A TASTE OF THE PACIFIC

Maurice Sumner

(Continuing the story of Christobel of Hamble's circumnavigation -- see Flying Fish 1995/2 and 1996/1. Christobel is a Halmatic 30, quite small by modern cruising standards.)

The Canal Transit

Our month in Panama proved both hectic and interesting. Rosie returned from a two week flying visit to the UK laden down with goodies, spares and a medical `all clear' from the hospital. Meanwhile I gradually acclimatised to Colon and found it less threatening than first thought. Leaving valuables behind and with a pepper spray at the ready, I felt reasonably happy moving around the town during business hours when it bustled with people and activity. Few people bothered me and traders were friendly and helpful. I suspect that there are no more villains here than in any other poor town, but I didn't test it further than necessary!

Christobel was now ready for the next obstacle, the Panama Canal. While Rosie was at home I did some trips as a line handler with other transitting yachts to gain some experience. Each boat has to be officially measured to determine the transit fee (US $250 for Christobel). The minimum crew is helmsman plus four line handlers, each with a 120ft line. These can be hired or you help yachts that help you. In addition, each boat must carry a `pilot', making six in all on a boat organised for two! The pilots are young local men under training, with good English and American education. Their role is to keep radio contact with the Canal Locks Control and ensure that everyone proceeds in the right order, speed and direction.

The transit is nearly fifty miles but not difficult, with yachts following a big ship into Gatun Locks and being held firmly in the centre of the chamber by four lines to quaysides. There is turbulence as the 1000 foot long lock fills rapidly and lines have to be tended throughout. The massive gate then opens and the big ship moves forward under its own engines (more turbulence) assisted by four diesel locomotives known as `mules' gently pulling it forward. In three steps we were lifted 85 feet to emerge on Gatun Lake, a large freshwater lake formed by a dam across the Chagres River. The next 23 miles offer a delightful motor-sail down buoyed channels through beautiful lakeside scenery where we glimpsed monkeys, iguanas and alligators.

From the lake, the Canal continues for nine miles through the Gaillard Cut, a man-made ditch blasted through the hills of the continental divide to arrive at Pedro Miguel Locks for the first of the steps down to the Pacific. On the descent, yachts enter the locks first followed by the big ship inching its way to within yards of our stern. Miraflores Locks take you the final steps to the Pacific level, and then a short motor-sail under the great span of the Americas Bridge linking the two sub-continents completes the transit.

Christobel did her transit in one day, which is ideal. With later start times boats often have to anchor overnight on the lake at Gamboa and complete the transit the following day. On my last transit on a friend's yacht we were left at anchor for two nights because Canal Control had forgotten about us! This presents problems of feeding the sleeping extra bodies, particularly for smaller yachts. The Americans have run the Canal since it opened in 1914 and are due to hand it over to the Panamanian government by the year 2000. There is speculation about the level of efficiency that will be maintained, which is showing signs of strain during this transition period, as we experienced.

The cost of transitting the Canal, including hire costs and the initial entry fee into Panama, left little change out of US $500 for Christobel, but it was certainly preferable to the alternative route! The Balboa Yacht Club provided moorings and the usual facilities while we prepared the boat and ourselves for the voyage ahead. Balboa is a suburb of Panama City, a big sprawl of high-rise buildings alongside poor districts, with a multitude of shopping precincts and malls in ribbon developments along each major route. It felt a cooler, nicer and generally safer place than Colon and we were able to get all the fresh supplies we needed for the long trip to come.

`Enchanted islands of the Galapagos'

In late March we departed Balboa with Christobel so fully laden with water, fuel and supplies that she initially sailed like a lead duck. Our first Pacific target was the Galapagos Islands, 860 miles to the southwest and always linked with Charles Darwin and the voyage of the Beagle 150 years ago. The passage from Panama to the Galapagos is tricky due to the convergence of major cold and warm ocean currents. The advice we received from Herb, the `weather oracle' who broadcasts nightly from Toronto to yachts and ships in the Atlantic, Caribbean and Pacific, was to head south out of the Gulf of Panama to the Equator to pick up southerly and southeasterly winds before heading west to the islands. Straying too far east down the Colombian and Ecuadorean coasts takes you against the cold Humbolt Current flowing up the west coast of South America from Antarctica. Heading southwest on the rhumb line to the islands gives you winds on the nose.

While sailing down the Gulf of Panama we were treated to a rare nightly view of the very bright comet Hyakutake with its long tail sweeping the northern skies. It took a respectable 10« days to dog-leg 1060 miles to Puerto Ayora in Academy Bay on Isla Santa Cruz, and for much of the trip it was like a gloomy autumn Thursday in the English Channel!

