Dispatch 42 Easter Island

April 23-29, 2009
Easter Island has been a place of mystery for several hundred years. It is a small island in the Pacific, owned by Chili, and is remarkably isolated. It is about 14 x 9 miles in size, sits 3700 km (2220 miles) from the South American coast, 2000 km (1200 miles) from Pitcairn Island (its closest neighbor to the north which is a very minimally populated island in itself and has its own fascinating stories), and 4100 km (2460 miles) from Tahiti. It is best known for the remarkable huge carved stone statues around its coastlines. Because none of the currently existing native peoples retain knowledge of their ancestor’s religion or practices, little is known and lots is surmised about the statues and the early life on the island. In her book, The Mystery of Easter Island, published in 1919, Kathryn Routledge wrote about the archaeological work done with the team that included her and her husband and the interviews she did with the natives of the island at that time and still very little was remembered. That’s because a population of, once, 20-30,000 was reduced by in-fighting, western diseases (small pox, tuberculosis, influenza), and starvation to around 2-3,000 and survival became paramount to retaining oral history.

A couple boats we know sailed to Easter Island, one on their way to French Polynesia and one on their way back to the coast of Chili from Central America. Their reports were so fascinating and compelling that we decided to visit Easter Island ourselves. By now, our boat is long past the place where prevailing winds could carry us there, and, as our friends confirmed, the island is very exposed, often windy, and anchoring there was a toss of the dice—one boat left in gale winds because there was no longer any satisfactory protection to remain anchored. So we took a plane there—as it turns out, there are two places with direct flights to Easter Island: Santiago, Chili and Papeete, Tahiti. So here we are in Tahiti, we thought, let’s go. A small side note if ever the opportunity arises to fly LAN airlines, jump at the opportunity. The service was incredible, hot “full” meals served with wine and real silverware were just part of the “standard” services offered as well as a large selection of movies and other entertainment on one’s individual screen. And this was the economy class--imagine what first class may have been like. Now try flying United.

Easter Island on a sunny day is one of the most photogenic places imaginable. The stone Moai (statues) stand guard and cast interesting shadows and the hillsides are a gentle rolling green. We found a place to stay on the internet and it turned out to be great. It was a little house, owned by an American married to a Rapa Nuian (the island is known in Polynesian as Rapa Nui and the native people are, therefore, Rapa Nuians) and was fully equipped for independent living. It was located a 5 minute walk from the center of the only town so we shopped and cooked at home, saving us some expense, and, as it turned out amusingly the one night we did try to eat out, some aggravation. The yard provided us with avocados, mangoes and lemons and we collected guayaba on the trail, so we ate well. The yard also provided us some entertainment that proved to be fairly loud at night—it was a major highway for the wild dog population and home to some of the wild chickens and (more loudly) roosters.

First, the statues command one’s attention. They do not, as one might imagine, stand guard looking out over the ocean. Rather, they were built with the spirits and likeness of a clan’s ancestors and look over the clan’s land—toward the center of the island in almost all cases. Because they are enormous, made of stone and hugely heavy, and because they were all carved at one quarry in the SE corner of the island but appear all along the coast, the first mystery of Easter Island is how the statues got where they are. One of the most outlandish theories is that they were carved by extraterrestrials and moved by some kind of space age technology. The more sober archaeological minds guess that they were dragged somehow from the quarry to their resting spots over long periods of time requiring lots and lots of people. The mythology of the native people is that the statues “walked” to their locations so they may have been moved upright, but most scholars think they were dragged face down on wood sleds or some such contrivance. How big are they? Average height is 4 meters and average weight is 12.5 metric tons. Some fell over in the delicate process of movement from the quarry to other parts of the island, and, if their necks broke when they fell, it was felt that the spirit of the ancestor left so the statue was no longer any good. Nearly 100 statues were found “on the road” toward their destination having fallen and broken, suggesting however they moved them, it was an imperfect process. But the carvings were truly awe inspiring even now centuries later. The faces definitely had personality (they were said to resemble the ancestor they were carved from) and presence, especially those we found still intact at the quarry.

Another “mystery” about Easter Island is where the original inhabitants arrived from. With the successful voyage of Kontiki from South America to Easter Island, one theory was that natives of South America arrived by raft. The more accepted theory is that Rapa Nuians are Polynesian and that the island was populated as part of a wave of population from Tonga/Samoa through the Cook Islands, French Polynesia, Easter Island and ultimately New Zealand, all considered part of Polynesia. The evidence to support this is stronger—the stone carvings actually resemble those done in the Marquesas (and we saw the resemblance although those in the Marquesas are rarely as tall as a man), and, more compelling, when James Cook arrived during his Pacific explorations in the late 1700’s, he brought with him a Tahitian who was able to converse with the Rapa Nuians, suggesting a common language.

One of the most disturbing but fascinating pieces we read about Easter Island came from Jared Diamond’s book Collapse in which he described the island as the site of an ecologic disaster. Originally, according to the data he describes, the island had a native population of very large palm trees, in fact, the largest species known. Over the centuries of classic civilization on Easter Island (roughly 800-1680 AD), the trees were systematically deforested to provide for the lifestyle including the building of ocean going canoes for fishing and to provide the materials to move the statues (rope out of the bark and logs for support scaffolding), and possibly burned in funeral pyres. During this time, evidence would suggest a healthy diet including deep ocean fish, a peaceful coexistence with clans having split up the island like a pie and stone carvings being moved peacefully across clan territories and possibly cooperatively. Resources were plentiful, life was peaceful. According to the chapter, then, as resources gradually declined (the trees did not re-populate, canoes deteriorated, statues couldn’t be moved as easily, food became less and less easy to get), society also deteriorated devolving into competition, warfare and cannibalism. According to most theories about the island, when first seen and reported by Europeans, all the statues had been toppled, some while being transported, but most in situ statues were toppled by rival clans in warfare—this conflict period was short, only around 1680-1864, and population size plummeted from murder, starvation and disease as mentioned above. The island was also described as barren of trees by the first European explorers. The Ruttledge expedition’s cook in 1914 despaired about how he would be able to fuel their cooking fires.

So one of the most interesting parts of the visit for us was the feeling that little existed of the spiritual connection with the heyday of the Rapa Nuian culture. In some areas, the statues have been re-erected as they were thought to have been done originally, but, since the necks of most of the statues were broken, their spiritual essence is no longer intact.

During our 6 day there, we visited the various archaeological sites, often walking many miles to get there for the pleasure of it. The island is volcanic and the coastline is dramatic and beautiful. We took a tour with our American host who was very knowledgeable and then returned to some sites (such as the quarry) on our own in a rental car to take more pictures and explore further. We went to the beach one day (there are a couple very attractive white sand beaches and snorkeled at little (the weather wasn’t very cooperative the day we tried.) There were options to horse ride or scuba dive which we didn’t do, but we stayed pretty busy.

Other things we learned about contemporary Easter Island include the horse and dog problems. Dogs have proliferated horribly, and, while once there was a spay/neuter program, apparently someone wanted to do a natural rabies experiment and discourage sterilization and the program has not restarted. The dogs sometimes travel in packs which can become dangerous of course. Our experience with the dogs is that, as we like dogs, we generally are kind to them (short of feeding them) and one nearly always adopted us on our walks for the day, seeking “protection” of sorts by acting like our pet. One was with us for several days and we named her—a young shepherd like dog before her first heat (you always know because they immediately become pregnant with their first heat). She must have been pretty adept at “adopting” humans because she wasn’t terribly skinny and her coat still looked good. The horses too have proliferated and are wild but very tame. The locals do brand the new foals to claim them but then don’t do much as “owners” per se. The problem is that someone imported lupine, a wildflower that is poisonous to the horses but that they like to eat, so they are slowly being eliminated by poison. We saw a couple dead horses by the roadside. We started to refer to one road as “dead horse road” until we realized with our ongoing explorations that nearly every road could be named that, sadly.

