At Tahuata Island in Vaitahu Bay we used our boat swing. It was really fun, but it was difficult at first because Bryce, Mom and I had to set up the swing without Dad’s help. We first had to pull out the spinnaker pole that is attached to the mast, which is a bit challenging. Then we had to attach the thick swing rope to the end of it. Once that was secure, we had to raise the spinnaker pole as high as it could go and then tie it off. The last thing we had to do was set-up two “preventers” [guys] to make sure the pole would not sway from side to side. We needed the pole to stay in place hanging directly perpendicular to the boat, placing us, the swingers, out as far as possible from the boat.
Swing set up off Kandu in Vaitahu, Tahuata.
Once everything was ready we stepped up onto the kayak propped up on it’s side on the deck and jumped off. We got to swing as much as we wanted. Bryce and I first sat on the swing’s bottom knot. Then we stood on the knot and dove into the water jumping off the knot pushing off with our feet. That’s all I could do, but Bryce could also perform a back flip off the rope. The rope swing was set-up for three days. The day after the first day, I was terribly sore from swinging so much, but it didn’t matter. I was determined to swing as much as possible while the swing was set-up.
Kandu’s boat swing at sunset in Vaitahu, Tahuata, Marquesas.
The last day, a Marquesan dad we’d never met before motored over to our boat on a small fishing boat with his son and daughter. He explained that his children wanted to play with us on the swing while he went to check his fishing stuff. My dad said it was okay and that we would bring the kids back to shore at noon, about an hour and a half, when we had to leave for shore. The kids were very nice. The little boy was 7 and the girl was 9. They were curious about the boat so we gave them a tour. I thought they were brave to hang out with us, having never met us before. We played together on the swing until it was time to leave back to shore. The dad gave us some grapefruit as a thank you.
by Trent Rigney
Editor’s Note: Vaitahu (translation “water fire-igniter”) is historically significant for the Marquesas. The first documented European to visit the Marquesas, a Spanish explorer, landed here in 1595, naming the archipelago after his benefactor’s wife. The second European to visit, British Capt. Cook, made landfall here in 1774. The French admiral, Dupetit-Thouars, in 1842, after fighting a successful battle for the chief of Vaitahu, signed a treaty with the chief annexing all of the Marquesas to France. Vaitahu, as I understand correctly, is reportedly the only Marquesan valley owned by France, such that the inhabitants lease the land upon which the build their homes. In the other valleys, private parties own the land.
After 24 days at sea, Bryce arrives in the Marquesas.
Arriving in the Marquesas in late June, everything was different compared to other places we’d visited so far. I had no idea what the local people were saying. I still had the Spanish language in my head from being in Mexico and the Galapagos. I came here with no clue how to speak their languages, French and Marquesan (similar to Hawaiian), and I found out during our first couple weeks that Trent and I would be attending the local school for a year. Since I am an American with blue eyes, blond hair, whitish skin, and to top it off I rode a fold-up bike trailing a cart that made a great deal of noise, my first month before school started, was awkward. It was basically like having a sign over my head saying: “I’m here, I’m here, look at me, I’m here!” Everyone stared at me when I walked down the street.
On arrival we had a few Marquesan friends, so it wasn’t exactly that bad. Some of the activities that our friends take part in are very cool. One weekend before school we took a sail trip with another boat called Manatai (Guy, Marian, and Taeva (9 yrs.)) and the Falchetto family: Sebastien, Raymonde, Moana (22), Pahu (17), and cousin Teiki Poi (14). We all sailed to an island called Eiao, which is seldom visited by anybody, including Marquesans. Only a few families visit regularly and our friends were one of them. They even had a shed up at the top. We went there specifically to hunt for pigs and goats. I couldn’t wait to go hunting for the first time, but in order to get to where the animals were, we had to walk up a steep mountain slope carrying tools, sleeping supplies, food, water, and hunting gear.
Entering Eiao’s west bay. Note steep terrain behind beach. Manatai is already anchored.
It was an over-night sail from Nuku Hiva to there. We left just after sunset and arrive around 10 a.m. There’s really only one bay where boats can anchor. It’s on the west side of the island. Manatai arrived before us so they were settled in first. The trip was a bit rocky but nothing worse than what we’d seen before, but different than what our Marquesan friends were use to. Being stuck on the boat with three sick Marquesans made you want to get on land even more. So with everybody anxious to get off, the unloading went fast. Finished with the arrival part Trent, Taeva and I grabbed some sticks and played sword fights on the remote brown sand beach until nightfall. We slept on our boat while our Marquesan friends slept near the beach in a fragile shack-like structure, mostly a floor with a plastic tarp roof. The next day everyone woke up very early, before sunrise, to have breakfast on the beach and start the hike at sunrise.
Sebastien and Raymonde prepare pre-dawn breakfast before ascent.
The path was marked with stacked up rocks like pedestals and soon enough the path ended at a lonely tree on a plateau where we all took a decently long break.
On the plateau of Eiao, the “hunting” party takes a brief break at lone tree.
You could just see our boat down the edge of the cliff, we were so high up. Everyone arrived two or three pounds lighter with a soaking, sweaty T-shirt. At this point, we were only 1/3 the way to our destination: a hunting shack.
Lone tree in overlooking desolate terrain.
After break was over, we started on a new path heading south across the island with gravel-like terrain. On our walk, apart from some different colored rocks and weird scraggly looking trees, we didn’t see much. Even though the sightseeing wasn’t the best, the walk itself was interesting and a little tricky due to the fact that there were chasms everywhere.
Boulders along the path atop Eiao.
Take one wrong step and you could slip and fall into a deep chasm, stuck until someone in the group could lift you out. An hour later we made it two-thirds of the way. We stopped at a checkpoint and admired the extraordinary view and appreciated the breeze.
