here fishy fishy

Hanamoenoa, Tahuata. Enough said 

It took a few seconds before the alarm bells went off. At first, my heart skipped a beat and I froze.

We had just anchored in beautiful Hanamoenoa Bay on Tahuata Island. I had donned my snorkelling gear and jumped in the water to check the anchor. As I followed the anchor chain from the surface, I finally spotted the anchor. I readied myself to dive down for a closer look, when I caught a movement from the corner of my eye. Below me, a dark shape swam into view and my brain paused. I registered the outline.

I thought, "I know what that is." Just then, it veered course and looked up at me. I popped my head out of the water and shouted incoherent syllables in my snorkel at Rick, who was sitting nearby in our dinghy. I splashed my way to the dinghy and hoisted myself up in one fluid, if not graceful, motion. After ripping my mask and snorkel off, I sputtered, "Shark! There was a shark. In the water - RIGHT there! Oh my god, a shark."

There are many shark species in the South Pacific. Some can be aggressive and dangerous, others are shy and avoid you. I don't know which one my buddy was. I was too busy getting my plump ass out of range. I have since pored over our fish books but still, I'm not sure. He was somewhere between 4 and 5 feet, he was dark grey and well, he looked sharky.

Later that day, we went snorkelling in the nearby reefs. While we kept an eye out for the shark, all we saw were fishes that were at the most, 12 inches long. Twelve inches, now that's manageable.

A tought nut to crack

Content to be on solid ground

This is what dreams are made of...

And this...

Sharks be damned, the hull
needs a scrub!

A common sight

In his element

We like this size...

the smell of land

Taahuku Bay, Hiva Oa

Rediscovering the sights and smells of land is sweet nectar in a sea voyager's life. A verdant island whose mountains are shrouded with clouds, Hiva Oa welcomes you to its shores. Taahuku Bay, however, wants to spit you out.

Photo courtesy of Adam and Edie

It may not be obvious in the photo above, (as usual, we're on the edge,) but Taahuku is a small, crowded and often uncomfortable anchorage. Being one of the Marquesas' only two Ports of Entry, this is one busy harbour.

One of our vocal neighbours

We didn't make it to land on the day of our landfall. We slept. We wept. (Okay, I shed a couple tears when I found out some precious books had been ruined by an unfortunately placed leak and mold had taken hold of our clean bed sheets. If you have washed king-sized sheets by hand, you'll understand. At 400 francs a kilo, there is no way someone else is doing our laundry.) But my distress was short-lived, there were too many other distractions. We would continually stop what we were doing to inhale the pungent air around us, while roosters serenaded us night and day. 

We did go to shore the next day, after I more or less successfully cut Rick's hair. The anchorage was so rolly that morning, he had to pin my feet down with his. The promise of fresh baguettes and pamplemousse beckoned and we rowed to shore to meet Sandra, our customs agent. Once on land, we ran into familiar faces and we all shared our war stories on the drive into Atuona. A passage is something one dissects with other passagemakers. It's sort of like when you were a kid and you'd compare scar stories with your friends.

View of Atuona from nearby
hillside

After the mock-stern reminder by the gendarme checking us in, that Rick must speak French from now on, we went in search of French Polynesian francs to satisfy our cravings.

Our companion in Atuona

Brel's grave at the Cimetiere Calvaire

While in Atuona, we paid homage to singer songwriter Jacques Brel by visiting his grave in the company of a mutt we'd just met. It took some convincing to get this dog to stop trampling all over Brel's grave. I'm sure if he were alive, Brel would have laughed at the irreverence. Rick and I both have always admired the capacity the singer had for stirring emotions through his witty and stark social commentaries and his songs of terrible heartache. Ever heard the song Dans le port d'Amsterdam? He was one of the quintessential troubadours of the sixties, Belgium's answer to Bob Dylan.

Atuona is an hour's walk from the anchorage, if you stick your thumb out, there is a good chance someone will pick you up. Sometimes, people will offer you a ride simply if they see you walking down the road, just like that. It reminds me of when I used to pick up hitchhikers in the Gulf Islands. These islands share the same friendly vibe, although there are more palm trees.

