miércoles, 13 de junio de 2007
Faaite Heaven
2007, June 4. Monday—8:15 A.M.
Faaite. Your average atoll in many ways, skipped over by most “cruisers” on their way from the Marquesas to Tahiti. But for those of us cruising surfers it is heaven on earth. An atoll is formed after the crater of an extinct volcano slips beneath the surface of the sea and over millions of years a coral reef builds up on the rim of the crater till it protrudes from the sea with sandy islets called motus. Atolls are hazardous to navigation by the fact that the only things visible from afar are the coco palms that adorn the low sandy motus. Add to this the currents flowing both in and out of the atolls and between the various atolls of the Tuamotus, and it is no wonder the island chain was once known as the “Dangerous Archipelago” and avoided by sailors altogether. But in the modern age of GPS and electronic chart and tide programs the archipelago has become more accessible, so as the years pass more and more sailors stop off in the Tuamotus.
After a hectic five day sail down from the Marquesas, made interesting by squally winds the entire time ranging from a comfortable ten knots to an obnoxious 35 knots plus; on the afternoon of May 23 the coco palms of Kauehi Atoll rose from the sea to break the monotony of putting in and shaking out reefs with the passing squalls. Unfortunately our arrival at the atoll’s entrance was timed with the setting of the sun. To enter the reef passes without the sun overhead is dangerous because it makes spotting the coral heads more difficult, so after looking over the pass from the exterior I decided we’d push on to Faaite rather than wait outside for the night.
Faaite is unique in more ways than one. Its reef pass faces west and outside the pass is a shallow shelf of sand and coral that allows one to anchor outside the atoll in the lee of the main motu. Thus with the arrival of daylight Avventura settled in on her anchor just south of the main current roaring out of the atoll. With no swell in the water Mike and I spent the first few days exploring the various motus, snorkeling in the brilliant clear waters of the lagoon and its pass (visibility over 80 feet), and getting to know the friendly Polynesian inhabitants. A couple of the local surfers introduced us around, and since they were the only two English speakers on the atoll, Francois and Carmen became fast friends. Francois works for one of the two surf charter boats that run around the archipelago, and he also seems to be related to everybody on the island which made him a good friend to have. One afternoon he introduced us to the “local beer,” a hideous concoction allowed to ferment for three months till it was somewhere between beer and rum. We gathered with a group of local men in the shade of a tree overlooking the lagoon drinking, learning a bit of Paumotu (“ma-ru-ru,” thank you; and “ai-ti-ta-paea,” your welcome) and talking with the group in broken English.
Faaite began to show its true colors one Tuesday morning when a south swell began to trickle in and the reef pass came to life. A beautiful little left began to peel over the shallow coral reef of the south side of the pass while a scary right-hander dumped on the north side of the pass in front of a nasty patch of dry reef. Later in the morning, after my first taste of the fast, hollow left, a huge power-cat charter boat showed up with big “O’Neil” stickers plastered all over it. It turned out to have eight pro surfers on board out here on what is called “O’Neil—The Mission,” a week-long “free-surfing contest.” Among the surfers on board were Ian Walsh, Roy Powers, Raimando (a Tahitian known for towing in at big Teahapoo), Australian Derek Howse, a young French surfer, a 17-year-old Maui kid named Clay who was really good, and a few others I never met. Also on board were some 26 members of the “media” along for the ride. All of a sudden the perfect empty waves had a crowd waiting.
The swell arrived right on cue the next day and, lucky for me, the pros decided to surf the gnarly right (7 of 8 were regular-footers), leaving the left for me to share with a handful of media members and a couple locals on boogie-boards. For the first time in my life I was introduced to a true South Pacific gem of a wave, a fast hollow left breaking over a shallow coral reef with the same shape every time and two separate tube sections that could be connected all the way through on the good sets. Over the next three days I caught more great waves and more clean barrels than I ever have before. The swell peaked at 6–8 feet, and for a couple hours I had it to myself with the pros and media all filming over on the right. I surfed two straight 8-hour days, and after another three-hour session on the third day I could no longer paddle from fatigue and rashes.
The swell backed off Friday as the pros left the atoll in our hands once more. Throughout their stay they had been exceedingly nice, especially Raimando and Derek Howse, both of whom I talked to for quite a while. Howse was really interested in my voyage and said his father was thinking of buying a sailboat on the east coast of the USA and sailing it back to Oz. Raimando served as the event host since he was the local of thr group. He always had a huge grin and called me into many a set wave, including my first legitimate barrel of the South Seas. He also provided some good information about surfspots in Tahiti and the Society Islands.
Despite how nice they all were I was glad to see the charter-cat leave with word that the swell would return on Saturday. Sure enough, the surf came up on cue and I surfed another 6 hours, just myself and Carmen (the self-proclaimed “barrel King of Faaite,” a statement he backed both on his boogie board and surfboard) surfing the biggest and best waves of the swell. We traded off sets, hooting the entire day as each of us ventured deeper into the pit and came out screaming. A few of the young local kids gathered on the inside shoulder on their boogie boards and every time I came out of a tube they’d give the “shaka” sign and say “Good wave!” I returned the shaka with a big grin, gave a hoot, and paddled back out for more. Never have I seen such beautiful emerald tubes forming one after the other, and to have the break virtually to myself was too good to be true. Another cruising boat had pulled up and anchored in the pass and they say they took some pictures, so if I get them I’ll be sure to post them ASAP. In the end I got the two biggest tubes of my life and the longest barrel-ride, at least four seconds connecting the two hollow sections.
Sunday saw the swell die out and it is back to waiting for the return of the surf, hoping it picks up before Saturday when we need to leave for Tahiti so Mike can make his June 14 flight home. For my part I'm thinking of returning to the Tuamotus after spending time in Tahiti making some much-needed repairs to Avventura, especially in fixing her autopilot and SSB tuner. But for now it’s another handful of days in paradise before we return to civilization.
Faaite. Your average atoll in many ways, skipped over by most “cruisers” on their way from the Marquesas to Tahiti. But for those of us cruising surfers it is heaven on earth. An atoll is formed after the crater of an extinct volcano slips beneath the surface of the sea and over millions of years a coral reef builds up on the rim of the crater till it protrudes from the sea with sandy islets called motus. Atolls are hazardous to navigation by the fact that the only things visible from afar are the coco palms that adorn the low sandy motus. Add to this the currents flowing both in and out of the atolls and between the various atolls of the Tuamotus, and it is no wonder the island chain was once known as the “Dangerous Archipelago” and avoided by sailors altogether. But in the modern age of GPS and electronic chart and tide programs the archipelago has become more accessible, so as the years pass more and more sailors stop off in the Tuamotus.
After a hectic five day sail down from the Marquesas, made interesting by squally winds the entire time ranging from a comfortable ten knots to an obnoxious 35 knots plus; on the afternoon of May 23 the coco palms of Kauehi Atoll rose from the sea to break the monotony of putting in and shaking out reefs with the passing squalls. Unfortunately our arrival at the atoll’s entrance was timed with the setting of the sun. To enter the reef passes without the sun overhead is dangerous because it makes spotting the coral heads more difficult, so after looking over the pass from the exterior I decided we’d push on to Faaite rather than wait outside for the night.
Faaite is unique in more ways than one. Its reef pass faces west and outside the pass is a shallow shelf of sand and coral that allows one to anchor outside the atoll in the lee of the main motu. Thus with the arrival of daylight Avventura settled in on her anchor just south of the main current roaring out of the atoll. With no swell in the water Mike and I spent the first few days exploring the various motus, snorkeling in the brilliant clear waters of the lagoon and its pass (visibility over 80 feet), and getting to know the friendly Polynesian inhabitants. A couple of the local surfers introduced us around, and since they were the only two English speakers on the atoll, Francois and Carmen became fast friends. Francois works for one of the two surf charter boats that run around the archipelago, and he also seems to be related to everybody on the island which made him a good friend to have. One afternoon he introduced us to the “local beer,” a hideous concoction allowed to ferment for three months till it was somewhere between beer and rum. We gathered with a group of local men in the shade of a tree overlooking the lagoon drinking, learning a bit of Paumotu (“ma-ru-ru,” thank you; and “ai-ti-ta-paea,” your welcome) and talking with the group in broken English.