Bryce enjoys the breeze coming off the cliff tops
There happened to be a small group of goats that we spotted at the bottom of the cliff-side. Fifteen minutes passed quickly; it was time to move on.
Small wild goat scampers to safety.
As we walked a few pigs appeared along the path. I joked around and scared them off by running after them brandishing my little four-inch blade, (as if that could stop anything.) Almost at the destination, we came across a large patch of dead, rotting trees, but that didn’t discourage us. We tramped through the trees until finally we saw it: a little shack 10-foot by 10-foot, and 7 feet tall. When we opened the door we found two picnic tables and a mini stovetop. All the rest was bugs and moldy, rotten wood. The last time someone had been there was over a year, maybe two.
Once everyone arrived, the guys pulled out the tables from inside the shack and placed them into the shade so we could have lunch. We had brought bread, pate, peanut butter, crackers, banana donuts, fruit, and chocolate powder for hot chocolate. But most importantly: water. We all ate our fill and drank hot chocolate since the shed had mini propane stove-stop. After lunch the people who didn’t plan to stay, that is my mom and the Manatai family, started the walk back. Sebastien sent his son and nephew to partially lead them back to the lonely tree.
Pahu and Teiki Poi accompany three of our party to the ‘Lone Tree,’ where they returned to guard the boats.
Those who stayed included the Falchetto family, my father, brother and me. Towards nightfall, the first thing we did was start a fire to keep warm. We then spread a large white plastic tarp down for the ones sleeping on the ground and prepared dinner. The two picnic tables were butted up, side-by-side. Dinner included, hot chocolate with powdered milk, bread, fruit, and rice with leftover wild mutton meat from the evening before. Once dinner was finished, Sebastien told us to throw all the bones as far away as possible so that the centipedes wouldn’t be tempted to crawl on us at night. Then right before we went to bed, he told us all these wild stories about how the pigs sometimes came at night and bit people on the head. Because of the stories, everyone reset their alertness from a rate of 6 to 10.2. Despite not having a roof over our heads during our night in the wild, we happily had spoonfuls of Nutella and a ground tarp. Everyone dressed warmly. The Falchetto family slept on the ground huddled together. My dad and brother slept on tables high off the ground. The final thing said was, “there is a flashlight near the hut if anyone needs to use the bathroom.”
Hunting Party’s camp at sunrise.
Seven hours later the sun came up. The first noise I heard was a most irritating electric-like buzzing above my head. It was a combination of thousands of flies, mosquitos and no-no’s hovering like helicopters overhead. For breakfast, it was the same meal: bread with a choice of peanut butter, Nutella, jam or pate, and hot chocolate or powdered cappuccino. Yum! Before we left, we prepared everything for the hunt. We collected dry wood to feed the fire and readied our GoPros. Sebastien got his 22 rifle and hunting knives ready. Raymonde stayed at the campsite and Moana was sent off to carry one large load back down the mountain and to return for more. Heading off with all our materials, knives, gun and GoPros, the first type of animal we were looking for was wild pig. In my opinion, out in the wild, pigs are the most dangerous because even after being shot, they can still run at you, tusks and all. While walking around, all of a sudden, Sebastien told us all to crouch, be quiet and make as little movement as possible. Looking carefully in the shrubs was a pig. He pulled me over, handed me the gun, and said, “La tete,” and pointed to his head. So I turned my head-mounted camera on and grabbed the gun. I aimed at the head through the small site and pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed the leg, which didn’t stop it, only scared it off.
We moved on to look for more hunting opportunities. We then found a group of sheep and started moving very slowly into position. Sebastien pulled out his gun, aimed and fired twice shooting the shoulders of two male sheep, which stunned them in place. Then he handed us the gun and we tried to put them down. We missed so, before they ran off, Sebastien took back the gun and proceeded to kill both. He has had a lot of practice!
Immediately, Sebastien ran over to one and sliced its throat and had my brother hold steady its moving back legs, which were stretched skyward. Sebastien cut the testicles and the head off the animal and then did the same to the other. Even after all that, the animals were still twitching. The next step was to slit the abdomen open, and with that came a most terrible smell. After cleaning the insides out, I took a GoPro shot to capture what the inside of an animal looks like. The big men carried the bodies over to hang off a tree to finish the cleaning protocols, which included skinning and splitting the body in half. Next, they packed the meat in bags and carried the heavy load back to the hunter’s shed, where we had just spent the night.
Soon afterward, it was time to pack up the camp site and start the journey back to the boats. Once everything was good and ready, we began hiking back, carrying twice as much down as we came up with because we were packing back the meat and they cleaned out the hunting shack of various tools, supplies, and a stovetop. Along with my backpack, I was asked to carry the stovetop, adding to my weight 15 lbs. We walked the same path down, so it wasn’t as interesting the way back. With an aching body and swollen feet, the six-hour walk that felt like forever finally came to an end. On the beach, despite my sore feet, I couldn’t help myself. I just had to run. With the sand under my feet and the fantastic smell of lunch, I felt as if I had just finished the Tour de France and I was going to win a bunch of money.
Boats anchored off the shore, Bryce and friends enjoy a quick dip.Bryce walking over to get lunchPreparing lunch on the beachFresh spring water constantly flows on the beach of Eiao
Hiking, hunting and lunch being over, it was time to sail back to Taiohae. Once finished loading everything and everyone back onto the two sailboats, we raised anchor under a setting sun and headed southeast toward Nuku Hiva.
Manatai sailing along the south coast of Nuku Hiva, on our way to Taiohae.