The mix of ocean currents gives the islands a pleasant sub-tropical climate all year round in spite of straddling the Equator. They reminded us of the Azores in appearance with a volcanic landscape and an abundance of wildlife both on and offshore. Tourism is strictly controlled and it's almost impossible to obtain a cruising permit from the authorities in Ecuador. We received permission to stay 72 hours to refuel and stock up, but this was extended to one week to enable us to get a minor engine repair done by very helpful engineers from the Ecuadorean Navy.

Most tourists arrive by air and there are good hotels and local charter vessels that take tourists on one to fourteen day cruises around the islands. We did a one day bus and boat trip to Seymour Island where we saw nesting blue-footed boobies, frigate birds, sealions and land and marine iguanas, all at close quarters. None showed any fear of humans and just ignored us as we trooped by, clicking away at everything that moved. The trip was excellent value at US $45 each including lunch, and our guide made sure that marked trails were kept to and very little was disturbed. At the Darwin Research Station in Academy Bay scientists have established a successful breeding programme for the endangered giant tortoises. When we met these huge reptiles who live to a great age I kept thinking about Victor Meldrew and that programme One Foot in the Grave.

Our short stopover at Darwin's `enchanted islands of the Galapagos' was memorable, and ideally a three week package cruise would be the way to see the islands properly -- if you have an arm and a leg to spare! The whole group is now a National Park and has also been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. These safeguards together with its remoteness gives the archipelago a good chance of protecting its unique environment from the excesses of mass tourism. We felt privileged to be able to make our brief visit there.

Sleighride westward

On 11 April we sailed fully laden out of Academy Bay and headed west toward the Marquesas, nearly 3000 miles distant in French Polynesia. This is a similar passage to the Atlantic crossing from the Canaries to the Caribbean and once again we were guided by Herb on the radio each night. He advised us to get south of 8øS before heading west. We would then avoid low pressure cells where squalls and thunder storms currently predominated. At 8øS the southeast trade winds were well set in at 15-25 knots and the great roller coaster ride began. We soon settled down to the long-haul routine and the days flew by with the miles. Our daily runs rose to 130 miles and the first 1000 miles were covered in nine days.

In these latitudes the days neatly divide into twelve hours daylight and twelve hours darkness. No other vessels had been sighted since we left and as we were well clear of shipping lanes we adopted the singlehander's approach to watchkeeping at night, with regular looks around for other vessels but otherwise catnapping through the dark hours. During the day we seemed to be very busy with navigation, fishing, cooking and maintaining the boat and ourselves. Water was strictly rationed, so every opportunity was taken to make water with the hand-operated desalination pump or to collect rainwater. One morning we saw a nice shower approaching beneath a black cloud. We closed the hatches, set out the buckets and stripped off our clothes to have a good shampoo and washdown. With hair lathered up and goose-pimples breaking out we watched in disbelief as the torrential rain passed just yards away from the boat like a full London bus, without a drop falling on us! We had to laugh at the image of two naked old codgers with soap in their eyes trying to flag down a passing rainstorm in the middle of nowhere.

All our navigational needs were supplied by GPS, undoubtedly the miracle worker of modern navigation. As backup we regularly practiced astro fixes with the sextant just in case the new technology failed. At first our fishing efforts were successful, with catches of tuna and dorado of reasonable size, but later only unseen `monsters from the deep' seemed interested in our plastic squid lures and with a few mighty tugs snapped the line and another expensive lure was lost. Anyway, who wants enough fish for a crew of twenty all at once! Tiny flying fish littered the decks each morning and some larger ones grilled up nicely for breakfast. With the incessant rolling motion that accompanies downwind sailing cooking became a rigidly organised balancing act, but Rosie's cuisine was as good as ever. She baked two loaves of bread twice each week with me as chief dough pummeller, and her preserved butter and the fresh fruit and vegetables lasted well for the whole voyage.

Much time was spent reading, with Jeffrey Archer very popular on this trip, and just watching the big following seas of the southeast trades advancing like great walls of water towards our stern, giving an endless sleigh ride as Christobel lifted her bottom at the last second as a big snarling wave passed beneath her. Florence the windvane handled all the steering and it was indeed poetry in motion to watch the two of them working in harmony hour after hour with the sea doing its best to wrong-foot them. Just the occasional douche over the boat showed that they did not win them all.

