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2C Update #146
- Passage to Fiji (Aug
24 - 27,
2006)
Sorry, no photos,
camera broken
Tackless II
is safely arrived in Savu Savu, Fiji....and we are
wondering what took us so long to get here!!!!
Having been
sedentary for so long, putting to sea from Vava’u was an
adjustment, so the first two days had us again thinking
seriously about that chicken farm in Nebraska, a 2C
euphemism for "this is not fun." Our first evening out
of Tonga was deceptively pleasant; despite overcast
skies, we enjoyed smooth sailing with the big genoa
poled out. Then the wind started to pick up just about
the time we got far enough out to feel the sea action,
which brought us the confused seas we and T2 so
dislike. Everything on the boat creaked, all the
crockery and bottles (which we’d neglected to “dress” in
their underway wear) clinked, and something we couldn't
identify on the aft deck sent a resounding
"b-b-b-b-bong" through the aft cabin with every roll.
It thwarted any efforts we made at getting some sleep in
our bunk off watch. As the main cabin is always too
noisy going downwind, we were forced to snatch what
sleep we could in the cockpit, one up on watch, the
other on the back bench trying not to roll off.
I suspect that it is
always like this between Vava'u and Fiji, owing to the
effect of Tonga's long sea barrier splitting the ocean
swell so that it comes back together again from two
angles. Also the underwater terrain between the two
island groups is very busy, not just in terms of
submarine topography disturbing the water flow, but
there are actual underwater volcanoes, part of a chain
of volcanic activity that parallels Tonga. One of these
recently belched, spewing forth a huge amount of molten
rock that solidified in the sea to floating pumice. We
had heard reports on the radio net about great rafts of
the stuff that boats found themselves grinding through.
One of the excuses for yet another delay in Vava'u had
been the hope this all would disperse.
Not so, although in
comparing stories with other boats, we faired pretty
well. Friday brought bright sunny weather that turned
the big ocean waves that memorable aquamarine, …only
this time the sea surface was streaked as far as the eye
could sea with great drifts of reddish brown pumice
about the size of large gravel. It was quite the
sight. Bits of the stuff kept clogging our knot log
(which measures speed through the water, an important
factor in the calculations our nav computer makes), and
Don had to pull the log about eight times to dislodge
them! At night, as we'd apparently plow through a raft
of it, it sounded like we were sailing through tinkling
glass. We were very grateful not to have left two days
earlier when the forecast calms would have meant
motoring. No way we wanted that stuff in our engine
intake! As it was, we fretted that all this floating
sandpaper might be doing a number on our hull paint, not
that it's in such great shape! On our second day,
instead of drifts streaking the surface, the pumice was
all clumped together into islands several hundred feet
across!! (We heard a story after arriving that some
friends on a very little boat were actually brought to a
standstill by a pumice island of volleyball size rocks!)
We had planned our
passage to arrive with daylight to be able to see the
infamous Duff Reef, a submerged reef at the north of
Fiji's eastern arc of islands and reefs known as the Lau
Group, bordering the entrance to Nanuka Passage. Charts
in this part of the world are notoriously inaccurate,
and Duff Reef has snagged many a cruising boat that has
cut it too close, but we were sailing fast, so fast that
by our second day, our GPS had us arriving at Nanuka
passage in the middle of the night! Wanting to slow the
boat down (such an ironic desire for a CSY owner), we
had reefed the sails down to a triple-reefed main and
staysail only, but we hardly slowed at all. So Don tried
an experiment. We already carried our staysail sheeted
to the centerline to help steady the boat in the seas.
Now Don brought the main into the center, even though
the wind was nearly dead aft. To our amazement, this
not only successfully slowed the boat without stopping
her, but smoothed the ride out dramatically. Of course
we'd known about sheeting OUT when close on the wind to
slow a boat down, but not this opposite! Maybe the
sailors among you already know this trick, but it was
news to us. We ended up carrying on in most of the rest
of the way like this, which allowed us finally to get
some sleep.
Things got so much
better after that that not only was there no more talk
of chicken farms, but we actually started to enjoy the
ride. We rounded into Nanuka Passage (giving Duff Reef
a several mile-wide berth) entering Fijian waters, but
we still had a hundred miles to sail to Savu Savu, our
check-in port at which we most definitely did not want
to arrive before Monday morning. Fiji has heavy
penalties for arriving in overtime hours, AND they are
very strict about not stopping anywhere on the way in!
One hundred miles for us is about twenty hours of
sailing, yet we had about 26 hours to kill! So we left
the boat in our new slow mode, and progressed most
gently through a glorious day of sunshine and easy
winds, reading and napping, while the outline of
mountainous Taveuni took shape on the horizon.
It was in these
gentle conditions that we finally got motivated to throw
over the fishing line. A boat about ten miles ahead of
us, with whom we’d been chatting on the radio, had
(motivated by two hungry kids to feed) been fishing
productively the whole way across. Discouraged by a
year of poor return on our efforts in Tonga (not to
mention by the rollicking seas), we hadn’t yet
bothered. However I had read in Fiji’s somewhat dated
cruising guide that even inept and casual fishermen like
us could expect rewards from a little effort.
