Hooumi, Nuku Hiva, Marquises, French Polynesia 15 Jan 2012 08S53 140W01

In writing mostly on passage, I’ve neglected to share many of the details of boat life near land. There is more to it than algebra, excursions and exotic views, but some of the more-to-it is more tedious than I’d like to admit in public. That tedium bleeds into my descriptions, making for a boring read. Descriptions of the endless tropical eye candy surrounding us would get equally boring. Admit it, all any of us really wants to read about, are the life and death moments, where fear, terror and horror, remind us of what it is to be alive, and well, and far from such dangers. But thanks to a skilled captain, a solid boat and super conservative weather watching, we’ve so far managed to avoid most of those life and death moments (twisting the tip of my finger a year ago in a bucket incident doesn’t quite qualify). Attempting to strike terror in your hearts with a description of washday may be the closest I can come to making you thankful to be alive and not cruising.

Our washing machine died early on in our voyage. Another electronics card fallen victim to the barbarous tropical climes, and another consumer fallen victim to the relentless march of electronics upgrades. Though sorely tempted we did not toss it into the Tonga Trench, but unloaded it at a NZ dump. A replacement machine with the 24in x 24in dimensions required to fit through our hatch, was nowhere to be found in the pacific. The old machine had a nasty habit of leaking on my clean clothes, and we’d struggled to satisfy its healthy appetite for electrons and H2O anyway, so when my dad and Betty came to visit us in NZ, they brought along replacement parts – an old-fashioned heavy duty laundry wringer and a special laundry washing plunger.

I can remember reading about washday in one of the Little House or Little Women books, and relishing in the struggles of those early pioneer women. I’m not sure why I enjoyed the stories so much, those gals all seemed so brave and strong and…well…pioneering. I’ve officially put all romanticized notions of washday to rest. We’re lucky (or lazy), we don’t boil our water, or beat the clothes with sticks and stones, or grind them on a washboard, and washday isn’t weekly, nor on a specific day of the week. But even though our onboard uniform is primarily bathing suits and pareos, laundry still rapidly fills the hole left by the machine (and I had such high hopes for that vacant cabinet).

Washday is scheduled based on several factors, when that pile exceeds our ability to close the cupboard, and when we’ve found a sufficient source of water to clean a washing-machine-sized pile of laundry. So far, our supply of clean clothes is still larger than our dirty clothes storage space, so that does not factor in too often. Finding water is the next big planetary struggle, and we’re getting a firsthand appreciation for how difficult that can be. We’ve carefully planned our travel to be where the weather is not, so the big rains needed to fill our tanks are rare even here. We only make water when we’re on passage, partly due to the increased particles in bays that watermakers don’t like, and partly to double up on energy efficiency; we tend to run the motor more underway and making water is an amp eater. Land based family washing machines are ideal (thanks Mijo!), and a rare coin washing machine in towns here runs about $8-$10/load (drying not included).

When we arrive at an anchorage with easy access to a spigot near a river, room on land to setup our laundromat, and healthy winds for drying, we jump at the opportunity. Hooumi, our current anchorage, has the near perfect combination. Yesterday, Frank and I assembled our laundry gear, slathered on the bug repellent and sunscrean, loaded up the kayak school bus and paddled for the spigot. There’s enough tide and enough of a swell in this bay to make a dinghy landing iffy, so the barge-like inflatable kayak was our vehicle of choice. We portaged our Laundromat to the spigot, bolted the wringer to the large ice-chest, laid out our washing-machine-sized pile for sorting, and went to town with the buckets and plungers and brushes. It’s not quite assemblyline efficiency (especially without Leo’s help), but to the local kids, it’s almost as interesting to watch. Making conversation with one curious little girl yesterday, Frank asked her if she did the laundry at her house. “No one does it, we have a machine,” was her reply. Right – rub it in kid. I think we washed and scrubbed, and soaked and rinsed and squeezed for 2-3 hours, backbreaking work in the hot tropical sun. As the pile got smaller, the odor of dirty clothes baking in the hot sun, was replaced by the scent of soap and frangipani flowers. And as the morning wore on the wind picked up, good news for the afternoon drying back at the boat, bad news for the paddle back upwind with a washing-machine-sized pile of wet heavy clothes.

