Hanavave, Fatu Iva, Marquises, French Polynesia 22 nov 2011 11:11.11 10S27 138W40

That’s a little rude, shouting”, “Land Ho!” when we never got a “Sea Ho!” message out. Four and a half days ago, we left the atolls behind, and headed a day east then 3 and a half days north making landfall this morning in Thor Heyerdahl’s eden turned hell – Fatu Iva (written Fatu Hiva by westerners, but apparently it really should be Fatu Iva – something to do with the French having no respect for the letter H, and so they add it in written form when they shouldn’t, then hardly ever pronounce it in verbal form, except when they should not – just ask Frank to pronounce “Hot Air Balloon” someday and you’ll see what I mean).

It was an upwind passage. We did not tack back and forth too much, just a full day east, then the three days north with a couple hours tacking yesterday when the wind swung around to the north of full east, pushing our course a little too far west. But we’ve done our easting now, so hopefully we won’t have to do it later on our way to Hawaii. If you have not sailed, all this wind and weather talk may be too arcane, if you have sailed, you’ll understand my obsession. It’s the core of our dinner table conversations now, often elbowing out discussions of politics and culture – not easy topics to elbow about with a Frenchman onboard. I suppose if I’d taken up lavender farming instead of this Odyssey, I’d be writing about the arcane arts of distilling lavender into perfume – weather and seasons would probably also be a part of those dinner table conversations. Now that I think about it though, the lack of weather discussions at the dinner table, in our past city life was probably more linked to locality than to what we were doing at the time. L.A. truly does not have much weather. You may ask “What about Santa Ana’s” “What about the winter storms” “What about fire season” but those relatively rare events did not interrupt much of a day in L.A. I used to call my great aunt Florence back in Maryland, and she’d always start the conversation with “How’s your weather, dear?” It would baffle me, “um…sunny with a few puffy clouds??” I’d look out the window, trying to determine if there was a trick to her question. Had she seen something in the news, that I didn’t know about?Some raging storm on it’s way? It never really occurred to me to watch the weather on the news, and I was always pleasantly surprised on the mornings I’d awaken to a rare rainy day. I understand better now that in the Maryland/D.C. area, there’s always lots of weather to talk about, and now that I care more about the weather, I’d be a better conversationalist with Aunt Florence if she were still around.

So the past 5 days we had some weather, big pregnant squalls marching across our path. Some slid in front of us, some behind and some dumped their megaton load of water on our heads. Winds in and around the squalls, would build to whaling crescendos then die off leaving us becalmed and bobbing around, before the prevailing winds returned to bring on the next line of dark columns. If the sun was just right rainbow bits sprouted in unexpected places, sometimes high up in a cloud, sometimes low and bright on the water, and sometimes we’d get more than bits, we’d get the full arch or the supreme double rainbow. Big beautiful and exhausting weather, especially when you’re trying to beat into it instead of run with it. Since the computer is on the starboard side and most of the trip was done on a starboard tack. I did not feel much like bracing to keep myself seated while I typed, and the boat slammed. So for you it was a quiet passage. With all that starboard, I wonder if I’ll be listing to starboard when we go walking ashore.

Last year I gave a detailed description of this amazing cove. The village of Hanavave at the head of the cove is tucked between some dramatic basalt cliffs, with their tiki shaped peaks, one tiki looks more like the Virgin Mary, you can almost see the tears coming from her eyes when it rains. The squalls continue to parade through, waterfalls on either side of the cove are flourishing. Tropic birds still reflect bright against the dark stormy backdrop and/or the dark green and black cliffs. It smells like rich wet tropical earth. This may well be one of the most beautiful anchorages on the planet.

You can look at my pictures from spring 2010 to get a taste, only then, the cove was filled with boats, now we are eerily alone out here. I can see people ashore though, we’re heading in now, to say hello and see if they have any pamplemousse or mangos – that would add a nice touch to tomorrow’s Thanksgiving feast. We did catch a good sized Wahoo, but I think it’s going to be bird tomorrow – kids are pretty attached to traditions, but I’m afraid they may be a little disappointed that the bird is in chicken form not turkey. There must be a can of cranberries somewhere in our chaotic shook up shelves though.

Happy T-day! I’m thankful to be here. xoxoxomo