Tourism appears to be the major economic driver of Easter Island. Of course many people still live traditional subsistence lifestyles supplemented by mainland goods flown from Tahiti or Chili or shipped in by freighter every few months. We were told there are discussions about building a huge dock for cruise ships and to land Japanese fishing boats, both of which we think would be a mistake.

The last night on the island, we decided to eat out. We chose a medium range restaurant (sort of comparable to US prices surprisingly), and sat down with the menu. When the waitress came back to take our order she told us what she had forgotten to tell us when we were seated which was that there was no fish tonight. None. How about chicken, we asked? No, no chicken either. Hmmm, this was fascinating as the island is overrun with chickens as we well knew, and is surrounded by ocean suggesting the possibility of fish being available (and they were on the menu). OK, we decided to try another restaurant and there, too, there was no fish. Must have been too rough that day to fish? Ultimately we found chicken curry that was satisfying and laughed our way home, glad we’d had a kitchen for most of our stay.

During our stay there were several sailboats anchored in the main harbor, one just having arrived via Cape Horn. Also friends emailed us about a 110-foot sailboat that was suppose to “drop” by during our visit and sure enough one day it appeared, very majestic riding at anchor though it only was there one day before heading off. The anchorage there is adequate in “most” conditions, though when the winds change, boats go around to the opposite side of the island and anchor in the shadow of one of the largest ahu (platforms) with moai (statues) reconstructed until conditions allow a return to the city harbor side. We met cruisers out on tours of the island having left their boats comfortably riding at anchor. Though I must say when the conditions and swell changed direction the peaceful anchorage soon disappeared into a series of hobby horsing boats and they were quick to head for the opposite side and the lee.

While the current Rapa Nuians may not have a knowledge of all their ancestors traditions, they are actively embracing their unique Polynesian culture. They represent 2/3 of the population of the island (out of about a total of 4000 people, the rest being Chilean) and they give performances of native dancing and music for the tourists. This was truly a fascinating place way off the beaten track and we’re glad we went.

Dispatch 41 Seattle Winter Wonderland

August 24, 2008 to April 18, 2009
The Seattle climate is generally very mild, a well-hidden fact, hidden in an attempt to keep millions more people from discovering our wonderful land of riches. OK, it is cloudy a lot of the year and the winter days are very short since we are on the same latitude as Maine, but the summers are dry, even drought conditions from a gardeners point of view. And when it is clear here, well, there is hardly a more beautiful landscape to be seen.

This year, Seattle had a white Christmas! Starting on December 14, temperatures dropped below freezing almost continuously and we had our first snowfall. Sure, it was only 3 or 4 inches, but it promptly froze. Then on Dec 18 we had another 3 or 4 inches which froze on the roads and ongoing intermittent snow thereafter until nearly Dec. 25. OK, Richard and I grew up with snowy winters, learned to drive in snow for months every year. It took a couple feet of snow in Ohio to close schools. In Seattle, schools can close for the whole day based on the threat of snow which happened on Dec. 17. Why?

Seattle is built on 7 hills like Rome. Some of the main arterials have a grade of 19%--we know because it’s marked on the arterial a couple blocks from our apartment--which is on a block with a similar grade. Icy roads on the flat are one thing, but throw in a whole lot of hills and you have mayhem. In fact, 2 charter buses trying to navigate down hill to their bus station nearly fell over the retaining wall onto the highway. The sounds outside our window are of spinning tires on ice and, ugh, occasionally, the sound of the moving car hitting one of the parked cars.

We enjoyed the snowy break—we walked everywhere or took one of the rare busses downtown to run errands. I had most of the snowy week off work so we had no obligation to be anywhere in particular. We rented DVDs, stopped to enjoy a sled ride on one of our walks, laughed with both kids and adults frolicking in the unusual winter weather. When my work week began again, I borrowed rides to work as neither of our vehicles, (one a poor excuse for a car – a rental, the other a wonderful Mercedes convertible, lent to us by a friend for the duration of our stay, too nice to submit to the snowy conditions, besides it refused to leave the comfort of our garage until conditions improved ), really were suited to the conditions. Still, our experience as cruisers helps us adapt to adverse conditions and to improvise as needed.

Seattle is certainly an appealing place to live when the weather is right. Then, there’s the winter. The “great snow storm of ‘08” had its own “extreme” appeal, but the rest of winter here especially during a La Nina year leaves a bit to be desired. Seattle is at Latitude 48, similar to Maine. When winter strikes, it is dark here 16 or more hours a day. Pair that with the fairly constant gray skies and you get a whole lot of people with Vitamin D deficiency and sunlight deprivation. Perhaps we don’t see much frostbite, but, Seasonal Affective Disorder are Us. Spring on the other hand is magnificent. And just as we are preparing to leave, spring is finally in the air. The crocuses and daffodils are peaking and the tulips are up. The azaleas are starting to bloom and, we can only hope, we might see a bit of the rhododendron show here. Rhodies are the state flower and a native species. One finds them growing in the woods on hikes in the Olympic National Park. When the city is abloom, clear skies, Cascade mountains to the east, Olympic mountains to the west, Puget Sound sparkling in the sunshine and Mt. Rainier standing regally over the skyline, there is no place prettier in the world. Perhaps the weather will oblige us with more gray days as we leave so we can appreciate the tropical sunshine and warmth all the more.

Being “dirt dwellers”, as some of our cruising friends dub the land life, had other appeals. We didn’t have to speak a foreign language for every interaction, everything you could possibly need was nearby, our snug apartment was a warm place to be in a storm. The US stay meant we visited with family, I got to ski for the first time in 4 years, and our lives were filled with visits with friends, great meals and companionship.

On the other hand, the incessant 24 hour news cycle meant that all the disastrous economic news was played, replayed, re-analyzed, and drummed into our brains and we joined the ranks of the shocked and depressed public as we received our monthly financial statements. It was a bipolar winter, the ecstasy of the Obama election followed by the despair of the economic crash have helped us look forward to the simplicity of life on the boat where we get news sporadically and can live for weeks on our own stores.

Soon we leave to resume our nautical travels. First stop is Tahiti but shortly thereafter we fly to Easter Island, ( Rapa Nui) — we’ve decided we don’t want to miss it even if we didn’t sail out of our way to go there by boat. Stay tuned for more reports from the high seas. Hope all of you had a healthy winter. Please keep in touch.

Dispatch 40 Society Islands Farewell

August 1 - August 24
From wilderness to the big city, we arrived in Papeete, Tahiti, one of the main cruiser destinations and experienced the culture shock of crowds, buildings, a busy waterfront and traffic. We left the Tuamotus before we would have liked to because we loved the family on Toau, but we had a weather window and we caught it, arriving in Tahiti two days later with the wind in the 20’s nipping at our heels. It was a nice sail as the wind was behind us, but it blew fiercely for several days thereafter and we were snug in an anchorage off a fancy marina just south of Papeete.