Our return trip was a challenge. Loaded with an ice-chest full of gear and two 3-gallon jugs of freshwater on the stern, and 3 hours of soggy wet clothes on the nose, we managed to make it out through the small breakers without incident. Then we paddled the inflatable kayak upwind with 25-30 knot gusts. Awhile back we lost the foot-pedals for the kayak rudder; rudderless it was hard to stay nose into the wind. I gritted my teeth and paddled harder as spindrifts sent saltspray on all our hard work. I’d read a TED talk on the importance of smiling, apparently researchers found that smiling improves athletic performance. So I grinned maniacally, but the paddling didn’t get any easier, and Silver Lining didn’t seem to be getting any closer. In fact, the wind waves close to her seemed larger and larger. This was one of those times I wished I’d spent more time grinding winches; maybe if we hauled up the anchor by hand more often, Frank and I would have the Popeye arms needed for moments like this (canned spinach is not a favorite onboard). It was probably only 15 minutes of paddling, but it felt like a lifetime.

The relief of arriving was temporary, as we still had to juggle a safe transfer of ourselves, laundry and gear on to the mothership – AND – string lines through a washing-machine-sized pile of clean wet laundry. With winds this aggressive, clothespins are not enough to keep the shirts onboard. Every item has to be threaded through armholes or legholes onto the clothesline, the ends tied with a proper double sheet bend. The good news is we have two masts, so plenty of rigging to tie off to for a load that size. I could barely stand on deck or see as the wind whipped the laundry horizontal (at eye level). It must have been a festive and comical sight from shore; onboard we were not laughing and celebrating. If the items hadn’t bunched up so quickly, the load would have been dry before we were done hanging. They say line drying is better for your clothes, but if we had a lintscreen attached, I think we would have found the felt pad of this load to be way thicker than any machine dried load. With the beating the elastic takes from sun and wind, we may soon need to sew in some belt loops to our underwear, but the wind has whipped our t-shirts into an extra comfy, airy, lacy texture.

The folding was uneventful, if you ignore the worries of undies flying into the salty, murky, shark-infested bay as you shake the zigzagging chaos of laundry off the line into the cockpit. If you were looking for more of a life or death struggle to peak your interest, I did manage to get a fat lip from a mosquito bite (invention idea: bug repellent lip balm). That should strike terror into the hearts of those of you who fear dingue fever (a form of malaria here, that is usually minor, but some strains can be fatal). And the fashion conscious among you may be horror stricken to know that all our clothes are converging to one color; reds and blues and greens and purples are slowly either fading or staining to the same shade of taupe – even our cadet gray cockpit cushions are now taupe. Scary? Still nothing feels quite so good as lying down in bed when washday is over. Sleep comes quickly after good exercise in floral scented air (lots of air), and with the guiltless satisfaction of having among the smallest carbon footprints a family of four could have in the western world. Sorry, I can’t help it; I like happy endings, and a day later romanticizing comes easy.

Are you surprised that no one is jumping onboard for that second load of sheets and towels this morning, the load that’s been on our beds and on our towel racks for a month (maybe more…). It’s even windier today, Frank is now immersed in a movie, the kids are pretending to do school, I’m typing away, and to distract us from the remaining task at hand, you get to read the longest washday post ever. Laura would have been up early this morning to bale some hay or milk a few cows. Guess I won’t be making Life Magazine’s top 100 list of pioneering women. If I go for the second load today, would anyone nominate me?

xoxomo

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Taiohae, Nuku Hiva, Marquises, French Polynesia 11 Jan 2012 08S55 140W05