Don was very
skeptical. We were barely making three knots, and
glances back at the bungeed trolling line showed little
action. We only found the fish when, just for something
to do, I went back to test the line. “Don…I think
there’s a fish on.” Don came back and started reeling.
“Well, if so, it’s a little one.” Hah! As the line
rolled up on the yo-yo, we began to make out the shape
of a large mahi mahi. Apparently we were going slow
enough that it had been able to keep up with the tug on
its jaw! However, as the fish neared the stern, I also
saw a large black shape shadowing it! “^%@^$#%, Don!
There’s a shark!”
Okay. I’ll admit it
yet again. The 2Cs are really very poor excuses for
fishermen. Although the line had been put over, it was
with such little expectation of success that we weren’t
really ready to land anything. No booze on hand to put
down the gills, nor the club, nor the towel we usually
cover a fish with. Even the gaff was entangled in some
other back deck clutter. As the fish and the shark
neared the stern, it was clear we weren’t going to have
time to bring the rod down the side like we usually do
to gaff it. So with little expectation of a good
outcome, Don gave a might jerk and yanked the big fish
right out of the water from under the very nose of the
shark.
Up sailed the
three-foot fish, flying through the gap between the
arch, the wind vane, the stern rail and the backstay.
As it flew, we both saw the lure whip free of its mouth
and sail past my ear, and as the poor creature fell to
the deck, I shrieked and Don threw himself upon it. I
managed to dig out the club, and Don did his best to
whop it a couple of times. That fish was no dummy: as
he lay still for a second, Don relaxed a fraction, and
the moment Don relaxed, that fish gave a mighty
corkscrew and slipped over the back before we knew it.
Incredulous at our loss, we could only stare as the
fish, now making the same mistake Don had, relaxed for
one fatal moment. In a flash and a splash, the shark
darted in and snapped him up! A major disappointment
for all but the shark! Back to the books for the 2Cs!
One of the big
moments in a cruising sailor’s career happened for us
several hours later. As we rounded the southern point of
Taveuni just about sunset, our GPS ticked out the last
seconds of the Western hemisphere as we sailed across
the 180th meridian into eastern longitudes!
Unlike the equator where your latitude reads 00 minutes
for 118 miles, you don’t get to stay at longitude 180
very long, since the GPS jumps back to 179 degrees
immediately as the “Eastern” seconds start counting back
toward Greenwich, England again! Probably that minute
window is the reason why there’s not the same tradition
of parties for “Dateline” crossings as there is for the
equator!
As we turned onto
the last 40-mile leg of our voyage to the port of Savu
Savu on Vanua Levu, the wind, of course, began to die.
Having learned to go slow (and having enjoyed it), it
was hard not kick ourselves for having squandered the
time. Even with going slow, we'd thought we'd have to
heave to for the last few hours before dawn. Now, about
midnight, Don had to fire up the engine (for the first
time the whole trip) and start motoring if we didn’t
want to be still out in the middle of the Koro Sea the
next day!!!
I cannot tell you
how incredibly gorgeous that last night was. We had a
crystal clear sky with all the familiar constellations
of the northern sky on the starboard side and the still
unfamiliar late night southern hemisphere ones on the
other. The air was soft with a warm tropical caress,
the water like black glass flecked with bioluminescence
to match the sky, and, although we knew there were
islands five or so miles away all around us, there were
no shore-side lights that we could see.
We motored up to
Point Passage, a long shoal with a flashing light, just
about sunrise. As beautiful as the night had been, the
sunrise was an equal stunner, heralding a picture
perfect day. We’d made radio contact with Curly, a
35-year resident of Savu Savu who has guided the port
into being an attractive haven for cruisers, and
reserved one of his moorings. By the time we turned
into Nakama Creek, the inlet on which the town is
situated, we had the boat completely put way. Although
Savu Savu’s mooring field is packed close together (the
whole harbor is quite reminiscent of Red Hook in St.
Thomas), our mooring gave us a lovely vista of mangroves
and coconut topped hillocks off one side with town bcked
up against steep hills on the other. We also had a
pretty clear view of the shoals right off our stern!
Savu Savu’s
officials came to the boat in two loads and impressed us
with their polite efficiency, a refreshing change from
the power hungry (and generally hungry!) Tongan
officials. At 0830 Curly came on the VHF radio with a
Robin Williams-esque "Good Morning, SA-vu Savu" radio
net with all the cruiser activities and services for the
upcoming week! Shades of Trinidad! If one could bottle
the white-bearded Curly’s energy, one would be a
millionaire!
After the officials,
we grabbed a quick lunch ashore and then went down for
the long count in the aft cabin, sleeping about five
hours, waking just in time for the happy hour at the
Yacht Club followed by a big curry feast up at the local
hotel. In just our first day, we met a dozen new
people, including the family from Namibia aboard the
steel schooner Stenella that had been traveling
ahead of us. They’d caught so much fish on the passage,
(and SMOKED it underway!) they had enough to share with
the two wieners (whiners?) behind them
All in all, a great
start to a new phase of our adventure. No chicken farms
in the near future for these 2 Captains. We're back in
the mood! |