Having been here before, we weren’t as shocked by the big city as some of our fellow cruisers and we settled into the errands easily. We had mail waiting for us at the post office. Well, WE knew we had mail there, it took some convincing for them to work their way around to finding it. We wandered the supermarket aisles in awe of our choices—it was a store worthy of the US but with prices almost twice those at home. While we might not have been suffering from culture shock, we certainly continued to reel from sticker shock. We visited the market, took a bus down to Port Phaeton to decide whether to leave the boat at a marina/yard there, did happy hour, did laundry, etc. The only “excitement” was we tried to get our propane filled. When the bottle hadn’t returned 3 days after it was promised, we braved a wet dinghy ride in the remains of a 25 plus knot day in the anchorage, arrived at the station only to find that Gaz of Tahiti was “en greve”, on strike. I was most amused to find that our French for Cruisers guide actually had a listing for the expression “on strike” suggesting, one might imagine, that, in the French speaking world this happens often enough to want to learn the phrase. After the weekend, we went to Gaz of Tahiti and found a very lame strike action indeed—no posters, no marchers and business was going on as usual although they might have been managers running the place. They found our bottle, filled it and were quite cheerful about the whole thing. Phew.

Meanwhile a good portion of our time was spent on wireless internet on the boat (what a luxury!) arranging for work for me. We are now headed to Seattle where once we are settled will figure out the rest of the storm season activities. We are leaving before the Southern Hemisphere storm season (which is roughly from Nov. to April) because, after 3 months, we get kicked out of French Polynesia and there is not another place to put the boat on the hard before New Zealand which is still a long slog away. This way we get to leisurely make our way through the South Pacific next season if desired, starting with these Society Islands.

When our lives were arranged as much as desired and we had the propane bottle back, we headed for Moorea, the next island in the Society group. Tahiti and Moorea are beautiful. The islands are green, mountainous and lush, similar to the Marquises. However, these islands have reefs around them which make the anchorages calm and lovely. One can dinghy to the reef a half mile away and snorkel with beautiful fishes, lovely coral and the occasional black tipped reef shark. On Moorea, we went to an area where they have regularly fed the stingrays. Thus, the rays (up to 4 feet across) are very tame, eerily so as they approach and nearly crawl up on you while you stand in waist deep water. We could stroke them—their bodies feel like velvet—and the guide of another group fed them while we watched and explained how to tell male from female, etc. He would stroke them all the way along their long tail/stinger, but I just never got my nerve up to do more than stroke their backs. They are bizarre and beautiful creatures. After feeding the rays, the guide then started throwing food for the black tip reef sharks so the group he was with could see them. They swam near and took the food, but, thankfully from our point of view, they didn’t swarm and start crawling on us. Nice sharks.

On our way to Moorea from Tahiti, we saw another old friend: humpback whales. We watched whales breaching outside the reef from our anchorage on Moorea.

The days have been beautiful here and we look forward to returning to explore more fully without the task of getting a job hanging over our heads. We will return next spring to relaunch the boat out of the boatyard and continue on at least through the Society Islands, the best of which, according to our friends who have gone on, is yet to come.

It has been a big year of cruising for us. We left from latitude 9 degrees, 42’ North and are now at 17 degrees, 29’ South and longitude from 84 degrees, 39’ West to 149 degrees, 51’ West. We were as far east as Florida (while we were in Panama) and are now as far west as Hawaii. We crossed the equator by land and by sea. We have sailed almost 5700 miles this year, and most of it has been done under sail with passages of 1000 miles in 9 days and 3100 miles in 29 days making up the bulk of the travel. We have only visited 4 countries but have switched from Spanish to French. Qayaq has held up well throughout and we are pleased with her performance, though, at various times, we both have longed for a bigger boat to be able to go faster between destinations. We have met many more international cruisers and have seen lots of marine wildlife.

How lucky we are to have been able to cruise these beautiful parts of the world and still go back to work each year to keep our minds stimulated, see our friends and family and appreciate what is wonderful about the US. As with all travel, we learn from all we meet about life’s richness apart from actual money and, to those who have continued to teach us those lessons, we say thanks. Naturally, this is probably the last blog for a while, but do keep in touch.

Dispatch 39 Les Tuamotus

July 5 - July 30

the Marquises, traveling south by southwest there is a patch called “The Dangerous Archipelago” on the charts otherwise known as Les Tuamotus. These were once volcanic islands that have slowly sunk. Reef grew along their edges and as the island sinks, the reef remains, so, today, there is reef surrounding a large lagoon. On the north side of most of these reefs, islands or motus have been built up made of coral/sand and lots of palm trees. On the windward side where the sea waves crash on the reef, there is only reef and the water pours in over at high tide. The lagoon fills and the water finds its way back to the sea by way of passes located around the atoll. Most of the atolls have one or two of these passes, others none. These passes through the reef, if large and deep enough, provide access for sailboats to the inner lagoon where the waters are often still and beautiful.

It is difficult to describe the colors once inside the lagoons as they are brighter than a Kodachrome world. If you’ve ever used that Microsoft screen saver called “Azul” with the sailboat and the desert isle, that’s close to the look. The water is clear at times for at least 50 feet of depth and is swimming pool color in the shallows. The beach is bright white, the palm trees bright green, the sky bright blue, etc. You get the picture. We were intimidated by the pass entrance into the lagoons as it is important to go in at slack tide. The first pass we attempted was luckily on the leeward side of the atoll (away from the waves) so we did not have crashing waves to distract us. As we approached a couple hours before slack tide (calculations based on moonrise and moonset), we found a very familiar scene and relaxed a little. We’ve done this before, often in kayaks—it’s called dealing with currents in the Pacific Northwest. Good, we watched, read the water, entering just before slack and it was no problem. So those of you in the NW enjoy those well published tide and current tables.

Then came the fun. What we don’t have in the NW are coral heads most of which are not charted nor marked by pilons. In some of the atolls, once you’re away from the villages, you’re navigating in “uncharted waters”, listed on the chartplotter by large white areas. Navigation is done using your eyes to differentiate depth and obstacles by water color, at least you can when the sun is overhead. And the water is loaded with obstacles. From 100 foot depth, coral heads will rise to the surface and just break the water at low tide creating a color change and water change. If you’re not looking, they can wreck your boat! We had the stupidity to transit almost 20 miles of uncharted lagoon as the sun went from high noon to dusk and learned how hard it is to see without the high sun and with the sun in your eyes. Luckily we got away with hitting nothing but it was nerve wracking to say the least. Our destination that afternoon was a place that was idyllic. We parked the boat behind a reef that extended from shore about ½ to ¾ of a mile but once around it, it protected us from the wind waves and provided us with hours of fascinating snorkeling. It was beautiful. The reefs are in shallow water with beautiful tropical fish (our friends called it aquarium snorkeling) and gorgeous coral in which are embedded huge clams with gorgeous colorful membranes. The only difference from an aquarium was the black tip reef sharks and they were everywhere, even sometimes in two feet of water when we first walked in from the beach. They’re small and harmless though and the whole experience was incredible. Sigh.

These atolls often have settlements/villages on the islands along the edges. Again, the people are subsidized by the French government so they appear to live pretty comfortable lives, albeit incredibly remote from the rest of the world. The supply boat comes twice/month, and, at one island, we watched them unload a bunch of bikes, probably fuel in 50 gallon drums, food and, basically, everything the island people would need. The people drive new cars on the brief stretches of road that exist (we’re talking very little amount of road in these villages), they have satellite dishes for television, cell phones, nice clothing. The only similarity to the tiny villages on islands in Panama, as best we could tell were the mangy dogs. The grocery stores carry a wide assortment of junk food as well as staples and then some very French surprises. Would you expect to find Brie, Camembert, excellent saucisson, fine French wine, gourmet tea biscuits, baguettes at your neighborhood 7-11?

