Category Archives: Bryce’s Posts

Baja California & Mexico, Bryce's Posts, Educational, Eric's Posts, Leslie's Posts

Lost Two Anchors in Puerto Escondido, Mexico

July 9, 2019 admin

Eric:

I’ve anchored cruising sailboats probably close to a thousand times. Although this time was unusual from the get go, but nothing glared at me with significant warning. Puerto Escondido was shown on both sets of electronic charts as a designated anchorage and the two older cruising guides described it as a place to visit, so I felt assured, although our trusted website guru Noonsite.com curiously was silent. Oddities began to present themselves. 1) the position dedicated as the anchorage was occupied by more than 50 pangas on individual mooring buoys. A local fisherman, fluent in English, approached us on his beautifully painted bright green panga advising us no mooring buoys were public. 2) the depths far exceeded the charts’ descriptions; 12 feet was now 80, and 15 was now 150. Thinking our depth sounder was on the fritz, I had Bryce drop a lead line to verify depth. “Line” is a nautical term used to describe loose rope on a boat, no matter the diameter. The sounder was accurate. 3) we were adjacent to one of Mexico’s primo surf sites, on purpose, and the current swell supported it. 4) with all the pangas on moorings and little room between them and the surf, we had to anchor outside their mooring grounds in 80 feet deep waters. Not our favorite circumstance. And, in addition to our bow anchor, we’d have to deploy our stern anchor to prevent us from swinging into the pangas since would have to let out so much chain due to the deepness of the anchorage.

The onshore breeze made anchoring that afternoon easy. We picked our spot, brought Kandu’sbow around, pointing her in the wind, then idled in reverse while in 85 feet of water, Bryce dropped our 65-pound Mantus anchor, the same anchor we faithfully deployed all around the world (an anchor few other long-distance cruising boats possess but wished they did, if only they knew how great it was). Bryce let out 150 feet of chain before we tested whether it would hold us. Most anchors need a chain to depth scope ratio of 3:1 to test, be we’ve found that the Mantus will grab at 2:1.

Once satisfied, we drifted back deploying a total of 240 feet of new high-tensile marine chain. Several types of marine chain exist, mostly all are steel galvanized with a zinc coating to protect it from prematurely rusting. Through our travels, we’ve learned that the French and Australians typically anchor with 3:1 scope, 4:1 in a blow. Americans, Brits, and Germans anchor 5:1 standard, and 7:1 in a blow. But at a depth of 85’ on a sharply rising seabed combined with the weight of 240’ of chain, we felt secure with 4:1. A rising sea bottom meant that the depth decreased dramatically, improving our ratio should we drift closer to shore, and such an angle advantaged us as well. As is our practice, Bryce attached our Mantus chain hook and nylon bridle, but with 240’ of chain deployed, we were a little too close to shore to let out all 30 feet of the bridle, deploying only half.

Our primary anchor is attached to all chain, 300’ in total. To prevent the chain pounding that can occur when a boat bow dips and rises, we attach a nylon rope to act as a shock absorber. It’s called a “snubber.” Wet nylon stretches more than dry, and the longer the nylon line the greater the stretch as well. We felt we had enough nylon in the water to give us the desired stretch. A bridle provides additional benefits in that two lines are attached, one from both sides of the bow, centering the pull forward off the bow, distributing the load, and adding security in the event one side should fray and give way, having the second to hold us still.

With our bow anchor secure, we set about the task of deploying the stern anchor, something seldom needed in most anchorages and therefore something we only seldom have done. We were not far from shore. Waves broke on the beige sand beach directly behind us, beach-goers Boogie boarding in the surf. To put out our stern anchor, Bryce and I inflated and lowered our dinghy, a task in and of itself, but one we are very accustomed to. With Leslie’s help too, the dinghy was launched in short order and our small, 3.3 hp outboard mounted to its transom. Seat and oars installed and with Kandu’s engine turned on, I boarded the dinghy, ready to receive and deploy our stern anchor. As agreed, Bryce monitored the outgoing line. “Leslie, reverse idle to port.”

Unlike the steel of our bow anchor, our stern anchor, a Fortress is made of aluminum. It’s the only anchor I know of made of such a light alloy, but that’s precisely the reason I like it as my stern anchor. I can easily “throw” it over board with minimal damage to the dinghy or myself. The proximity to shore and the greater than normal depth of the sea bottom made it impossible for us to first deploy the stern anchor from deck – a technic accomplished by traveling further forward to drop the bow anchor, and then pulling back in on the stern anchor line. Under our current circumstances, we needed to transport the 16-pound anchor and 50 feet of chain to the drop point, “toss” the anchor and chain in without damaging our dinghy, like pulling off an oar or puncturing something, and then have someone else on board Kandu take up the slack from the poop deck hoping it sets quickly. The make of our aluminum anchor, the Fortress, does this very well.

Over the next two days, we had to re-anchor the stern because the surf kept moving our anchor. Each time we brought up the anchor was challenging but we were able to pull up the stern anchor twice successfully. Finally, the third day it stuck. In that case, we anchored it much further away, almost at a 45-degree angle from the boat, directly in the surf.

Puerto Escondido surf right next to Kandu

The day before we were planning to leave this famous Mexican surf spot, a charter sailboat showed up, anchored for four hours, tried to pull up his anchor and couldn’t. He called two different scuba divers to free up his anchor and they both gave him the same reply, “No, I’m not going to do it, because it’s swallowed up by the sand and anything I do will be erased in a second by more falling sand. The only thing you can do is cut your anchor.” His anchor had mostly nylon hooked to little chain. I was hopeful that with our experience with the stern anchor and the fact that our fore anchor was all chain, we’d be successful.

Kandu anchored in Puerto Escondido, Mexico.

Bryce:

“Let’s go Trent” said Dad with determination. Initially, Dad and Trent paddled out in the dinghy to pull up the stern line and anchor while I was in charge of monitoring the line, the release and pulling the line/chain back in. Mom was monitoring the helm. “All good.” “Still good,” I yelled as I studied a fishing panga a little distance away to check the swell movements: whether the up and down movements were gradual or quick – the quicker movements indicated especially large incoming waves. “Still good,” I yelled every minute as I continued the pattern of letting the line out, and then pulling it in as some of the chain was released from the sand. “Outside set,” I yelled, and the two quickly abandoned their tugging in the surf and rowed to safety. This repeated at least five or six times when dad declared: “I’m exhausted, you need to take over with Trent.” As with Dad, Trent monitored the line and chain while I paddled out overtop the anchor which was directly in the break of crashing waters. I was worried about sinking and/or damaging the dinghy with too much pressure. When I grabbed ahold of the chain, due to the swell, I had to release or pull-in how much I had: swell decrease = slack, swell increase = the dinghy flying over top of the anchor, like when you spear a whale and it suddenly takes off. I placed my feet as if getting ready for a car crash to lock myself in. I was getting ready for a tug of war, holding on tightly letting the upward motion of the dinghy do the heavy lifting of the anchor. My position in the boat was far more secure than Trent’s because I was holding onto the anchor chain. Poor Trent was being thrashed around in the back of the dinghy like a malfunctioning carousel. Up, down, whipping all around. At one point, I only saw Trent’s legs hanging onto the back transom, and no Trent. Busy holding the chain I heard behind me: “Hey Bryce, I just fell in the water,” while lifting himself up pushing against the two ends of the dinghy. Trent’s torso and head had been completely doused. He looked quite disheveled. Both of us depleted, that was the last time we tried lifting the anchor with the dinghy. But still not giving up while rowing ashore, I decided that I would scope out the anchor with a mask and snorkel.

Dad and I rowed back out with the dinghy bringing up the line and chain as we went in order to attach a buoy, a floating marker. That was needed in order for me to find the anchor once dad dropped the line. I jumped into the pitch black with snorkel and mask and waited for the stirred-up sand to dissipate. Plunging down into the water holding the lead line, my goal was to see if I could touch the anchor. Once I got past all the floating sand, due to the moonlight and bioluminescence I could see pretty far…like there were stars under water, Van Gogh’s starry night! At the bottom of the chain, I couldn’t see or feel the anchor at all and every time I tried to unbury the sand, I would have to go up for breath. Then returning back down via the lead line just 2 minutes later, my unburied work was gone. I was so frustrated. I felt like all my hard work was for nothing…and I couldn’t change the situation. Like building a big Lego spaceship, while bringing it to your parents to show it off, you trip and drop it.

We figured there was forty-eight feet of chain with two feet remaining. The new plan was to pull up the slack as much as possible and during overnight’s largest swell we had experienced up to that point, the tugging of the chain by the boat would eventually pull the anchor out of the sand. At half past midnight, we went to bed exhausted.

The next morning around 7:00 am, we’d hoped to see the aft line slack, but no, the aft line was tighter than ever. I jumped back down into the water to see, and what I discovered was definitely not inspiring. I told Dad and Trent floating nearby in the dinghy, “We’re so screwed! That anchor is buried even deeper than last night because of the crazy swell we had during the night.” Due to the unbelievable current switches, the chain was buried an extra foot and I couldn’t even unbury the hook holding the buoy marker. Instead, I untied the buoy, leaving the entire marker line behind. I swam back to the boat while Trent and Dad in the dinghy, lifted up the chain and unattached the shackle holding the nylon line to the chain. We ended-up leaving all the 50 feet of aft chain plus the anchor. This whole business took about 45 minutes. We really didn’t want to lose our anchor, but we needed to get busy pulling up the forward anchor in order to depart that day. Trent’s flight out of Zihuatenejo was booked…we had a deadline.

Kandu’s aft positioned toward the beach of Puerto Escondido.