Clouds like to rest on this moutain top

The baguettes on the other hand, take me back to eating breakfast in my grandparents' kitchen in France, complete with cafe au lait. It's strange to come to a tropical island and be faced with all these little reminders of my country of birth. (Fred, remember Hollywood Gum? They have it here!)

After a mere three days, we were in the mood for somewhere quieter, somewhere we could breathe a sigh of relief, and of course, go swimming. So we pointed our bow toward what Lonely Planet calls Hiva Oa's little sister, Tahuata Island.

postcard from the edge

Making landfall feels like a lifetime away. We have been in French Polynesia for less than 2 weeks, and already we're in love.

We are submerged in a world made of dreams. Trees everywhere bend under the weight of their fruits, the air is thick with the pungent fragrance of tropical flowers and the sharp smell of drying copra. The incredible vistas are jaw-droppingly beautiful. (Just look up the Bay of Virgins on Fatu Hiva.) If I sound a little melodramatic, it's because I find these islands intoxicating.

We have met some very friendly folks here. The Marquesans are a warm and welcoming people - readily offering us rides, fruit, and gladly sharing their culture and history with us as soon as we start asking questions. The children we met have charmed us the way only children can, with their uninhibited candour and sense of humour.

Indeed there is no denying that we are smitten. Sure, the anchorages are often rolly and the air is heavy with humidity. Chasing leaks and mold have become a pastime on Nyon, but awe-inspiring moments win every time.

Looking back on the end of our passage: the frustrating frequency of squalls, the elation we felt when we glimpsed land for the first time, (tiny Fatu Huku), the fatigue after our arrival, we see it all as a rite of passage, an accomplishment to be proud of.

It is Sunday morning, we're indulging in a second cup of coffee, listening to African singer Youssou N'dour, while outside the incredible cliffs of Hanavave hug the shores in dramatic sweeps skyward. For this moment in time, we are grateful.

A smattering of passage statistics:

Distance Traveled: 2817 nm
Hours Traveled: 624h 29m
Days Traveled: 26
Motoring: 17.4 hours
Fastest Day: 145 nm
Slowest Day: 43 nm

NOTE: We have had no access to the Internet since leaving Atuona, we will share some of our stories and photos of the past two weeks with you once we arrive in Nuku Hiva.

visually speaking...

A glimpse into our 26-day passage from San Jose del Cabo, Mexico
to Hiva Oa, French Polynesia

Celebrating crossing the Equator! Please call us Mr and Mrs Shellback now.

Nature's canvas - never the same twice, always beautiful

A sight for sore eyes, heading into the Atuona Harbour on Hiva Oa

Lushness overdose - loving. it.

day 26 - land ho!

At long last, land! We dropped our anchor at 0833 after traveling 2817 nautical miles. What a beautifully lush island after weeks of nothing but the ocean... The small harbour is packed, we are anchored just outside for now. We're tired but good. We will write more once we have checked in and have rested.

We're not in Kansas anymore!
The Nyon crew

Day 25 - a groovy sort of day

A bit of Gypsy Groove* seems to be the right music for today. The mood aboard has lifted, the clouds are scattered and the sun is shining bright. Can we say, phew!

A 6 to 10 knot breeze is blowing for now. It's been an interesting couple of days filled with intense squalls followed by no wind, followed by more squalls. We're glad that so far, today has been a pleasant sort of day. I've made a lot fewer sail changes, and there have been quite a few more smiles.

All you puddle jumpers out there... Here's a weird question. Did you smell land before seeing it? I thought I did yesterday evening, but today no amount of sniffing brings back the odd spicy scent of last night. Could it have been wishful thinking? We were sailing upwind, so it's not completely unreasonable, is it? Needless to say, we're feeling a certain degree of trepidation today, taking turns to scan the horizon for evidence of land. I wonder who'll get to call "Land ho!".

*Gypsy Groove is an album from the Putumayo World Music collection. We love the energy of this one.

