhaustion to exhileration on a boat. Thinking back to stressful meetings or moments in my land life, I can’t remember ever shaking that stress feeling so quickly – on land stress lingers and gnaws. Here it may be more intense, but it disappears the instant the stressor leaves the scene. So we sailed for 2 beautiful hours in the lee of the atoll at 8-9 knots, miles of long layered strips of blue sea, then white breakers, then yellow sand, then brown trunks, then green coconut treetops. At the south end of Amanu, we saw a church and the narrow entrance, we were lucky, and the rising tide was with us, flushing us into the lagoon, all we had to do was steer away from the edges, and wave at the kids and dogs watching our entry.

We quickly made our way south of the village to a slightly protected anchorage. It’s still very windy, and there’s a huge expanse of water in the lagoon, between us and the opposite side of the atoll. But we’re anchored behind a little hooked reef. It’s enough protection to stop the lagoon fetch from rolling us off our anchor. Still the reef behind us is close if we were to blow off our anchor, we’d risk going bump in the night. Sailing to the other side of the atoll in search of a lee shore, was out of the question given our late afternoon arrival. Navigation inside these lagoons is a daytime adventure, you need the sun high so you can see (and avoid) the random coral heads scattered throughout the lagoon. We will sit tight tonight, although we may not sleep as well as we’d like. Tomorrow we’ll go play bumper boats with the coral heads – a better game for steel than plastic!

My eyes are looking forward to being closed for more than a couple hours at a time!

It’s mother’s day in Europe! Happy mother’s day to my European Moms, Inge and Mijo! And while I’m at it to my American Moms as well. And heck to all my friends and relatives who are mom’s and grand-moms, you probably didn’t get today off, but next year I’ll try to give you an earlier notice so you can – it can’t hurt to have two mother’s days in a year; I know you’ve all earned them!

xoxomo

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En Route from Marqueses to Tuamotus 29 May 2010 15.0710S 140.2412W

I think visions of the Marqueses Islands will linger long. When we left the Sea of Cortez, I remember thinking one could easily spend a year exploring it’s islands and bays; I left the Marqueses thinking it would take years to soak it all in. As we sail away, it has moved from our must-see-one-day list, to our return-again-someday list.

Over 40 days, and it all felt rushed. Compared to the crossing I’ve left so much unsaid. If you have a list of must visit places, I’d encourage adding these islands, but with the caveat that I think you may need a boat to really see it all. Or you could take a sabbatical year, pick an island, and come stay for awhile.

For the archaeologists in the crowd, every valley has a wealth of unexplored ruins, you could pick a valley and explore for years, but there’s lots of forest to fight back in getting to the sites higher in the valleys, and lots of local politics in getting there too. I believe that the archaeological finds here get automatic public access rights, which to a land owner means the potential of lots of tourists traipsing across your property, and not always with the respect one would hope for in experienced travelers to remote places. So I would not be surprised if some discoveries do not get announced broadly by the locals.

We’re getting closer to our first atoll, there are lots of tricks to getting safely through their passes. I’ll share those once we’ve safely made it through a few. For now we have lots of wind and we’re pointing a little higher than I like, into it. If we don’t arrive at a slack tide tomorrow, we’ll have to ride a sea anchor in the lee of the atoll until the following day.

After a couple weeks here in the Tuamotus, our destination is the Australes for a couple weeks before heading back up to Tahiti. We’ll only get to visit a couple of these atolls and their motus. Few cruisers visit the atolls this far east in the Tuamotus, and even fewer make it to the Australes south of here. So we’re expecting some quieter anchorages in the next month. Hopefully we’ll find a good deserted island to abandon Logan on for a day.

xoxomo

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En Route from Marqueses to Tuamotus 28 May 2010 13.0193S 140.0932W

We left the Marqueses early yesterday. Our destination is Amanu in the Tuamotus. We expected this to be a 3-4 day crossing, Silver Lining is happy in these trade winds and it looks like we may need to slow down in order to arrive early enough in the morning to catch a slack tide into the pass and early enough in the day to have good visibility of the nasty coral heads that litter these lagoons. The Tuamotus are a vast expanse of atolls; each one is formed by an old volcano that sank leaving only the living reef that surrounded it and continued to grow even as it’s island disappeared. So the structure of these atolls is coral, and they are very flat. It should be an interesting contrast to the steep basalt cliffs of the islands we’ve been visiting.