During this trip there was a lot I learned, but most importantly it really opened my eyes in offering help, and not always complaining about it, to: “Just Do It!” It was an experience that changed me in a very big way. Our trip with the amazing Falchetto family was extremely memorable and I cannot wait to take part in more such experiences along our adventure!
Today we just got back to Taiohae, Nuku Hiva from our big adventure to the island, Eiao (pronounced Ay-EE-OW-oh). We were all very tired after unloading so we stayed on the boat for a bit to rest. Bryce and I watched the movie Footloose on our small portable BluRay player powered by a 12-volt car charger; the player can also take 110/220VAC. After awhile we got bored, since we had seen the movie before, so Bryce and I decided to take the dinghy to shore, to the petit quai (means “little wharf” in French). Mom came with us to drive the dingy back, but she was a very bad helmsman. When she left the wharf, after dropping us off, she bumped into another boat, tied to the wharf, two times before getting the hang of it. There was a bunch of Marquesan people watching. It was embarrassing.
Trent back in Taiohae aboard Kandu, after Eiao, ready to head ashore.
Bryce and I decided to walk to our friend’s house, Raymonde and Sebastien’s, because we were going to eat dinner there later. While walking, Bryce found a coconut tree that was small enough to climb to get a coconut. When he was climbing he pushed down a small branch that was full of dirt, and because I was looking up at him, the dirt fell into my eye. I rubbed my eye to get the dirt out, but instead I scratched my eye. It really hurt, so I was very mad at Bryce.
Bryce climbing coconut tree to bring down “drinking” nuts.
The walk to Raymonde and Sebastien’s house is about a mile and ½, so we were fortunate when other Marquesan friends drove by and gave us a ride in the back of their truck to the house. When we arrived, my eye was still bothering me a lot. Raymonde is a nurse. She rinsed my eye with a bunch of sterile water to try to clear the dirt, but my left eye still hurt a lot. Whenever I closed my sore eye, it felt a little better.
Our dear friend and nurse, Raymonde Ly-Falchetto, living on Nuku Hiva
My parents thought that we might have to go to the emergency, but I really didn’t want to because that evening after dinner, the family planned to go see some Marquesan dancing and I was worried that we wouldn’t be able to go. But after taking a nap, my eye was miraculously healed! We were able to go to watch the dance after all.
Kandu in Ventura, all ready to go . . . so I would have wished
Years of preparation for a five-year circumnavigation were expected. The labor and cost to update systems on an older boat were expected. The amount of time it would take and the “discoveries” of unintended repairs/upgrades/costs were unexpected. We planned to start our circumnavigation leaving within a community of 125 cruising boats, a fun way to force our departure date while meeting other like-minded families and forging new lifelong friendships. The Baja Ha-ha Rally departs San Diego for Baja California, Mexico in late October.
Baja Ha-ha Cruiser’s Rally route
Appreciating that the further away from Southern California we got, the more time-consuming and expensive working on the boat would become: thus our plans changed. With the five-year picture in mind, we forewent departing with the Baja Ha-ha Rally, preferring to have a more comfortable, less stressful departure and subsequent ocean crossings. The five-month delay would also mean not stopping in Central or South America–bummer. After missing the Ha-ha departure, we delayed still further our departure into Mexico in San Diego. Sailing down the Southern California coast revealed more “discoveries.” Delaying our San Diego departure was a calculated gamble.
Cutting gaskets for Kandu’s fuel tanks in San Diego.Controller: the brains between wind generation and batteries. This one was replaced in San Diego.
In exchange for more stable boat systems (diesel flow to engine, wind generation of electricity, etc.), we would cut short our stay in Mexico, sailing directly to the Galapagos from Puerto Vallarta.
Costly autopilot actuator failure due to my ignorance in its installation parameters.Time consuming VHF antenna connection repair. Learned more than I wanted.
Unfortunately, problems cropped up on our way to La Cruz, Mexico (autopilot, VHF radio, etc.) and we were held up longer in Mexico than intended. Repairing a boat in Mexico is more time and cost effective than in the Galapagos or the Marquesas. The additional delay caused Easter Island, one of Leslie’s bucket list destinations, to be removed from our itinerary. All of a sudden, the additional costs, combined with an unexpected substantial tax bill, threatened to reduce our trip from five years to three, perhaps only two, years. It was a depressing set of circumstances for me.
Squalls on route to Galapagos
Additionally, along the way we kept missing events and weather windows, sometimes by a week, sometimes by a few days. It was more than frustrating to learn we’d missed petting the grey whales, “There were so many last week, but they all left four days ago.” We missed a very animated Mexican village’s St. Patrick’s patron saint’s celebration by two weeks. We missed the favorable weather window between Mexico and Galapagos, and when we arrived in the Galapagos, the customary sunny and calm weather of Puerto Villamil turned unusually rainy with a large sea surge. The family was growing somewhat discouraged by the prospect of our future travels, especially Leslie. I was not spending the promised time of adventure and exploration with the boys.
These weighty circumstances were not the expected outcome of so much thoughtful effort and planning. By the time we reached the Galapagos, the combination of rough passages, missed opportunities, and troubling breakdowns caused me to reflect and re-evaluate my goals. An optimist (generally), I often find opportunity within crises. I was digging deep to find the good, sifting through the weeks to recognize events worthy of the sacrifice. It is under these conditions, after 24 days of uncomfortable sailing, that we arrived in the Marquesas (cue revelation music cue, the kind you hear with sun rays bursting around a cloud).
Rounding the southeast corner of Nuku Hiva
Sailing around the rugged castle-like southeastern corner of Nuku Hiva, the island was greener than I’d ever seen it. I’ve been to the Marquesas twice before, in 1976-77 and in 1990, both times aboard a sailboat.