We said our goodbyes to our guest Leo last week after a month of epic explorations, good conversations, and even some quiet contemplation. It was good to have a girlfriend onboard to balance our slight list to the masculine side. And it was definitely a vacation month – even though we did skip the holidays. We’ve now rolled up our sleeves, and are tackling our chores, readying ourselves for a departure to Hawaii end of the month or so. For the kids that’s finishing the final days of their math book – Yoopie! No rest for the weary though…I already have the next book waiting in the wings. For Frank and I the big chores are polishing the fuel tank (OK that one is Frank’s), resetting the salon windows, (a.k.a. ports), and tenderly patching our 20 plus year old sails and taking tedious measurements for new ones. We’re hoping these sails will see us through another 2100 miles or so (distance from here to Hawaii). The jib and the staysail are showing signs of extreme stress in the clew corner. You may recall we popped a clew on the jib last year; Frank’s softclew replacement repair has held together beautifully for 8200 miles, but little lacy stretchmarks are appearing in a radial pattern a couple feet above the clew on both sails. So yesterday we slapped on a couple big sail patches with 5200 (flexible silicon glue), and are hoping to baby these sails along a bit longer. We didn’t want to sew the patch on, fearing a line of little needle holes might behave too like perforations on a pad of paper and we’re on our last sheet of the pad for sure.

Frank has a story from when he was a kid of a cat they had on board who loved to sleep in the sail locker. One day they brought out the spinnaker and sent it flying. As the spinnaker filled with air and rose against the sky, he recalls seeing a million little holes just before a Fourth of July explosion. The spinnaker ripped along all those little perforated lines sending spinnaker confetti flying into the sky. You can just imagine the content little feline kneading her nest in the softest sail in the pile. He’s told the tale often enough, that I have a very clear picture in my mind of what that would look like, and unfortunately the image comes to mind more and more often when we unfurl our jib and staysail. Needless (or needleless) to say, I dislike the notion of needles and piercing these delicate, suncooked, but reliable old rags. We already reinforced the entire leech edge of the main, and we do have our stormsails as a backup, but we wouldn’t go very fast with those, course we don’t usually go much faster than jogging speed anyway. Still and all these sails have pushed and pulled our 20 tons an impressive distance these past two years, roughly 18,000 mostly carbon neutral miles – too bad we can’t sell carbon credits to replace our sails.

Is it true that 2012 snuck up on us a little over a week ago? Happy New Year!

xoxomo

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Anaho, Nuku Hiva, Marquises, French Polynesia 26 Dec 2011 08S49 140W03

Christmas snuck up on us sometime during the day yesterday, then vanished as quietly as it came. We’d declared a few months back, that Christmas was being replaced by a second Thanksgiving, and that any commercial Christmas was on hold, until we arrived in a more commercial country (Hawaii maybe in April “Julen varer lige til Paaske” the Danes say – Christmas lasts till Easter – there’s no rush). So Christmas eve, when we usually celebrate in our family, was a quiet soup night, preparing our bellies for the thanksgiving feast yesterday. And ohh what a feast! Maybe to make up for skipping Christmas, Frank went all out.

We’re tucked behind a protective point in Anaho Bay, the calmest anchorage in the Marquises. It’s the bay where we’d rendezvoused with all the kid boats last year. We’re surrounded by white sandy beaches, lined with coconut trees, and backed by the ever present basalt cliffs. On one side, the cliffs look distinctly like flying buttresses on a late renaissance stone cathedral (late enough that the buttresses have nearly been thinned to a filigree of stone – the bare minimum to keep the ridge behind upright). It’s a dramatic place and the only access is by boat, foot or horse. Leo and I woke up early yesterday and tackled the steep switchback trail for an hour and a half hike to the small village on the other side. There we joined in the local Christmas Mass. It was a small gathering, most of the villagers were over in the main town, for the big mass at their big cathedral. Still the singing was wonderful, a rendition of “Gloria in excelius deo” backed by polynesian drumming, and island harmonies brought tears to my eyes. On the hike home, we foraged for limes, mangoes and tamarind. Thanksgiving scents wafted across the anchorage to greet us in the dinghy on our way back to the boat. Logan was testing a new version of Leo’s mom’s marquiesian lime pie, Frank was making Kumara fries(sweet potatoes). He was then inspired by our booty, and turned the frozen duck into “Cannard a la sauce tammarind et mangues” I don’t think there’s a duck on this planet that ever tasted so good, maybe it was the hike, maybe the tropical ingredients, or maybe just Frank’s talent for improvisation – but the flavors were otherworldy. We’d invited two American gals on a neighboring boat over to join us, and their contribution to the feast was a an artful and tasty salad with radishes and sunflower seeds, some extra spicy deviled eggs and a delicious peach crumble. We ate and talked the afternoon away. So I learned some new tricks (wasabe in deviled eggs is delicious), made some new friends (so neat to see a pair of young enthusiastic surfer/sailor women, seeking all the best this ocean/this life has to offer), and I had a lot to be thankful for – not the least of which was getting two Thanksgivings in one year! I can highly recommend it to anyone tired of the annual Juletide stress.