We settled on one atoll, Kauehi, for the 14 July celebration—that’s Bastille Day, the French independence day, but the islanders don’t seem to know that so we referred to it as Quatorze Julliet (14th of July). The celebrations are much like we experience in the US over the fourth of July and we enjoyed being in a very small town. The normal population of this town is around 200 people and, for the celebration and because the older kids come back from school in Papeete for the winter holiday, there were 370 people there. We met the mayor who encouraged us to stay. We met a visiting priest who travels among the islands and happened to be there the weekend before the holiday. He brought a friend from Papeete, a farmer who spoke with the people about trying to compost so they could enrich the soil and grow vegetables and fruit trees. And we met the traveling medic who was on this island for a couple months and would leave for another island soon.

We were invited to the Saturday night church service. Most of the islanders are Catholic. The service is conducted in French and Tahitian and the hymns are also sung in both languages. The singing in French Polynesia is sublime. The whole congregation sings and all singing is done in at least 4 part harmony. I don’t know how they do it, when in their lives they learn it, but it is just beautiful. After the mass we were invited to the church luncheon the next day, and we decided to attend. We were seated at the “visiting dignitaries” table with the priest, the farmer and the medic (sounds like the start of a joke according to my brother). They were all very warm, friendly and interesting people. The food was typical local food with poisson cru, pork stew (they told us it was pork, but they are well known to eat dog as well and I’m sure they wouldn’t have told us that), rice, pasta and taro (the carbohydrate triad). There was also a seafood dish that we both enjoyed. After we ate it we were told it was sea turtle. Well, we very well know that sea turtle is endangered, but we were assured that this is a delicacy they enjoy only 2 or 3 times/year and that the single turtle is prepared for the whole village. When in Rome…still, our consciences made us feel we should go to confession for eating turtle!

I had offered to see patients with the medic, mostly out of my own interest so that afternoon he showed us the infirmary. It was a nicely stocked little place. We looked in the clinic freezer expecting icepacks and found a large frozen lobster, however. Island life is a little different. The next day was the 14 July and there was a parade in the morning. All the kids and some of the adults got dressed in traditional costumes and did traditional dancing, the mayor gave a speech and it was over. After the parade I went to the clinic and saw 2 patients with the medic. One was a diabetic, apparently diabetes is very common among the population (as it is among all Pacific Islanders) and the diet doesn’t help. I was told by a nurse on another island that the problem is the villagers can’t afford the fruits and vegetables brought in from Tahiti as they’re very expensive. The farmer didn’t get much response to his talk about composting and growing your own, so I also think the people are rooted in their traditions and fruits and vegetables are not much a part of their diet where carbohydrates are. The “junk food” at the stores in these villages takes up a lot of shelf space and seems to sell very well despite its expense!

The afternoon was filled with town games. The playfield was the scene of the celebration. They started with javelins thrown at a coconut suspended on a pole about 20 feet in the air. It was amazing they hit that small a target in the first place but they hit it many times! First the men competed and then, I was pleased to see, the women stepped up and took their turn. Next was the copra preparation race. Copra is made from the coconuts—the meat is dried to be ready to be pressed for coconut oil. The men, in teams of two, axed coconuts in half (milk flying everywhere), then quickly carved out the meat from the shells. They had to bag the coconut in burlap sacks, pick up all the little pieces, neatly stack the shells and then they were done. The winners were the oldest guys who had done it the longest. Then they all went and helped the young guys who were way behind. I’m sure the copra will be sold—that is the major source of their livelihood. The women then took their turn at the copra race. The event the women did alone was palm frond weaving which was judged on quality, not on speed. Then the men did a race with coconuts tied to poles. In Tahiti they do “Men Carrying Fruit,” which, although it sounds a little Monty Python-ish, is nothing to sneeze at as we were told the fruit weighs 50 kg (110 lbs!). The young men ran with the coconuts on this island (Richard picked up one of the poles and was astonished at how heavy it was but not 50 kg) and they ran fast! Meanwhile, as at any July picnic, the children were organized into games of carrying eggs on spoons, burlap sack races, and tug of war. There were booths where the kids “fished” for prizes, a “disco” for the evening, food booths, everything on a very small scale though. It looked like the whole town had fun. We took pictures, printed some of them and presented them to the mayor the next day.

The mayor, the husband of the woman who runs the store (singular), also owns and runs a black pearl farm and offered to take us on a tour. He cut a colorful figure. When we first met him he was in shorts, shirtless, tattooed, with gold chains around his neck that would please a mafia kingpin and with a dive knife strapped to his calf. I suppose the dive knife was the equivalent of a gun in a holster for a western sheriff or something. Then he appeared at the parade as the paragon of propriety, long black pants, a long sleeved white shirt and the French tricolor draped over his shoulders but then went back to his usual “uniform” the rest of the time. He took us to his pearl farm where we watched technicians implant individually the graft and the nucleus in each oyster for the hopefully future pearl. Their oysters produce 4 pearls each, taking 12 months to do each one, and then they are no longer good to be used so they are eaten. We watched the technicians graft each oyster, the men cleaning and sorting the shells for the viable oysters, went out in the boat to watch them hang the oysters and then we ate some of the oysters at the end of the day. It was fascinating and the technician work is amazing.

Feeling we had exhausted the excitement in that town we moved on to Fakarava, a much “bigger” town of 1000 people. The infrastructure there is markedly better—more stores, several hotels and resorts, a few dive shops, excellent roads and, voila, internet! Fakarava is a tourist destination. There we did some e-mails, arranged airfare home and walked the streets. We met a couple from Tahiti who were there running a restaurant for the July celebration, (one month only), and, after a lovely dinner, I admired the wife’s black pearl bracelet whereupon she walked in the back and returned with 4 black pearls that she gave to me as a gift. We were speechless, but very pleased. We came back the next day with some crayons and pens for their daughter and spent some time chatting with them. Our last night there we went to a traditional dance presentation at a local snack shack. The owner’s 3 year old daughter unofficially started the entertainment as the musicians were doing introductory music by doing a solo spontaneous dance that was a real crowd pleaser. At one point when the musicians were taking too long a break between numbers, she stood watching them with hands on hips and even stamped her foot in frustration. A diva in the making! The initial presentation was a food tasting of various coconut preparations. Then a woman demonstrated about 12 different ways to tie a pareo to make various outfits—I was mesmerized as I have a pareo and wanted some alternative ways to wear it. Finally the dancing started. There were nine girls/women who danced to a combination of drum music during which they twitched their hips wildly and ukulele music where they danced in a more fluid way (like at luaus in Hawaii), likely telling stories with the hand motions. Either way, the men were drooling. It looked like an intense aerobic work-out judging from their wet-with-sweat bodies and rapid breathing. What a wonderful evening.

Our next adventure took us to Toau, a tiny settlement with a family of 10 people who have made a wonderful destination for cruisers. Alas, we had a headwind all the way there and ended up arriving just after dark with a much more exciting than desired entrance in 14 knots of wind, dark and swell. When we saw where we had arrived by the light of day in the morning, both of us were astonished that it all ended well, but we were assured by a friend on a boat inside the cul-de-sac that the entrance was well marked, as it was, and he held a buoy for us with a strong light from his dinghy and helped to tie us up.