Kandu in Anaho Bay, Nuku Hiva, Marquesas
As a result, the Marquesas were a familiar and welcoming place. We have Marquesan friends on the main administrative island of Nuku Hiva. The Marquesas consist of six inhabited islands with a population of 9000. Nuku Hiva is the most northerly. Most sailboats, taking advantage of the southerly winds and seas, clear into the southern Marquesas and work their way north. But considering our Marquesan friends are part of our extended family and were eagerly awaiting our arrival, we headed directly to Nuku Hiva. Via satellite text, they knew exactly when we were to arrive. What a grand and warm welcome they provided. Sebastien and a French friend of his, Guy, came to help us drop anchor. At the wharf, Denis and Chantale waited the 90 minutes it took for us to pull out the inflatable dingy that was packed below deck for the long crossing. Once we motored up to the wharf, scaled ourselves up the stainless steel ladder and tied off the dinghy, we were greeted with kisses and fragrant flower leis. There were boxes and bags of fresh fruit and a grand stalk of bananas offered to take back to Kandu. At the table of an open air “snack” restaurant situated on the wharf waited a plate of poisson cru, a favorite French Polynesian dish of lime marinated raw fish served in coconut milk over rice, and glasses of fresh squeezed pamplemousse juice made from a large thick-skinned, yellow-green citrus fruit similar to grapefruit, but sweeter with a hint of lime. That night, we were driven (automobile travel is a luxury for us these days) to a lovely villa high above the beach, overlooking the bay.
View of Taiohae Bay from our friends’ home.
We feasted with two-dozen family members over a potluck of various Marquesan, French, and Chinese dishes, lovingly prepared. We were told that we had arrived in time to enjoy the month long period of “festival,” and that we were invited to participate in a rare visit to the uninhabited island of Eaio in a way most Marquesans only dream, let alone a non-Marquesan family.
Dawn at Eaio, on the plateau, before the hunt.Eaio, on the beach, after the hunt.
Over the next couple weeks, we learned that Bryce and Trent could be admitted into their public “college” (6th-11th grade), where they could learn French, a dream of Leslie’s and mine. We could become “Certified Residents” of Taiohae, Nuku Hiva with benefits coming to the residents of the town.
Trent starts French public secondary school in Taiohae, Marquesas
There would be beautiful hikes, hunting of boar and wild sheep, horseback riding on secluded beaches, dance and song soirees, and more local food. In short, we would be immersed in the Marquesan culture in a way rare for most sailing families. And it would all be at little expense. Our friends are farmers and fishermen, so they told us to not buy these fruits and fish, that they would provide them to us. Anchoring in the bay is free. We made arrangements to purchase diesel duty-free. One of our “family members” offered the use of their house, with our own room and access to laundry machines. With much buzz about the likelihood of an El Nino weather year, I asked Guy, Sebastien’s French friend who has lived throughout much of French Polynesia over 8 years aboard his sailboat, where he would stay if he had only one year to live in French Polynesia. Without missing a beat, he said, right here in Taiohae, Nuku Hiva. As the next few weeks passed, and through the generosity of our Marquesan family members we experienced many wonderful things it became apparent that my desire to see as much of the world in five years as possible needed revision. Rather than touch down in as many countries as possible, more appealing had become the pace and benefits of staying in a wonderful place for months at a time. Rather than spend my days repairing Kandu, I would be able to take frequent breaks and enjoy the places, the people, and their cultures. After so many years of having been taxed physically, mentally, emotionally, and financially, the Marquesas is serving as a turning point, an opportunity to experience a fascinating lifestyle in a way few get a chance, especially for our sons. Bryce, seeing first-hand the strength and versatility of our Marquesan friends, expressed disappointment in that his friends would not know all that a “real man” can do.
Bryce climbing coconut tree to bring down “drinking” nuts.
This change in focus is probably an obvious adjustment for most to expect. “Of course, it’s about having cultural immersion and great experiences with your family and not about sailing around the world,” you think. But for forty years I’ve wanted to sail around the world. It is not easy to have to re-evaluate my reasons for wanting it so. Ultimately, the main emphasis came down to wanting to recreate the revelatory experiences of my adolescence, of having the world opened up within my kids’ minds, to alternative ways of seeing the world and our place in it. In my pre-departure calculation I figured the more cultures, the more mind openings, right? It’s like the captain’s oath from Star Trek: to seek out new places and cultures, to boldly go where few have gone before. That notion greatly attracts. What was not attracting was getting the boat ready for the next long passage while not visiting the current location. Are you kidding me??? Yet, that was where I was headed. With finances dwindling, it looked like I had to make a choice, sail around the world within three years, or maybe take three years to get to Australia before selling the boat, or something in-between. But, if I could live cheaply for two years, we could still travel for 5 years, just not around the world. I had to get creative with having experiences without spending money.
Rustic Marquesan beehives produce exceptional honey, a metaphor for life.
The Marquesas was showing me how. If you like fresh fruit and fish more than French fries and beef, and juice more than alcohol, you can live quite modestly in this remote island group. So what if we stayed one year in the Marquesas and a second year in Raiatea (Guy’s next best place to stay in French Polynesia), or which ever Societal Island opportunity grabs our imagination. Then maybe the third year we go through the South Pacific to Fiji before cutting down to New Zealand for 5 months during the hurricane season. NZ is expensive, but maybe something will work out to offset costs. It’s only 5 months. From there, pushing into the fourth year, we could pick up from which ever South Pacific islands we left off, but this time for hurricane season we could head north to the more rustic locations like Solomon and Marshal Islands, going really native, before dropping down to Australia just before the beginning of the fifth year. If we have to sell the boat, then so be it. We could then drive a camping car around Australia, and/or rent a house in Indonesia or Thailand, a base from which to travel to other parts of SE Asia and beyond. Who knows?