Faaite began to show its true colors one Tuesday morning when a south swell began to trickle in and the reef pass came to life. A beautiful little left began to peel over the shallow coral reef of the south side of the pass while a scary right-hander dumped on the north side of the pass in front of a nasty patch of dry reef. Later in the morning, after my first taste of the fast, hollow left, a huge power-cat charter boat showed up with big “O’Neil” stickers plastered all over it. It turned out to have eight pro surfers on board out here on what is called “O’Neil—The Mission,” a week-long “free-surfing contest.” Among the surfers on board were Ian Walsh, Roy Powers, Raimando (a Tahitian known for towing in at big Teahapoo), Australian Derek Howse, a young French surfer, a 17-year-old Maui kid named Clay who was really good, and a few others I never met. Also on board were some 26 members of the “media” along for the ride. All of a sudden the perfect empty waves had a crowd waiting.
The swell arrived right on cue the next day and, lucky for me, the pros decided to surf the gnarly right (7 of 8 were regular-footers), leaving the left for me to share with a handful of media members and a couple locals on boogie-boards. For the first time in my life I was introduced to a true South Pacific gem of a wave, a fast hollow left breaking over a shallow coral reef with the same shape every time and two separate tube sections that could be connected all the way through on the good sets. Over the next three days I caught more great waves and more clean barrels than I ever have before. The swell peaked at 6–8 feet, and for a couple hours I had it to myself with the pros and media all filming over on the right. I surfed two straight 8-hour days, and after another three-hour session on the third day I could no longer paddle from fatigue and rashes.
The swell backed off Friday as the pros left the atoll in our hands once more. Throughout their stay they had been exceedingly nice, especially Raimando and Derek Howse, both of whom I talked to for quite a while. Howse was really interested in my voyage and said his father was thinking of buying a sailboat on the east coast of the USA and sailing it back to Oz. Raimando served as the event host since he was the local of thr group. He always had a huge grin and called me into many a set wave, including my first legitimate barrel of the South Seas. He also provided some good information about surfspots in Tahiti and the Society Islands.
Despite how nice they all were I was glad to see the charter-cat leave with word that the swell would return on Saturday. Sure enough, the surf came up on cue and I surfed another 6 hours, just myself and Carmen (the self-proclaimed “barrel King of Faaite,” a statement he backed both on his boogie board and surfboard) surfing the biggest and best waves of the swell. We traded off sets, hooting the entire day as each of us ventured deeper into the pit and came out screaming. A few of the young local kids gathered on the inside shoulder on their boogie boards and every time I came out of a tube they’d give the “shaka” sign and say “Good wave!” I returned the shaka with a big grin, gave a hoot, and paddled back out for more. Never have I seen such beautiful emerald tubes forming one after the other, and to have the break virtually to myself was too good to be true. Another cruising boat had pulled up and anchored in the pass and they say they took some pictures, so if I get them I’ll be sure to post them ASAP. In the end I got the two biggest tubes of my life and the longest barrel-ride, at least four seconds connecting the two hollow sections.
Sunday saw the swell die out and it is back to waiting for the return of the surf, hoping it picks up before Saturday when we need to leave for Tahiti so Mike can make his June 14 flight home. For my part I'm thinking of returning to the Tuamotus after spending time in Tahiti making some much-needed repairs to Avventura, especially in fixing her autopilot and SSB tuner. But for now it’s another handful of days in paradise before we return to civilization.
miércoles, 16 de mayo de 2007
Magical Marquesas
The Marquesas have been little short of magical. Thousand foot cliffs dive into the ocean as often as beaches dot the Costa Rican coastline. Lush valleys cut into the rugged interior of the islands filled with coco palms, mango trees, banana trees, grapefruit and lime trees, breadfruit trees, and other trees bearing delicious fruits I still don’t know the names of. The trades blow steadily at sea, but most anchorages have been surprisingly well-protected. The air temperature hovers around the mid-eighties while the water is a perfect 83 in the ocean and a delicious low 70s or so in the inland streams. And these lush, stunning islands are inhabited by under 10,000 people in total (or so I’d guess). Even Taiohae, the capital city of the group, has just 2 small grocery stores, 1 bank, 1 police station with a handful of employees, and under 2500 inhabitants. I’ve yet to come across a local who didn’t return a greeting or give a friendly smile, and despite the tragic language barrier the Polynesians still come off as some of the nicest people in the world.
Remote. Dramatic. Stunning. Lush. Warm. Such are the best words I came come upon to describe these islands. Their remoteness has been their greatest blessing, and at times feels like my greatest enemy (only because all communications are via satellite and thus very expensive, including the slow internet connection here). Being 700 miles and a $700 flight from Tahiti has prevented the tourist invasion from reaching these islands. Nature still reigns supreme. The interior of many islands remain inaccessible, the beaches are deserted (partially due to the nonos which tend to terrorize cruisers but frequently leave me alone—I guess I must smell really bad), mangoes fall to the ground to rot, coconuts are swept down gentle streams, packs of wild horses roam freely, and the locals still smile at us voyagers who do pass through.
After our stay on Fatu Hiva and stop in Atuona (where I posted the last blog if memory serves) Avventura called at the island of Tahuata, returned to the northwest coast of Hiva Oa, checked in at Oa Pou, and sailed up here to Nuku Hiva. At every anchorage there has come a time when I think it is perhaps the most beautiful place I have ever visited. Each place has its own striking, unique beauty. On Tahuata it was the calm clear waters of Hanamoenoa Bay with its shimmering white sand beach lined with coco palms and without any inhabitants. Here we snorkeled with a vast array of tropical fish, and once thirst set in we opened coconuts on the beach, squeezed in some fresh lime juice from a tree inland, and quenched our thirst before returning to the inviting waters to cool off once more. The beauty of Hanamenu Bay, Hiva Oa came from stealing dozens of fallen mangoes from the herds of wild horses who fed on them, from bodywhomping the head high waves at a beach nearby, and failing to overcome my fickle fear of heights some twenty-five feet up a thirty-five foot high coco palm. Instead we settled for the milk and meat of freshly-fallen nuts. Here Mike came across our first wild breadfruits and we were introduced to the tasty “Polynesian potatoes.” Here also we savored Trinda’s homemade key lime pie aboard Katie Lee before sailing away in the black of night for a great overnight run to Oa Pou where we arrived in water where I could see rocks on the bottom 95 feet down according to my depth sounder.
Oa Pou saw the crew of Avventura wipe the dust off their surfboards and paddle into a few small lefts at a break right beside the anchorage. We also sought local advice and went on a couple unsuccessful adventures in search of better waves (I’m sure there must be a wave in the last bay on the north end of the windward side of the island, though we never did make it there.). The first wave search was by dinghy to the gorgeous, empty bay just east of the anchorage at Hakaha where we bodywhomped small shorebreak in crystal clear water. The second adventure took us on a hike, and when we apparently took a wrong turn we ended up on the road to the very bay we had visited by dinghy. Instead of returning we hiked up to the cross for a splendid view of the anchorage and town before calling it a day.
A nice daysail brought us to the island of Nuku Hiva where we made landfall in Comptroleur Bay and dropped the hook in the middle finger of the bay where, over a century and a half earlier, Herman Melville deserted the whaling ship Acushnet and lived amongst the locals in the valley of Taipivai. From these experience came Moby Dick and Typee. We anchored well off the small town all by our lonesome and spent just 24 hours exploring the surroundings. We hiked up what is perhaps the most beautiful valley I’ve come across, cut by a large stream and filled with coco palms between two steep sides, and visited our first old Marquesan sacred site. In a grassy clearing in the hills above the valley 3 structures were erected out of lava rocks, all platforms where religious ceremonies must have taken place, and all adorned with tikis, stone carvings of the Marquesans’s gods, and strikingly similar (especially according to Thor Heyerdahl, see Fatu Hiva) to the larger stone figures of Easter Island. Back down at sea level I collected a bottle of sand from both the black sand beach at the base of the bay and a white sand beach half way out the west point where we also collected cowry shells and I saw my first Marquesan wavy-top shells (the only place other than southern California I can remember coming across them).