You’d think I could just pretend this was day 22 of our original ocean passage, and that I’d be able to just slip into the passage rhythm. Instead I’m feeling very antsy, eager to arrive, and worried about not being able to sleep enough. Are-we-there-yet syndrome was tempered today by the appearance of at least 10 rainbows throughout the day, rainbows of every color shape and size: stacked rainbow bits in clouds, full grand arcing rainbows, double rainbows, rainbows that looked like they were pouring out of the clouds along with the rain. Amazing sites all, but those of you who have sailed in these parts know that a day full of rainbows is an athletic day at sea. Every rainbow announces or follows a squall, every squall requires some rapid sail changes, every sail change means a turn of the winch, and no our winches are not the electric ones, where you press a button. Luckily the sailing, kayaking and hiking have begun to chip away at my desk-job physique, and for the most part I’m feeling up to the task, although if it’s windy it’s still Frank who goes on deck to haul in the fisherman.

We had one especially epic end to a scrabble game in the cockpit today, when one squall surprised us (well we were pretty engrossed in the final moments of the game). It knocked us sideways a bit, spilling letters in the cockpit. Of course the excitement gets amped up by our autopilot deciding this was just to much to steer on his own, so he goes through his failure tantrum, beeping incessantly at us. Frank then took a turn at hand steering, wanting to ride it out without taking in sail so Silver Lining’s rails got nice and wet, he changed his mind when pots started clattering below, so the kids and I jumped to the task of easing the main and fisherman, and taking in the staysail. By this time even the kids were starting to enjoy the ride, must have been all the exercise pumping endorphins through us, then the most brilliant rainbow of the day appeared (along with a good dousing), and icing on the cake “snap” – FISH ON!

We didn’t have to count the scrabble points to know that Frank had once again slaughtered us as brutally as he attacks every fish that lands in the cockpit, with whatever it takes. Logan’s taken to trying to predict what Frank will hit each fish with next, one day it’s the winch handle, another the wooden scrub brush handle, the next a screwdriver at hand, today Logan tried handing him a butter knife that was left in the cockpit to see what he’d do with it, but Frank was rushing on deck to retrieve the fisherman sail. Logan has moments where he so looks like Frank…his eyes lit up as he dropped the butter knife and reached for the winch handle to silence the bonito’s panicked drumming. Next thing you know he too will be pulling off 30-plus point scrabble words every turn. Fils de son pere!

Bonne Apetit! xoxomo

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Hatiheu, Nuku Hiva 23 May 2010 8.8240S 140.0824W

Well multiple markers did not work, so I need to be more diligent about posting whenever we’re in a new spot. Nuku Hiva is an amazing island. Each bay we’ve visited has a unique character, each land excursion competes with the previous one vying for first place, in beauty, athleticism, views, amazing archaeology or unexpected finds.

In the valley of the kings adjacent to our anchorage in Hakatea (known by cruisers as Daniel’s Bay), a long but relatively slowly rising hike lured us into the most incredibly narrow canyon with vertical rock wall cliffs rising hundreds of meters above us, the sixth largest waterfall in the world by one guidebook’s account. It flowed at a trickle when we arrived, but our approach through the jungle into into a treeless landscape 100s of yards before the actual falls, was testament to a more violent flow in some previous season. We swam in deep pools and caves that must not be accessible during a rainy period. It’s a drought year, so we were able to swim back to the deepest darkest recesses below the falls – the sky a small postage stamp against the massive dark gray basalt cliffs. There was just enough light to illuminate the white tropic birds and terns circling their nests high above. We recklessly enjoyed the sound of our own cold water whoops echoing up the cliffs, until on coming out of the pools some local kids informed us that we should keep it down so as to avoid disturbing those same birds – apparently when they fly off their perches they’ve been known to cause falling rocks. SHHHH. We are foreigners unfamiliar with the local taboos – they must wonder how we lived to the ripe old ages of 12, 14, 46 and 46. Luckily we escaped this time without any concussions and without any bites from the screaming eels.