The trade winds continued day after day giving us our best progress ever in superb weather and without having to adjust sails or sheets for days on end. Why can't it always be like this? We contrasted the relative tranquility of this extended period at sea with the daily hassle of shore life which awaits every landfall, and felt it could go on and on.

On 4 May we sighted land ahead, a telltale build-up of cumulus cloud above it. Our timing was poor as we approached Hiva Oa at dusk and had to grope our way into the anchorage in the dark. However a New Zealand yachtsman was there in his dinghy to help us lay our stern anchor, and after sharing a celebratory nightcap with him we slept well in the rolly anchorage.

In the morning we awoke to a stunning scene of perpendicular mountains with massive cliffs of black rock and jagged pinnacles like steeples behind, all covered in thickly wooded lush green foliage. Soon waves of heavy rain blotted out the view and diverted our attention to fighting the dampness and buggy insects. This is the other side of the tropical paradise coin.

So in six weeks and two giant leaps we had covered half the 8000 miles from Panama to New Zealand. Our passage time from the Galapagos to the Marquesas was 23« days, covering 3010 miles at an average of 129 miles per day or 5.4 knots, the best Christobel has ever achieved to date.

The spectacular Marquesas

Idealised mental images of destinations seldom equate with the reality and the Marquesas are far removed from the palm fringed lagoons and white sand beaches of the South Pacific dream. These were yet to come, but here we saw a Hebridean landscape with a wet and windy climate to match. The anchorage on the south coast of Hiva Oa is sheltered with a moderate surge making stern anchors necessary to reduce rolling. The jetty was christened the `white water landing' and dinghies also needed stern anchors to hold them off the beach. Once ashore the good metalled road led us through lovely tropical countryside around the bay for 3km to the neat and pretty town of Atuona with three small supermarkets, shops, post office, bank, churches and bungalow dwellings with cultivated gardens. The local people were smiling and friendly, offering lifts in their cars to and from the town to the anchorage.

Our first trip ashore, and on a wave of euphoria we stepped out to explore and soon came across a small roadside caf'/bar in splendid and unsuspected isolation. It was like a mirage in the desert to a thirsty man and my craving for a first cold beer in weeks led us inside to order a super `landfall lunch' of entrecote steak with Roquefort sauce, salad, chips and a bottle of vin rouge. Not bad for US $45 we gulped! We realised that we were back with European prices, and that French Polynesia was an expensive place to live after the Caribbean. Apart from staples like bread, flour, sugar, rice and local fruit the prices in the shops were very high compared to where we had been, and we later heard that a swingeing 35 percent import duty inflated and distorted the natural market.

At the Gendarmerie we officially entered French Polynesia and I made my second mistake of admitting that we would be in the Marquesas for three or four weeks waiting for another yacht to catch up. Everyone visiting French Polynesia must deposit a `bond', a sum sufficient to repatriate you home if you fall on hard times. A valid airline ticket is an acceptable alternative. The official told us that we must pay our bond immediately, and sent us off to the bank where we were relieved of US $2300 for two persons, in French Pacific francs which would be refunded to us when we left the territory. Another US $50 non-refundable bank charge was made for the privilege of holding and using our money in the interim. We made the transaction by credit card which later incurred another œ25 handling charge, so it was pay! pay! pay! Other yachts indicated that they would remain for only ten days before heading for Tahiti where they had `bond' funds waiting. This worked for them and delayed payment for up to thirty days. The mood of the duty official determined when and how people paid, which most did, sooner or later.

The population of this island group (6000 in 1971) is now less than a tenth of its level at the start of colonisation by the first missionaries 150 years ago. Very little of the interior is now inhabited and a multitude of historic temple sites (maraes) with petroglyph rock carvings and castrated tiki statues now lie buried under jungle awaiting rediscovery. It is difficult to see what the small population does for a living as there appears to be little industry or cultivation apart from coconuts for copra, local fruits, a little fishing and some tourism. It seemed most either worked for the government or lived on generous `welfare' payments. Some social engineering by the Government encourages an increased birthrate, with US $50 per month payments to mothers for each child. If all this is true, then France is pumping in large subsidies to this and its other overseas territories, which means that the EU is paying as it does already to support French farmers, which in turn means you and I!

We did the mandatory pilgrimage to the house and grave of painter Paul Gauguin in Atuona, but try as I may his pictures do little for me and his lifestyle had little to admire. Such in genius, but I suppose everyone else can't be wrong! In all respects Hiva Oa is a difficult place to penetrate, with few roads and muddy tracks that may lead nowhere. Some intrepid cruisers trekked to the north coast but one went missing for two days, causing concern before he turned up having spent nights in sheds, he knew not where. The best way is to take the boat round to other anchorages and work inland from there.