Toau was enchanting. First, the family is lovely and generous. Valentine and Gaston offer dinner for any cruiser who arrives. Other members of the family run a set of bungalows that are clean and beautiful and there is a dive operation from this little motu as well. Testimonial to how kind the family is are the delightful and affectionate dogs. Whereas everywhere else we had been the dogs cower if you approach them and slink away in fear, these dogs are affectionate and obviously cared for pets. One large retriever actually swims ¼ mile across to another island and “fishes” along the way. He stands on coral heads and watches the fish swim by and whines if none of them are shallow enough for him to catch. The others accompany various cruisers on walks around the island. On our walk, I was “attacked” by a tiny furball of a puppy who wanted to play and jumped on my feet as I was standing admiring the bungalows. Awwww, can I keep him? They had also “rescued” a frigate bird who they were feeding until she was old enough to be independent. They feed one of the Napoleon wrasses (a fish!) each morning and he comes when he is called! And each of us got a chance to test the sharpness of their kitten’s teeth and claws as she attacked each one of us in turn over dinner from under the table.

I offered any medical advice that they needed and, as it happened, they were having a couple issues and I gave them medicine for those, in exchange for which, they made sure we had fresh fish for dinner that night! Lovely people. We love how the Polynesians laugh so easily. A German friend celebrated his birthday while we were all there and Valentine and Gaston put on a gorgeous feast. Gaston collected 20 lobsters from the nearby reef the night before and roasted them on the grill (using a satellite dish to deflect the wind—we couldn’t think of a better use for a satellite dish!) and Valentine prepared poisson cru, breaded baked fish, coconut bread, and a scrumptious birthday cake. They joined us for dinner en famille and we laughed a lot that night. The following night we all brought potluck dinner and helped Valentine in the kitchen including doing our own dishes. We loved every minute.

The snorkeling in this cul-de-sac is the best ever. In one outing we saw at least 15 new fish—the water is clear, the coral is beautiful and healthy. The family maintains some fish traps and, in one of them, we saw 3 reef sharks and several huge (5 foot long) Napolean wrasses. We were strongly encouraged away from one coral head by the 5 foot moray eel.

These islands have been absolutely enchanting and it is so hard to leave to hit the “big city” of Papeete, Tahiti, but the time has come to make preparations to leave French Polynesia. We plan to leave the boat here and return to the US for the storm season, this time for a much longer stretch, possibly as long as 8 months. That will give us a chance to vote in the Presidential elections at the very least!

Dispatch 38 Les Marquises

May 25 - June 30

French Polynesia constitutes several groups of islands: The Society Islands including, among others, Tahiti and Bora Bora, Les Iles Marquises, Les Tuamotus, Iles Gambiers, and the Astral Islands. It is truly a beautiful paradise. At a similar latitude in the Southern Hemisphere as Hawaii is in the Northern Hemisphere, the climate is like Hawaii—sunny, warm, humid, trade winds to cool the air and frequent rain squalls to keep the hillsides verdant and lush. The people are Polynesian, like the native Hawaiians, friendly, brown-skinned, often tattooed and with their own language, a version of a Polynesian language. Here in les Marquises, they refer to it as “Marquisien”, “hello” is Ka-oh-ha, similar to Aloha. The official language is French and the locals speak Marquisien, French and often some English.

The Marquises are “newer” geologically and have no reef system surrounding them, similar to the Hawaiian islands. By contrast, the Tuamotus are reefs that enclose a lagoon with no central island (the island having slowly sunk into the sea) and the Societies (including Tahiti) are islands with a fringing reef. For a boater, this is significant because, first, it means the navigation is simple in the Marquises—if there’s a bay that is shallow enough to anchor, you can pull right into it. In the Societies and Tuamotus, we will have to go through a pass in the reef, often with significant currents, to enter the lagoon area. Second, the Marquises anchorages are almost uniformly rolly because they have no reef to stop the swell of the ocean. Often we bow and stern anchor to keep the boat facing the swells.

We arrived in the mid-morning after 29 days at sea. The island we first came to was Hiva Oa—volcanic, steep hillside covered with green, flowers everywhere once we were on land, beautiful. Upon arrival there were a dozen boats in the anchorage, many boats were ones we knew from the Galapagos and from having spoken on the radio nearly daily. We went out of our way to meet each other and spend time together to compare notes. It was very fun. The check-in process was not quite as smooth as we would have liked but it went fine ultimately. It’s been fun to speak French, a blast actually because my French is still so much better than my Spanish ever was having learned French when I was so much younger.

In the Marquises, there are archaeological sites in many of the anchorages with “tikis”, small stone statues, somewhat similar to the famous stone statues of Easter Island. The Polynesians populated Hawaii, many of the other islands in this area, Easter Island and New Zealand. Polynesians were cannibals—they ate enemies they killed in warfare. The famous and brilliant navigator Captain Cook met his end by being killed and eaten by the Hawaiian natives. Lucky for us, cannibalism has gone away although there are often nervous and politically inappropriate jokes among the cruisers. (If one is invited to dine with a local family, the joke is often whether we are eating or being eaten!) The two main threats of these islands for us today are wallet depletion and death by insect bites. As all goods are shipped here and, other than baguettes which are subsidized and cost about 60 cents, food costs a fortune. Ditto for gasoline and diesel. It’s almost better to just pretend you can’t figure out the exchange rate and just buy what you need. As to the insects, they are infamous—the “no-no’s” of the Marquises are so dreaded that ships from here are fumigated before arriving at, say, Hawaii, to avoid having these insects exported elsewhere. They are tiny, take a hunk of skin with their bite and leave a burning, itching, blistering little bump that does little for a good night’s sleep. There are garden variety mosquitoes and at least one other biting fly. Hey, no paradise is perfect!

On Hiva Oa, we walked all over, visited a petroglyph site, visited Paul Gauguin’s grave and got our “city” fix (ie., internet, grocery shopping). We then went to Tahuatu, a nearby island where we had a couple days of lovely snorkeling. We tried to fight 20-25 knot headwinds on a couple occasions to get back to Fatu Hiva (45 miles to windward), an island famous for the Kontiki landing there, but we just couldn’t stand the seas (up to 8-10 feet) and finally decided to move on. We spent several days waiting out the winds in a lovely valley on the north side of Hiva Oa. The village there had no stores, just people living their quiet lives. The houses and yards and streets were immaculate, lined with flowering plants and the people were lovely. We were given handfuls of fruit from the trees, the grapefruit, papaya, lemons. We picked guavas, lemons, oranges from that valley and another we hiked to. It was nearly an idyllic existence. The hike was through a pristine valley where goats periodically crashed through the woods, and ended on a gorgeous white sand beach with turquoise water where we cooled off before heading back.

We then headed north to Oa Pou, an overnight trip of 70 miles with fair winds. That island is spectacular with rocky spires and the villagers were delightful. We watched a group of girls rehearsing their dance number for the upcoming July dance festivals. The dancing was hula-like, story-telling through body motions. The church in town was stunning with carved wood—a specialty of these islands. We bought a tapa painting here. They are made by beating wood bark until it is flat like parchment and then painting Polynesian designs on it. The art of the islands is beautiful in wood, painting, tattoes, carvings in stone and other materials.

Next we headed to Nuku Hiva, the largest island with the largest settlement. First we went to Daniel’s Bay, the one time setting of one of the first Survivor shows. We had been led to believe that the TV show had ruined this idyllic spot, but we were happy to learn that it was as wonderful as ever and that there are no signs of previous celebrity. The anchorage itself is spectacular—high cliffs, green hillsides. Because there is a sharp turn at the entrance, one goes from wild waves breaking on the rocks on all sides to flat calm, nearly a perfect place to stay. We walked up the valley to a 2000 foot waterfall (not much water because it’s been dry here). On the way back we were spontaneously invited to lunch by an older couple, joining some boater friends who were already there. We were gifted fruit by the couple and told to return the next day to get more. They served us beef in coconut milk, breadfruit prepared 3 different ways, taro (like potatoes) and fruit.