Our Marquesan friends offer wonderful examples of what men can really do if they push themselves. Perhaps in exercising flexibility, I teach my sons strength of reformation, doing my best to sail the wind I have . . .
Saturday April 11th we met Merle McAssey, a friendly yachtie accomplished in many individual sports: sailing, surfing, wind surfing, kite boarding, kayaking, and his favorite, mountain biking. He performs most any sport well.
Merle kite-boarding in La Cruz, Mexico
During his mountain biking experiences as a guide in Canada he suffered many broken bones, mainly his collarbones. Over four years he broke at least one collarbone (once both at the same time) every 6 months. His most intense injury was breaking his back while hiking to get help during a kayaking expedition. Over several careful months of healing treatments, his back miraculously healed without medical intervention. To say the least, Merle is a very daring and active person!
The following Tuesday, Merle offered to take us surfing if he could get his car working. He explained that his car had been in a crash and his required Mexican insurance wouldn’t pay to fix the damage, so he didn’t repair it. He called it his Afghanistan car because it was so messed up, like a war zone.
Afganistan Car
Merle got it working so Trent, Dad and I tied our surfboards to the top of his beat-up car and jumped in. This was the first time going surfing without wetsuits. I was very excited to surf in warm water. As we were driving along, Merle told us his surf plans. He explained that he was going to drive us all the way to a surf spot at the very end of the road called Punta Mita, but if the waves weren’t good, we would go to Burro’s instead. When we arrived at Punta Mita and checked out the waves, Merle decided it was okay, so we paddled out to the wave break and waited for a set; it took almost 20 minutes before a set eventually arrived. Everyone including my dad (who doesn’t even surf) caught waves, but they were pretty small for Trent and me.
Surfing Punta Mita
After a bit, we got out of the water and walked over to an outside restaurant and ordered lunch. Merle ordered only guacamole and chips with fresh coconut water to drink. Everything tasted mighty fine. When we were done, we packed up our stuff and headed back to the car so we could hit up the other surf spot, Burro’s.
Hiking through the jungle to get to Burros surf spot
This surf spot was excellent. We all had a great time. It was very fun to have my dad out with us catching waves. We planned to go back to this spot again.
A few days later, Merle’s sons, Shandro and Matero, and wife, Allison, returned from vacation in Canada. Since we liked Merle so much, we were excited to meet his family, who we suspected were also cool. We were not disappointed.
Trent, Matero, Shandro, and me at Mexican fair.
We had a lot of fun hanging out with their entire family, getting the inside track of things to do in La Cruz, including aerial tissue workouts.
Working on skateboard after recovering from sea floor
They showed us the best tacos and how to order the best combo of aqua frescas, homemade Mexican fruit drinks.
Home-made Mexican ice cream after a day of surfingOpen-air taco restaurant overlooking La Cruz’s central square.
Shandro, Matero, Trent, and I slept overnight together: once on the dock behind their boat, another time on the beach in front of the marina’s club house (we had a bonfire and danced like crazy wild guys), and again on our boat at Paradise Village where we slid all day down the resort’s huge water slides.
Dock camp out sunriseParadise Village Resort’s pool in the morning before we can play.
We hope to see them soon in the Marquesas. They said they would be following us in a year. I looking forward to showing them around this time!
Puerto Villamil on the south-eastern “heel” of Isabela. The island is said to resemble a seahorse.
Traveling to the Galapagos has for as long as I can remember been on my bucket list of places to visit before I died, along with the Egyptian pyramids, the Great Wall of China, the Coliseum in Rome, the Amazon river in Brazil or Ecuador and Machu Picchu in Peru. Well, just a few days have passed since we departed the Galapagos and I have a moment to reflect and determine whether my expectations were met.
While we were getting ready to leave, so many asked: “Are you excited?” as if the journey we were embarking on was to be full of fun. ‘Fun’ was not a big player in my immediate expectations. Surely I anticipated great moments, but the word ‘fun’ is loaded. The dictionary definition of fun is, “something that is amusing or enjoyable, an enjoyable experience or person, an amusing time, the feeling of being amused or entertained.” When I think of ‘fun,’ I think of roller coasters, Disneyland, going to see an anticipated movie accompanied with popcorn, birthday parties, singing onstage at the Dorothy Chandler opening night…and well, you get the idea. From where I stood, I saw a lot of work and discomfort ahead, and thus I was not particularly excited. I did not perceive having a lot of immediate ‘fun.’
Bryce and Mickey @D’land in 2005
Surely there have been great moments since we left February 10th as we sailed south down California and into Mexico. And there are many moments spent in the Galapagos that I consider fun, like when the four of us were snorkeling at Los Túneles (The Tunnels) and I witnessed Trent cozying up to two enormous sea turtles eating algae for lunch (the very turtles Trent had studied in his Galapagos report!). The turtles were bigger than any one of us! The joy and feeling of awe were inspiring.
Lunching Sea Turtle with Trent
Almost equal to the sea turtles was the adventure in getting to their feeding ground: the exhilarating boat ride to the snorkeling area, jumping over swells at high speed, saltwater spray everywhere, the captain not seeming to care if his craft were in harm’s way. Thankfully all passengers were wearing life jackets, hanging on for their lives. LOL!! Once we arrived near Los Túneles’s shoreline, the traverse became especially technical. We got to experience how the captain surfed our small vessel on enormous swells, navigating at the last second through openings of snarly lava reefs that we couldn’t see before he turned. His skill at maneuvering around the innumerable hazards lurking just under the water convinced me of the necessity to hire expensive yet experienced guides. I can appreciate all the accidents that have been avoided by requiring visitors to the Galapagos to hire professionals. Interestingly, the Galapagos islands are zoned for specific uses. Los Túneles’s falls within the “Fishing” jurisdiction. All boats that arrive filled with tourists are officially fishing boats with some fishing equipment and manned by fishermen.