We anchored for a couple days in Controller Bay where French Frigates finally “controlled” the rebellious cannibals of Melville’s infamous Typee. After moonset and a meal with friends on Totem and Capaz, we saw a spectacular display of bioluminescence. Every movement of every fish was clearly if shortly etched in blue-green phosphorescence. You could see the slow methodical movements of the sharks big and small, the darting movement of their prey, at one point a large manta ray was clearly visible, from far across the bay it approached, it’s whole body aglow, every sweep of it’s wings sparkled blue, even it’s thin tail following was clearly visible. The kids were a little hesitant about getting in the kayak to paddle back to our boat that night. We tried to reason that at least now they could see exactly where the sharks were. We’ll see if we can ever get them back in the water for snorkeling. It was eerie and amazing.

We’re now anchored in Hatiheu. Yesterday we visited a huge complex of 3 archaeological sites. Actually the whole valley is one big site as far as we can tell, but they’ve cleared out three areas. One of the sites had a huge old banyan, which according to guidebooks has human skulls embedded in it’s roots -they were still visible back in the 50s, but the abundant growth of the roots has long since hidden any visible remains. Some of the rocks had petroglyphs with humans, turtles and clearly a Mahi Mahi carved in the stone. There was a huge outdoor arena-like space with stone platforms for religious rites from the benign to the macabre. We brought our baguette and pate, and lunched unceremoniously on the edge of the tallest platform, peering into a deep pit in the stones behind our picnic spot, we wondered if it was one of the breadfruit “poi poi” storage holes, or one of the holes where they tossed the remains of sacrifices (they only consumed organs of power – which meant there were some remains). That place too was eerie and amazing.

Early this morning Frank and I left the kids aboard to bushwhack our way into the forest in search of limes. I think I’d mentioned previously that most of the fruits abundant on the trees aren’t actually available for sale in the stores, so we had a mission. Limes are a key part of our diet, not just for mixing a “’ti punch,” fighting off scurvy, and improving the flavor of our drinking water; but they’re a necessary ingredient for “poisson cru,” a Polynesian ceviche-like dish with lime and coconut milk. It’s delicious with fresh bonito, which seems to be one of the fish we catch most. We broke the taboo of no work on Sunday, and snuck past the church filled with the resonant Polynesian religious songs, then past the spooky stone ruins of yesterday to the trail fragments that lead deeper into the woods; there lie the trees long abandoned by locals. Frank climbed the lanky spiky untended lime trees and shook the branches while, I crawled around below trying to spot the limes as they fell. He was somewhat successful in avoiding the vicious spines, I was totally successful in avoiding encounters with any centipedes in the mulch and underbrush below. We’re getting better at these outings, he remembered his “coup coup” (machete), and was able to break open a fresh coconut for me to quench my thirst after that hard labor. Pretty damn romantic. And we made it back without bringing any tupapu (Polynesian ancestral ghosts).

Cheers! Mo

P.S. We’ve been reading Melville’s “Typee.” I can highly recommend it to give you an amazing sense of this place. Try Google books, or Gutenberg project, and read just chapter two where he describes the “South Sea Scenery” and Land Ho”

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Anaho Bay, Nuku Hiva 19 May 2010 8.8208S 140.0636W

and other spots in the past week (plus a few days):

Taiohae, Nuku Hiva 8.9144S 140.1020W

Hakatea, Nuku Hiva 8.9444S 140.1643W

Taipivai, Nuku Hiva 8.8813S 140.0467W

Over 10 days since my last entry. I do get quieter when we’re near land, my “voice” that I diligently coaxed out, at sea is drowned out by all the land “noise.” It was rude to leave you hanging for 10 whole days with my 3 bad minutes. I know we won’t be getting much sympathy from any quarter (even after that description of some of the cost of paradise), but as you all know land offers up a plethora of distractions and time wasters, to what would otherwise be a monastic, contemplative existence on this blue planet.