Of course that all means, I did not get around to sending Christmas cards…and here it is boxing day before I write to wish you Happy Holidays, I’m thankful you’re still reading my messages, and keeping in touch despite the ever widening gap in time, connectivity and distance (well distance may be narrowing some in the year ahead).

xoxomo

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Baie d’Haane, Ua Huka, Marquises, French Polynesia 3 Dec 2011 08S55 139W32

I think I left you at Thanksgiving. We were in Fatu Hiva. My computer had died (that wound has not totally healed, but I’m working on it). After we sailed to Tahuata where we spent a little under a week, Frank caught a cold somehow (tis the season even here). So it was a lay low week, with few excursions and lots of school. Then yesterday we’d planned a quick two-hour sail to the north side of Hiva Oa, but the east winds had shifted slightly north of east, turning our desired anchorage into a windy rolly lee shore. A little disappointed, we sheeted in the sails and turned north for a full day sail to Ua Huka. We attempted the same trip last year, and on arriving were forced on to Nuku Hiva by a healthy swell and winds (just south of east). We were thinking the same thing may have been in store for us yesterday, but the slightly north bent to the wind was enough to make this anchorage more comfortable this year. We arrived just after sunset – enough light to see for anchoring, but otherwise only the silhouette of a very intimidating looking coast was visible.

It is a dry rocky dramatic coast. At the mouth of the bay where we’re anchored now, there is a huge rock – Logan says it’s an island since there is a little vegetation on it’s tippy top. He also declared that it looks like the California Channel Islands here, a mix of Ana Capa, Santa Barbara Island and San Miguel. I have to agree there’s a bit of California in this view. That one big rock at the bay entrance reminds me of Morro Rock, only it’s not connected by a causeway to land. But here, just behind the ominous looking California-like coast, there lies a stereotypical volcanic rimmed tropical paradise with a giant, lush, verdant, swooping, palm-tree-filled valley. On approaching yesterday, you could almost see a line between the tropical island landscape behind – where the peaks in the middle of the island wring the water out of the clouds – and the rocky fingers of hostile coast in front which are left parched. They are some tall peaks, so they must do some serious wringing. The cliffs at the edge are home to millions of seabirds; the rats must be content with the coconuts in the valley behind, leaving the perilous cliff nests alone. After all, what good is a fresh egg if you can’t wash it down right away with some coconut milk. So the seabirds flourish here like nowhere I’ve seen since leaving New Zealand’s Chatham Islands.

We’re hoping for a quick shore trip today, but the landing looks rough, and the weather report is now predicting that the fickle wind will shift to just south of east and pick up a bit tonight. Such a shift (and increase) could be unpleasant at midnight, so we may just haul anchor and head over to Nuku Hiva at noon. We’ll be in the Marqueses for awhile, and it’s a short sail back here. So with a better forecast for longer northeast winds we could spend a little time here. Also, we have a dear friend arriving in Nuku Hiva on December 8. It’s our first visit from a stateside friend onboard, and a first visit from my side of the aisle (the U.S. side), since New Zealand (when my mom came in January, and my dad and Betty in February), so I’m pretty excited. We’re nearly there Leo! And my goodness, we’re nearly at the end of year-two! I’m not quite sure when that happened (I guess sometime after year-one).

xoxomo

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Hanavave, Fatu Iva, Marquises, French Polynesia 24 nov 2011 11:11.11 10S27 138W40