Dad was still hopeful that we could bring up the forward anchor because ours was attached to chain, not nylon line. I remember dad saying: “We have to at least try to pull-up the anchor!” However, we had been anchored there for a week…not just four hours!! I wasn’t very hopeful.

Leslie:

After 4 hours of painstakingly raising chain inch by inch, Eric and Bryce working together the entire time in the hot sun, concluded that it was a lost cause. “In the last 4 hours we’ve brought up just 150 feet of chain and it is no longer coming up. The tension is just too intense. The continued pressure will damage the boat,” declared Eric. Regrettably, he pulled out the bolt cutters and hewed the chain in two. We lost 2 anchors, our stern Fortress anchor and our fabulous 65 lb Mantus anchor attached to 130 feet of expensive new chain, plus 12 hours of concerted effort. Darn, darn, darn. However, on the positive side, during our two-day motor to Ixtapa Marina pointing into the swell, we benefitted from a substantially lighter bow!

Bolt cutters posed to cut Kandu lose from the chain.

Fortunately, we have 3 more anchors aboard. In Ixtapa, just before departing for Cabo, Eric and Bryce hooked-up and situated our secondary bow anchor (now our primary anchor), a Plow anchor, in a matter of minutes to line and chain – not Eric’s preference, but good enough to get us home. It took 45 minutes for them to prep the adequate but much heavier aft Danforth anchor for the stern. We also have a 95 lb fisherman’s anchor stored in the bilge to use for massive storms, which fortunately we have never needed.

Example of a very large Fisherman’s anchor

Bryce's Posts, Easter Island, Samoa, Fiji, Vanuatu, Darwin, Experiential

A Surf Day in Vanuatu: Pongo Point, Efate by Bryce Rigney

December 24, 2018 admin 7 Comments

June 22^nd,2017 : Bryce’s Journal

On our second day hanging around the island of Efaté, Vanuatu anchored off Port Vila, I called a local surf instructor, John, to see if he could show my brother and I around the local breaks. At the end of the call, he asked if I could come skate around to the café to meet us. Eventually, I wandered upon the shop and found the instructor. He was a small 27-year-old man with dark skin and short dread locks. He looked very friendly. Trent and I introduced ourselves hoping to makes plans for the morrow. It was concluded that we would meet up around 9:30 am at the wharf to skate around with some other kids while waiting for the high tide to crawl in. And then once the tide was close to its peak, my brother and I would fetch our boards on the boat to then catch a mini bus ride to Pongo Village, where John (the instructor) lived. Once all was said and concluded, John and I skated over to ask permission from my parents. Thankfully they said yes, and with that the plan was settled.

Anxious to go surfing, I had trouble sleeping through the night. Finally, the morning light rose and the timer on the clock began to ring. Before we were allowed to leave my dad gave us some chores. The first on the list was to take out and clean the spark plug on our little 3.3 horse engine, once that was finished we needed to start our reports, comparing the archipelago of Fiji and Samoa. We finished both chores by eight o’clock then commenced the days packing of extra clothes, water bottles and snacks. With our surfboards, board shorts, skateboards, and the bus money all ready to go, we lowered the dingy in the water and putted off with our skateboards. Trent and I waited around the wharf skating for an hour and a half, and right before heading back to the boat disappointed, John and his 8-year old student (Charlie- a girl) showed up. Together we skated around looking for a place to eat lunch. We came upon a place called Nambawun café and ordered protein with a chocolate brownie. An hour later we snatched our boards from the boat, mom motored us back to the wharf and we caught a bus to take us surfing. The four of us arrived to see 1ft waves and hardly anybody out. The tide was not quite high tide yet, so we weren’t completely depressed.

We stashed our things at John’s house and changed into our surf wear. A few minutes later we left towards the beach with hope of high tide to bring bigger waves. As we got closer we saw more and more surfers crowding what was now 2ft waves. So we hopped in the water and all paddled out together to the break. John and Charlie complained from the start that the water temperature of 80° was too cold, but us bros didn’t mind. We surfed around the beginner’s spot for a good half hour trying to figure out the waves’ weird way of breaking. Eventually the group separated and paddled to their preferred breaks, being as their were four different reef breaks all just ten minutes paddle away from each other. I scooted over to a super shallow left reef break where the waves were more my size, and my style. There I could get sets of 4ft waves to shoot down the line and give a big carve at the end of the wave before it got too shallow. The name of this particular spot was called Breakas, and it was my preferred break. The four of us stayed out until the tide once again dropped too far to be able to surf.

Those three hours of surf made us really hungry. We dropped our stuff of at John’s house to grab some money and to head out for fries. Hanging out while waiting for the fries, we talked about the past few hours and enjoyed access to the internet. After gobbling down the French fries we paid at the register and hopped back in the car for a return ride to John’s house. Once arrived at the house we quickly gathered all our things and placed them in a pile near the door. Charlie packed to leave as well since her ride home was coming. Since her mom would be picking her up to take her back to town we asked if it would be possible to give us a lift. As the mom arrived we grabbed our things and asked if she could drop us off at the wharf. She agreed, so we placed our things in her 4×4 and hopped in the back. During the car ride, John, Charlie, Trent, and I all talked and bragged about our day’s best waves. As the car came to a stop we ended the great day thanking the mom for the ride and saying good bye to our new friends John and Charlie.

Once on the shoreline, we laid our things aside down and looked for someone to borrow a phone so I could call my dad for a dingy ride back to the boat. We waited impatiently as my dad motored across to reach the dock. The first thing I said was, “Hey dad, do you think it would be possible to do this again tomorrow morning?” but he denied my request. I already knew it wasn’t going to be possible, knowing that tomorrow morning Kandu (Our boat) was scheduled to leave Port Vila in the morning to head to Pentecost. We got back home and over dinner gave our parents a run down on what happened during our great surf day in Vanuatu.

Here are photos and videos of some of the other cool things we did during our tour of the Vanuatu Islands.

Bryce and Trent Rigney with the Rom Dancers of Ambrym Island, Vanuatu

Land Diving on Pentecost Island, Vanuatu

After the Land Diving, I helped pound the Kava roots for the adults to drink and celebrate the last diving of the season.

Diving the SS President Coolidge wreck, Espiritu Santo, Vanuatu

Riri Blue Hol rope swinging and swimming, Espiritu Santo, Vanuatu

Bryce's Posts, Educational, Morocco

A Little Moroccan History by Bryce Rigney

December 4, 2018 admin 3 Comments

Modern day Morocco maintains many traits from the beginning of its 3000 year-old history. Street vendors, bargaining rituals, thieves, food stands, and tourists all have roles in the large cities. Morocco’s traditions have been through it all: the Phoenician arrival in 1100BCE, era of Roman rule in 146BCE, the Arab invasion (including Spain) in 711CE, and finally, the 21^stcentury.

Phoenicians, Morocco’s first “tourists,” came by sea from Lebanon in 1100BCE. They invaded the lands of the indigenous Berber tribes and began colonization of Morocco. With the frazzled Berbers who escaped to the mountains, the coast was an easy seizure. Through prosperous coastline trading, Phoenicians jealously guarded Morocco for an additional millennial. By 700BCE, present day Tangier, Rabat, Essaouira, (in Morocco) and Carthage (another North African Phoenician major trade colony in Tunisia) had been developed. Fiercely they proclaimed the epicenter of North African trade. Glory was theirs, until 146BCE.

Marrakesh Koutoubia Minaret considered the most perfect in N. Africa. Almohad architecture.

Following the trend of Mediterranean coastlines, Morocco and most of North Africa fell under Roman rule. In 146BC Roman forces crossed the Mediterranean and sacked Carthage for her valuable trade. During this time the Berber Kingdom (an accumulation of local tribes and refugees) began to grow. By 44CE Emperor Claudius imposed direct Roman rule. First course of action was a separation of North African territory into two groups: “Mauritania Cesarensis,” (Old Numidia) and “Mauritania Tingitana,” (essentially Morocco). Oddly this was the only discernable action pursued by the Romans over their reign from 146BC-429AD. The multiple attacks and rebellions from Berber and Germanic tribes probably prevented further changes to Morocco.

Bryce Rigney, Bahia Palace, Marrakesh, Morocco

As degeneration of Roman North African provinces became more apparent, Berber and Germanic tribes grew in power. Eventually in 429CE, a Germanic tribe marauded the Moroccan region and seized power until in 533CE when powerful Byzantines claimed the coastlines for their use as wealthy trading outposts. Less than 150 years later came the introduction of Islam, led by the Arab Governor “Oqba Idn Nafi,” though it was a questionable reign after their 5000-kilometer pilgrimage from Arabia to the Atlantic Ocean, Morocco’s Islamic future set anchor. Then came “Tariq Ibn Ziad,” an Arab Governor from western Morocco who took Islam further. During his reign in 711AD, he rallied the people to conquer Europe. Across the Mediterranean, the new Governor led his fleet to Spain, conquering Spain with the exception of the Spanish Mountains. The Islamic Arab conquest peaked in Spain, though due to lack of accountability, things became uncontrollable. Thus began the dispersion of the Muslim world.

Essaouira ramparts at the top of the Skala de la Ville, the great sea bastion

Morocco became a mother for many revolution refugees throughout the Middle East. Moulay Idriss was among these refugees. Morocco’s growing population soon yearned for a government. Adopted by the people as their leader, Moulay Idriss established the first sound Government and Arab court in Fez creating Morocco’s first capital city. After his assassination in 828CEthe Idriss dynasty remained firm for another century. Morocco soon began an interchanging supervision between powerful family tribes up through the mid-1800.