The past few days we’ve spent anchored off the capital in the bay of Taiohae. The first day I ventured ashore and hiked up the hillside to another Marquesan sacred site before carrying on up a small path, collecting mangoes and breadfruit along the way, and ever winding higher till I reached a glorious view of the bay below. Before long the path connected with the main road and I walked higher till the road began to curve off towards Taipivai and a car came by heading back to Taiohae. I stuck out my thumb and the truck pulled over (I have hitched rides about 7 times in the Marquesas, and have never had a car drive past when I stuck out my thumb. Twice I was picked up without sticking out a thumb. The people are so friendly you don’t think twice about accepting or asking for a ride from a total stranger.) and I hopped in the back, returning to sea level in fifteen minutes after a two hour uphill hike. Since then my time has been mostly spent working on Avventura. I spent a day and a half repairing the mainsail, re-stitching areas where the stitching chafed through on the crossing (my fingers are still numb); learned my tuner is broken beyond the point where I can fix it; changed the fuel and oil filters, and in the process discovered a leak in the engine’s cooling system which I traced to a leaky hose in the back of the ship’s water heater which took nearly 6 hours to diagnose and fix. My to-do list remains long, but it feels like time to move on so tomorrow we’ll weigh anchor and head around the point to Daniel’s Bay where I can knock off a few more items.
The Marquesas have exceeded all of my high expectations, and I have enjoyed my time here thoroughly. The lone drawback seems to be the lack of surf. We have heard there is a wave at Daniel’s Bay and are anxious to see if we find anything; but mostly I look forward to the reef passes of the Tuamotus where there should be waves. The plan is for 3 nights at Daniel’s Bay before making our way down to the Tuamotus (500 miles away), with perhaps a stop first on Oa Pou’s leeward side. Plan is to stop at as many as 6 atolls: Kauehi, Faaite (surf), Fakarava (surf), Apataki (surf), Ahe, and Rangiroa (possibly surf) before heading for Tahiti. I extended my visa today and now have until August 15 before I have to be out of French Polynesia. I plan to use every bit of that time exploring the beauty of these islands. As my SSB Radio will be out of commission till Tahiti at least I cannot guarantee I will be able to keep in touch or even update position reports, but I will do my best. Till then fair winds and following to seas to everybody on the water and Pura Vida.
PS This was written in haste and not spellchecked or re-written, so please accept my apologies for any errors in advance. It’s after 9 p.m. which is late for us “cruisers.”
Remote. Dramatic. Stunning. Lush. Warm. Such are the best words I came come upon to describe these islands. Their remoteness has been their greatest blessing, and at times feels like my greatest enemy (only because all communications are via satellite and thus very expensive, including the slow internet connection here). Being 700 miles and a $700 flight from Tahiti has prevented the tourist invasion from reaching these islands. Nature still reigns supreme. The interior of many islands remain inaccessible, the beaches are deserted (partially due to the nonos which tend to terrorize cruisers but frequently leave me alone—I guess I must smell really bad), mangoes fall to the ground to rot, coconuts are swept down gentle streams, packs of wild horses roam freely, and the locals still smile at us voyagers who do pass through.
After our stay on Fatu Hiva and stop in Atuona (where I posted the last blog if memory serves) Avventura called at the island of Tahuata, returned to the northwest coast of Hiva Oa, checked in at Oa Pou, and sailed up here to Nuku Hiva. At every anchorage there has come a time when I think it is perhaps the most beautiful place I have ever visited. Each place has its own striking, unique beauty. On Tahuata it was the calm clear waters of Hanamoenoa Bay with its shimmering white sand beach lined with coco palms and without any inhabitants. Here we snorkeled with a vast array of tropical fish, and once thirst set in we opened coconuts on the beach, squeezed in some fresh lime juice from a tree inland, and quenched our thirst before returning to the inviting waters to cool off once more. The beauty of Hanamenu Bay, Hiva Oa came from stealing dozens of fallen mangoes from the herds of wild horses who fed on them, from bodywhomping the head high waves at a beach nearby, and failing to overcome my fickle fear of heights some twenty-five feet up a thirty-five foot high coco palm. Instead we settled for the milk and meat of freshly-fallen nuts. Here Mike came across our first wild breadfruits and we were introduced to the tasty “Polynesian potatoes.” Here also we savored Trinda’s homemade key lime pie aboard Katie Lee before sailing away in the black of night for a great overnight run to Oa Pou where we arrived in water where I could see rocks on the bottom 95 feet down according to my depth sounder.
Oa Pou saw the crew of Avventura wipe the dust off their surfboards and paddle into a few small lefts at a break right beside the anchorage. We also sought local advice and went on a couple unsuccessful adventures in search of better waves (I’m sure there must be a wave in the last bay on the north end of the windward side of the island, though we never did make it there.). The first wave search was by dinghy to the gorgeous, empty bay just east of the anchorage at Hakaha where we bodywhomped small shorebreak in crystal clear water. The second adventure took us on a hike, and when we apparently took a wrong turn we ended up on the road to the very bay we had visited by dinghy. Instead of returning we hiked up to the cross for a splendid view of the anchorage and town before calling it a day.
A nice daysail brought us to the island of Nuku Hiva where we made landfall in Comptroleur Bay and dropped the hook in the middle finger of the bay where, over a century and a half earlier, Herman Melville deserted the whaling ship Acushnet and lived amongst the locals in the valley of Taipivai. From these experience came Moby Dick and Typee. We anchored well off the small town all by our lonesome and spent just 24 hours exploring the surroundings. We hiked up what is perhaps the most beautiful valley I’ve come across, cut by a large stream and filled with coco palms between two steep sides, and visited our first old Marquesan sacred site. In a grassy clearing in the hills above the valley 3 structures were erected out of lava rocks, all platforms where religious ceremonies must have taken place, and all adorned with tikis, stone carvings of the Marquesans’s gods, and strikingly similar (especially according to Thor Heyerdahl, see Fatu Hiva) to the larger stone figures of Easter Island. Back down at sea level I collected a bottle of sand from both the black sand beach at the base of the bay and a white sand beach half way out the west point where we also collected cowry shells and I saw my first Marquesan wavy-top shells (the only place other than southern California I can remember coming across them).
The past few days we’ve spent anchored off the capital in the bay of Taiohae. The first day I ventured ashore and hiked up the hillside to another Marquesan sacred site before carrying on up a small path, collecting mangoes and breadfruit along the way, and ever winding higher till I reached a glorious view of the bay below. Before long the path connected with the main road and I walked higher till the road began to curve off towards Taipivai and a car came by heading back to Taiohae. I stuck out my thumb and the truck pulled over (I have hitched rides about 7 times in the Marquesas, and have never had a car drive past when I stuck out my thumb. Twice I was picked up without sticking out a thumb. The people are so friendly you don’t think twice about accepting or asking for a ride from a total stranger.) and I hopped in the back, returning to sea level in fifteen minutes after a two hour uphill hike. Since then my time has been mostly spent working on Avventura. I spent a day and a half repairing the mainsail, re-stitching areas where the stitching chafed through on the crossing (my fingers are still numb); learned my tuner is broken beyond the point where I can fix it; changed the fuel and oil filters, and in the process discovered a leak in the engine’s cooling system which I traced to a leaky hose in the back of the ship’s water heater which took nearly 6 hours to diagnose and fix. My to-do list remains long, but it feels like time to move on so tomorrow we’ll weigh anchor and head around the point to Daniel’s Bay where I can knock off a few more items.
The Marquesas have exceeded all of my high expectations, and I have enjoyed my time here thoroughly. The lone drawback seems to be the lack of surf. We have heard there is a wave at Daniel’s Bay and are anxious to see if we find anything; but mostly I look forward to the reef passes of the Tuamotus where there should be waves. The plan is for 3 nights at Daniel’s Bay before making our way down to the Tuamotus (500 miles away), with perhaps a stop first on Oa Pou’s leeward side. Plan is to stop at as many as 6 atolls: Kauehi, Faaite (surf), Fakarava (surf), Apataki (surf), Ahe, and Rangiroa (possibly surf) before heading for Tahiti. I extended my visa today and now have until August 15 before I have to be out of French Polynesia. I plan to use every bit of that time exploring the beauty of these islands. As my SSB Radio will be out of commission till Tahiti at least I cannot guarantee I will be able to keep in touch or even update position reports, but I will do my best. Till then fair winds and following to seas to everybody on the water and Pura Vida.