I am thankful that Frank is cooking. Damn it smells good in here. I started rolls early this morning. Logan made Leo’s Mom’s Lemon Meringue Pie (with Marquisian limes – so I guess it’s really Leo’s Mom’s Marquisian-Lime Pie.) Kennan…will be setting the table, I doubt he’ll be putting the forks and knives on the correct side with knife blades in…but I’m supposed to be counting blessings here. This will likely be the best Thanksgiving feast ever on Fatu Iva – maybe the only Thanksgiving. I don’t think many Americans have spent T-day here, since U.S. insurance companies blanket all of FP as a hurricane zone starting November 1 – despite the fact that there has never been a hurricane recorded here – yet there has been one in L.A., go figure.

Wow, Kennan actually just used a sponge on the table before setting it – sorry, that was worth interrupting my train of thought. Definitely the world is looking up.

I’m NOT thankful that Steve Jobs took the soul of my MacBook Pro with him to paradise. It was a slight delayed reaction (maybe he hung out in purgatory for awhile), but yesterday my computer died . Two years in the tropics, was too much for it. We’re finding many of our electronic devices throwing in the towel after two years of abuse in our extreme climes and conditions. My Canon SLR gave me a scare the other day, going dark on a beachcombing walk. After I got it home in the shade, it appeared to be a non-lethal form of heat stroke, and revived once cooled down – I’ve been very careful not to give it large quantities of water too quickly. But the two-year old Macbook is dead. Frank says tropical years are more like double-dog years – still 28 seems young. I’m not taking it well. It’s not like loosing a friend, it’s like loosing a part of your brain. Frank says I should be thankful that it wasn’t me that succumbed to a stroke – just the computer. But it feels like having had a stroke. Part of my brain has died, along with it, school records, writing, some cool recent beachcombing photos (incl. a great shot of a black velvet toddler-size left shoe), and Logan’s recent edited video of reef-fish. Yes I backup, but never enough, and to recover a backup you have to have a functioning computer to recover to. We’re currently about 4 months away from the nearest Apple store.

My family is full of good advice. Logan said, “At least you didn’t loose the photos you’re going to take.” From the mouth of babes…teens… Still, I’m having a hard time coming out of my funk (booooohooooo, sob, sob, hic). So, back to being thankful – right now, I’m thankful for white wine, and the smell of Frank’s cooking, and for this Fatu-Iva view, and for two amazing teens and their handsome dad, cheers, (hic). And yes I’m thankful that it wasn’t me who had the stroke, and that I didn’t loose any of the pictures I’m going to take. Still, it’s not fair that the youngest computer on the boat died. But as my parents always taught me – life’s not fair. And as my kids have taught me, there’s always tomorrow.

xoxomo

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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

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Makemo, Tuamotus, French Polynesia 11 11 2011 11:11.11 16S28 143W50

Here we are at the 11th minute of the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th year of the 21st century – Armistice day. Makemo is not such a bad place to celebrate such auspicious numbers and dates. Although we’ve replaced Armistice Day with Veteran’s Day in the US, the French still celebrate today as the end of all the world wars (They had another day in May for WWII, but apparently it was starting to add up to too many holidays and they had to combine a few or loose a few – imagine! The French! Agreeing to loose a holiday! Leaders of the 35 hour work week, lovers of the give-no-quarter when it comes to time off! What’s the world coming to? So we’re not taking the day off (sigh), school is in session; but we will be eating canned sauerkraut for dinner in celebration (a meal now French only because Alsace was returned to France as part of the Versailles Treaty in 1919).

A couple days ago, we left our quiet, blissful spot at Tahanea, and spent all night tacking between atolls to make it 40 miles east here to Makemo. We then had two hours of lagoon crossing, our eyes peeled for bommies (AUS), coral heads (US), patates (FRA) – known onboard as potato heads (SL). We managed to avoid them all and settled in the lee of what must be the longest motu around (roughly 30 uninterrupted miles – the whole atoll is 36 NM in length, second only to Rangiroa in length). The winds are back to their steady trade-wind state, 15-20 knots from the east. With miles of flat, potatohead-free lagoon at our stern, Frank may attempt a windsurfing lesson for PE today (the board and sail are the spoils of helping a friend clean out his garage – both saved from certain destruction due to mouse colony expansion).