Saadian Tombs dating from 1554-1669, Marrakesh.

In 1492 drastic changes were made, Arabs were completely chased out of Europe by the Spanish inquisition. Forced to reconstruct their own lives in lands like Morocco, and after a bit of French & English colonialism in the 19^th-20^thcenturies, the people of Morocco make up a nation of two prominent peoples led by a king: Berbers in the mountains and southern regions, Arabs living on the coastlines and in the cities.

Laazama Synagogue, first Jewish Synagogue in Marrakesh, Morocco. It is still in use.

Bryce Rigney at the city walls built around Marrakesh Medina

During my two months spent in Morocco, I could sense its history. Street vendors, bargaining rituals, thieves, and food stands hoard ancient sand dunes and cobblestone roads. Sadly through the glass, corrupt oligarchies still administer the land. Through all their changes and attempts at modernization through the support from Europe and America, Morocco remains cloaked 100 years behind a long sleeved smock.

Bryce's Posts, Educational, Experiential, Gulf of Aden & Red Sea

Eritrean Coins by Bryce Rigney

May 17, 2018 admin 5 Comments

1991 was the end of Eritrea’s 30-year civil war with Ethiopia but it seems that 1997 marked the beginning of Eritrea’s printing and/or coinage of their own money. Over time, the government began to discourage private enterprise and travel, resulting in depreciation of their money, and the extinction of Eritrean coins. Today, 26 years later, the most commonly exchanged denomination are the 5 and 10 Nakfa bills. Sadly, the streets of Eritrea house large amounts of beggars. One of which was a skinny old man with a kind face, distinct jaw line, and a gruff white beard. He hobbled down the pedestrian sidewalk of Liberation Avenue in downtown Asmara, past a line of homeless, grasping tight his well-used yet sturdy cane and then he stopped. He had spotted a young Caucasian teenager and his mother, us, sitting in front of the towering Ave Maria Cathedral.

Bryce Rigney in front of Ave Maria Cathedral of Asmara, Eritrea.

Suddenly the man came alive, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, Eritrean and those from other countries in North Africa. “Hello, hello,” he said with his aged voice, trying to catch my attention. Interested and frankly board of sitting down in front of the cathedral waiting for Dad, I moved over to see what he had placed out for display. Unmasked from his chapped palms were a 1 and 5 Eritrean coins from 1997.

On one side, they displayed images of native animals that had once thrived amongst the lands. The other side depicted soldiers raising up the new national flag to mark their independence in 1991. I asked to borrow his treasures for a minute so I could interest my mom sitting a few steps above with what I had discovered. At the time I hadn’t a clue that they were of no value. In exchange for a couple of 1’s and 5’s I gave him a 10 Nakfa bill, which would most certainly be spent on his dinner that night. It was obvious from his big smile that he was delighted. Before continuing his walk, in broken English he informed me that the dates of the coins were manufactured in 1991 and tried to explain their original values. Then he proceeded down the sidewalk and blended in amongst the busy paths of other pedestrians.

For more information, I found a great short website about the printing of Eritrean money: http://africa.worldofcoins.eu/af-eri.htm

Bryce's Posts, Educational, Experiential, Indonesia

Indonesian Variety by Bryce Rigney 2017

December 11, 2017 admin 13 Comments

Indonesia, the planet’s biggest island country lying between the Pacific and Indian Oceans, consists of more than 17,500 islands packed into 735,000 square miles, an area one-thirteenth the size of America. Two hundred sixty-one million inhabitants make Indonesia the world’s fourth populace country, with more than half of the population living on the island of Java. Nearly 90% Islamic, Indonesia is home to the world’s largest Muslim population. Considering the many immigrated cultures, religions, and 700+ diverse languages Indonesia harbors, it’s really a mystery how this archipelago ever came to be a single nation.

Centered in the middle of Arabian, Chinese, Indian, and Japanese trade routes, Indonesia was surrounded by great commerce and power. Indonesia’s wealth began around the 7^thcentury when Asia first discovered and settled along the islands of Java, Sumatra, and Kalimantan. To Asia’s surprise, valuable spices and pottery material were aplenty. In return, they bore gifts of forged metal, a new way of life, and new religions: first Hinduism and Buddhism, followed by Islam.

Buddhist Borobudur Temple of Central Java finished in 825 CE.

Hindu Prambanan of Central Java finished in 850 CE.

Christianity’s popularity grew later. For eight centuries the Asian powers controlled and held firmly their hand over Indonesian trade, until the 16^th century. Hypnotized by the valuable spices and rare resources, Europeans such as the Portuguese, sailed across oceans, around continents, and unknown waters for the riches of the “Spice Islands,” taking over small ports along the way, eventually conquering Melacca in 1511. This was done in vain for once the powerful trade ports were conquered, nobody wanted to trade with them switching up trade routes. Eventually, after two years of spending money and losing lives, the Portuguese were squeezed out by the Dutch who gradually built-up trade with the locals and throughout the Indonesian archipelago and surrounding regions.

In 1595, the Dutch set-up the United East India Company (VOC) and eventually ended up running what is now considered Indonesia. Grasping tightly onto their specialty of spices, the Dutch and Indonesians produced many crops. Indonesia’s early wealth revolved around their most profitable export crops, nicknamed “black gold:” nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, and black pepper, sought after spices in Europe, more valuable than gold.

As the years passed, the Dutch became more and more entrenched, but despite imposed death penalties, spice plants were stolen and planted elsewhere in the world. Bit by bit the Dutch controlled Indonesia spice monopoly began to crumble in the early 1800’s. Housing a large population and a declining economy, the future seemed bleak. The Dutch crown had to take over the VOC and then lost it to France and then to Britain during Napoleon’s wars. Control to the Dutch was restored in 1816.

The Dutch then shifted their export production efforts to feed the growing demand for rubber, developing enormous rubber plantation, “white gold.” Tea, medicinal plants, cacao, tobacco, sugar, indigo and coffee exports were also developed. Due to their complete involvement in the various Indonesian islands’ economy, the Dutch improved infrastructure adding railway lines, shipping services and roads even while violently subduing the working people.

World War II was the final straw for the Indonesian people. They were taken over by the brutal Japanese where neither the Dutch nor the English were able to help. When the war was over, the Indonesians declared their independence on August 17^th, 1945 from Dutch colonization. After several years of war with the Dutch, they were awarded complete independence in 1949. Today, they celebrate Independence Day every year on August 17^th. We were in Kalabachi, Alor during this year’s Independence Day and were amazed by their incredible ceremony reenacting the gaining of their independence and the following day’s regional parade.

Alor Independence Day Re-enactment, August 17, 2017.

In most recent decades, declining rubber exports have caused Indonesia to shift development toward petroleum products (gas (LPG), crude oil, coal briquettes), gold jewelry, wheat, and the most profitable of all—palm oil or “yellow gold.” In 2016 Indonesia sold $140 billion (USD) worth of exports, palm oil contributing a tenth of that sum. Indonesia is one of the few countries with a trade surplus, compared to the USA who harbors a debt of $783 billion (USD). Yet even with a positive income of $8 billion (USD) Indonesia lies in a pile of trash.

Trash in the river water along a Kalimantan jetty.

With a decreasing economy and low income, we found ourselves surrounded by piles and piles of trash. During my time spent along the coasts of Indonesia, I developed a sickness of heart as the result of the expanse of polluted beaches, oceans, rainforests, and streets. While crossing over bridges, I saw painful amounts of plastic trash discarded along the riverbanks waiting for the rain to flush it all out to sea. This floating trash makes it dangerous for boaters to motor in Indonesian waters for fear of catching a few plastic bags in the prop like our friends on s/v Ocelot.

In the large fjiord of Alor looking toward Kalabachi from Kandu – plastic trash in the water.

In addition to polluted waters, hoards of fisherman struggle everyday, completely de-fishing their local oceans. Catching pre-mature fish, turtles, manta rays, crocodiles and sharks the size of your arm, these fishermen are relentless!

While passing nets 4 miles long and experiencing these haunting actions first hand, this traveling forces me to open my eyes to really see how humans affect their surroundings. Yet this traveling through Indonesia also brings me to appreciate the incredible beauty we have seen and been a part of.

But unfortunately, it doesn’t stop there. Like at home where precious resources have been squandered, Orangutans indigenous to Indonesia, are regularly killed and/or stolen for money. Palm oil implants destroy ecosystems full of endangered trees, monkeys, birds native to the islands along with the precious orangutans.

Palm Oil trees as far as the eye can see.

Yet in my three months of traveling in this region, the amount of “bad” in Indonesia doesn’t begin to measure against the overwhelmingly loving embrace the islands and the people give to total strangers like us. Exemplifying a generosity level of 100 percent, it’s hard to judge Indonesia just by their poor circumstances. Besides the trash and the loss of rainforests, it’s quite easy to love the culture and its people. With the hundreds of dinner invites and bonding photos with the local girls (etc.), I developed a great affection for the islands and their rich colors.

Medana Bay, Lombok Muslim Temple invited us to celebrate end of Ramadan fasting.

Belitung Students who came specifically to speak with Sail Indonesia cruisers.

Due to the many quick visits during the rally, it was difficult to appreciate all of what the villages had to offer. There is so much more than we got a chance to see: Raja Ampat and Papua New Guinea for the diving, and the Mentawai Islands of Sumatra for the surfing.

In just three months of sailing around, we experienced orangutan feedings, river tours, incredible surf, jungle hikes, national holidays, local feasts, temple & mosque visits, drum troupes, traditional dances, elephant rides, deserted white sand beaches, and we made life long friendships. My time amongst the Indonesian peoples was truly a blessing in “5D.” From inexpensive delicacies and ethnic spices, to billions of treasured photos, there will always be a place in my heart for the beauty of Indonesia and its culture!