PS This was written in haste and not spellchecked or re-written, so please accept my apologies for any errors in advance. It’s after 9 p.m. which is late for us “cruisers.”
viernes, 4 de mayo de 2007
Marquesas Arrival
Avventura has reached the South Seas. After 22 days at sea and over 3,000 sea miles she touched down at Fatu Hiva on April 27. The crossing started off with two and a half days of motoring southwest to get into the southeast trades. Once the wind trickled in at 0300 on Easter Sunday we set sail and kept the sails up for the remainder of the voyage but for an hour break when the seas were sloppy and the wind died. 19 days straight of sailing, only running the engine to charge the batteries every three days, wind never forward of the beam and varying between a comfortable broad reach and downwind the entire time as the trades varied between southeast and easterly. We came across two nights of squally weather on the crossing, one with some lightning about, and both of which made sleep impossible and sailing difficult, but for the most part the trades persisted wonderfully and the sails propelled us along at a six knot average. The lone downside of the crossing was the persistent sloppy swells, often coming from a couple different directions, and rarely from the same quarter as the wind. The swells kept Avventura rocking and wreaked havoc on her sails, spilling their wind often, but our speed remained constant and the miles ticked away, averaging over 135 NM a day. Fish were scarce for us, though to be fair we didn’t fish much in the middle of the Pacific where I was loath to slow down if we did catch a fish so we refrained from setting any lines. Wildlife was equally scarce with the exception of flying fish which persisted the length of the crossing, flying from our bow wave and doing various acrobatics as they fled from our path. In the midst of the Pacific, as some may have noticed, my SSB Automatic Antenna Tuner broke which made it difficult to send any e-mails or position reports. The tuner is still broken so communication may be scarce from me in the coming weeks and even months. Internet access is far from cheap here, as are all other communication forms.
Landfall was a moment I’ll never forget. After 22 days of seeing nothing but the vast blue, oft-white-capped sea, land sprang from the sea at sunset on April 26. Mike and I were eating dinner in the cockpit when I glanced ahead beneath the mainsail and saw a change—land under the cumulus clouds on the horizon! A hoot escaped involuntarily as I raced for the bow and gazed in disbelief. A mix of emotions assaulted me and I was left on the brink of tears. All the long years of dreaming of the moment, all the hard work that had gone into making it a reality, all the people who have helped along the way, all the long night watches, the squalls and calms had led to that very moment. And the sight of my first South Pacific island overwhelmed me and assaulted my emotions like I hadn’t expected.
After a night of lingering offshore we arrived at the Bay of Virgins on Fatu Hiva in the early morning hours of April 27. Fatu Hiva rises dramatically from the sea with sheer cliffs leading up to the ridge of the island, covered in dense vegetation, and the Bay of Virgins is a little nook tucked at the base of a valley on the leeward side of the island. We spent three glorious days on Fatu Hiva, hiking in the lush rainforest, gathering fresh mangoes, eating coconuts, and just enjoying the feel of stable land under my feet. On the first day Mike and I followed a stream inland for an hour or so till it ended in a sheer 200 foot high waterfall. The flow of water was gentle and the pool at its base stagnant, but it was awe-inspiring nonetheless. The following day we went on a long hike into the hills, following a rugged road over to the island’s other town, Omoa. On the way there we were given a much-needed break when a car drove past and we were given a lift by an old local and his grandson who were searching for bananas and other fruit along the road. The hike back took four full hours, eating fresh mangoes along the way and enjoying the spectacular views of the inland valleys and the steep hills falling to the deep blue sea.
With the arrival of May 2 it came time to continue on. In the early morning we picked up anchor and had a nice day sail up to Hiva Oa, dropping the hook in Baie Tahuku close to the island’s main town of Atuona. This is where Paul Gaugin spent his last days after a stop in Panama where he helped construct the Canal. Yesterday (May 3) I hiked around the area, visited the cemetery where Gaugin is buried, and enjoyed a refreshing day of strolling around in the rain, walking into the hillsides and soaking up the aura of the rainforest. Spent the afternoon reading on a seawall overlooking a black sand beach and bodysurfing small waves at the beach break. We will be leaving here on the morrow for Tahuata and plan to spend a month in the Marquesas followed by a month in the Tuamotus before heading for Tahiti in early July. As I said, communication will be limited till I get the Antenna Tuner repaired, so bear with me…
From the gorgeous South Pacific where the voyage has just begun…adios de Avventura.
Landfall was a moment I’ll never forget. After 22 days of seeing nothing but the vast blue, oft-white-capped sea, land sprang from the sea at sunset on April 26. Mike and I were eating dinner in the cockpit when I glanced ahead beneath the mainsail and saw a change—land under the cumulus clouds on the horizon! A hoot escaped involuntarily as I raced for the bow and gazed in disbelief. A mix of emotions assaulted me and I was left on the brink of tears. All the long years of dreaming of the moment, all the hard work that had gone into making it a reality, all the people who have helped along the way, all the long night watches, the squalls and calms had led to that very moment. And the sight of my first South Pacific island overwhelmed me and assaulted my emotions like I hadn’t expected.
After a night of lingering offshore we arrived at the Bay of Virgins on Fatu Hiva in the early morning hours of April 27. Fatu Hiva rises dramatically from the sea with sheer cliffs leading up to the ridge of the island, covered in dense vegetation, and the Bay of Virgins is a little nook tucked at the base of a valley on the leeward side of the island. We spent three glorious days on Fatu Hiva, hiking in the lush rainforest, gathering fresh mangoes, eating coconuts, and just enjoying the feel of stable land under my feet. On the first day Mike and I followed a stream inland for an hour or so till it ended in a sheer 200 foot high waterfall. The flow of water was gentle and the pool at its base stagnant, but it was awe-inspiring nonetheless. The following day we went on a long hike into the hills, following a rugged road over to the island’s other town, Omoa. On the way there we were given a much-needed break when a car drove past and we were given a lift by an old local and his grandson who were searching for bananas and other fruit along the road. The hike back took four full hours, eating fresh mangoes along the way and enjoying the spectacular views of the inland valleys and the steep hills falling to the deep blue sea.
With the arrival of May 2 it came time to continue on. In the early morning we picked up anchor and had a nice day sail up to Hiva Oa, dropping the hook in Baie Tahuku close to the island’s main town of Atuona. This is where Paul Gaugin spent his last days after a stop in Panama where he helped construct the Canal. Yesterday (May 3) I hiked around the area, visited the cemetery where Gaugin is buried, and enjoyed a refreshing day of strolling around in the rain, walking into the hillsides and soaking up the aura of the rainforest. Spent the afternoon reading on a seawall overlooking a black sand beach and bodysurfing small waves at the beach break. We will be leaving here on the morrow for Tahuata and plan to spend a month in the Marquesas followed by a month in the Tuamotus before heading for Tahiti in early July. As I said, communication will be limited till I get the Antenna Tuner repaired, so bear with me…
From the gorgeous South Pacific where the voyage has just begun…adios de Avventura.
martes, 24 de abril de 2007
Floreana and Isabella, Galapagos
I have never posted a blog via e-mail, so I hope this comes out right…
The short day sail from Academy Bay down to Isla Santa Maria (Floreana) was split evenly between motoring (fine by me for it allowed me to make water and top off our tanks) and sailing with a gentle breeze on a fast beam reach. The few hours of sailing saw me reach what is perhaps my top speed in Avventura (7.8 knots over the ground), and was some of the most pleasant sailing of my life, gliding along with a 10 knot breeze aided by a knot current from astern and with very little swell activity. But as soon as we entered the lee of Floreana the wind disappeared completely and the heat of the day set in as the motor resumed its drone.
Isla Floreana proved to be the only island that matched the image in my head of what I expected all the Galapagos Islands to be like. On approach the island looked bleak and the vegetation was brown, unlike the green-clad hills of San Cristobal and Santa Cruz. As we neared the anchorage of Puerto Velasco Ibarra I was stunned to find we were the only boat around. We dropped the hook in an open roadstead off the tiny town and were quick to venture ashore to check in with the Port Captain.
We left our dinghy at the pier (a concrete seawall more than a viable dock) and walked up the dirt road leading to town. First buildings we arrived at was the Navy Base/Port Captain’s office. The base consisted of the Port Captain’s living quarters and a separate building with his office as well as a third detached unit that I never saw put to use. When I approached the Office I was welcomed inside by the Port Captain and he asked what he could help me with. I told him we had just arrived from Santa Cruz and he asked if we needed anything. I declined and was told to simply return before we wished to depart. No hassles, no paperwork, just come back and see me later, and a queer look as if to say “stupid gringos, interrupt my day just to let me know you have arrived.”