So far the left shoe data is ambiguous here on Makemo, due to two, unmatched, uni-sided dive fins found (along with 4 left shoes and 4 right). Would the fins have been worn on the person’s left or right foot when they became detached? One of our correspondents has theorized that the right leg is tastier; shark’s would likely agree with the cannibals on this point, in which case they could well be left fins. Another correspondent suggested that the Coriolis* effect may be at work, causing more lefties south of the equator, but we will not be able to test his hypothesis until we make it back to the northern hemisphere. Even if the Coriolis force does play a role, it is possible that we would still find a higher density of right shoes as we approach the equator due to counter-currents. We may need to crowd source our data gathering efforts and add a shoe tally tab to our website so we can expand our data pool to include a global view. I won’t get to this task for a couple months (due to lack of internet in the Tuamotus), so in the meantime feel free to note the GPS coordinates of any shoes you find beached, and note their side: L, R, or unknown, and I’ll let you know when the survey is up and running. We will not guarantee a share in any grant income, but your efforts will be recognized in any future research publications on this topic (unless you prefer anonymity). Hopefully with enough data gatherers, we’ll be able to overcome any research bias, from individual data gatherers skewing data due to a preference for one hypothesis over others. While I know none of you would intentionally dirty our data pool…**

xoxomo

*”On the earth, the effect tends to deflect moving objects to the right in the northern hemisphere and to the left in the southern” **http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/notrocketscience/2011/03/07/people-don’t-know-when-they’re-lying-to-themselves/

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En Route for Tuamotus, French Polynesia 5 Nov 2011 8:00 p.m. 16S50 144W41

After a slow but easy passage with light but fickle winds, we arrived back in atoll country early yesterday. Blacktip reef sharks rushed to greet our anchor as it entered the water. Our new buddies have been circling ever since, certain that a big gray hulk of a boat like ours, must be a fishing vessel, and that soon blood and guts must start pouring over the side in plentiful quantities. So far we’ve disappointed them. They didn’t seem interested in the cucumber skins, nor the rice bits, but the fact that the little black trigger fish are excited by the vegan droppings, did seem to get the sharks excited. Frank suggested that the kids scare them off with a good cannonball from the bow, or bellyflop from the stern. They seem reluctant.

We are the only boat anchored between Tahanea’s two main passes. We’ve seen a few small fishing boats in the distance, otherwise the only trace of other humans is the ubiquitous trash on the beach. Atolls make effective filters for the pacific ocean. Why is it that every shoe or flipflop we find beachcombing is a left foot? What’s up with that? We have not done a formal survey, but I think I may do one, it’s surely a research topic that has not yet been covered. Today’s data: 3 right for 12 left. Is it that most people are right footed, so when they step into the boat, it’s the left shoe that tumbles? Do they only trail the left foot over the side? Or do they tend to loose the right shoes on land, then toss the remaining useless left shoe into the sea? Maybe the tall blond man with one black shoe could help us solve the mystery.

While all that trash should make me sadder, there is something strange and exciting about being in such a remote place, and imagining how such an odd variety of plastic leavings ended up so far from humans. What was their path here – conception, to manufacture, to purchase, to use, to abuse, to rejection or loss? We’ve seen laundry baskets, hard hats, shoes, toothbrushes, dolls’ heads, Mr. Bubble containers, fishing buoys (lots), clothespins , soda bottles, lines varying from 1/16 of an inch thick to 4 inches thick, oil drums, tugboat bumpers (15’ long), today I even found a Lego (well actually a fake Duplo – from our own experience in bathtubs, Legos sink). Do they have bathtubs on Japanese fishing boats, requiring a good supply of Mr. Bubble and floating Duplos? How do you loose a 15’ fender? And did someone get tired of doing the laundry, and toss the whole kit and caboodle into the sea? I too have been tempted, but!