After a week in Hiva Oa we sailed to the adjoining island of Tahuata to visit Hana Moe Noe, the lovely bay on its northwest corner. The climate was much drier here although only twelve miles from Atuona. We snorkelled in clear water, gathered limes from the trees behind the beach and apart from biting `no-no' flies in the sand we enjoyed this peaceful place.

From there we beat 45 miles southeast to Fatu Hiva. It makes sailing sense to make Fatu Hiva your landfall from the east, but as it is not an official port of entry the pilot book warns of stiff penalties for yachts coming here before officially entering at Hiva Oa or Nuku Hiva. Many yachts ignored this warning and no penalties were made. So the message is: do your own thing and bear the consequences. We had a hard twelve hour motor-sail to windward before anchoring in the Baie des Vierges on the northwest coast of Fatu Hiva. According to Paul Theroux in his book The Happy Isles of Oceania, this bay was originally called the Baie de Verges (Bay of Penises) because of the phallic-like rock structures. Outraged missionaries slipped an `i' in, making it Baie de Vierges (Bay of Virgins) which was much more acceptable, even if they were thin on the ground at times! Fatu Hiva, with its tiny population of 500 or so is one of the prettiest and most vertical islands in the group. Strong catabatic winds funnel down the steep valleys into the anchorage but the scenery is superb and the village folk welcoming with excellent wood carving and tapa for sale or barter.

We had an excellent downwind sail back to Hiva Oa and on to Nuku Hiva where our mail awaited us. Nuku Hiva is the capital and administrative centre of the Marquesas and here we were boarded by Customs (Douane) who questioned us in detail, but as we had drunk all our alcoholic stores we declared a `nil return' hic! The large Baie de Taiohae provides a spacious anchorage with resupply facilities and gas refills available. Unfortunately the water is polluted by wild goats and sheep so we moved five miles west to Baie Taioa (Daniel's Bay) with good water but a shoreline swarming with `no-no' flies. We looked as though we both had chicken pox after filling our tanks, but the subsequent scratching was exquisite! Daniel is a very friendly but quirky Marquesan who requires to be approached correctly. He allowed us to pick all the limes we could carry and gave us grapefruit (giant pamplemousse) and oranges in exchange for cigarettes, tobacco and some tinned goods. He wanted .22 bullets to shoot goats but we could not oblige with these. Rosie made excellent concentrated lime juice with the limes -- we might market it one day as `Rosie's Roses Lime Juice'. It is good as a long soft drink and even better as a mixer in gin! Surprisingly, we found the Marquesans we met uninterested in money, preferring to barter or just give. Their natural generosity was such a refreshing change from the money-grubbing Caribbean. They have attractive personalities but will never win a beauty contest. They say that as they grow older the women look more like the men than the men do, and with both sexes wearing a flower behind their ear confusion reigns! The island of Ua Poa was spoken of highly by those who visited it, as were the anchorages around the north side of Nuku Hiva.

The Marquesas face an uncertain future. Their climate and remoteness will only ever attract specialist tourism and the population may continue to decline without some other areas of economic growth emerging. There seems to be little political activity and they are on a gravy train of subsidies just as long as the French see it to be in their interests. Anyone here wanting independence must need their head examined.

The Tuamotu Archipelago

The voyage from the Marquesas to the Tuamotus is 500 miles southwestwards across the southeast trades. These strong (15-30 knot) winds look quite different when on the beam rather than astern. The VHF airwaves were full of `weather' discussions -- `whether to sail or not'. I thought we had left all this group consultation behind in Cherbourg at Bank Holiday weekends! We eventually sailed southwest into big beam seas and strong (force 6-7) winds, making fast but not very comfortable progress with the occasional sea breaking over Christobel and finding leaks where none were before. After four days of `heavy weather' sailing we arrived at dawn off Kauehi Atoll in company with our friends on Rose of Wight and surveyed the entrance pass into the lagoon.

Most of these atolls are in the form of a necklace of low-lying motus which create the lagoon. Each motu is a small coral island, usually with palm trees, separated by shallow gaps through which the sea can enter. The southern sides tend to be bare of trees and with the submerged fringing reef are difficult to see and dangerous to approach. The navigable passes into the lagoon are subject to strong currents, and the trick is to judge when slack water or the period of least current occurs. Tide tables give times of high and low water, but these did not seem to relate directly to slack water, which is more influenced by the daily moon position and the strength of the trade winds forcing water into the lagoon from the windward side. We used an excellent `nomogramme' which predicted the flow in relation to times of moon rise and set, and found this to be the most reliable indicator.