Position: 08* 56.637' S 138* 14.975' W
Distance: 109 nm
Heading: 209* T
Speed: 4.5 knots

day 24 - a case of extremes

The past 24 hours have been trying. We've had nearly back to back squalls, creating lumpy seas, with fickle light air periods sandwiched in between. And then there has been rain, torrential rain, horizontal rain, wet, leaky rain. One thing we've both found strange, is how much beating we have had to do on this journey, we expected to be running with the wind a lot more, not against it. Beating into squalls? Not fun.

I have to admit, we've asked ourselves what happened to the beautiful, wonderful Southerly Trades of our dreams. Neptune is having the last laugh, that's for sure. Aboard Nyon, there's been more grumbling than laughter, but we're working on that.

It's not all bad, just frustrating, and certainly manageable. We're both tired though, and everything is damp. But, and there is always a but, we have less than 200 nautical miles to go. And that, is exciting.

I got pretty keyed up last night when I looked over our port side, and saw a faint greenish light far off in the distance. That had to be another sailboat. There were no other lights, and motor vessels always have extra white lights. We haven't yet been able to locate another vessel in the daylight, visibility has been poor. I'm still scanning the horizon though. Who knows, we might not be as alone as we thought.

Position: 07* 20.700' S 137* 24.924' W
Distance: 91 nm
Heading: 206* T
Speed: 5.4 knots

day 23 - are we there yet papa smurf?

A squall, a good sized squall after some unexpectedly light overnight winds, made me realize that it's just silly to make pronouncements. I choose generalizations from now on. Sometime this week we'll make landfall. Probably not Tuesday, maybe Wednesday, perhaps Thursday. It doesn't matter. Well, it does, but I can't let it matter. If I let it, I'll just become grumpy.

No one likes a grumpy crew, especially not me. So, here's to stepping back, taking things as they come, and adjusting the sails. We'll get there eventually.

Position: 06* 02.064' S 136* 55.782' W
Distance: 103 nm
Heading: 200* T
Speed: 4.4 knots

day 22 - getting closer

The countdown has begun. It is likely we'll make landfall by Tuesday. Of course, there are no guarantees, but it's looking pretty good. The Southerly Trades are exactly what we'd hoped: a decent breeze and comfortable seas (nothing like the washing machine waters of the Northerly Trades). We are making good progress.

This is when "being in the moment" becomes a little more challenging. The closer to our goal we get, the harder it is. I would be lying if I said I wasn't ready to set foot on solid ground.

I love sailing, especially in ideal conditions like these. But I have dreamt of these islands for a long time. Originally, Mexico was a stepping stone - somewhere we could learn the art of being a full-time voyagers... We ended up falling in love with the country as well.

But the lure of the South Pacific remained strong, and it pulled us away. We are nearly there. Can you blame me for feeling slightly impatient?

Position: 04* 40.008' S 135* 55.174' W
Distance: 135 nm
Heading: 215* T
Speed: 5.7 knots

day 21 - a welcome change

With only 500 nautical miles to go, we are finally sailing. Sailing, my friends! Are these the Southerly Trades at long last? Well, we've had steady winds for the past 12 hours... It's a pretty safe bet. (I have been wrong before, I know.)

Last night, I was stargazing under an incredibly clear sky. Other than the Southern Cross, I'm still confused by the blanket of stars above me. I can't seem to easily divide the stars into constellations... It's all still so new, a giant celestial puzzle. I find myself almost missing Cassiopeia.

This journey, since we left Canada, is a continuous series of discoveries. We're constantly faced with something new, or seeing things in a different light. The only constant in a voyager's life, is change. Sometimes that throws me off-kilter, I don't always feel comfortable with change. It happens. At times, I crave sameness, predictability.

Then again, had I not put myself in this constantly evolving environment, I wouldn't know that brown boobies fly hundreds of miles from land, or that red cabbage could taste so good when all the fresh produce you have left are a few onions and apples, two avocados and three potatoes. Out here, a shooting star is a wink from the universe. Everything is more immediate, more intense. It's funny, I have come to realize that by welcoming change, I may just find stability.

Position: 02* 47.399' S 134* 45.224' W
Distance: 118 nm
Heading: 207* T
Speed: 5.6 knots