Variety is the one word that best describes Indonesia. From the clearest of waters to the darkest of forests, Indonesia exhibits diversity of all kinds, most noticeable in their many cultures made up of varied peoples. Through the eyes of a 16 year old who has now left Indonesia with a sad heart, my hope is that more travelers will see and experience the fullness Indonesia can offer.

Party wave at Padang Padang – left to right – Bryce, Trent & Rainer.

Elephant ride at Lombok Elephant Park near Medana Bay.

National Komodo Dragon Park on Rinca Island Indonesia.

Bryce hanging with Valentin the friendly orangutan of Lombok Elephant Park near Medana Bay.

Shaking hands with Valentin the friendly orangutan

Sunset at Labuanbajo, Flores, Indonesia.

Walking through the Pentai Resort square of Belitung, Indonesia.

Rainer and Bryce building a cairn at the Alor hot springs.

Ramayana Ballet children dressed as monkeys in Yogijakarta.

Looking down from Kampung Village, Alor, Indonesia with Trent & Bryce Rigney and Rainer Dawn looking on.

Kalabachi dancers taking selfies with BnT

Rainer Dawn, Bryce Rigney and Trent Rigney at the Traditional Village near Kalabahi.

Rainer Dawn, Bryce Rigney and Trent Rigney engaged in their ‘boat schooling’ lessons.

Bryce, Trent and Rainer eyeing the Indonesian pastries.

Bryce Rigney feeding peanuts to macaque monkey, Indonesia.

Jon and Sue Hacking – Rainer Dawn’s Uncle and Aunt

Kandu guys and Rainer Dawn after toting Wee Kandu up the Nembrala Bay white sand beach off Rote island, Indonesia.

Rainer Dawn, Bryce Rigney and Trent Rigney jumping Oenesu Waterfalls, Kupang Indonesia

The Kandu guys: Eric Rigney, Trent Rigney and Bryce Rigney.

Sources: Website – Wikipedia, Indonesia history; Book – Lonely Planet, Indonesia; Kandu – Traveling by sailboat through Indonesia Aug-Oct 2017.

Bryce's Posts, Experiential, Tua Motus & Society Islands

Surfing, Camping, Islet, Friends

June 29, 2017 admin 11 Comments

Gotta see Video: Motu surf camping

“Yo, Bryce, wanna come? We’re spending a night on the motu,” says my best friend in Raiatea, Nari. Motu is the Tahitian word for islet inside or along the reef. Nari is a young man, three years older than me, who extended his friendship at a time when I had felt abandoned by my previous group of wave-faring comrades. Together with Nari and a couple of other surfers, we would take a boat to surf along the reef’s passes. My immediate response was “Yes!” hoping there wouldn’t be the rain and 25-knot winds like our last campout attempt. After school, I ran back to tell my parents the plan and to start packing for the next two days. First, I packed a hammock to sleep-in and a rain jacket, just in case this experience played out similar to the last. I also packed two extra pair of underwear, one pair of board shorts, one extra shirt, and a thin sheet in the form of a sleeping bag that would keep off the hundreds of mosquitos that would most certainly try to make a buffet out of me. Completing my packing was my surfboard, of course, my machete & sheath, and a 1.5-liter bottle of water. Nari had asked if I could bake a cake like I had before, to serve as breakfast before the morning surf. Hurriedly, my mother and I baked a 5 x 8-inch chocolate cake.

Around 17h30 (5:30pm) Nari showed up in his boat, the one we would use to go surfing as you can only reach the passes by boat. As I loaded my things into his boat, I handed Nari a thousand Polynesian francs or US$10 to help pay for gas. Filling up the tank at the gas station, we came across a few of the other kids who would be camping with us that night. They also needed to purchase gas before heading out. Our outboard full of gas, we headed south from Uturoa to the motu and our hope for surfing adventure.

At the start of our voyage, Nari steered the boat outside the reef to engage in a little bit of fishing along the way. I was handed the fishing pole so that he could steer the boat as close to the breaking waves as possible. After ten minutes, I yelled, “I caught something, I caught something!” As I reeled in the line, I sensed a bit of pride knowing I hadn’t let down Nari, an expert fisherman. Nari steered the boat away from the reef as I brought the jackfish, the size of my forearm, inside. “Hey, Bryce, do you think you could steer the boat so that this time I could cast the line?” asked Nari. With that I took the tiller and copied him as best I could, staying close to the waves like he had. Twenty minutes passed with no success (I had been reluctant to direct the boat as close to the reef as Nari had). As we approached the entrance to our destination, Nari reeled in his empty hook and I caught sight of our fellow campers out in the water already surfing. Once ready, Nari said, “Throw the anchor!” When the hook grabbed, we threw off our shirts, snatched up our boards and paddled out towards our friends. While greeting all the local surfers, I watched for the sweet spot, where I would set myself up.

That afternoon, we stayed out until we could no longer see. One by one, trickling away, the various boats hoisted their anchors and headed back home, or in our case right next door to our motu campsite. From the surf, we saw hoards of boats gathered along the white sand beach of the motu. Finding our group, we stationed the boat and tied the painter around a tree. Afterwards, I unpacked my things from the boat and searched for a spot to set-up camp for the next two days. Because of all the pretty distractions that had just finished their evening swims, it took me a while to find a spot. I settled in the middle of two trees behind the fireplace, attaching my hammock to a coconut-less coconut tree and a chestnut tree (didn’t need the possible headache). That night all the kids circled around the fire to talk, listen to music, drink, smoke, and to barbecue whatever food it was they had brought to share for the night. Nari was the main chef that night, cooking breadfruit, sausage, rice, and potato gratin. It was practically an all-you-could-eat buffet surrounded by friends!

The best surfer in our group, Heremanu, who I looked up to, was the only one besides me not to drink or smoke. I was glad that it was with someone like him that I could relate, and appreciated him more for it. As the moon rose higher in the sky, our fires burned lower. Nari knowing that I was the earliest bird in the group whispered, “Hey, Bryce, I know that you’re going to be the first to wake up. Can you wake me up early in the morning so we can be the first to go surf…. and gorge on your cake? Don’t tell anyone else about the cake. All right?”

My normal routine was to go to bed early and wake up early, so I hit the sack at 21h00 (9:00pm) for a good night’s sleep. As instructed by my dad, I positioned myself at a 20-degree angle in the hammock. I slept well through the night, and with the luck of no rain or falling coconuts, I arose with the early morning light. As I walked around, I heard the wrestling of giant ground crabs, tupas, running back to holes they had dug for themselves for shelter. That morning, despite the fact that they had gone to bed at 3:00 am, Nari and Heremanu woke up on their own. A few of the other kids had also woken up eager to go surfing as well. Being that my friends were all Polynesian, the three of us were obliged to share the cake and to bring them along surfing.

Before leaving, we all headed to the beach to examine the morning’s surf conditions.

At the last minute, Vaimiti, the fourth musketeer in our group, awoke to join the surf excursion. With surfboards, wax, and friends all loaded inside Nari’s boat, we took off. Heading to the pass we saw another boat arriving at the same time as us. Vaimiti anchored the boat in a stable position. Given the okay to go, I hopped in the water and paddled out looking for the day’s sweet spot. There was only enough light out in the sky to see my own hand, yet the others as well started to paddle out. As the first set started to roll in, I placed myself in the right spot to catch the wave. Once the wave started to lift and carry my board, I stopped paddling and popped up to my feet, surfing the dark, glassy figure of the wave. For two hours, we were a group of seven, surfing a 40-second left, reef-barreling wave in the middle of the South Pacific Ocean. Towards the end of our morning session, a group of 14 body-boarders showed up to crowd the occasional seven-wave sets. After three hours of great surfing, we returned back to the motu for some much needed lunch. This way, we could eat, regain energy, and wait out the crowded surf spot.

All the girlfriends clad in bikinis had come out to play volleyball and petanque (like bocce ball) on the white sand beach of the motu. I unfortunately was one of the few fellows left to keep his hands in his pants. For lunch, Nari and I reignited the fire to boil rice and to heat up a few cans of corned beef. While waiting for the food to cook, we joined in on the beach activities. After a few games of bocce ball, the scent of food led all the famished clan into a huddle. The music and the plates came out as we dug into the huge portion of mixed rice and corned beef hash. Not a grain was left in the bowl.

Our group of four musketeers, anxious to head back to surf, walked over to the beach to scout out the new afternoon conditions. Seeing as the waves had grown in height, the four of us headed to the boat with haste for another session. Approaching the pass, we watched six foot linear barrels being surfed. We quickly anchored the boat amongst five other boats and flew into the water. It was the best day of surfing I have ever had. The waves were perfect. In a single wave, one could maneuver three carves and shoot out of a hollow tube big enough to stand in. I had only ever dreamed of waves like these. It was truly a gift to be surfing these perfect waves with my awesome friends!

Conversely, wiping out on one of these perfect waves would land you cuts from the sharp coral reef just below the surf. Respectfully, GoPro photography was forbidden. The locals do not want their home waves to be overtaken by professional surfers from around the globe.

With the swell picking up, two of our party too frightened to continue, caught a boat ride back to the motu. That left 8 of us who continued to surf the waves of our lives, including the ‘early bird’ guy from the boat that had arrived before us that morning. I watched my friends as they surfed, shooting out from being fully covered in clear blue tubes and carving up and down those perfect lines with grace.