Turtles swimming in the clear waters of Los Tuneles
The moment we turned into the tropical lagoon, the energy of the pounding waves diminished and we were left to putt along a near placid wonderland of tunnels and magical bridges, winding through Disneyesque dreamscapes.
The family standing on one of Los Tuneles’s many natural lava bridges over an aquarium of clear water
We first walked along the crags and bridges enjoying the sights of clear waters and turtles swimming below and hoping to catch up close a blue-footed boobie. As fate would allow, we approached within a foot a nesting blue-footed boobie who gawked at us as we gawked at him.
Blue-footed Boobie watches us watch him.
Quoting Bryce who studied them: “This is Cool!” Later, while snorkeling Los Túneles, along with the many large turtles, we got up close to 8-inch sea horses attached to sea grass, and approached penguins sunning themselves within hands reach.
Galapagos penguin stands unfettered by our gawking at his extreme “cuteness.”
We were guided into underwater caves where sharks were sleeping. We swam with large stingrays and innumerable tropical fish only inches away. It was spectacular!
Fun? Yes, that was fun, a natural Disneyland but with real hazards, which made it more exciting. For example, the current was sometimes strong and it was easy to get separated from the group. Knowing sharks slept nearby was incentive to stay close. Sometimes the water was cloudy and dark; you couldn’t always see what was ahead, sharp-edged lava rock encircled us. Yet we all made it back to the boat, happy, unscathed, and energized, our heads full of unforgettable images.
Rigney Family excited to experience the awesome expanse of Sierra Negro’s Caldera, the second largest active caldera in the world (Yellow Stone is #1).Trent watches the impending rain storm approaching our position on the caldera ridge.
Another memorable day, we hired a guide to take us hiking up to the top of Sierra Negra Volcano and into the black lava fields of three separate events starting in the sixties and the latest one being in 2005, to meander safely around the powerful remnants of explosive yet presently dormant cones and craters of Volcan Chico. It was fascinating, learning from our guide the various dates of activity and how long it takes for plant life to take hold. It was also noteworthy learning how the oxidation of the iron-rich lava turns the black stone reddish brown over time.
Older reddish-brown lava below our feet, newer black lava in front.
We got up close to the heated sulfur cones magnificently colored in yellows, fluorescent reds and pinks like fancy tropical fish.
Multi-colors of sulfur vent
We saw lava tubes, cinder cones, vents, got to see and handle Pele’s tears, and we took pictures surfing a lava-wave and advancing down a lava-fall. Neat!
Lava tube “slide”Surfing the tube of a “frozen” lava wavePele’s tearsLeslie holds examples of Pele’s tears.
On a side note, all the guides were covered head-to-foot with protective clothing, hats, long sleeves and pants, including scarves over their necks and faces presumably due to the reflective radiation rising from the black lava. It was scorching when the sun peaked through the clouds. Since the four of us weren’t dressed properly, we were fortunate that most of the day was overcast, except the hour we overlooked the Sierra Negra crater. The momentarily clear sky allowed us to gaze down at the second largest active caldera in the world: 10 kilometers wide. The last eruption there was in 2005. Due to that eruption, half the green vegetation in the interior of the caldera was engulfed by barren black rock. We almost didn’t go on this excursion, time and money considering, but we were so glad we did.
Just getting in and out of town from the boat was an adventure. Riding our folding bikes through a frontier town, exploring the unknown, was fun. Puerto Villamel’s streets are black lava gravel covered in a foot of white sand. When it rained, as it did the first five days of our arrival, the streets became completely flooded in about 8” of murky water. Yet because the sidewalks were constructed tall, about 18”-24” above street level, pedestrians and cyclists could still make their way through town. Learning when and where to shop for food proved to be great exercise as the markets were mostly located across town and open early mornings and evenings. If we didn’t make it off the boat early enough, we had to return to town later to shop between 3:30-6:30. My Spanish was meager at best, so finding everything we needed, including dish soap, tested my communication and shopping skills. Transporting the heavy bags home required endurance. At least two times, we rode from one side of town to the other, in the dark, on sand with large grocery bags hanging off our arms because we didn’t have our bike cart. The challenge of shopping was actually rather ‘fun.’
Leslie uses bike cart to do late night provisioning. (photo by Bill Kohut)
‘Fun’ is relative. Eric and I like to promote the idea to Bryce and Trent: “Do as I do!” Get out into the world, live actively, learn deeply, explore widely. While journeying, exciting things can happen. Yet much of the time, in the moment, my excitement is more often than not subdued because exploring from Kandu requires great thoughtfulness, unlike at Disneyland where everything is safe, safety nets abound, and I know much of what to expect. Out on the great blue and/or reaching new land sites, things are always unfamiliar, different, and potentially dangerous. Existing safety nets, if there are any nets to be found, generally have holes, large ones.
I have more stories to relate about our time in the Galapagos (look for future posts). Suffice it to say; aside from the concerns about our safety, my bucket list expectations of the Galapagos were surpassed. Just as we were becoming accustomed to our Galapagos lifestyle, friends and associations, knowing how to get things done, it was time leave . . .
The 18-day crossing from Paradise Village, Nuevo Vallarta (near Puerto Vallarta) Mexico to Puerto Villamil, Isla Isabela in the Galapagos was difficult. The weak and variable winds, thunderstorms/squalls, and mixed seas wore us down and consumed nearly all our diesel. Mid-May marked the beginning of the northern hemisphere hurricane season. For us, that translated into high sea temperatures that saturated the humid horizon with afternoon and evening thunderheads. At one latitude, sea and ocean shared the same temperature: 89oF, making refrigeration a full time job. Rain forced us to close nearly all Kandu’s hatches and portlights. Under such aquatic lockdown, internal cabin humidity became oppressive.