Upon leaving the Port Captain’s office Mike and I were rather stunned to find a little wave breaking in a small cove north of the pier. Anxious to at least find refuge from the heat of the day we returned to Avventura, grabbed our boards, and paddled out. Though far from a world-class wave we had stumbled across our own private No Surf in the Galapagos Islands. Little lefts were peeling over a shallow lava reef, never a wave exceeding head high, but consistent and fun, and not another soul in sight or the threat of anyone ruining our session. Here we had come to an island with no hope of finding surf and had stumbled across a fun, easily accessible wave.
That evening (Friday, 3/30) we took the dinghy in with the hopes of finding a beer in the tiny town. We walked up and down the dirt roads with the rare house widely spaced along the way, and were about to give up when Mike had me ask a local lady walking with her son if there was a store on the island. She said there was, and pointed us to a white house with construction going on in the rear. The front of the house had a separate room that housed the island’s lone store, stocked with enough provisions to serve the local population (100) for the month between visits from the supply ship. Here we bought a couple beers, and Mike sat on the porch while I ventured down to the pier for some sunset pictures (see www.flickr.com/photos/avventura). Once at the pier I climbed out onto some rocks extending to the south for a better picture and nearly stepped on a massive marine iguana who was soaking up the day’s last rays. The iguana spit at me (and I mean this literally), and I jumped back four feet. As I looked closer I saw dozens scattered along the coast, the biggest I have ever come across.
As the sun settled into a cloudbank I returned to the tienda where Mike was struggling to carry on a conversation with the store’s cashier, Santos (age 17). Santos was glad to learn I spoke some Spanish and proceeded to begin a game of 20 questions, asking me all about my travels and where we were headed next. As night fell more locals stopped by to check out the new gringos and join in the conversation.
Since this will be posted via my radio e-mail I need to condense the remainder as best I can…
We spent another two days at Floreana, surfing the little wave off the town, taking an illegal dinghy trip over to spectacular Post Office Bay, hiking up into the Floreana highlands, and hanging out with the locals. At Post Office Bay we walked on two beaches where the only tracks were those of sea turtles who had ventured ashore to lay their eggs, came across the ancient barrel once used to pass mail back and forth (especially by the whalers who oft-called in the bay), and stumbled upon a cave (lava tube) which led us down into pitch-black darkness and beyond. We were guided only be the random flash of our cameras and felt our way down till the cave began to curve and it was time to return to daylight. (That afternoon the locals told us the cave is actually a lava tube that comes out underwater and can be passed through with Scuba gear.) The highlands hike brought us into the land of Darwin’s Finches (there are some 16 distinct species found in the Galapagos, and these small birds played a large role in the development of Darwin’s Theory of Evolution) with the pleasant smells of the dry vegetation filling our nostrils and dirt wafting up off the road as the sun baked our backs. When our self-proclaimed “king of the island” offered us a ride back to town in his big truck we accepted and hopped in the back. The king had one of the only big trucks on the island (used to transport every and anything up to and down from the fincas, or farms, in the highlands), and he was the only one who spoke English that we came across in town.
Sunday morning was a day I won’t son forget. I picked up Santos and his young friend, Wilson, at the pier and brought them out to Avventura where they asked a dozen questions and I showed them how everything worked on board (they were stoked at the radar and electronic charts where I showed them the Marquesas and our voyage ahead). But the highlight of their day was the dinghy ride back when I let each drive. Wilson (about 12) took control first and the look of sheer joy in his eyes and smile on his face made my day. Santos was afraid to get planning, and everytime we began to get enough speed he’d ease off the throttle. Thus on the way in I let the motor run full throttle and they were thrilled. Sunday also brought the best surf, and three locals borrowed my extra boards and tried surfing with us. They got pounded mostly, but still came up smiling. I had more fun than a mortal should be allowed; that is right up until my last wave when my calves both cramped up in the midst of a cutback and I lost my board into the lava shoreline. It came back with a couple nice dings and my surfing days in the Galapagos came to an end. That evening we watched a local volleyball game (became intense when every player put down $3 on the game), said our good-byes to the most welcoming locals I’ve come across in South America, and returned to Avventura.
April 2 saw us make our way over to Isla Isabella and anchor in Puerto Villamil after a long day of motoring, catching only 2 boobies while trolling (which, needless to say, we threw back and watched fly away). Our stay in Villamil was short and busy for me, mostly because I was anxious to get back to sea and begin the Pacific crossing. I spent my time split between boat work (lubing and repairing winches, scrubbing the hull and waterline, stowing everything, and generally preparing for the crossing), uploading pictures, and exploring the town, anchorage and its environs. The highlight and perfect way to cap off my Galapagos stay came Wednesday, April 4, our last full day on Isabella. After a morning of work I went for a brief snorkel (seeing parrot fish and other tropical species swimming alongside sea lions and over bright yellow sea urchins) before taking the dinghy out to an islet which protects the anchorage. Here I came upon a trail which wound over the lava rock islet where hordes of young marine iguanas traveled in packs. But the truly unique sight here was in a small crevice between the islet and an offlying rocky patch. The crevice was filled with some six feet of water and was about five feet wide, and in this small gap (about 50 feet long) over a dozen Galapagos and white-tipped sharks swam in circles as if they were entrapped. I still have no clue what causes the sharks to congregate here, but they had no desire to leave their little playpen. Once I departed the islet I resumed my day’s stated mission: find a penguin. I asked a local kid driving a panga with a couple friends and he led me to a nearby rocky point where, sure enough, five penguins waddled about amongst a few blue-footed boobies. At one point a sea lion nudged his way onto the same rock and it was one last perfect Galapagos scene. Nowhere else in the world do penguins come face-to-face with sea lions and blue-footed boobies at the same time.
My six week stay in the Galapagos was time well-spent, and full of many adventures. It was a time I’ll never forget. From the people I met, both cruisers and locals alike, the amazing wildlife (both marine, land, and bird), and the beautiful vistas and landscape of the islands themselves all helped add to my tremendous enjoyment of the Enchanted Land of Darwin. But I find, despite the great time I had in the Galapagos, that I am ready and eager to be moving on. I am ready for the crossing underway (2899 NM to go), and anxious to explore the islands of French Polynesia which I have come to know so well in my dreams. I am reminded of an answer one fellow cruiser gave a land tourist when asked, “What has been your favorite port?” Judith (off Dream Weaver III) replied: “The next one.” So here’s to the next port, 2899 NM away! Here’s to the voyage ahead. As the great Sterling Hayden wrote:
To the hunted, not to the hunter;
To the Passage, not to the path.
Scott Atkins
S/V Avventura
At Sea—07/4/6
2 South by 92 West
The short day sail from Academy Bay down to Isla Santa Maria (Floreana) was split evenly between motoring (fine by me for it allowed me to make water and top off our tanks) and sailing with a gentle breeze on a fast beam reach. The few hours of sailing saw me reach what is perhaps my top speed in Avventura (7.8 knots over the ground), and was some of the most pleasant sailing of my life, gliding along with a 10 knot breeze aided by a knot current from astern and with very little swell activity. But as soon as we entered the lee of Floreana the wind disappeared completely and the heat of the day set in as the motor resumed its drone.
Isla Floreana proved to be the only island that matched the image in my head of what I expected all the Galapagos Islands to be like. On approach the island looked bleak and the vegetation was brown, unlike the green-clad hills of San Cristobal and Santa Cruz. As we neared the anchorage of Puerto Velasco Ibarra I was stunned to find we were the only boat around. We dropped the hook in an open roadstead off the tiny town and were quick to venture ashore to check in with the Port Captain.
We left our dinghy at the pier (a concrete seawall more than a viable dock) and walked up the dirt road leading to town. First buildings we arrived at was the Navy Base/Port Captain’s office. The base consisted of the Port Captain’s living quarters and a separate building with his office as well as a third detached unit that I never saw put to use. When I approached the Office I was welcomed inside by the Port Captain and he asked what he could help me with. I told him we had just arrived from Santa Cruz and he asked if we needed anything. I declined and was told to simply return before we wished to depart. No hassles, no paperwork, just come back and see me later, and a queer look as if to say “stupid gringos, interrupt my day just to let me know you have arrived.”