It was the happiest day of my life that I could remember. To be experiencing my Polynesian dream amongst good people was truly awesome. We continued to surf until rashes, jellyfish stings, sunburns, burning muscles, and reef cuts covered our whole bodies. After four hours of doing what we eat, sleep, talk and dream about, we returned back to the motu to find some more food . . . Hungry!

With all our energy left in the pass, making our way to the motu’s luxurious fresh water spigot came with great difficulty. We rinsed our things and ourselves then brought the boat back to the campsite to tie it off. De-energized, dehydrated, reef cut, and starved, we looked like a bunch of bedraggled kids who had just returned from being exiled in the desert. Immediately upon arriving back in camp, we scavenged potable water to drink and snacks to satisfy our needs. With our stomachs satiated, we hit the sack to nap and ready ourselves for the day’s evening surf; yes, morning, noon, AND night! After an hours worth of rest, us four musketeers were ready to go back to the pass, cut, burnt, and all. At around 16h (4:00pm) the boat departed full of newly waxed surfboards and brow beaten Tahitians. The local crowd, including our loyal ‘early bird’ friend, was still there. They were shredding what was now a 4-foot barreling line. Though the afternoon swell had died down, so had the wind. We caught wave after wave, landing ourselves more reef cuts, stings, and rashes. Nothing stopped us from our love for surfing. As the light dimmed so did the band of surfers who needed to get across the lagoon to their main island homes before dark. The few to prevail included us and the ‘early bird,’ who seemed to know everything about his home pass. We couldn’t get enough, the swell and conditions were too great to pass up. Though as the time passed, the sun and the light descended to hide behind the mountain. Too dark to read the waves any longer, we left the pass and headed back to camp, having added two more great hours of surf that day. Being as the conditions were too good to pass up, a few of us decided to stay for an extra night on the motu. Our only problem was the food rations.

The remaining group of ten walked over to the showers to rinse our salty dry skin.

Dinner was breadfruit and rice mixed with the fish I had caught with Nari on the way over. Again, the alcohol and weed came out for the ones who wanted it. With my good friend Heremanu being one of the kids to have taken off, I was the only ‘good’ boy left. Towards 20h00 (8:00pm), dinner was ready. Being hungry surfers, we ate like champions, going back for seconds and thirds. I kept to my same schedule, going to bed right after dinner. Even after the nine hours of surf, the others stayed up late till one in the morning, talking and being teenagers.

That morning, lucky to have slept well through a second clear, starry night without rain and deadly coconut droppings, I was awoken by Vaimiti. He had the bright idea to wake everybody up an hour early for no apparent reason. So being awake, we pre-packed our things into the boat, ate breakfast, and waited for the sun to come up. We couldn’t help but walk over to the lookout spot a few times, anxious to see what the day’s conditions might be. After thirty minutes of waiting, a speck of light glimmered over the horizon, giving us a peek at what our waves were going to be. Our guesstimate was 4-foot. And with that, we motored off.

Again the six of us guided the boat through the exit of the motu coral reef and out to the breakwater. Ten minutes later we dropped anchor and jumped into the rolling waves. I was the first to start out and swam away from the boat to relieve myself of a full two days holding tank. Swimming as fast as I could away from my fish food, I saw two more boats arriving to profit from the perfect waves. In one boat was a group of three older guys who could hold their own, and in the other, our good friend ‘early bird’ who came with nothing but his surfboard, machete, and spear gun.

With the tardiness of the others, I had gone ahead and caught the first wave of the day. As the surfers came together, we exchanged friendly greetings, bantering about our hopes for the day’s conditions. Later in the morning, more and more people appeared including a group of ten to sum up 20 and counting. I had never seen so many people in a given Raiatea surf spot. It was as if all the known island surfers had gotten wind of the day before, and all decided to come to the pass.

Becoming more and more crowded, it felt as if the sets were an eternity away; more and more people started to snake one another. Eventually, I made my way to the top of the line where the three older dudes tended to remain stationed. I watched as one of the three started to loose his energy, no longer able to easily catch the waves he paddled for. A set of waves rolled in and being first in line, I began to paddle for the first wave of the set, thinking normally people like to wait for the bigger waves behind. While paddling for the wave, I saw the fatigued older man cutting to the inside to try and catch the same wave. I continued paddling thinking that the man would be overtaken by the wave, like all the other times, but this time he seemed exceptionally ferocious and determined to catch it. Paddling head to head, I felt the wave lift me up and I popped up on my board. I saw the man giving all his might to catch the wave. He stood to his feet finding balance and pointed the nose of his board to the left down the line. But I had already caught it! I looked back at him with an expression like “What are you doing…I was on it first!” but he kept going. With the wave starting to close, I left the line disappointed, while the water pushed the man further down the reef. As he left the wave, he looked enraged by the fact that I had not relinquished the wave to him. On top of it, because that wave had been the first of the set, he had to deal with the next few crashing waves. I paddled back out with all eyes on me as I heard the enraged Tahitian spitting insults as loud as he could.

I didn’t know what I had done wrong. Normally, in California, that should have been my wave. I had started paddling for the wave before him, and I had caught the wave before him. Yet I could still hear him bellowing things like “bastard…stupid kid…idiot, etc.” The other older men, with whom I had previously surfed, turned their backs on me with a sense of contempt. Others started to say, “Kid, you need to get out of here. That guy’s gonna come over and start wailing on you…you really need to leave!” A few others came over offering me support and comfort saying, “Don’t worry, you did nothing wrong. Just wait a few and then go apologize.” So I did. After a few minutes, I started my approach, cautiously paddling closer to him, knowing any second he could just start raging on me. My friends; including, Nari, Vaimiti, Antoine, and a friend’s dad, John, came along to cover my back should things go sour. As I got closer to the guy, adrenaline surged over me. Within six feet, I stopped to sit up on my board and began apologizing.

He turned around and started with, “I know who you are, Bryce. My friends told me about you. They told me you were a disrespectful American who snaked and cut in line whenever you were surfing.” Then he cussed some more before continuing. “Bryce, you need to start being more respectful with us elders.” A bit more cussing, he approached until he was approximately a foot away then said: “But it’s not just you, it’s all of you arrogant little boys who don’t give a rats ass about how you surf and disrespect those of us who are older.” Then he started to say crazy things like how he and his people had formed the passes and how the elders should have priority out in the water. He continued to go on for a while about respect and how things needed to change. Since half of what he was saying was in Tahitian and the other half in French, I was having a hard time understanding. But after about ten minutes of him lecturing and humiliating me for what I didn’t realize was a disrespectful action, he calmed down. I repeated that I was sorry once more and that was the end of that.

I thanked my friends for having my back, then paddled back into the sweet spot with the other 20 surfers who had been gossiping about what had passed. An hour later, we caught our last waves for the morning before pulling anchor. Cautiously guiding the boat through the motu coral heads, we made our way back to the fresh water spigot to rinse. Following our now familiar routine of tying up the boat, we rummaged to find whatever food was left over to eat for lunch.

Heremanu: guy holding the camera
Nari: super buff guy sitting down
Vaimiti: guy in the back with machete

Now we were only three, as the other two surfers with us were picked up to return home. Since breadfruit takes a while to cook, we stoked up the fire, setting a timer for an hour nap. Awoken just in time to pull out the cooked breadfruit, we heated the beans on the dying fire while the charred breadfruit cooled enough to remove the skin. The other surfers left behind three baguettes. Once Nari and Vaimiti had skinned the warm breadfruit, we jumbled the baked beans and breadfruit together into the bread to make a breadfruit/bean sandwich of sorts…a tasty and filling last meal on the motu.

Since the music had gone home with the others, we chatted about how incredible our last couple of days had been, and how we were going to miss each other when I left on Kandu to continue my family’s world voyage.

Enjoying our last bites, we prepared our departure from the motu. Once I was done stuffing away my single person hammock and personal junk, I offered to help Nari and Vaimiti put away the 14-person tent. Together with a bit of punching, kicking and shoving, we got the tent into its small bag, the size of a small car wheel. We then tossed our things into the boat praying they would stay dry, grabbed the remaining trash bags, and pushed off the motu for the last time. Knowing it was going to be the last time I would experience anything like this again soon, I felt a sadness pass over me as I said goodbye to the motu. Yet our day wasn’t over as we still had one last afternoon surf session to relish. Hastily anchoring the boat next to Heremanu’s family boat, in my excitement, I jumped out first to greet Heremanu and his dad, who is the best surfer I’ve ever had the pleasure to surf with.

That afternoon’s current was entering the pass, pushing us away from the line-up and making it hard to paddle out. I examined the waves finding that they were 7-foot tall and made a little messy by the 10 knots of on-shore wind. The nine surfers caught huge outsides and enjoyed being out in the water, laughing with and at each other – sharing only smiles. After an hour, Vaimiti broke his board, so he and I paddled to the boat to catch a break. We grabbed some fins and snorkels to head back out to watch the action under water. Vaimiti and I pretended to spear huge parrotfish that were gorging on the sharp coral reef. When we reached the sweet spot, we watched through the clear water the surfers catch drop-in barrels and carve up the waves above. The sight under water was as mesmerizing as it was on top of the wave.

We swam around the surf point for half an hour before getting bored and returning to the boat. I pulled my board back out. As I paddled over, Nari shouted, “Just a few more minutes!” I decided to make the best of it – to catch the biggest outside in the set. I positioned myself alongside Heremanu’s dad and watched as the other surfers caught the smaller waves. Then, the time for waiting was over as a big set rolled in. Though the first few waves in the set were good size, we continued to stall on the outside in hopes of a bigger wave.