Sleeping takes us away…
The RADAR scanned for squalls and showers, which formed mostly at night in the beginning, but then bled into the day, such that every hour felt like we were dodging something. Rain appears in red on our chart-plotter, giving squalls a vampiresque appearance. Near the end, we gave up running away and took our wet licks hoping we’d avoid lightening. Southern depressions and east-southeast winds made mixed seas the whole way. We later learned the unusually heavy swell from these southern depressions caused much damage in the Galapagos and in parts of southern Mexico after we left. For us, that southern swell made for an uncomfortable ride. It was difficult to get anything done. Even sleeping was difficult.
Avoiding the storm . . .. . . and giving in.
Satellite texting was our greatest entertainment, reaching out and communicating with family and friends (and manufacturers). Every time the device chirped, each of us wondered for who the message would be. My long time friend, Deren, did a lot of legwork for me from his Puget Sound home, as we tried to resolve problems while underway. I’d give him the background, he’d do the research and reach out to the manufacturer for support. Our system worked well.
Repairing a propane issue.
As the winds switched back and forth in velocity and direction, we made such little progress. Normally, over a long distance, Kandu seemed to average about 5.25 knots/hour, or 125 nautical miles a day: our performance when we sailed down the Baja coast from San Diego, and so that’s the basis I used to calculate how long it would take us to arrive in the Galapagos. With little wind and higher than normal seas, we motor-sailed so we could average closer to 90 nautical miles (1 nm=1.167 miles) a day under the keel. As we got closer to our targeted port, the wind and swell shifted toward our nose causing us to have to tack back and forth, so while we passed 90 nm of water across our water line, our distance over land shrunk to 40 nm/day.
Another thunder cloud . . .
As we got closer, we also developed a charging problem: the engine’s alternator was no longer charging the batteries. We were using the ship’s batteries to power our autopilot, chart-plotter, RADAR, and refrigeration. When wind conditions allowed, we’d use our windvane to steer the boat, but that was not as often as we would have liked. The 2kw gas-powered Honda generator didn’t charge the batteries very quickly, so at times we had both Kandu’s diesel engine running while we ran the generator: a veritable cacophony of combustibles.
And another . . .And again . . .
The slow performance, rough motion, high humidity, and power issues brought me to a point of significant doubt, questioning the whole plan to sail around the world. Having spent more than three years of great effort and financial commitment to get to this point, with no end of effort and expense in sight, with great discomfort to all on board, it wasn’t making sense to continue. My goal was to bring us closer as a family as we explored together the wonders of the world, working as a crew aboard our proud vessel. Why not sell the boat, take the money and rent places in beautiful, remote places around the world instead. At the rate we were going, we could only support ourselves two, maybe three years. And so far, I was having very little fun, and the boys and Leslie were upset that my attention remained focused on the needs of the boat, no time for play and exploration. In Mexico, we missed all the good stuff. We missed seeing and petting the grey whales in Baja by four days. We missed an exceptional festival in Banderas Bay by a couple weeks. We were late in the season to leave Mexico for Galapagos. We were always just shy of experiencing some wonderful event or ideal weather circumstance. I was exhausted and feeling deflated and defeated. How could I have so misjudged what the experience would entail? With my previous experience and years of research, how could I be so off the mark? I don’t recall ever being so wrong. My normal optimistic demeanor seemed more a sophomorically naive character flaw. As the rising sun struggled to light the morning sky, standing at the mast, still days away from a Galapagos arrival with fuel running out, batteries not charging, thunderheads still pouring rain on us, I wondered who I was and if I could do this . . . if I should do this.
The “God” cloud?
Captaining a small sailboat across a couple thousand miles of eastern Pacific ocean with your wife, two young sons, and octogenarian uncle with a few more hundred miles to go before you reach the nearest point of land, . . . one has few options. There is no quitting. There is no room for self-pity. So, I ask, what then is the lesson? What is the reason for all this misery? Why am I at this low point? With such self-inflicted stress and burden, what can be learned? What can I take from this that will make all this loathing worthy? I’m not getting it, the lesson that must be slapping me in the face, the one that shouts at my soul. What is it? What am I supposed to learn from this??? Standing at the mast, I quiet my soul, my brain, my heart, and listen. I just wait and listen for the answer. It doesn’t take long, less than a minute, before it comes. Eric, you must sail the wind you have, not the wind you want, and you must sail it to the best of your ability with what you have, without burden, sans self-pity: realize the terms and adjust accordingly, with resolve and without angst–sail the wind you have, not the wind you want. It became my motto. If I have to tack back and forth for the next week, so be it. If I can do better, I will. If I can’t, I’ll accept that I’m doing my best and receive the outcome without judgment. It is what it is, and I’m doing the best with what I’ve got. What comes of it is good enough, and I will seek to be satisfied with what comes.
In the rain with a new attitudeCrossing the equator
About four days later, we reached the Galapagos with less than 15 gal of diesel remaining from our tanks’ original 115. The benign weather normally associated with the bay we entered vanished on our approach, roughing up the bay and flooding the streets. It took two days to get cleared in and approved for landing, a story in itself, and another 6 days before our charging problem was resolved. After that, I enjoyed several days of Galapagos exploration together with the family. For the first time in three years, I was working on being a dad again. I recognize I have a lot of catching up to do, and that I’ll only get there by . . . sailing the wind I have.