Upon leaving the Port Captain’s office Mike and I were rather stunned to find a little wave breaking in a small cove north of the pier. Anxious to at least find refuge from the heat of the day we returned to Avventura, grabbed our boards, and paddled out. Though far from a world-class wave we had stumbled across our own private No Surf in the Galapagos Islands. Little lefts were peeling over a shallow lava reef, never a wave exceeding head high, but consistent and fun, and not another soul in sight or the threat of anyone ruining our session. Here we had come to an island with no hope of finding surf and had stumbled across a fun, easily accessible wave.
That evening (Friday, 3/30) we took the dinghy in with the hopes of finding a beer in the tiny town. We walked up and down the dirt roads with the rare house widely spaced along the way, and were about to give up when Mike had me ask a local lady walking with her son if there was a store on the island. She said there was, and pointed us to a white house with construction going on in the rear. The front of the house had a separate room that housed the island’s lone store, stocked with enough provisions to serve the local population (100) for the month between visits from the supply ship. Here we bought a couple beers, and Mike sat on the porch while I ventured down to the pier for some sunset pictures (see www.flickr.com/photos/avventura). Once at the pier I climbed out onto some rocks extending to the south for a better picture and nearly stepped on a massive marine iguana who was soaking up the day’s last rays. The iguana spit at me (and I mean this literally), and I jumped back four feet. As I looked closer I saw dozens scattered along the coast, the biggest I have ever come across.
As the sun settled into a cloudbank I returned to the tienda where Mike was struggling to carry on a conversation with the store’s cashier, Santos (age 17). Santos was glad to learn I spoke some Spanish and proceeded to begin a game of 20 questions, asking me all about my travels and where we were headed next. As night fell more locals stopped by to check out the new gringos and join in the conversation.
Since this will be posted via my radio e-mail I need to condense the remainder as best I can…
We spent another two days at Floreana, surfing the little wave off the town, taking an illegal dinghy trip over to spectacular Post Office Bay, hiking up into the Floreana highlands, and hanging out with the locals. At Post Office Bay we walked on two beaches where the only tracks were those of sea turtles who had ventured ashore to lay their eggs, came across the ancient barrel once used to pass mail back and forth (especially by the whalers who oft-called in the bay), and stumbled upon a cave (lava tube) which led us down into pitch-black darkness and beyond. We were guided only be the random flash of our cameras and felt our way down till the cave began to curve and it was time to return to daylight. (That afternoon the locals told us the cave is actually a lava tube that comes out underwater and can be passed through with Scuba gear.) The highlands hike brought us into the land of Darwin’s Finches (there are some 16 distinct species found in the Galapagos, and these small birds played a large role in the development of Darwin’s Theory of Evolution) with the pleasant smells of the dry vegetation filling our nostrils and dirt wafting up off the road as the sun baked our backs. When our self-proclaimed “king of the island” offered us a ride back to town in his big truck we accepted and hopped in the back. The king had one of the only big trucks on the island (used to transport every and anything up to and down from the fincas, or farms, in the highlands), and he was the only one who spoke English that we came across in town.
Sunday morning was a day I won’t son forget. I picked up Santos and his young friend, Wilson, at the pier and brought them out to Avventura where they asked a dozen questions and I showed them how everything worked on board (they were stoked at the radar and electronic charts where I showed them the Marquesas and our voyage ahead). But the highlight of their day was the dinghy ride back when I let each drive. Wilson (about 12) took control first and the look of sheer joy in his eyes and smile on his face made my day. Santos was afraid to get planning, and everytime we began to get enough speed he’d ease off the throttle. Thus on the way in I let the motor run full throttle and they were thrilled. Sunday also brought the best surf, and three locals borrowed my extra boards and tried surfing with us. They got pounded mostly, but still came up smiling. I had more fun than a mortal should be allowed; that is right up until my last wave when my calves both cramped up in the midst of a cutback and I lost my board into the lava shoreline. It came back with a couple nice dings and my surfing days in the Galapagos came to an end. That evening we watched a local volleyball game (became intense when every player put down $3 on the game), said our good-byes to the most welcoming locals I’ve come across in South America, and returned to Avventura.
April 2 saw us make our way over to Isla Isabella and anchor in Puerto Villamil after a long day of motoring, catching only 2 boobies while trolling (which, needless to say, we threw back and watched fly away). Our stay in Villamil was short and busy for me, mostly because I was anxious to get back to sea and begin the Pacific crossing. I spent my time split between boat work (lubing and repairing winches, scrubbing the hull and waterline, stowing everything, and generally preparing for the crossing), uploading pictures, and exploring the town, anchorage and its environs. The highlight and perfect way to cap off my Galapagos stay came Wednesday, April 4, our last full day on Isabella. After a morning of work I went for a brief snorkel (seeing parrot fish and other tropical species swimming alongside sea lions and over bright yellow sea urchins) before taking the dinghy out to an islet which protects the anchorage. Here I came upon a trail which wound over the lava rock islet where hordes of young marine iguanas traveled in packs. But the truly unique sight here was in a small crevice between the islet and an offlying rocky patch. The crevice was filled with some six feet of water and was about five feet wide, and in this small gap (about 50 feet long) over a dozen Galapagos and white-tipped sharks swam in circles as if they were entrapped. I still have no clue what causes the sharks to congregate here, but they had no desire to leave their little playpen. Once I departed the islet I resumed my day’s stated mission: find a penguin. I asked a local kid driving a panga with a couple friends and he led me to a nearby rocky point where, sure enough, five penguins waddled about amongst a few blue-footed boobies. At one point a sea lion nudged his way onto the same rock and it was one last perfect Galapagos scene. Nowhere else in the world do penguins come face-to-face with sea lions and blue-footed boobies at the same time.
My six week stay in the Galapagos was time well-spent, and full of many adventures. It was a time I’ll never forget. From the people I met, both cruisers and locals alike, the amazing wildlife (both marine, land, and bird), and the beautiful vistas and landscape of the islands themselves all helped add to my tremendous enjoyment of the Enchanted Land of Darwin. But I find, despite the great time I had in the Galapagos, that I am ready and eager to be moving on. I am ready for the crossing underway (2899 NM to go), and anxious to explore the islands of French Polynesia which I have come to know so well in my dreams. I am reminded of an answer one fellow cruiser gave a land tourist when asked, “What has been your favorite port?” Judith (off Dream Weaver III) replied: “The next one.” So here’s to the next port, 2899 NM away! Here’s to the voyage ahead. As the great Sterling Hayden wrote:
To the hunted, not to the hunter;
To the Passage, not to the path.
Scott Atkins
S/V Avventura
At Sea—07/4/6
2 South by 92 West
jueves, 29 de marzo de 2007
Isla Santa Cruz
Isla San Cristobal and Isla Santa Cruz. Less than forty miles separate them, but they are a world apart. My first impressions of Santa Cruz were far from great, but it has grown on me with time. Upon arrival here (Academy Bay) I was overwhelmed by the size and the touristy nature of the town (Puerto Ayora). Yes, San Cristobal was touristy, but walking down the streets this was never the first thing I noticed. As soon as I ventured ashore in Santa Cruz I felt the touristy atmosphere of the island, and the bigger-city feel of the town and was chased back to Avventura. The next day was no better as the float switch to my automatic bilge pump failed and I had to find a replacement in town and install it, working in the midday heat in nasty bilge water. Since my day was already ruined I tacked on the tedium of oil and fuel filter changes and didn’t even bother to head ashore.
But the earth continued turning and the new day brought much better experiences. Once past the touristy Malecon a different island presented itself. Fleeing the city life, I struck off for Bahia Totuga. A 2.5 km path winds through the vegetation of the region bringing you close to the large cacti which dot the landscape with birds flitting about and lizards spastically darting along the path, ever waiting till the last minute to move out of your way. The midday sun was beating down on the lava-rock path and as we reached the peak of a small hill the ocean beyond came into view beyond a blinding white sand beach. The clarity of the water and the whiteness of the sand provided amazing color contrasts as the seafloor fell away into the deep blue beyond. Tortuga Bay is a gorgeous half moon bay with tucked between two lava points and guarded behind by thick desert vegetation. The sand is a fine powder, and (hard as it is for me to compare the two incomparable places) was reminiscent of that in Gulf Shores, Alabama. The surf offshore was not much better than Gulf Shores either. A fifteen knot breeze swept along the shoreline and the waist high waves gently fell over on themselves; but the beauty of surfing is that none of this matters. I ditched my things on the beach and was quick to paddle out, and as soon as I duckdove the first wave all was right with the world again. The traumas of the previous day were a distant memory as I paddled to the empty lineup, turned shorewards, and admired the beauty of the desolate landscape. A few people were scattered about the long beach, but there were no homes adorning the hillsides and the bustling port was far away.