On this occasion it showed that slack water would occur at 1400 (HW 1450), so we hove-to for the morning on the offshore tack and waited. At 1330, with the sun high overhead for good underwater visibility, we charged into the pass with engine on and sails up, giving us 6 knots through the water though reduced by the outflowing stream to only 2 knots over the ground. In a few minutes we were through the pass and into the lagoon where the current promptly slackened off only to be replaced by a squall of stair-rod rain and blasts of wind raising a short steep sea for fifteen minutes.

Reading the pilot books we had not realised the size of these atolls, where you cannot see the low-lying land across the lagoon. A compass course was set to the village eight miles distant and the settlement of Maueki with its dominant Catholic church eventually hove into view. Guided over the VHF by yachts in the anchorage, to avoid coral heads and fishing buoys, we anchored in 15 metres in a sheltered bay behind the village.

About 150 adults and children live in this neat, tidy but basic settlement. They farm copra, fish locally and operate a small pearl farm supported by French and Japanese funds. The supply ship visits every two to three weeks and they seem to live a pleasant, undemanding existence electricity and most mod-cons available. On our first trip ashore we passed a bungalow with a lean-to housing washing machines and other domestic appliances. We asked the lady if it was a laundry and could we get some washing done? She was so sweet explaining that this was her home machine but that she would be very happy to do our laundry for us. No payment would be accepted, only that we sign her visitors book which was full of yacht greetings and photos. When we came to collect the laundry it had be beautifully folded and wrapped, and she gave each of us a shell necklace as a memento. We responded inadequately with some Ariel washing liquid, a T-shirt and some Marquesan limes. Everyone in the village responded in this friendly and generous way to the invading yachties, with hordes of children wanting to shake hands and say bonjour.

On another visit ashore we were puzzled to see the main street absolutely deserted but with cheering and hooting coming from each house we passed. Eventually we were beckoned into a house where the television was showing the European Football Competition from England, with France in a nail-biting penalty shoot-out with Spain. From the Tuamotus to Wembley -- what a contrast!

The American cruisers are the great social organisers and we were all invited to a beach party lunch with each boat bringing their own drink and a dish of food to share. It was a delightful event in lovely weather and we felt that the `dream Pacific' had come closer. Then for the next four days it blew a houlie from the east with gusts to 40 knots. The lagoon water remained relatively flat but as we sheared about we could hear the anchor chain grinding across the coral seabed. In the dark hours of the second night of the blow I let out another 15 metres of chain, making 75 metres in all, but in doing so I frightened the life out of Nigel on Rose of Wight astern of us who thought Christobel was dragging down on him. I had tried to tell him of my intentions on the radio but without response, and he needed a few beers the following morning to mollify him.

The poor weather continued for days making dinghy trips ashore a very wet experience, so believe it or not we settled down on the boat in this tropical paradise to complete our income tax returns!

Given good weather there is much to do and see in the Tuamotus, and many yachts found superb isolated anchorages with good snorkelling and diving. On Mahini and Fakarava amongst others it is possible to see the cultured pearl industry at work, producing black pearls from the large black lipped oyster Pinetada Margaritifera. This is one of the few remaining areas in the world producing the beautiful and expensive black pearl.

The Tuamotus are not a relaxing cruising area whatever the weather. Two yachts had already gone aground on reefs this season before we visited. One (GRP and insured) was abandoned and lost, the other (steel and uninsured) hired a tug from Tahiti 250 miles away at US $5000 per day to pull him 300 metres across the reef to deep water. Only a steel boat could survive that sort of rescue! Although it is never fully explained how these things happen, both incidents occurred at night on the most dangerous submerged southern shore. Some blame the accuracy of GPS against the inaccuracy of some charts, but most navigators allow for this ten-fold when setting courses, particularly at night. However, as with any `pilot error' we all sympathize, knowing that `there but for the grace of God go I'.

After ten days at Kauahi we sailed out of the lagoon through moderate overfalls, emerging like a cork out of a bottle, and headed west for the fleshpots of Tahiti three days distant. A superb sail with good winds and a full moon all night brought us to Papeete Harbour, where we anchored off the beach in 15 metres with a very long line ashore. Here we began our re-entry to the `civilised' big city with streams of motor traffic passing along the waterfront, supermarkets and expensive caf's -- yet another jarring contrast to digest! There should be a government health warning ..... `buying anything here can seriously damage your wallet!'.