If anyone was still concerned about socialization on a boat, I can officially lay those fears to rest. We’ve given and received more invitations, for hikes, outings, drinks, and dinners in the past three weeks than in the past 3 years. We’ve met 10 boats here with kids on board, and each of them has mentioned others we’ve not yet met. That’s just kids under 18 – I’m not yet counting all the 20 year olds out here, although I probably should, given how much they play, and how generous they’ve been in including our younger generation in their games. There’s an unspoken agreement among parents that the fun starts after school work (the 20-somethings don’t hold to that rule). It’s amazing how much faster Algebra goes on our boat with that motivator.

Logan said the other day, “Ya know, there are a lot of people doing what we’re doing.” It’s true, what we’re doing may seem far out to many of you, but we are not alone out here, even in the subcategory of cruisers with kids, we’re not in any minority. And all of them are blogging, if I ever get to an internet connection to update our www.silverliningacademy.org website, I’ll add links to their blogs, so you can find out more about the boats we mention as we go.

After a mega book exchange last night with kids from Capaz, our boat is filled with the sounds of kids engrossed in their books – that is to say my guys are so quiet that I can hear water lapping at the stern, waves breaking across the bay, roosters crowing in the village, voices from other boats, a call to crew on an outrigger to change paddle sides “hae, hae, HUP,” and is that a dinghy approaching our boat?

Later

OK, the creation of this message was interrupted by a visit from Catafjord. We kept crossing wakes with them between islands and anchorages, and never got around to a promised boat tour and drinks (they’d visited us briefly in Hiva Oa). We’ve now remediated that, by visiting their boat and enjoying their punch and their company; but my hopes (delusions) of a nice post describing more of what we’ve seen and done here on Nuku Hiva have been dashed. I’m hoping the markers show up on the map for you so you can see we’ve visited a few coves and bays since we arrived, and we’re now back in the sweet bay where I sent my last post. I better send this anyway to mollify any fears that I’ve burnt out on this cruising adventure, or that I’ve given up on the ship’s blog. We’ll see if I carve out some writing time in the next couple days to do this place some justice. Ya know, Melville was only in Taipivai, Nuku Hiva, for 3 weeks in his early 20s, and his terms on whaling ships and various jobs in the south pacific lasted only 5 or so years in his late teens and 20s. He then spent the rest of his life on a farm writing about his experiences, philosophizing and lecturing. I wonder how much he actually wrote while he was in the South Pacific? Maybe the ocean crossings are my farm in the Berkshires; and the weeks near land are recapturing my youth (and capturing it well for the kids).

xoxomo

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Anaho Bay, Nuku Hiva 10 May 2010 8.8211S 140.0639W

and for a short time previous to this resting spot:

Haavei Bay, Ua-Huka 8.9440S 139.5955W

After a roughish overnight passage to Ua-Huka, we arrived to a swell and winds from the wrong direction for the anchorage at Haavei Bay, so we decided not to stay and kept going to Nuku Hiva about 5 hours further on. Seas were sloppy the whole time, but we’re now at a beautiful calm anchorage on Nuku Hiva. There are about 5 other “kid boats” here. So everyone is now relaxed and happy again. More on this beautiful place later. Every paradise has it’s price, for about 3 minutes on our passage I was not sure the price was worth it. Maybe that’s why I wrote these 3 minutes in the 3rd person for you:

The sensation of blood rushing to her head, pried her out of a torpid sleep. Her brain was thick with exhaustion. Sweat oozed from every pore. An unsuccessful attempt to open her eyes further drained her. As awareness seeped past her dreamless wall of sleep she rolled off the shoulder she’d laid on since her head hit the pillow. Hours ago? Minutes ago? There was a dull ache in her hand as blood blocked at the shoulder found that extremity. Sharp needles followed, telling her that it was likely longer than an hour since she’d laid down. The fact that the boat was still moving meant that it had been less than a day. So she’d been sleeping somewhere between 1 and 24 hours. As she tried again to open her eyes, the eyelids rubbing across her eyeballs felt like sandpaper. Closing them quickly brought only another pang as the abrasive inside surface of the lids ground into the dry surface of her eyes. A final attempt to open them brought a fuzzy world into view. Through the open hatch she could see a regime of green bananas swinging from the boom gallows, her mind wandered to the depressing fact that they’d all ripen at once, making it impossible to consume them all before they rotted. As she inhaled preparing for a deep sigh, the sigh was choked back from a fowl smell of fish blood drifting up from her sheets. She remembered watching at dawn as Frank kicked the same open-hatch shut while landing a tuna on the deck above. His was a fast kick, but not fast enough. In that earlier moment she’d been elated at the sight of the fresh fish, and had not stopped to consider how fast his kick had been. Later, when she’d thrown herself on the bed for this nap, she must have been asleep before her nose reached the pillow and got a whiff of the dead tuna blood. Her raw eyes dropped to see how bad the damage to the sheets was. Only a few drops of dried blood. Her focus shifted farther out to a line of clean mostly white shirts strung down the hallway past the engine room. Oh well, so much for finishing the week’s laundry. She wondered if the shirts were even dry yet. They’d been chased into the hall by numerous squalls, and she wasn’t sure they’d ever actually dry in the hot humid air of the cabin. After so many rinses, they were starting to acquire a faint scent of mildew. She wondered, once they were dry, would a day in a trash bag with some Plumeria blossoms counteract the mold smell? As the boat lurched again, the thought of the two smells mixing was sickening. The heat was overwhelming, but moving to the cockpit where the hot humid wind would only bring marginal relief may not be worth the effort. A profound lethargy clung to her. She knew she would not be able to fall asleep again with these violent seas, and also that laying there would bring no relief; but the alternative of getting up to be confronted by the disaster area that the cabin had become on this short crossing, seemed too much to bear – and so she lay, fervently wishing for the world to stop – the predicted 2012 Armageddon seemed hopelessly far in the future. She heard Logan call out from the cockpit, “Papa, Kennan needs a rubber band, he’s inventing an electric motor.” The muscles around her eyes twitched involuntarily as the beginning of a smile rose from the depths of her malaise. But the thought of the cleanup that must follow any Kennan invention stuffed the smile back to from where it came. The comment had stirred the mire of her mood enough though, for her to begin to resist the lethargy. She waited for the momentum of the next lurch to assist her in sitting upright. She quickly swung her legs over the side of the master berth, and launched herself onto the cabin sole. Timing was critical. It had to be done in one move before the temptation to return to the horizontal position overpowered her. Once vertical the thought of the effort to return horizontal would help keep her moving toward the chaos in the main cabin.

xoxomo

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Vaitahu, Tahuata 5 May 2010 9.9366S 139.1122W

The Marquesian culture is one of sharing, but even in a culture of sharing there is an expectation of future benefit to the sharer, when they become the recipient of someone else’s sharing. How is this different from a trading culture or a bartering culture, or our own cash culture? Maybe it’s not that different. I think at the core, there is a common human trait of keeping track and counting. Even if the first shared item was given with no expectation of returns – the miracle of the fishes and loaves, the magic of stone soup – at some point we all count. Maybe what we count varies slightly, but if one individual is perceived as tending towards the recipient role vs. the giver role, that individual will stick out, and the culture will backlash, not always in an appropriate way.

The culture clashes I’ve seen seem, at their heart, to be variations on what we count, how we count it and how we store what we’re counting. Historically Marquesians stored what they counted in Mana (essence/soul). Their lives were focused on building their mana, and consuming the mana of their strongest enemies (through ritual cannibalism). Christianity came along with it’s message of peace, converting their focus to that of consuming the mana of Jesus through communion, and teaching them to store what they count in a spiritual sense through good deeds, which will pave a smooth path to heaven. Then a mass of tourists have come along, storing what they’ve counted (often for years) on board, and in a foreign bank account. A Marquesian does not have a cultural history of “saving” through cash or goods (there are two banks here for six inhabited islands and most have no internet); if they have cash or goods, there is an expectation that what they have will be shared with their village (usually synonymous with their family, since many in a village are related in some way). And historically anything that was owned by neighboring islands (foreigners), was fair game for sacking, pillaging, taking.