The moment came when the momma wave peaked. Both of us started to paddle. I looked at the surfing legend before me, (Heremanu’s dad) and asked permission to take his rightful wave. He looked over and responded, “Yeah, it’s yours.” With that I was off, digging deep with each stroke to catch the sizeable six-foot wave rising behind me. “Go, go, go, go, go, Bryce. It’s all yours!” yelled Nari, Vaimiti, and Heremanu. Once I felt the lift, I popped to me feet and readied myself for a tuck n’ barrel. As the lip of the wave fell over me, baby blue water and a slim hole at the end was all I saw as I rode Fa’aroa’s glassy tube. I rode inside for a magical three slow seconds before I shot out of the tube and paddled back to the boat. My friends caught their last waves and also paddled back to brag about each other’s waves. Before picking up anchor, we quietly sat and watched the beautiful curling waves for a good ten minutes, then the three of us motored back to our homes to recount our weekend’s stories. I hope never to forget those three days spent camping in French Polynesia, off the island of Raiatea, on the motu with all my Polynesian friends! Bryce Rigney

Bryce's Posts, Easter Island, Samoa, Fiji, Vanuatu, Darwin, Educational, Experiential, Leslie's Posts

Island Without Shade: Rapa Nui

March 15, 2017 admin 7 Comments

Moai of Easter Island at the Hanga Roa, Tahai site. The distant moai is the only one on the island that sports eyes!

Easter Island is a tiny speck of land in the South Pacific, created by a series of massive volcanic eruptions that transpired under water. Easter Island is basically a big mass of dried lava located 27.1130° S, 109.3496° W covering up only a small space of 64 sqare miles. The island is home to 5,761 people (updated in 2012). The island is 1,289 miles from the nearest land, Pitcairn having only 50 residents. Easter Island is one of the most remote islands in the world, yet the island is well known today and has four commonly used names: the English version, “Easter Island,” the Polynesian name, “Rapa Nui,” its European/French rendition, “Île de Pâques,” and finally its Spanish title, “Isla de Pascua.” Easter Island boasts 70 volcanic cones and three principal craters. Terevaka is the tallest crater on the island at 11,674 feet tall. Rano Kau whose crater can be seen from space, and Rano Raraku are the other two volcanoes that help make the triangular shape of Easter Island.

Satellite view of Rapa Nui. Rano Kau crater is located at the southwestern point. Rano Raraku is located west of the northeastern point boasting a small lake.

The island that became ‘the island without shade’ was found around 800 CE when the first Polynesians arrived in their canoes. Seven centuries later, the island population grew to an estimated 15,000. Around the 11th century started a rampage of moai rock statue carving through the 17^th century. These moais were 20-ton volcanic ash rock carvings erected to praise loved ones that had passed away: primarily chiefs and gods. With the erecting of these moais came the deforestation of the Island. How do we know there were trees? In 2006 a group of scientists arrived on Easter Island to examine and take samples in the crater lakes. The samples provided proof that the island was previously heavily forested, with a giant percentage of the trees being palm.

Bryce Rigney having ridden horseback to the highest point on the island, Terevaka, looking back on Hanga Roa…no trees!

Theories for the deforestation prompted the question: Where are the trees? One of the most believed theories for the deforestation of Easter Island was the chopping of trees for moving the giant moai statues. Each time the carvers went to move the 20-ton carvings they would chop down trees to roll and lower the moai’s into their designated areas. Under the increasing weight of the moai the tree logs would shatter and crush quicker, demanding more trees to be cut down. As the competition to build the biggest and best moais expanded, the population of trees diminished but the moai building didn’t stop. Not only was the carving of Moai involved in the destroying of trees, but another theory involved the huge rat/rodent population. Purposefully brought along by the Polynesians as a source of food, the wild rats dug down under the trees and crops to eat the roots, eventually killing the tree or crop. The rats also consumed any new palm growth, so there were no new growth trees.

Anakena Beach. These moai are the best preserved because they were buried in the sand for a couple centuries.

The third theory used mostly by the local islanders is a combination of drought and fire. With the help of a few Chilean scientists they were able to figure out that sometime during the time of the moai building and the rat explosion, there was a huge drought. This drought continued for more than five years and likely contributed to a huge fire, which raged through the remaining forests. So with the drought, the starving rats, the needy humans (wood and bark were used for fuel, tapa clothing, building houses and boats, wood statues, etc.), and the demanding giant moai statues, all the island’s trees completely disappeared. This left the aboriginal people trapped with nothing but the possibility of war to fight over the remaining resources (fishing grounds, water access and some agriculture) and cannibalism.

Dangerous cannibals….huh? No, Tapati dancers!

Without trees and solid crops, a peak population of 15,000 indigenous islanders started to diminish. The first noted contact with Europeans was when Jacob Roggeveen, a Dutch explorer who came upon the uncharted island on Easter Sunday, 1722, with several ships looking for Terra Australis. Their week-long anchor (only one day on land) hoping to obtain water and supplies of which there was little, undoubtedly impacted the islanders who suffered 12 dead from musket shots during a skirmish and later sickness due to close contact with diseased sailors. Likely because of the islands insignificance in natural resources, the next visitors didn’t come until 1770: a Spanish expedition from Peru arriving to claim the island for Spain. Not having forgotten the Dutch, the trapped islanders (no more trees to build boats) and clan chiefs cooperated by signing a written contract acceding to Spain. (The islanders had likely never seen written language before – it is speculated that seeing written language provided the inspiration for their own written language on wooden tablets: Rongo Rongo.) At this time, the Spanish reported finding the proud moai statues standing upright. After six days the fleet departed with a 21-cannon salute! Imagine the impression the sound made on a trapped population left to contend with disease caused by the sailors.

Incidentally, the Spanish never came again, but four years later, Captain James Cook, he and his crew very sick, arrived hoping to replenish the ship’s water and food supplies. “The British found the island to be in a noticeably worse condition than the Spanish had reported four years earlier, and it is likely that there had been heavy fighting on the island during that short period. Statues had been toppled, the islanders were in extremely poor health, and such were the lack of available supplies, that Cook set sail four days later;” Grant-Peterkin. Due to starvation, unrest and disease introduced by sailors, it seems that riots between clans escalated where moais were torn down (the last moai reported standing was in 1836). Cannibalism erupted; people started eating one another to survive. A brutal warrior, ‘might makes right’ type society developed, one of complete anarchy. At some point the population dropped to a low number of around 750 people.

It is suggested as early as the end of the 1600’s and beginning of the 1700’s due to lack of resources and unrest well before the first Europeans, the beginnings of the Birdman competition/religion were underway. In the later part of the 1700’s and over the turn of the century into 1800, the savior of the few survivors was the adoption of the new Bird Man religion idealizing bird’s eggs and worshipping the God: Make Make. Each clan would choose a single man to represent them to compete for leadership of the year. The annual race was a 300-yard climb from the top of the vertical drop of volcano Rano Kau ridge to the bottom. Then it was a 3-kilometer swim to the furthest islet, Motu Nui (the breeding ground for the sooty tern bird).

The three little motus just off Orongo Village. The sooty terns inhabited the furthest, Motu nui.

From there the candidates would grab the first egg from one of the bird nests, swim and climb back up the ridge, struggling not to break the egg. The candidate who succeeded either designated the pre-selected leader of his clan as Birdman or became the next Birdman himself.On the ridge of the Rano Kau volcano at the Orongo Historial Village site, the houses built for competitors and supporters have been completely reconstructed. The houses are all made of giant slate slabs layered up to a height of about 6 or 7 feet. To be up there was really a great sight. My favorite was being able to see the three islets in the distance knowing that at one point on Rapa Nui the brave representatives swam across to capture an egg. During this period, the population grew back to about 3000 inhabitants. However, the Birdman religions’ demise was prompted by the Peruvian’s need for cheep labor. In 1862, the population regrowth of Rapa Nui was uprooted during a series of raids where up to 1,500 of the strongest and most knowledgeable (including clan chiefs and medicine men) were taken to work as slaves in Peruvian agriculture and mines. At some point, only 15 of those were returned to the island due to illness, once again introducing more disease: syphilis, smallpox, leprosy, etc.). The last recorded Bird Man race was in 1866. In 1867 the Catholic missionaries abolished the Birdman practices. Ten years later, in an 1877 census, the island population reported a low number of 111 people.

Trent Rigney, Eric Rigney and Bryce Rigney all smiles near a faux Rapa Nui petroglyph just outside Orongo village..

Ahu Tongariki at Sunrise, Rapa Nui on February 2, 2017.

In 800 CE a group of about 700 Polynesians landed on a heavily forested island with palm trees, edible plants, and tons of seabirds and fish. Nine centuries later the same island was completely deforested, and covered with 1,032 carved moais. In May 1960 a Chilean earthquake measuring 9.5 hit and brought a series of three 70-foot waves that scoured the south side of the island destroying abandoned slate houses, jostling around the previously toppled moai statues and generally wreaking havoc with leftover Rapa Nui artifacts. After the tsunami the island was a seemingly un-repairable wreck. But with the help and interest of archeologists like Thor Heyerdahl, Japanese businessmen, the Chilean government, and ambitious locals, the island and its culture were pieced back together starting in the late 1950’s eventually making it the very popular tourist attraction it is today!

Bibliography:

Books

– Frommer’s 500 Places to Take Your Kids Before They Grow Up, 1^st Edition, Hughes, Holly. 2006. Published by: Wiley Publishing, Inc. New Jersey USA.

Easter Island, Fieldstone, Sarah. Tazkai LLC,
Child of the Sea, Cornell, Dorna. 2012, Cornell Sailings, LTD, UK.
A Companion To Easter Island (Guide to Rapa Nui), Grant-Peterkin, James.