So walking one way around the motu, we skirt the edges closer in to land (where most of the plastic floats to the highest ground), then we return via the reef edge where violent life battles are being fought. Eels and grouper attacking the fast-footed crabs, turquoise parrot fish charging up the deep channels to gnaw on the softer lagoon size coral then rush-retreating before they’re high and dry, and black tip reef sharks scratching their bellies in 3 inches of water to check every nook and cranny for dinner. You can almost see the conical shape of reef snails forming in response to the pounding of the waves, the why of their evolution clearly visible. And thousands of perforations in the reef plateau seem to be powered by a set of giant’s lungs, as each wave causes the reef to breath and bubble, groan and hiss. It’s a magical scene. After miles at sea with only a rare sighting of a whale or turtle or tuna, it’s amazing to walk the reef and witness the myriad life forms battling or their very lives under our feet. How can such a hostile environment sustain so much life? Why does that savage intertidal zone seem so prolific when a few yards inland or a few yards out at sea, ecosystems are barren in comparison?

Truly a blissful way to end a school day.

xoxomo

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En Route for Tuamotus, French Polynesia 3 Nov 2011 1:00 a.m. 17S30 145W56

We are underway again, we’ve been underway quite a bit the last month, and anchored quite a bit, but actually leaving Tahiti “for real” this time is different than the many “sorties” to the leeward islands we’ve been doing. We’re officially continuing our backwards path through the Pacific. We’d waited long enough for a weather window that would bring us to the Tuamotus without beating into the wind. The first low of the season arrived on time first of November, just like the captain said. “We’ll want to be underway heading north and east by the first of November,” he said. Unfortunately, that means we missed getting to hold his new grandbaby #3 – Marama arrived the day after my bday Congrats T.!). It’s a strange life living by the weather window, a short hop west can seem a continent away, as the low pressure systems push our own psychological pressure points to the limits. We need to be east of here by hurricane season, and the system we’re riding now is the first indication that we’ve moved from the long season of the short rains to the short season of the long rains (the two seasons in FP).

Some of you may have seen a blip in the news regarding the first recorded cannibalistic event in the Marqueses in 70 years. Well officials are not saying it was cannibalism, but trying to eliminate body parts in a campfire in a land known for cannibalism, was too juicy for the journalists to pass up. Though a local reporter, doubting those reports, did say that hamburgers were a more attractive feast to most modern Polynesians. The victims were a German cruising couple, she escaped, he did not. My heart goes out to them and their families. The perpetrator, a local hunting guide, has not been found. And we are planning on stopping there for awhile – the same island where Melville was held captive in Typee. We’ve studiously avoided much adventure the past 2 years, and we hope to continue to avoid adventure. So we’ve added a new rule to Scurvy’s list of onboard rules – never go hunting with cannibals. I don’t mean to make light of the horror of the incident. But what is Halloween if not a moment to laugh in the face of death.

To add to this Halloween edition, we’ll be sailing past Faaite in the morning, possibly anchoring at an adjacent atoll Tahanea. You may be able to Google “butchers of Faaite” and get gruesome details of an event there back in the 1980s where a village was split by religious zealotry, and one half of the village ganged up on the other half to rid themselves of the “evil” some well meaning visiting missionary sisters had preached to them about shortly before the horrendous event. They’d built a big bonfire, to burn the scourge from their midst, one young man even tossed his mom onto the fire. The local priest and mayor were off atoll at the time, and the only contact to the atoll was via a shortwave radio. There’s a scary story for you. Am I worried? I’ve served jury duty in downtown L.A. (double homicide) I didn’t need to sail across the pacific to get a taste of fear and horror. So no I’m not too worried, maybe I’m in denial, or maybe the fact that I’m writing this is proof that I am worried. So to put myself at ease at this late night/early morning hour, forgive me while I review our tenets to a “stay safe yet live life” approach – Weigh the odds and tilt them in our favor when possible, avoid certain situations when possible, treat the locals with respect, but keep a healthy distance, avoid large crowds, be wary when alone, and maybe most important, expect the worst, but always look for the best in others – in nature – in the world – in yourself. Just looking for the best sometimes makes it so, but if you don’t look for it, you may not find it at all and then you’re left with only your worst expectations being fulfilled.