Tourists arriving in this context have their own variations on what they expect to get with what they have: some are looking to get the best “deal” – that is trade their item of least value for an item they value more (their junk for cool stuff), others come in charity with donated used clothes or eyeglasses (but wouldn’t a little fruit be nice), still others don’t want to barter, but come with cash, wanting to “just” buy what they desire, nice and easy like going to Costco. Few of our motives or acquisition techniques, are well matched to the local counting mechanism. We’re all counting, but we’re counting different things. Even the donor mentality folks who want to come here and do good, (and recount their good deeds to their churches at home so folks will donate more eyeglasses) are not sharing something they personally value (like the cool Raybans that they are wearing), so it gives rise to suspicions on the part of the locals, that these “generous” folks are just unloading their junk and holding back on the good stuff. They can see the good stuff all over the boats, nice clean kayaks, outboard motors, new lines. They can see us drinking aperitifs at sunset, lazing about with a book, or just suntanning on deck. They don’t see the hard work of preparing for years and setting aside as much as possible, provisioning up, nor the daily work of surviving on a boat (sleepless long passages, repairing heads, changing oil in a 100 degree engine room, doing dishes in a lurching sea). And they don’t understand our need to keep some of our stuff for later in the trip, for the next island, the next country. They just see us arriving with tons of stuff, unwilling to share ALL that we have, like any good islander would. Instead we show them a handful of fishing lures, letting them know we’ll only trade one. So what they trade in return is the fruit from their trees which would otherwise rot in their yards (but you don’t hear me complaining!).

Yes trading is necessary to us all, few villages have more than a small store (the size of your bedroom), where canned food and non-local fruits and vegetables are sometimes available in limited supply (usually just a few cucumbers, green tomatoes, sprouting onions and potatoes). The bananas, mangos, breadfruit, starfruit, guava, and pomplemouse (huge sweet green grapefruits) all fall in someone’s yard. Locals exchange what’s ripe with each other, we trade what we have. Artisans will take cash for their work (tapas, wood and bone carvings, tattoos and black pearl jewelry), but they often expect the full price of an object (the amount they know it will fetch in Tahiti), even though by selling it here, they save the cost of shipping and the gallery owner’s commission. They know it’s value, and they expect that value to be paid, who can deny that logic.

Personally, there is an element to all this trading that concerns me on both sides. I’m ever trying to assume a balanced and honest world, yet none of us is fully balanced or fully honest. Was I being dishonest, when I said to the boat that approached wanting to trade for rum, that we had none? Well we had none to trade… In wanting to step across this planet with a light foot, there is no place for bringing alcohol into a small village with no tradition of consuming alcohol in moderation. Yet many others, don’t come with the same scruples, if that’s the best deal for a beautiful wood bowl, many are happy to pay that price.

In Ben Franklin’s autobiography, he recounts an incident where after “negotiating” with natives, they give them some rum to celebrate. The natives went wild in the evening “beating one another with firebrands, accompanied by their horrid yellings.” The next day the Indians came to apologize for their behavior. One old Indian counselor said:

“The Great Spirit, who made all things, made everything for some use, and whatever use he design’d anything for, that use it should always be put to. Now, when he made rum, he said, “Let this be for the Indians to get drunk with,” and it must be so.”

Ben’s ruminations on this declaration:

“Indeed, if it be the design of Providence to extirpate these savages in order to make room for cultivators of the earth, it seems not improbable that rum may be the appointed means. It has already annihilated all the tribes who formerly inhabited the sea-coast.”

I think there are more than a few travelers in these parts who would wholeheartedly agree with him, and who relish assisting providence. Not being a believer in divine providence, I think it’s up to us to sew what we hope future generations will reap, even this far from home. Now, if I could stay awhile, and share the notion of moderation, along with a nice rum punch before dinner, I think that would be a worthy cultural exchange, but I think it would take more than one evening, maybe more than a generation, and it comes with a big risk. Always we circle back to never having enough time.

Beneath all of this trading there can still be found the common human trait of pure generosity, but amidst the culture clashes of trading, it’s under assault and I personally need to make a more concerted effort to nurture it when possible. Generosity seems easiest when there is a basis of other commonalities, like when Frank helped another boat from Brittany repair their jib, or through meals we’ve shared with younger cruisers on smaller boats, paying back what we were paid forward when we were younger cruisers on a smaller boat. We just arrived in a small village where a store owner, on hearing that we had two sons back at the boat, gave us sweet bone carved necklaces for them (and an extra two for Frank and I); this was after we’d made our purchase, and there was no expectation of payment. We’ve heard other cruisers recount incredible acts of generosity by villagers (usually more prevalent in villages with fewer yachts). This often gives rise to a strong desire to return the gift or the favor in some way – functionally making it similar to a trade, but why does this kind of exchange seem more gratifying? – We’re still counting.