The villagers from what we have seen live comfortable lives. Rumor has it that the islanders enjoy a government stipend from the French government which allows them to afford the prices which even we find steep. The couple who invited us to lunch had an open air house on beautifully maintained grounds. They grew grapefruit, oranges, limes, starfruit, breadfruit, coconut, papayas, mangoes, guava, bananas and noni. Noni is a fruit that looks like a potato and is harvested, mashed up and sent to the US where it is used in various elixirs for both drinking and applying to the skin. It reportedly has healing properties. It is, or was, big money for the locals, but we gathered that Martinique began growing the noni and has undercut the price these islanders were getting. The couple had a TV and satellite dish (the dishes are ubiquitous even in towns without a single store or other service like this one) and a very large solar panel array with many batteries to supply their energy needs. Many new model trucks and SUV’s are seen on the streets. In the valleys we visited that are without “services”, the life is very much a subsistence one. The people take a boat to the nearest place to get supplies a couple times/month. Otherwise, they live off their land—food consists of goat (readily abundant in the woods—we saw a group of men return in their pirogue—canoe with a pontoon and outboard engine—with a goat they had shot that day), pig (raised in the homestead but not as pets), beef, taro, breadfruit and various other vegetables only if they grow them, and tons of fruit. It is a bit confusing that they have many luxuries, yet the pace is slow, the supplies arrive at unreliable time intervals, but it is not a third world country.

The fruit grows in excess here. The only way to get fruit actually is from the friendly villagers, either as a gift or by trade. It is not sold in the stores, we gather because everyone grows their own. The highlight of the local fruit is the pamplemousse, the local grapefruit. This fruit is larger than our familiar grapefruits and infinitely sweeter. It is so juicy we bring it on every hike to supplement our fluid intake.

From Taiohae, the largest town on Nuku Hiva, we walked to two archaeological sites, visited their, also gorgeous, church, enjoyed internet from the boat (!),bought delicious farm grown fresh produce at early morning markets in town, and enjoyed a traditional pig roast and dance presentation. The pig was steamed in a pit in the ground for hours and lifted out for our photo op at the time of dinner. The food was mixed—the pig was delicious, the goat in coconut milk was also delicious. We enjoyed poisson cru (sounds deadly but is raw fish marinated in lime juice and coconut milk) and a banana pudding. What we tried hard to enjoy was the breadfruit cooked up in several ways. We’ve now tried the breadfruit in about 5 different preparations and have heartily concluded that it is not, despite what the Polynesians believe, a food product. We spent hilarious long minutes at dinner trying to come up with other uses for breadfruit—home insulation, packing materials for delicate electronics, mattress stuffing, perhaps it induces some altered state of consciousness if smoked we wondered? The dance that night was done to hypnotic drumming and featured men in grass skirts whose movements looked decidedly warlike or hunter-like. The women had a smaller role in this dance but had the most amazing hip twitching movement. Richard was mesmerized. In short, we’ve had a wonderful time.

We then visited the anchorage and village of Taipivai, made famous by the Herman Melville adventure when he jumped a whaling ship and lived there. Our last anchorage was a stunning, calm bay filled with coral which afforded us beautiful snorkeling as well as gorgeous hikes. The hike over the pass to the next village brought us to the largest and most impressive archaeological site yet—very cool.

Lest you all think life is nothing but drinking rum drinks with little umbrellas in the sun after a day of snorkeling coral reefs, we remind you that there are always boat projects especially after the miles of sailing we’ve done. The boat has decided she, too, will be Polynesian, and she grows a grass skirt at the waterline every week which has to be scrubbed vigorously if we want to maintain any boat speed at all. We’ve just felt no need to report on the many projects or let them spoil our time in paradise. Some days when the watermaker AND refrigerator decide to act up, it brings us down. Sigh. Time to move on to the next brand of paradise, the coral atolls, the Tuamotus.

Dispatch 37 Passage to Les Iles Marquises

April 26 to May 25, 2008
Since it represents almost a month of our lives, it seems apt to write something about our passage from the Galapagos to the Marquises, part of French Polynesia, across 3000 ocean miles. This is the longest passage we have ever done. Of course, we had a bit of anxiety, after all, anything that happened out there was ours to handle alone. Having said that, we are continually amazed at the numbers of boats doing this same adventure. Reportedly 400 boats have checked into the Marquises this year. No longer is it the lone wild sailors that strike out for distant harbors and no longer does one need to be incommunicado. Still, if there are problems, the other boats are days from being able to help.

Here’s what Encyclopedia Britannica has to say about the Pacific Ocean: “It occupies about one third of the surface of the earth and is by far the largest of the world’s oceans. Its area, excluding adjacent seas, is approximately 63,800,000 square miles, twice that of the Atlantic Ocean and more than the whole land area of the globe. Its mean depth is 14,040 feet.”

We left the Galapagos on a rainy day and picked up the wind within a couple hours of leaving the harbor. Other boats who left before us had found they had to motor for a few days to find wind. We had lovely wind, 10-15 knots for the first two weeks. Then the second 2 weeks, the wind became more light and variable until, by the last week, we were motoring occasionally in zero wind and finally motored most of the last 2 days as we were so close yet there was very little wind. We ran the spinnaker a lot, at one point 4 days straight including overnight. It took us 29 days, an eternity. Another boat 2 days behind us and 8 feet longer took 28 days, another boat our size took 23 days. It all depends on the amount of wind and we did not have enough. Yet, it made for a calm passage—a nice trade-off.

I once wrote that the first day of a passage can really suck (2006, Dispatch 8) and I’ll amend that to say that the first 5 days of a passage can really suck. Despite our benign conditions, the ocean is a place of constant motion and we feel the need to keep watch 24 hours/day (not true for all other sailors out here, especially the single handers). Thanks to an impossibly rolly anchorage just before we left, at least my seasickness was really not a factor. However, I guess I just had thought that after a few days, one gets used to the motion. Not so—the motion is constant and unpredictable so that, to move around the boat, one is always hanging on or reaching for a potential handhold in case of unfavorable lurching. I had prepared 5 meals in advance and that served us very well. Thereafter, I had to learn to cook on this mechanical bull. Meanwhile, our bodies were trying to get used to 3 hour watches and trying to sleep through the motion and the racket on the boat (water swishing, blocks creaking, woodwork creaking, occasional slamming as the sail loses the wind and then fills again). Veteran friends of ours wrote us on day 6 and mentioned how they really loved the day of a passage (somewhere from day 3 to 6) when they were finally both on deck, rested and actually having a conversation with each other instead of just reviewing the conditions and the off watch member stumbling down to the berth for some well needed sleep. That very day we had finally reached that state.

I know I had preconceived notions about this—all this quiet, contemplative time to think about writing, read books I had been saving, listen to French tapes, have all day to cook or bake. Here’s the reality behind that fantasy:

Cooking. Forget about anything that requires prolonged chopping. There’s bound to be a minute when a lurch of the boat leaves one propelled to the other side with the knife in one hand and the onion in the other hoping for some purchase or a favorable lurch back. Forget about placing round objects on flat surfaces. Tomatoes go to ground faster than you can blink. Lots of non-skid and thoughtful placement of objects is learned quickly. We are fortunate to have 2 deep sinks which are a safe place to put things and a stove that moves with the boat motion and therefore ends up being the flattest surface in the galley. Still “one pot slop” as a friend dubbed it is the order of most days. One unnaturally calm day, I roasted chicken breasts with vegetables, but most days it’s some variation of rice/beans/stew. We didn’t starve.