Land Ho! Hoisting the courtesy and Q flags.Arriving in the Galapagos on Uncle Bill’s birthday, a lot to celebrate!
Kandu moored off picturesque Hakahau Bay at Ua Pou in the Marquesas Islands
Since entering Mexico, sailing down the Baja coast to the Puerto Vallarta region, then to the Galapagos, and now at the Marquesas, so much has happened. We want to share all of it, but how? Do we apply our posts in chronological order of our travels, or do we skip around to what’s of interest at the time, present and past?
Yesterday, Trent started college here in Taiohae, Nuku Hiva, the first American to do so. Bryce started today. Their fellow students are nearly all Polynesian, with the occasional French child here and there. Other foreigners, a New Zealander and a Russian, have attended previously, but as Americans, they make Nuku Hiva history. The college follows the French educational system for its outer territories. The class level numbers lessen as the child advances, thus the college takes kids from the 6th level to the 2nd. The more advanced 1st level and higher academics are provided in Tahiti. Trent entered the 6th and Bryce, the 5th. As they learn French, and if room is available, Bryce and Trent well be allowed to advance to higher grade levels (lower number). Course work includes Math, Science (Biology and Earth), Technology, French, English, Marquesan, History and Geography, Art, Physical Education, and Music. The student body is gentle and kind, everybody knows everybody and are typically related by some familial association. What occurs at school is immediately reported to the family. The teachers seem patient as French is also the Marquesan’s second language. Trent’s principal teacher is the 6th level’s English teacher, so this circumstance falls well in his favor as he begins his transformation into the French language.
With the boys in school, we plan to give them time to learn French and thus stay in Taiohae, giving Leslie and I time to write and post our previous and current experiences. We have plenty to write about, so stay tuned.
Towns are planned and maintained differently in Mexico than from those of our native California. When it comes to zoning, which type of establishment should stand adjacent another, such seems freely decided by a property’s owners, not city planning. If a residence is found standing adjacent to a butcher, metal working place, or restaurant—so be it. And unlike the U.S.’s Protestant edict of “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” theirs is a Catholic culture—“If it works, performing its needed function, then consider it maintained. Life is short. Spend your time with family, not fixing property.”
So, as with many Latin American towns, earthly dust covers all and everything within the town of La Cruz, except the most modern of establishments and vehicles, which are typically owned by the wealthier few. The sediment-coated buildings are often incomplete, in disrepair, and/or thickly painted with bright colors, bringing creativity and/or masking imperfections, or both. Stains, cracks, and exposed construction are the norm. The more dusty and disheveled a place, the more authentic it feels. If a property owner strives to manicure too perfectly his or her structure, he or she somehow foregoes Mexican culture, seeking instead to serve those outside the native community. Polished floors behind air-conditioned glass doors seem the domain of visitors and other, more seasonal inhabitants.
Corner approaching La Cruz’s Central Square
As an example, take some of the establishments surrounding the town’s plaza. La Cruz’s central square is relatively new, perhaps less than 15 years old. It is joyfully designed and proudly multi-colorful, well used by the community. There is no celebration this week so it is not swept. On its quietist corner resides the town’s church. Bells in Mexico are not decoration. In California, bells hang in the bell tower, but the bells one hears are that of a recording through a speaker. In Mexico they actually ring their church bells, with gusto, long ropes are pulled from in front of the church, on Sundays and for religious celebrations.
Let the church bells ring!
Two blocks up, a 7-11 type convenience store, with its glass doors and neatly stacked beverage trays, “Sale” sign adhered, has a beverage-truck driver unloading its U.S. made product.
Back at the plaza, diagonal to the church, on the corner lot, across the main square, a half painted two-story building misses its second-story roof. Only dilapidated brick columns stand above its first floor “roof.” The downstairs is treated like an open-air storage unit of plastic lawn chairs and wooden tables, with what appears to be a misplaced but active cooler. An LED reading indicates its cold Celsius temperature. Its brilliantly lighted door advertises a beverage that’s not contained within its chilled chamber. Is that a kitchen in the corner?
Two doors down, a one-story establishment is painted freshly white. The quiet, likely pane-less windows are closed shut with white wooden planked panels. It looks new. No telltale brown dirt creeps up the base of its wall where it meets the public walkway. What is this place?
La Cruz, like much of Mexico, has much magic about her. Your eyes ignore what is not active, what is not attractive. During the day, corners, small cafes, and shops come to life. But it is at night, when the humid tropical air cools, lifting the weight of its daytime burden, that the town transforms into an enchanted village, her people coming out into the streets, populating the square. What was a motorway intersection is now a communal volleyball court for all to join, rotating in and out, laughing and cajoling under a solitary amber streetlight.
Under the cloak of the evening sky, dust, rust, exposed rebar, and peeling paint are invisible. The tables and chairs stored below the derelict looking storage unit are pulled out into the street and neatly arranged. Downstairs, opposite the simple kitchen, in the corner to the left . . . behind the mop, buckets and brooms . . . spies a hideaway circular cement stairway that brings you to the rooftop, offering a ‘skybox’ view of the volleyball action directly below. The bare columns hold up strings of small circular light bulbs. The overall transformation reveals a romantic rooftop street café. Music fills the square from the now opened windows of the newer, whitewashed establishment, unveiling a restaurant-bar. Live Latin and popular American music emanates from its small lit stage, a bold seascape mural painted on the white wall behind its bar. Gone are thoughts of construction deficiencies—the structures are perfect, their simplicity, enviable. We love this place.
Left Isla Isabela, Galapagos June 2. Arrived Nuku Hiva, Marquesas June 23. The sailing was not comfortable, but was quick. No major incidents. Posts to come. Plan to sail the Marquesas awhile, maybe place Bryce and Trent in school here.
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