Website

mysteriousplaces.com Explore Sacred Sites & Ancient Civilizations Explore Easter Island September, 14 2016, By: Jan
Thor Heyerdahl (top right wearing all blue) excavation of an abandoned moai at the Rano Raraku quarry.

by Bryce Rigney with Leslie Rigney

Bryce's Posts, Educational, Experiential, Leslie's Letters, Leslie's Posts

Leslie’s Letters 1-1-2017: Ozzi-land

March 6, 2017 admin 3 Comments

January 1st, 2017 letter con’t: We found Sydney as equally modern and beautiful as Auckland. There didn’t seem to be grime anywhere. The underground mass-transit trains appeared new. The roads were perfectly paved. Much pride of ownership was displayed in well-maintained homes and buildings. The public parks were very organized with clean toilets!! Eric’s brother, Curtis and his partner, Joel were the most incredible hosts, taking their work vacation days to spend 2 weeks with hanging out with us. We couldn’t have experienced a more incredible time with them and their personal backyard aviary.

Trent Rigney and Australian Rainbow Lorikeets

Passing quality time with Curtis and Joel was a priority while we worked in some of the iconic must-visit sites during our two weeks in New South Wales like touring Macquairie University to see where Curtis has been teaching Chiropractics all these years.

Chiropractic Lecture Hall created by Curtis Rigney.

Hiking the Sydney Bridge to see a 360 degree view of the entire Sydney Harbor was a definite highlight of our Australian experience.

Rigneyskandu waving at you atop the Sydney Bridge! **Click on the VIDEO**: Bridgeclimb

Eric and Leslie Rigney on the Sydney Bridge, December 2016

We took the rapid transit train from Epping several time with Curtis and Joel to travel into the marina district of Sydney called the Circular Quay and The Rocks. Incidentally, Sydney harbor is the most beautiful city harbor I’ve ever seen. All of us ferried over to Manly Beach, a fabulous surfer town not unlike Hermosa Beach. Later with Julie Keizer and Blake, Kandu crew caught another ferry to Watson’s Bay where we gorged on fish’n chips. Both of these were charming Sydney Harbor suburbs.

Walking from the ferry stop through Manly to get to the beach.

The day after Christmas we caught a performance of “A 1903 Circus Extravaganza” in the iconic Sydney Opera House Concert Hall, we then strolled around the incredible sail-like structure to take in the views and nearby botanical gardens. Click on the Video: Sydney-Operahouse
We spent a memorable day with Curtis and Joel hiking and riding up, down, all around as part of the “Scenic World Discovery Tour” in high-flying gondolas, and in an impressive steep grade mining railway – to see the three sister pillars and witness the blue haze caused by the offing of eucalyptus oil in the air.

Trent and Eric Rigney with Three Sisters rock formation in the background.

Rigneyskandu messing around on a decomissioned railway tram.

Wanting to see up close and personal the live endemic animals of Australia, Curtis suggested we spend a morning at a local New South Wales animal shelter called the Koala Park Sanctuary. There we got a chance to pet and feed koalas eucalyptus leaves, and pet and feed wallabies and kangaroos to our hearts content. Click on the Video: KoalaPetting

Daily, just off Curtis’ back porch, we fed directly out of our hands, a flock of 15 Sulfer Crested Cockatoos, Rainbow Lorikeets, wild turkeys, Australian Magpies, Australian King Parrots, Kookaburras, and Galahs. Wow! Such amazing wildlife within arm’s reach.

Cockatoos galore. **Click on VIDEO:** Lorakeets-KingParrot

Kookaburrah just off Curtis’ backyard. **Click VIDEO to hear:** Kookaburrah-Calls

Keeping active, the boys enjoyed fun times and surf at some of the famous New South Wales surf spots: Mona Vale, Bonzi beach, Bombo Beach and Terrigal of the Central Coast which was introduced to us by dear friends, Julie Keizer and Blake.

Rigneyskandu with Blake prepping to surf Terrigal Beach, New South Wales, Australia.

Hurray – the waters were a warm welcome compared to those of New Zealand, even enticing me to join in the wave action, boogie boarding. Unlike surfing in the Society Islands where spiky coral reefs hide just under the waves, surfing in NZ and Australia had the benefit of being sand breaks. The boys relished in the freedom of not having to worry about getting caught on coral.

We spent a beautiful day together as a family cooking, eating and drinking on Christmas Eve. Not having spent Christmas together last year (Remember when Kandu and crew whisked off to save a friend’s fishingboat?), it was important for the holiday season to feel like Christmas, sharing the traditions of: a Christmas tree and stockings, giving and receiving gifts, preparing and sharing traditional holiday food, and most importantly taking note of our Blessings.

Rigneyskandu chez Curtis and Joel for Christmas Eve Dinner 2016. **Click on VIDEO:** Merry-Ozmas-2016

On New Year’s Eve, Curtis, Joel, Joel’s sister, the boys, Eric and I all rode the rapid transit train into Sydney to catch the Sydney Bridge light show and fireworks. It was an incredible testament to an enormous peaceful gathering of all races and traditions using mass transportation. Thousands of people descended on the area to delight in the extraordinary spectacle packing food and drinks. The boys brought along the card game Uno. We started playing and a friendly Pakistani onlooker asked if he could play along – International friendship at its best!

Rigneyskandu at Sydney Bridge New Year’s Eve. **Click VIDEO to see fireworks:** Syd-New-Years-Eve-2016

Happily, we had the chance to meet up twice with our Ozzie friends from s/v ‘Blue Heeler,’ an eclectic couple with 2 boys of similar age to Bryce and Trent who are similarly avid surfers and skateboarders. We had met them sailing in Moorea and Papeete, Tahiti, and really wanted to catch-up with them in Australia.

RigneysKandu on Wee Kandu in Marina Papeete with Django and Quinn from s/v Blueheeler.

We also chanced to be in Sydney at the same time as Ventura buddy Charlie Richards with his family. At the Circular Quay train station, we said our farewells, till the next time.

Bryce & Trent’s Ventura surf buddy Charlie Richards in Sydney! Click VIDEO: ThreeJumping

Bryce's Posts, Experiential, Tua Motus & Society Islands

French Polynesia’s Raiatea

December 3, 2016 admin 1 Comment

Raiatea Motu. Taha'a in the background. — Raiatea Motu. Taha’a in the background.

Raiatea, the present settlement of Kandu’s crew, is a lagoon-enclosed island satiated with adventures. It is my home for the current school year 2016-2017 and I’m especially excited about the surfing. Raiatea is an island among 118 different atolls and islands in French Polynesia. Tahiti, the biggest island, and Raiatea the third largest are both part of an island archipelago called the Society Islands. It is one archipelago among five others in Polynesia: the Marquesas, Austral, Gambier, and Tuamotu Archipelagos. Easter Island or Rapa Nui is considered Polynesian, but it is not part of French Polynesia. They are linked to Chile and the spoken language is Spanish.

From my experiences traveling three of the five archipelagoes, I found each island/atoll chain is different: different attitudes, personalities, but mainly the different habits displayed by the people. Similarly the geography is different. The Society Islands are surrounded by a giant mass of coral. An atoll is a giant coral reef surrounding an island consisting of numerous layers of coral. As the island in the center shrinks the coral reef grows, growing on top of the layers of dead coral. The space between an atoll and an island is a lagoon like body of water between the island and the reef. The bonus of having a reef around an island is that whenever the wind or waves are robust the island is protected. Every ten years an island is estimated to shrink or sink a single millimeter while the atolls size grows.

Raiatea has a surface area of 238 square miles. It’s located at 16.8°S/Latitude, 151.4°W/Longitude. Raiatea has a buddy island, Taha’a. Most islands don’t have an outer layer of protection (an atoll), so to have two islands inside of one atoll is double rare. Which is the case for Raiatea and Taha’a, they both share an atoll. Together they reach a population of 18,000 people, Raiatea making up 13,000. Compared to Los Angeles of 6 million the island and its population are very small. Yet it beats the population for most of the other islands in French Polynesia, having the second largest city, after Tahiti. Uturoa is the city where Trent and I attend school. We are docked in Marina Uturoa within a 10 minute walk to our school Lycee des Iles-sous-le-vent d’Uturoa.

Marina Uturoa — Marina d’Uturoa and downtown.

Raiatea’s national language is French but most of the locals continue to learn and speak Tahitian. The most commonly practiced religion is Protestant. However 1000 or so years ago it was different, Raiatea was considered the center of Tahitian religion and culture. People would bring gifts to the gods or kill others for sacrifices. Mostly, people visit this island for her beauty and peacefulness. Still today Raiatea is considered the most sacred holy place throughout the South Pacific. Additionally on the islands’ two mountains: Mount Temehani at 650 meters high and Mount Toomaru at 1017 meters high, grows the Tiare Apetahi flower that pops open for sunrise and holds five pedals on one side; it looks somewhat like a human hand. This flower grows nowhere else in the world except for on Raiatea’s two tall mountains.
Sacrifices and gifts were given at places known as Marae’s. There are hundreds of them spotted about Polynesia. “French Polynesia’s Taputapuatea marae, is a center for Polynesian seafarers from where they explored Hawaii and New Zealand, now is up for world-wide recognition. France has officially lodged a bid with UNESCO to recognize the Taputapuatea marae on Raiatea Island as a World Heritage site .The culture minister says if approved, it will be the first time a site has been acknowledged in the Pacific for its cultural significance.”