Reading. We got lots of reading done but it took me several days before that was completely comfortable (motion sickness only reared its ugly head while trying to read at night).

Writing. We wrote e-mails nearly daily, but long periods of concentrated writing don’t happen due to distractions: need to change the sails, too rocky conditions, need for sleep, time for meal preparation, etc. Lame, I know.

French tapes. We listened to French tapes. Luckily we have a really handy book made especially for boaters with all the French words for the things we really need. I already know how to make a hotel reservation, but finding an oil filter or replacing a stainless steel part wasn’t a part of my high school French. Shame on them.

Laundry. During a month, laundry needs to be done so we fill buckets and wash the clothes by hand with plenty of sun and breeze for air drying. With our desalination watermaker, we can replenish our water supply while on passage for drinking, bathing and laundry--another modern advantage over our earlier cruising counterparts.

As to communication, well that is really a phenomenal change from 30 years ago and must, in some small part, account for people’s comfort with setting out to sea along with the advent of GPS. From our boat, I call my parents once/week on a satellite phone. It’s a comfort to them and a safety factor for us. Pretty much daily we download e-mails and weather charts from our single sideband radio. We hear from others ahead of us about what to expect at our landfall (expensive food and fuel!!), where to go and what to do. And while on passage, we spoke daily with boats traveling within a few hundred miles of us about the conditions and any problems they had encountered. While this eliminates a certain amount of the thrill of discovery, it also eliminates a lot of uncertainty and helped us to plan our provisioning to avoid unneeded expense.

In the end, 4 weeks of ocean passage is a long haul. We travel at fast walk/slow jog pace and the scenery is spectacular but pretty unchanging. The stars and moon are beautiful at night. The visitations by sea creatures are thrilling or just amusing. One day, we had 10 or so false killer whales swimming alongside and on our bow for about a half hour. We’ve had pilot whales swim behind us steadily for a half hour. We pull out our books and identify the sea creatures and birds we encounter. We had squid and flying fish on our deck nearly every morning. One night, a flying fish made a surgical strike and flew right into my head in the cockpit. I don’t know who was more surprised, but we both survived the attack.

We made landfall on day 29 at Hiva Oa. The evening before, we saw our first glimpse of the islands from 65 miles away. They are beautiful with severe cliffs, verdant with vegetation and a welcome sight after almost a month at sea. While our boat is our home and we have everything aboard we could want or need, it is wonderful to have our home stop rocking and for life to begin to return to normal. We can only imagine the thrill of seeing the islands when one’s navigation was all done by celestial.

A word about language. While in Spanish speaking countries, we always referred to this destination as “The Marquesas” which would be the Spanish version. Now that we are here, I prefer to use Les Iles Marquises which is the French name and, as they are French, the more appropriate one. It will be fun to speak French again. Bienvenue a les Iles Marquises!

Dispatch 36 Islas Galapagos

March 22 - April 22, 2008
We have so many glorious experiences while out cruising and so many close encounters with marine wildlife that there was a tiny voice inside our heads suggesting, perhaps, the Galapagos might not be as amazing after all these other fantastic experiences. After all, we’ve been face to face with hundreds of nesting blue footed boobies on Isla Isabela offshore of Mexico and seen iguanas, sea lions, dolphins, whales, frigate birds, sea turtles, etc. through our nearly 3 year voyage. Aren’t we thrilled to discover that the Galapagos, Islands of Enchantment, still provide all the enchantment we ever need. We left Panama and voyaged for 9 days, arriving early on the 10th day, here at Isla San Cristobal, the easternmost island of the group. We kept in touch with other boats traveling ahead and behind us to the Galapagos via single side band radio and had visual contact with a couple including one boat we had last seen in Costa Rica—one of those “small ocean” moments. So here is an alphabetical accounting of our time here.

‘A’ is for Autografo and Albatross. Our good friends Bruce and Alene on the trimaran Migration did a lot of advance research on permits for the Galapagos and, despite that, they arrived without a clear idea of what was best. After a couple weeks they discovered this permit called an “autografo” had been done for them by agents at one of the islands thanks to their months of e-mail communication. It allows a private sailboat to travel to 5 populated ports instead of just one port and allows up to 90 days in the Galapagos (!) instead of the usually issued 20 days. Our friends quickly wrote us with the e-mail for the agents who could issue this permit and we were able to send all required documents by e-mail and secure the permit before we even arrived in the islands. That turned out to be unbelievably fortuitous because, even before we arrived, the autografo became unavailable due to new regulations. But, thanks to our brilliant and thoughtful friends, we had slipped in before the door closed. So we have enjoyed utter luxury of time, open door policy at every port captain’s office (unlike many others’ experiences) and the wonder of 4 islands of the Galapagos via our own sailboat.
As to the albatross, well, we haven’t been so lucky. It nests here, but during another season.

‘B’ is for Boobies, Boobies and more Boobies. There are 4 varieties of boobies here, two of which exist nowhere else. There are Blue Footed, Red Footed, Nazca and the ever present Brown. We’ve particularly enjoyed the dive-bombing of the boobies here at our current anchorage. They drop from 50 feet, diving several feet underwater and come up swallowing a fish. They shake their heads as if to clear them then fly off. We watched the courtship dance of the blue footed variety where they turn their heads skyward and also lift their beautiful blue feet one at a time to impress the female. Marvelous.

‘C’ is for cactus and city. Here we are at the equator and on islands with rain for more than 6 months per year, yet one of the predominant plant species is a cactus which also provides food for the iguanas and other animals. It seems strange somehow.

Also, much to the amazement of those of us who thought the Galapagos were a wilderness outpost, there is a city of 12,000 people here on Isla Santa Cruz. It is the tourist center and has numerous stores, tourist agencies, hotels, restaurants, internet places. Things are expensive here by Ecuador standards, often US prices, but the fact that so much is available is a surprise.

‘D’ is for, well, Darwin and Dengue Fever. You just can’t get away from Darwin. We have read the Galapagos section of the Voyage of the Beagle, pretty dry reading. Still, the place hasn’t changed much since his description of it other than the city mentioned above.

Dengue fever is a mosquito borne viral illness and one of our friends is recovering after a 3 week illness he contracted here; the islands aren’t always enchanted.

‘E’ is for Eagle Rays. We have seen numerous beautiful spotted eagle rays while both snorkeling and scuba diving. They “fly” underwater so gracefully.

‘F’ is for Finches, Frigate birds and Flamingoes. The finches are ubiquitous and made famous by Darwin’s discovery that they had evolved different beak shapes to better adapt to their diet on the different islands. The Frigate birds are old friends, puffing up their red throats to impress the girls. Flamingos are native here unlike in Florida we learned. They look just like the lawn ornament models.

‘G’ is for Gecko, one of the many interesting lizards here on the islands. We wish we had one on our boat because they eat mosquitoes and we could have used some help with that type of wildlife (see Dengue above).

‘H’ is for Hammerhead sharks. Despite literally hours in the water we have yet to spot one although in every outing at least one person sees one. We’ll keep looking.

‘I’ is for iguanas. There are so many varieties here but the unique version is the marine iguana who swims in the ocean and eats algae off the bottom. They are unbelievably prehistoric looking.