I wonder if the shopkeeper’s kids would appreciate some of Kennan’s Whitewings folding sport planes (a gift from my cousin Cricket).

xoxomo

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Omoa, Fatu Hiva 1 May 2010 10.5125S 138.6885W

Workers Unite! Spring is here! Demand summer vacation early! I’ll be finding a fragrant flower today to stick my nose into, and as I inhale the sweet scent of the Marqueses, I’ll be picturing all of you in your gardens, or at the flower shop doing the same. To really connect, see if you can find some plumeria or gardenias, take them into your yard, turn on the sprinklers and your yard heat lamp, and stand underneath while inhaling. That should come close to giving you the full effect. Yes it’s hot and rainy today, in fact we get a little rain every day, and it’s always welcome. Sometimes the heat can be overwhelming, and vapor visions of extreme tubing on the snowy slopes of Homer, Alaska dance before our wishful closed eyes. We’re probably passing Gart, Deb, Leland and Margo in the vision ether, as they close their eyes to the Homer cold, and dream of hiking to the waterfalls, skin dripping with sweat, sun beating down. Well it’s spring in Homer too, and the smells of a winter’s worth of decaying forest floor, have probably been completely freed from any remaining snow prison there. That decomposing wood smell is very similar to the jungle floor smell here (if you ignore the occasional plumeria or rotting mango scent). Walking trails here, I’ve had more than a few flashbacks to my own childhood backpacking trips in the Olympic Peninsula, there’s something similar in the smells and in the resonance of the trails as your feet fall – maybe it’s the soil density? Similar makeup? Equal parts tree root, rotting vegetation, sand and clay? It’s as if the trail bounces a little to tap your foot back with each step. And even though it’s not cedar and redwood coming back at you, there’s still a similar scent in these plant things as they begin to decay.

Day before yesterday we had followed our new friends on “Secret Agent Man” around to a new cove on the east end of Fatu Hiva. The bay there is more exposed to swells wrapping around the island (you may even be able to see that on the satelite image), so there were no other yachts anchored. It’s a safe anchorage as long as there is no swell from the southwest, and our first night was less bouncy than the anchorage at Santa Barbara Island by far. We took a long hike up and halfway across the island. We brought water, but not enough, and since it was a ridge hike not a valley hike, we did not come across any streams to refill our canteens. The desire to push on, to see what new discovery or view awaits around the next corner, is strong in a new place – sometimes, stronger than hunger, exhaustion and thirst. The kids stuck in there to the top, curiosity driving them forward as well. We knew the trip back would be downhill, and cloud-cover and rain, kept us cool for the last three-quarters of the hike, making us bolder for the final push. Still, we went a little native on the way back, looking for leaves that had collected moisture, venturing out on guava bushes clinging to steep cliffs to pick their fruit, foraging under mango trees for even partly eaten ground fruit, sucking on limes we’d found to cut the thirst edge. There’s so much fruit growing by the roadside, but as we discovered most of it is out of reach unless you have climbing ropes or a picking basket (very long bamboo stick with a net on the end). Without such an adventure, how would we ever learn the real flavor of a mango or guava; I swear the few we found and rationed out, were the best and juiciest I’d ever tasted. When we finally did arrive at the first house back at the bottom, I was amazed at how generous the occupants seemed, and how sweet was the water from their garden hose.

We have decided that we need a machete to bring along on our next trip; then we could open a coconut to quench our thirst in a pinch. We may also need to rethink the school-first strategy of our daily schedule. It means we don’t depart for these adventures until the absolute hottest part of the day. We should be getting up at 5 a.m. to take on five-hour hikes in the tropics. The locals figured that out long before us; everything in town is shutdown between noon and 2, and you don’t see any real action till 4 p.m. But I’m imagining that Algebra at 4 p.m., may be tough too. We’re ever seeking new solutions to new dilemmas here on Silver Lining.

May your May Day be a Play Day, and a day to appreciate decay in every way.

xoxomo

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