I was able to sneak into a few fun little waves before abandoning the water and walking the length of the beach, snapping photos as I went. Unfortunately Tortuga Bay is one of those places that cannot be captured in pictures alone. For one thing the beach is too wide and long to be captured in one frame, not to mention the fact that the camera doesn’t pick up the sounds and smells of the wildlife and vegetation, or the feel of the brutal equatorial sun being dampened by a breeze off the Humboldt-chilled water. I passed the afternoon reading the Autobiography of Charles Darwin on a gorgeous beach in the Enchanted Isles he made so famous and felt somehow close to the great naturalist.
As the sideshore wind continued for a second day I made my way to the “Charles Darwin Research Station” and spent a morning walking around the place. The Research Station is used to breed and raise baby tortoises and land iguanas which are then taken back to their native islands after they have reached a certain size. There are pens enclosing hordes of tiny tortoises separated into the island they came from, then there’s a communal cage where the tortoises are transferred after a couple years to learn to exist in more natural surroundings, after which they are returned to their native islands usually. There are a few exceptions. The next stop on the trail, for instance, brought me to the pen of “Lonesome George.” George is the last remaining member of the subspecies of tortoises from Isla Pinta and he was brought to the research center in the late 1970s in the hopes of finding him a suitable mate and either continuing his same species, or at least creating a new bloodline in close relation to the species. The problem is they have yet to find a female from the Pinta subspecies and George refuses to adulterate his blood. He spends his days in a pen with two female tortoises from a species closely related to him, but he refuses to mate with any tortoise outside his specie, and thus the Pinta subspecie appears doomed as George grows old.
After paying my respects to “Lonesome George” I walked through separate pens enclosing first female tortoises and then their gigantic male counterparts. It still surprises me how archaic the animals look. Looking into the eyes of the tortoise is like looking back to an era long past when reptiles ruled the earth. After the tortoises came the few land iguanas on display—massive iguanas of a reddish hue who were highly inactive and completely unconcerned with me.
Other than the Darwin Research Station all I wanted to see on Santa Cruz were the tourist sites up in the highlands. The opportunity arose on March 27th and Mike and I jumped at it. It all started the night before when Mike met a girl in a bar and the next morning we were headed ashore to do some kind of painting up in the highlands. All I knew was that it was my way up the hill. It turns out we were helping Galapagos ICE (www.galapagosice.org), a non-profit outfit, who was painting the inside of a school in the highland town of Santa Rosa. So we spent a couple hours throwing some fresh paint on a rundown school that needed a lot more than a superficial facelift, working alongside a dozen locals. I had a good time chatting with the locals and experienced the Ecuadorian work ethic firsthand. At one point I was painting a room with five locals when a man came in and said there were sandwiches for lunch. Immediately, almost in mid-stroke the locals cleared out of the room and went to lunch. Afterwards they lingered, did a bit more painting, and abandoned the endeavor in favor of a pick-up game of soccer on the basketball court of the school. Since the teams were uneven I somehow got dragged into the game and quickly realized my lack of any soccer skills; but in the end I didn’t hurt my team and we took the game 3-0.
In the early afternoon the painting was done and Mike and I along with Jill (the girl who roped Mike into the gig) and Ian from Afriki, were driven down to the Lava Tunnel. Our driver (a fellow painter) had called ahead and we were let in the tunnel for free, and descended into the center of the earth as it felt from the wrong direction, fighting against the flow of the pasty white tourists as we crawled through the low section of the tunnel and emerged into a massive lava tube. The tube was formed when the outer skin of the lava cooled first and the molten inside continued downhill, in the end forming a near-perfect tube that extended for a couple hundred yards before emerging into daylight once more.
After our stroll through the earth we were taken down to a local ranch where there are trails cut through the landscape and you can see tortoises in their natural habitat. Our luck was fairly good and we came across three gigantic tortoises, both hunkered in the bushes and strolling out in the open. It was a neat hike through the highland semi-forest, and after an hour of searching and nearly getting ourselves lost we returned to the entrance and were driven back down to sea level and left in Puerto Ayora. A little bit of work got us a lunch and visits to the tourist sites of the highlands as well as allowing us to meet the locals of the town and observe the Ecuadorians at work. It was a nice day.
All things considered Santa Cruz is nothing like San Cristobal, but has proven to be a wonderful stop on the continuing voyage. From here we will head south to Isla Santa Maria (Floreana) for a few days followed by a handful of days at Isla Isabella from whence we will take our leave for the Marquesas. The voyage is starting to move along and the sea is calling me back. I’m excited for the long passage which waits in the wings, and even more so to be heading for the south sea islands of many a man’s childhood dreams.
Pura Vida,
Scott Atkins
PS For the moment the “real world” has struck and I’m stuck in Santa Cruz at least another day trying to deal with the incompetence of modern man, but with a little luck the voyage will be moving on again soon.
But the earth continued turning and the new day brought much better experiences. Once past the touristy Malecon a different island presented itself. Fleeing the city life, I struck off for Bahia Totuga. A 2.5 km path winds through the vegetation of the region bringing you close to the large cacti which dot the landscape with birds flitting about and lizards spastically darting along the path, ever waiting till the last minute to move out of your way. The midday sun was beating down on the lava-rock path and as we reached the peak of a small hill the ocean beyond came into view beyond a blinding white sand beach. The clarity of the water and the whiteness of the sand provided amazing color contrasts as the seafloor fell away into the deep blue beyond. Tortuga Bay is a gorgeous half moon bay with tucked between two lava points and guarded behind by thick desert vegetation. The sand is a fine powder, and (hard as it is for me to compare the two incomparable places) was reminiscent of that in Gulf Shores, Alabama. The surf offshore was not much better than Gulf Shores either. A fifteen knot breeze swept along the shoreline and the waist high waves gently fell over on themselves; but the beauty of surfing is that none of this matters. I ditched my things on the beach and was quick to paddle out, and as soon as I duckdove the first wave all was right with the world again. The traumas of the previous day were a distant memory as I paddled to the empty lineup, turned shorewards, and admired the beauty of the desolate landscape. A few people were scattered about the long beach, but there were no homes adorning the hillsides and the bustling port was far away.
I was able to sneak into a few fun little waves before abandoning the water and walking the length of the beach, snapping photos as I went. Unfortunately Tortuga Bay is one of those places that cannot be captured in pictures alone. For one thing the beach is too wide and long to be captured in one frame, not to mention the fact that the camera doesn’t pick up the sounds and smells of the wildlife and vegetation, or the feel of the brutal equatorial sun being dampened by a breeze off the Humboldt-chilled water. I passed the afternoon reading the Autobiography of Charles Darwin on a gorgeous beach in the Enchanted Isles he made so famous and felt somehow close to the great naturalist.
As the sideshore wind continued for a second day I made my way to the “Charles Darwin Research Station” and spent a morning walking around the place. The Research Station is used to breed and raise baby tortoises and land iguanas which are then taken back to their native islands after they have reached a certain size. There are pens enclosing hordes of tiny tortoises separated into the island they came from, then there’s a communal cage where the tortoises are transferred after a couple years to learn to exist in more natural surroundings, after which they are returned to their native islands usually. There are a few exceptions. The next stop on the trail, for instance, brought me to the pen of “Lonesome George.” George is the last remaining member of the subspecies of tortoises from Isla Pinta and he was brought to the research center in the late 1970s in the hopes of finding him a suitable mate and either continuing his same species, or at least creating a new bloodline in close relation to the species. The problem is they have yet to find a female from the Pinta subspecies and George refuses to adulterate his blood. He spends his days in a pen with two female tortoises from a species closely related to him, but he refuses to mate with any tortoise outside his specie, and thus the Pinta subspecie appears doomed as George grows old.
After paying my respects to “Lonesome George” I walked through separate pens enclosing first female tortoises and then their gigantic male counterparts. It still surprises me how archaic the animals look. Looking into the eyes of the tortoise is like looking back to an era long past when reptiles ruled the earth. After the tortoises came the few land iguanas on display—massive iguanas of a reddish hue who were highly inactive and completely unconcerned with me.