Marae’s today are used for show and tell or exchanging cultural dances. In the Marquesas during big festivals I watched the numerous performances held on Marae’s done by brothering islands giving thanks through their dances and carvings. It was fearsome and overwhelming to see their presentations of costumes!

Snorkeling and exploring of the various sea life is fun for my parents. We hope to partake in some of the known diving possibilities while we’re here. There are many sorts of desirable diving activities. The island contains some of the most spectacular diving on earth; it’s a divers dream! In each pass there exists a drift dive revealing a wide selection of colorful coral, coral canyons and caves. Raiatea also bears a rare wreck dive of a ship with three masts called the Nordby that sunk in 1900. All who know want to go!

On Raiatea my brother and I have been doing a fair amount of surfing, given that there are eight passes to choose from! All you have to do is look up on line for the swell and wind direction, and choose your desired reef pass, but we’ve found that the surfspot Miri Miri is by far the best and most consistent, plus it is relatively close to where we live.

Surfing Raiatea Miri Miri. — Bryce Rigney surfing at Raiatea’s Miri Miri. COOL VIDEO: raiatea-bryce-surf-gopro

I’m enjoying very much our time in Raiatea between the great school experience and the many local sport activities available aside from surfing, like outrigger paddling and running. Turns out Trent and I have been able to participate in outrigger competitions and running competitions. I placed well running and the school just sent me to Papeete to run against 300 of the best runners in the Polynesia Islands. I was the youngest and smallest runner in my category yet I placed 25th out of about 125 boy teens, the largest category ages between 15-17. It was a GREAT experience and I’m lovin’ life!

Leeward Island Competition at Lycee d'Uturoa where I placed 8th in my category...sufficiently high to compete in Papeete. — Leeward Island Competition at Lycee d’Uturoa where I placed 8th in my category…sufficiently high to compete in Papeete.

Bryce's Posts, Experiential, Marquesas

My Va’a Experience, Marquesas, Part III

September 20, 2016 admin 6 Comments

Day before race day . . .

I had a great sleep that night and woke up with excitement. I packed light bringing swim trunks, tank top, glasses, hat, one pair of shorts, and my pillow. Hopping in the bus, I remembered that I had forgot to pack my toiletries, but I was too excited to go on the ferry than whine about missing shampoo. Inside the ferry was nice and cool. Our group chose to make camp upstairs even though the food court was downstairs. I was hungry and the boat ride would be an hour, so I bought myself two small egg rolls. Coming into the bay was amazing the water was so clear and the color was super light baby blue. We left the ferry and took a bus over to the spot where all the pirogues were so we could set them up and try them out before the race. The group attached alma and carried the boat into the water. My group (Team A) hopped in the pirogue and gave it a test ride. In my opinion even though the pirogue weighed 155 kg, it went faster than the ones in Taiohae because it just glided.

The helmsman said it had a small turn to the left but no big deal so we left it as it was and brought it back to the pirogue holder. Then we were escorted over to the classroom where we would be sleeping since we were staying in a school. Each Team had their own classroom with 16 mattresses inside. Getting settled in was a little hard having to move all the desks and chairs over to the side so we could put the mattresses down and pull out our bedding. Some like me went to the market to buy things for the race or for pleasure. Dinner we were told was going to start in one hour. The kids bought snacks and watched volleyball until it was time for tomato sauce on rice and fish. It wasn’t the best meal but they had fresh apples and oranges to chose from. I was so happy when I bit into that apple, I almost screamed; good apples are hard to come by in Taiohae. After dinner we settled down on our matts and had a long conversation about technique that lasted till late at night. But I fell asleep at 10:00 p.m. I had 5 hours of sleep till our wake time at 3:00 in the morning.

Race day . . .

As we woke up early in the morning, we were told to pack everything up and head out with the paddles and water tubes. The teams all walked in the P.E. building so that the refs could give everyone a pep talk before we headed out to the course. The helmsmen had their own group meeting, and once both meetings were over, everyone got together to give a moment of silence to a couple of kids that were shot and murdered two weeks prior. The five minutes passed and each team walked over to their pirogues and placed them in the water. The entire group A hopped into the pirogues and paddled off to the starting line. I was in Team A. Sitting in the pirogue next to the starting line I started to get nervous. My whole body was electrically excited. It took a long time to get all 42 boats in line. Vanene Hoe!! Each and every pirogue was paddling trying to get in front. Then BOOM – our pirogue hit another and another pirogue hit ours. Everything was crazy. On the left of us, one pirogue tried to capsize us by flipping our alma, when one of our motors yelled at him in Marquesan freaking the paddler out making him drop our alma back into the water. Finally, we got out of that mess and continued paddling at a moderate speed. Then at the final bit of that leg, our captain gave the three hip call telling us to go faster. We finished in 5^th for our 14-17 year cadet category (The categories are by age: 10-12, 12-14, 14-17), the highest category. Each leg of the race was 5 km; there would be 9 legs. Up next was Group B on the second leg. Since each middle school had one boat and two teams, we need to swap out paddlers. Firstly, the pirogue that just raced would try and find the motorboat that had the other group of paddlers. Secondly, the previous group would hop out of the pirogue for the next group to get in. There was one super strict rule, if anyone hopped into the water without a life jacket on, that team would be disqualified. So finally once the next team was settled in the pirogue, the previous team would board the motorboat that would follow the team that was paddling. Group B finished in 7^th then we hopped back in and paddled over to the starting line. The 3^rd leg was against the clock. That meant we would have to go faster than normal speed to get a good place. Each pirogue had 30 seconds before the next one would take off. Our group beat the guys in front, giving a lot of effort to do so. For that leg we finished in 6^th. Then Group B came in and finished the fourth leg in 7^th place. At this point, I was getting tired, but I told myself I was going to pull this off. So I swam over to the pirogue, jumped up in and we paddled over to the starting line for the 5^th leg. In a few minutes we were off and all the paddlers lifted their pirogues to plane. At halfway mark, I started to get tired, but we kept going. In the end, I was really tired but we placed 10^th. Being really tired, I got out of the pirogue and sat down in the motorboat and munched on a granola bar. For the 6^th leg, the boy replacement came in and swapped out for the one that was too tired. For that leg, Group B was looking at a 6.1 km. I was too tired to cheer them off. For 45 minutes to 1 hour I slept on the motorboat trying to recover my strength till our team said “Bryce, time to go.” Group B had finished in 12^th place.

Note the ferry motorboat on the right. That was the kind of boat I napped on.

Back in the pirogue, we paddled to the starting line and waited for the referees to say go for the 7^th leg. I said to myself I was going to give it all. READY, SET, GO!! We darted off lifting our boat out of the water and going at a normal medium to fast speed. Halfway, I was completely wiped out but I kept paddling. I couldn’t move my arms any faster, but I just kept paddling. Then the other pirogues started to pass us. We were coming close to last when, “Hip Hip Hip,” we paddled harder passing one boat. When we crossed the finish line, I almost fainted. I had nothing left, no more inside. We found the motorboat and I crawled aboard. I sat myself down and fell asleep. I had given everything, and we finished in 13^th as well. At the 9^th leg, our 14 member team took anyone that wasn’t tired to fill a pirogue. They finished hard and placed another 13^th. The race was over. The paddlers all took apart their pirogues and placed them on the holders. Before the announcements, we ate some snacks, fruit, bread, and a few cookies.

The dance . . .

During the announcements of what places everyone got, our group practiced our Marquesan Haka dance that we would shortly perform. When the judges called us up everything went quiet then our dance leader started it: “Hoe vaka kae kae kae ha!” Our guys all walked out with necklaces on and got in formation. The chief dance leader started ‘Smack’ talking in Marquesan. He was looking at us trying to get a glimpse to see if we were ready. Then the chief gave us the cue and we all started dancing and chanting. It was fantastic! I was in the back since I didn’t know all the words. Then we stopped, the second chief walked up and started talking ‘Smack’ in Marquesan. No one else in the audience knew what he was saying. He put on a great show. All were afraid of him. The chief stopped and all at once the group started dancing and chanting. It was a great experience for me. As we were walking back all the people made way, one of the chiefs jumped at the crowd scaring them all away.

Our team was of course curious what places we scored in the race, so my dad asked around and told us the scores. Combined we placed 13^th in the highest/oldest cadet category and 20^th overall out of 42 pirogue teams. I felt we did way better than expected.

That same day we grabbed our bags and headed back to the ferry where we would return to Tahiti. One hour later and we were settled in on the boat, buying snacks, since most of us were still pretty hungry.

The boat was nice and air-conditioned so I fell asleep. I woke up as the team was getting off the boat. I snatched my stuff and headed off the ferry to where the bus would take us back to the dormitories where we had previously stayed. My dad met us at the rooms and told me he would meet us at the airport the next morning. I undressed, took a shower and went to bed. It had been a really long day.

The return home . . .

“Aaaaaaaaahhhh we’re gunna do Paranoid!” I turned off my ipod alarm and woke everyone else up. Prof Cathy Brunel gathered everyone and we waited with our luggage for the bus. In 30 minutes, the bus came and our team loaded in. The bus ride felt sad. The kids were feeling low. They didn’t want to leave as they all had a great experience. At the airport my dad showed up with his camera and shot videos of us waiting, checking in, and boarding the plane. My dad and I both sat together and recounted stories of our time in Tahiti. For the flight back each paddler went to sleep. Looking at Nuku Hiva from above, I felt a comfort, for I knew I had come back home with yet another unforgettable experience. For me it was very challenging, but I had a great time with my Va’a piers and I enjoyed getting to know them better. In sum, I loved it!

Vanena hoe!!!

The Rigneys' Great Adventure