'J' and ‘K’ well we got stumped on these 2, so on to ‘L’

‘L’ is for lava, lava tunnels, lava lizards, lava finches, lava heron, lava gull, etc., you get the idea. These islands are of volcanic origin and much of the terrain is made of lava. Some of the beaches are black as the sand is of lava origin. Lava rocks are not comfortable to walk on—they are sharp and black so they absorb heat. Nonetheless the sea lions haul out all over them. We’ve visited some bizarre beautiful landscapes where lava tunnels are now submerged in water and form arches and beautiful underwater chambers for snorkeling. We walked through a quarter mile tunnel on land left by racing lava where the outside cools and the lava stream continues inside. On that particular outing we managed to lose our guide (a group of 11 of us) so we explored the cave alone using flashlights until we found the light switch at the other end and illuminated the whole tunnel and went back for a better look.

‘M’ is for Manta Rays. Here like elsewhere they come jumping out of the water somersaulting or just flapping. But here we’ve seen large ones in and out of the water, sometimes just swimming peacefully at the surface with 6 to 8 feet between their “wings” on the surface.
‘N’ is for Nazca boobies, one of the unique varieties here on the islands.

‘O’ is for the Galapagos Owl which has eluded us to date.

‘P’ is for Penguins and petrels. The penguins are completely adorable. We are now anchored at one of the only islands to have them, Isabela. They originally migrated here from Antarctica on the cold Humboldt current. They swim around our boats every morning feeding and they’re just darling. Petrels of several varieties fly between the islands and only deserve mention as we’ve spent long moments pouring over the various wildlife books trying to figure out which species we’re seeing.

‘Q’ is for Qayaq our trusty boat that took us on this nearly 1000 mile passage uneventfully. We arrived after 9 days and a slow drifty passage punctuated by a couple high wind days and some motoring in flat calm seas. We crossed the equator—a momentous event in any mariner’s life—and thus went from pollywog to shellback. We marked the experience (at around 6:30 in the morning) with champagne, offerings to Neptune, read a poem we wrote for the occasion, and placed tattoos (temporary ones—another tradition). The champagne certainly went to our heads as we hadn’t been drinking for a couple weeks and it was early in the morning so most of the champagne went to Neptune which is appropriate. This was our longest passage to date and, as we hope we can always say after a passage, there’s not much to report.

‘R’ is for rays of the many varieties already mentioned.

‘S’ is for Sea lions and Sharks. First and always foremost at the Galapagos there are the sea lions. When we arrived at Isla San Cristobal, they were everywhere. To say that they have no fear of humans is to miss the point of their pest like behavior. They see every surface as a potential haulout spot. So the local taxi boats surround their decks with barbed wire which still sometimes doesn’t dissuade these animals. They were all over the public landing dock napping in the sun. One got too hot and decided to saunter over to the shade scaring a small child, but, undaunted, installed itself beneath one of the benches for more napping. The many sailing catamarans which usually have 2 swim steps in the back right at water level are major targets for the beasts and we saw every variation of obstacles placed up the steps to keep the visitors off including nail boards (which, by the way, makes getting aboard one’s own boat or as a guest damned difficult!) One of our friends resorted to spike boards when they awoke one morning with a sea lion looking into their bedroom from the front deck. Any dinghy left in the water is fair game and we had 3 in ours one night while at a friend’s boat for dinner. For the most part they left our boat alone until we were the only sailboat at one anchorage and awoke to a huge thud above our heads early one morning and found madame sea lion making herself comfortable right on top of our doghouse, 5 feet and 2 levels above the water. She was grudging but not hard to convince to leave.

Having said all that about the obnoxious interactions, we have also had several opportunities to swim with the sea lions and they are the most adorable creatures imaginable. They are basically sea dogs. Usually it is the pups who engage with swimmers. They swim at you upside down and, if you start to somersault or give chase, they play with you for as long as you like. Sometimes they get riled up and start nipping at each other, just like land puppies. We watched several playing keep away and tug of war with a stolen snorkel just like a dog would do with a stick. We were charmed. The rare floating piece of flotsam provides playful entertainment. At our current anchorage, the sea lions are much better behaved and stay off the dinghies and boats (other than those irresistible catamarans) and just fish and play around our anchorage.

Sharks are everywhere here. We scuba-ed and snorkeled with white tip reef sharks and Galapagos sharks. There are many others and, for the most part, they are minding their own business. It is unnerving still to find yourself in water 8 feet deep with a 6 foot reef shark though…

‘T’ is for turtles, the namesake of the Galapagos. There are marine turtles which we have swum with before and here and are always a thrill. They are mellow and beautiful swimmers. Then there are the, perhaps most bizarre creature of the Galapagos, land tortoises. They are the most

ill-suited design for land life yet they survive more than 150 years. They are huge (males can be 200 kg or more) move ponderously and, when approached, hiss quietly as they retract their heads into their shells, more like a bellows sound than a hiss. We’ve seen them at breeding centers where they are being preserved because they are endangered by the many human introduced species and we saw them “in the wild” on local farms. It’s bizarre to find them sitting in a field or by the side of the road, but they are definitely easy wildlife to “sneak up on” so to speak. But it is awesome to think that some of the old tortoises here were alive when Darwin was walking these same islands.

‘U’ is for the ‘unbelievable’ experience of traveling here in our own boat.

‘V’ is for volcanoes. These islands are very geologically active and formed by volcanic activity. Historically, they formed from volcanoes then floated south and east. The island we are on currently, the westernmost island, has 6 volcanoes, still active, the latest eruption being in 2005. We took a horseback ride up to the crater, the second largest volcanic crater in the world, which was notable mainly for the very sad, tired, overused horses. But the volcano landscape was lunar and stark and the views were spectacular.

‘W’ is for Windmills. The islands are trying hard to be energy independent. Our first island used windmills for all its electrical needs. The second island had a huge array of solar panels for the electrical needs.

‘X’ is, well, another one that stumped us.

‘Y’ is for cruising Yachts. This year there have been so many of us visiting the Galapagos. There must be 50 or 60 boats who have stopped here on their way to French Polynesia just as we are doing. The group is quite international with boats from Sweden, England, Australia, New Zealand, France, Canada and US (east and west coast of both), Italy, Germany, Austria, Denmark to name just some of the boats we’ve met.

‘Z’ is for zarpe which is the exit document we need from the Port Captain prior to leaving any port either for travel between ports or an ‘International zarpe’ for our exit from the Galapagos and entry into the Marquesas or from any country to the next.

We feel privileged to have had this opportunity to visit the Galapagos with our home. At one stupendous snorkel site, we arrived and snorkeled for an hour, just the two of us and our guide (an absolute requirement), before hordes of tourists on the tour boats unloaded to begin snorkeling the same site. And, despite regulations, we’ve been able to float along watching the darling penguins here at our current anchorage as they live on the rocks that are merely a couple hundred feet from our boat. (We’re supposed to hire a guide to be out on these rocks, not go in our private dinghies). The Galapagos are struggling with the volumes of tourists who want to visit versus the need to limit visitors in order to preserve the natural splendor of the place and maintain their World Heritage Site status. Everywhere we turn, there are locals who want to dip their hands in our pockets to help us enjoy the Galapagos. Still, regardless of cost, they are a unique place that we have enjoyed immensely.

Our next step is the biggest yet, the 3000 mile crossing to French Polynesia. We will leave later in April and arrive in May, perhaps as long as a month’s voyage in our boat. That should at least give us enough time to put away the Spanish dictionaries and find our French reference materials and start to tune our ears for the first new language in 3 years. We will, no doubt, not be in touch much during that long ocean passage. We wish you all well and will update the website when we arrive.