Other than the Darwin Research Station all I wanted to see on Santa Cruz were the tourist sites up in the highlands. The opportunity arose on March 27th and Mike and I jumped at it. It all started the night before when Mike met a girl in a bar and the next morning we were headed ashore to do some kind of painting up in the highlands. All I knew was that it was my way up the hill. It turns out we were helping Galapagos ICE (www.galapagosice.org), a non-profit outfit, who was painting the inside of a school in the highland town of Santa Rosa. So we spent a couple hours throwing some fresh paint on a rundown school that needed a lot more than a superficial facelift, working alongside a dozen locals. I had a good time chatting with the locals and experienced the Ecuadorian work ethic firsthand. At one point I was painting a room with five locals when a man came in and said there were sandwiches for lunch. Immediately, almost in mid-stroke the locals cleared out of the room and went to lunch. Afterwards they lingered, did a bit more painting, and abandoned the endeavor in favor of a pick-up game of soccer on the basketball court of the school. Since the teams were uneven I somehow got dragged into the game and quickly realized my lack of any soccer skills; but in the end I didn’t hurt my team and we took the game 3-0.
In the early afternoon the painting was done and Mike and I along with Jill (the girl who roped Mike into the gig) and Ian from Afriki, were driven down to the Lava Tunnel. Our driver (a fellow painter) had called ahead and we were let in the tunnel for free, and descended into the center of the earth as it felt from the wrong direction, fighting against the flow of the pasty white tourists as we crawled through the low section of the tunnel and emerged into a massive lava tube. The tube was formed when the outer skin of the lava cooled first and the molten inside continued downhill, in the end forming a near-perfect tube that extended for a couple hundred yards before emerging into daylight once more.
After our stroll through the earth we were taken down to a local ranch where there are trails cut through the landscape and you can see tortoises in their natural habitat. Our luck was fairly good and we came across three gigantic tortoises, both hunkered in the bushes and strolling out in the open. It was a neat hike through the highland semi-forest, and after an hour of searching and nearly getting ourselves lost we returned to the entrance and were driven back down to sea level and left in Puerto Ayora. A little bit of work got us a lunch and visits to the tourist sites of the highlands as well as allowing us to meet the locals of the town and observe the Ecuadorians at work. It was a nice day.
All things considered Santa Cruz is nothing like San Cristobal, but has proven to be a wonderful stop on the continuing voyage. From here we will head south to Isla Santa Maria (Floreana) for a few days followed by a handful of days at Isla Isabella from whence we will take our leave for the Marquesas. The voyage is starting to move along and the sea is calling me back. I’m excited for the long passage which waits in the wings, and even more so to be heading for the south sea islands of many a man’s childhood dreams.
Pura Vida,
Scott Atkins
PS For the moment the “real world” has struck and I’m stuck in Santa Cruz at least another day trying to deal with the incompetence of modern man, but with a little luck the voyage will be moving on again soon.
jueves, 8 de marzo de 2007
Wreck Bay Heaven
I´ve now been anchored in Wreck Bay for going on 17 days and am in no hurry to move on. The anchorage is among the most beautiful I have come across with sapphire water and unobstructed views to the sea floor 30 feet beneath "Avventura´s" hull. The water is so clear that on one moonlit night while returning from dinner ashore you could see the entire hull six feet underwater in the dim moonlight shining through a thin layer of clouds. The cruisers I´ve met here are as nice as any I´ve come across and as varied a lot as you´ll find (boats from South Africa, New Zealand, Canada, France, Germany, to name a few)--most in transit to the Marquesas and points further west.
The bulk of my time has been spent surfing, reading, writing, and relaxing with some boat work thrown in for good measure. The surf here has been a pleasant surprise with its consistency, size and shape all exceeding what I had been expecting. Just yesterday I surfed 4 different spots for a total of 7 hours. The surf was 6 foot, a mix of southwest and north swell that turned on every spot on the island. After a morning session with the Kiwi Nick off "Pina Colada" at Canons Mike and I took the dinghy up the coast with the South African trio of surfers off "Robyn´s Nest" to the Manglacito where we surfed six foot perfect, fast lefts without another soul in sight. The wave broke off a desolate stretch of coast covered in green vegetation climbing the barren hillsides towards the blue skies above. The wind was slightly offshore and there was a hook in the reef where you were guaranteed a chance at a tube. One of the South Africans, Dave, a sixteen year old, is a good surfer and was pulling into impossible tubes and somehow coming out, though he did take a couple hard wipeouts. When the "Wavehunters" boat arrived with a dozen surfers we started making our way back to Wreck Bay, stopping at Isla Lobos where I had previously snorkeled with Sea Lions. This time we surfed a little hollow lefthander breaking directly off an islet of jagged rocks. If you fell on the takeoff you´d become ground-up seal bait, but we all made the drops and got a dozen fun and fast waves before calling it an afternoon and returning to Wreck Bay. Once back at the Bay I said good-bye to Nick and Patti on "Pina Colada" (we had become pretty good friends and they were sailed for the Marquesas yesterday afternoon) and I capped off a day of surfing with a stop at the hollow, shallow left of Tongo Reef where I surfed for an hour by myself and another 30 minutes with one local on consitent and fun overhead surf.
The Galapagos has lived up to an exceeded all my expectations thus far and I´ve yet to sail past the first island (San Cristobal). I am taking my time here because I have been warned that this both will probably be my favorite anchorage and that it is very difficult to fight the wind and current to return here. Thus the plan is for another couple weeks here before moving on to the other 3 or 4 anchorages I am allowed to visit in the islands. Tentative date for departure for the Marquesas is April 15, wind, weather and fun permitting. I am uploading pictures to my site (www.flickr.com/photos/avventura) as I type, but it is a slow connection so I don´t know how many of the 75 will make it on there, but it should be enough to give you a flavor of my last month of travels. Sorry for the lack of updates but internet here is slow and unreliable...More when I can.
Pura Vida!
The bulk of my time has been spent surfing, reading, writing, and relaxing with some boat work thrown in for good measure. The surf here has been a pleasant surprise with its consistency, size and shape all exceeding what I had been expecting. Just yesterday I surfed 4 different spots for a total of 7 hours. The surf was 6 foot, a mix of southwest and north swell that turned on every spot on the island. After a morning session with the Kiwi Nick off "Pina Colada" at Canons Mike and I took the dinghy up the coast with the South African trio of surfers off "Robyn´s Nest" to the Manglacito where we surfed six foot perfect, fast lefts without another soul in sight. The wave broke off a desolate stretch of coast covered in green vegetation climbing the barren hillsides towards the blue skies above. The wind was slightly offshore and there was a hook in the reef where you were guaranteed a chance at a tube. One of the South Africans, Dave, a sixteen year old, is a good surfer and was pulling into impossible tubes and somehow coming out, though he did take a couple hard wipeouts. When the "Wavehunters" boat arrived with a dozen surfers we started making our way back to Wreck Bay, stopping at Isla Lobos where I had previously snorkeled with Sea Lions. This time we surfed a little hollow lefthander breaking directly off an islet of jagged rocks. If you fell on the takeoff you´d become ground-up seal bait, but we all made the drops and got a dozen fun and fast waves before calling it an afternoon and returning to Wreck Bay. Once back at the Bay I said good-bye to Nick and Patti on "Pina Colada" (we had become pretty good friends and they were sailed for the Marquesas yesterday afternoon) and I capped off a day of surfing with a stop at the hollow, shallow left of Tongo Reef where I surfed for an hour by myself and another 30 minutes with one local on consitent and fun overhead surf.
The Galapagos has lived up to an exceeded all my expectations thus far and I´ve yet to sail past the first island (San Cristobal). I am taking my time here because I have been warned that this both will probably be my favorite anchorage and that it is very difficult to fight the wind and current to return here. Thus the plan is for another couple weeks here before moving on to the other 3 or 4 anchorages I am allowed to visit in the islands. Tentative date for departure for the Marquesas is April 15, wind, weather and fun permitting. I am uploading pictures to my site (www.flickr.com/photos/avventura) as I type, but it is a slow connection so I don´t know how many of the 75 will make it on there, but it should be enough to give you a flavor of my last month of travels. Sorry for the lack of updates but internet here is slow and unreliable...More when I can.
Pura Vida!
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