Happy belated Halloween (Good news, Thanksgiving is next), xoxomo

And I thought I had nothing left to say, months of silence, but give me an ornery keypad and a four hour midnight watch and the fingers are a-flyin’.

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Tahaa, Leeward Islands, French Polynesia 18 Sep 2011 16S38 151W31

It appears that this second year of a cruising life, like a second child, is robbed of the joyous mementos of growth and accomplishments. I have fewer pictures to document the days, and fewer words to share the amazing sights and discoveries. So far we’ve loved this year as much as last, but as we’ve polished ourselves, my need to describe each cherished moment, has been replaced by a desire to just cherish the moment.

It is a very different stage of our journey too. We think we’ll head up to Alaska next, so we are swimming upstream, against the flow of the entire fleet heading east and south. New boats we meet don’t hold the promise of future neighbors, so we treat them differently. They in turn hold us at a bit of a distance, we’ve been where they’re going and they don’t need us providing spoilers for the next chapters in their own journeys . We’ve experienced some of our most adventuresome sailing, and anchored in even more remote “unspoiled” spots than last year, yet we’ve slipped into a rhythm of daily life not so different from our landlife in it’s predictability. And while last year I felt I could laugh in the face of planning “It’s not about the destination, it’s about the path,” I think I bragged; the practical planner in me could not be silenced for long (partly, she’s been stirred up by the ongoing economic crisis). Yes it’s a different trip this year. So what’s our plan?

We’re thinking. We’ve tossed more than a few “possible next step” hot potatoes back and forth between us – stop and work, or reduce expenses and keep moving? Options for moving included sailing up to Asia, back to Mexico or down to Chile (all cheaper cruising grounds). Options for work are tougher (especially in our preferred category of 1/4-year employment for more than minimum wage). Logan and I even went on a reconnaissance mission visiting my brother in Alaska for 2 weeks, and my dad in Washington for 1 week (surreal after so long aboard). We looked at lots, houses, businesses, job boards, schools, neighborhoods. There’s lots of interesting and exciting opportunity up there, and we had a wonderful time with family, but I became more convinced that we have not seen the bottom of the housing bust yet, and jobs are not any more interesting or available than 2 years ago, and the kids don’t want to stop – yet. But Alaska is beautiful, and we decided to give it a trial run of some sort – whether we stay for a month or a year, or years – we don’t know yet. It’s not a clear destination, but it should be a worthwhile path – the Aleutian islands are reputed to have amazing wilderness cruising grounds, if you can stand the cold, the temperamental weather, and the grizzlies ashore.

To get there, we’ll be heading windward, back across the Tuamoutus bound for the Marqueses, a safe zone for cyclone season (arrives roughly Nov. 1 – so we have a little over a month to get there). We expect to stay in the Marqueses awhile and when a nice weather window appears for the two-week jump to Hawaii, we’ll take it (likely early 2012). After a few months in the Aloha state, we expect a 20 day passage to the Aleutian chain sometime in May 2012. A month or two working our way up the chain should put us in Homer June or July 2012. Then we’ll have a new big decision point – winter over there, or keep moving down to Washington state, then possibly on down the coast in the early fall 2012 for an early winter jump to revisit the Sea of Cortez, a possible haul out and repair stop there, then back here, or further south?

In the meantime, we’re quietly living life, circumnavigating the leeward islands of Raiatea/Tahaa, passing the time with school, snorkeling, kayaking and boat projects (and yes captain and crew are guilty of spending some hours avoiding school and boat projects). We’ve had most anchorages here to ourselves, clear evidence that cruising season is winding down, and that the season of the big rains is fast approaching. While I love the seclusion, I miss our neighbors, and like the yellowing leaves in Nelson that filled me with “move-on” restlessness, these empty bays have me on tenterhooks. Winter is coming (sorry, I just finished the fantasy novel “A Game of Thrones.” The protagonist family’s motto is “winter is coming.” – now you know how I avoid boat tasks and why I have not written in awhile).

xoxoxomo

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