Fulunga. SW Lau Group, Fiji

Sunrise on the way to Fulunga

We made it to Fulunga! This certainly has to be the most beautiful place in the world. Words cannot really do justice to just how beautiful and idyllic this place is. I also can’t quite find the words to describe how happy both of us are to be here. We have already seen several of the locals we met last year and one (Alfredi) already came past Charisma on his canoe and gave us some oranges he has been cultivating. ( I think his stash is a secret, as he paddles out to go fishing in the lagoon and comes back with the oranges). Anyway, we’ll have much more to say about Fulunga as we plan to do our Sevusevu tomorrow and go to church on Sunday (it’s Friday night here in Fiji right now). So…why did we not do sevusevu today? After all we got in early and had dropped anchor by 1000. Weelllllll….our Monitor Wind Vane broke yesterday and we spent yesterday afternoon and all last night hand steering (oh, the horror!). We have no autopilot and rely on “Wilson” to get us from place to place. In fact we sometimes secretly snicker at people whose complex electro-hydraulic autopilots conk out. You know the saying; “It’s not IF your autopilot breaks, it’s WHEN”. Well, karma smacked us on the butt yesterday. I was sleeping, or at least trying to, when Ann came down and said; “there’s something wrong with the wind vane. Dragging myself out of bed and into the cockpit it took about three seconds to see that the entire water vane (the part that steers in the water) had broken off and was floating behind us, hanging on its emergency cord that keeps us from losing it. That was the good news. The bad news was it was unfixable while underway. There was no doubt we were going to have to hand steer the whole second half of the trip. No reading, no games on the iPad, no napping under the dodger. Just hands on the wheel. Turns out what they call the “Watervane Pivot Shaft” broke. This is the main shaft that holds the rudder part of the vane. The weld that holds the shaft to the big stainless steel plate that attaches to the hinge parted. I was bummed.

Here's the broken weld.

Only one thing to do. Pull the thing out of the water (thank goodness for the tether), tie it to the stern pushpit and set up a new watch schedule. No more five hour watches. When you have to hand steer at night, three hours is about the most you can do before your eyes start bouncing up and down in their sockets and you go into periods of “micro-sleep” where you think you are steering 130 degrees, but the compass really says “150 degrees”. So we got here, a little broken, but intact. I was mentally counting all the hours we would have to hand steer over the next 4 to 5 weeks as we cruise the Lau Group of islands here in the eastern Fiji, but as luck would have it our Canadian friends on Katie M II were here in Fulunga. Martin built his boat and is a good hand with tools (to say the least). He took one look at the Monitor and said; “I think you can fix this by drilling a couple holes in the stainless steel plate and then bolting it back onto the shaft”. Yeah, right, Martin. In your dreams. I don’t have the kind of “firepower” in tools to drill through inch and a half stainless. But since he volunteered to help, I saw a chance to actually jury rig the darn thing until we can get a new part from Monitor. “Go for it!” says I. He did and we then took the broken part and with some more brutal drilling from the dinghy, Ann and I matched the holes and drilled through the broken ¼ inch shaft.

Time to fix the broken weld. Screws, drills, taps...

Drilled and tapped, almost ready to bolt back on.

Now we could bolt it back together where the weld had once held the part. Oh and one other thing. There was a roller bearing that fell out when the thing broke. The good news is I had parts. The bad news is the roller bearing actually just consists of 31 plastic rolling pins about 1/16 inch wide by 3/8 tall. You have to somehow stick them UP into the shaft before putting the base back on. Oh, and did I mention this is over the water on the back of the boat? We were working on this from the dinghy. We had a big bucket under the thing so any parts that dropped could be retrieved instead of dropping into 25 feet of water. The most interesting part was the use of shaving cream. “HUH?” you ask?? Yep, the only way to get all 31 of the darn little plastic roller bearings UP into the shaft was to put shaving cream on a washer and then “stick” the bearings on it before lifting (very carefully) the whole thing up onto the shaft. This was Ann’s idea and it was a winner. It worked!! The whole assembly looked something like a birthday cake with the white shaving cream with all the plastic bearings sticking up through it.

Shaving cream holds the little bearings in place...

Now we just ease it up into the shaft...

A little awkward. Can't do this while underway...

And we're done. Paddle and hinge back on ready to go.

OK, I’m rambling now because I/we are thrilled that a potential BIG problem has been solved through the help of our friend Martin and four hours work and I have only had a few hours sleep in the last 36 hourss. Now we can get on with our adventure in paradise. And, both Ann and I can notch another unusual and unexpected boat repair in our resume.

Position: 17 degrees, 43 minutes south; 179 degrees, 54 minutes west

Tomorrow at 1230 will be eleven days since we left Marsden Point, New Zealand.

We’re on the final home stretch down the Koro Sea. We came through the reefs in the southwest Lau last night and all of today have just been on a very broad reach with single reefed main only down the Koro Sea. We are keeping the speed at roughly 5.5 knots as that puts us at the entrance to the reef outside of Savusavu at daylight (more or less). Then another hour to the river and we can tie up to a mooring with our Q-Flag (quarantine) and wait for customs, immigration and health who all come out to visit to clear us in. Then…SHOWERS! And a shave. My beard is driving me nuts.

Today threatened rain. There’s a convergence zone over Fiji/Tonga and we expecteded a very rainy day. However with the exception of the early hours from sunrise through about 10AM or so, the clouds have lifted a bit – not clear and sunny mind you, but not raining – and it’s been a fairly nice day. About 18 knots of wind from behind and mild temp.

That’s it for now. We’re tired, a bit beat up and bruised from the waves bumping us around the boat and just looking forward to a nice dinner ashore and a full, uninterrupted night’s sleep.

Position: 19 degrees, 45 minutes south; 179 degrees, 26 minutes west

(By Ann) No, it was not as bold and fierce as the “the Bear” that chased us a few nights ago. It was much gentler, but I saw it…and welcomed it. It was a sign from the heavens that tonight was going to be a glorious night!

It started with the new moon smiling at us just after sunset, right before it plunged into the horizon gone for the night. This is probably the first passage that we have made that has been moon-less. Not because of overcast skies but because the moon was waning. It quickly disappeared and our nights have been inky dark. But there is a benefit to this lack of moon. The stars up their game. Seriously, I have to work to find the Southern Cross because it is NOT the only bright star. Thousands of them up their game and sparkle brighter to make up for the lack of moonlight. And that was my second clue, after the smiling moon…a star winked at me about 10 PM just as my watch was getting tedious. But I caught it and winked back. Hello star! Thanks for the greeting! And so that is how our night played out. Moon-less but star filled. Charisma was sailing through the Milky Way on a beautiful beam reach playing in the light swell. Glorious.

The best way to enjoy all of it? I will admit, at day nine of this passage my rear end is getting tired of sitting, so I laid back in the cockpit and watched as the mast played connect the dots with the brilliant stars. Bob and I once were up at the family ranch as a full moon was rising and wanted to really see it so we went out at 11 PM and laid in the road leading up to the ranch, away from any hint of light, to fully appreciate the glory of the heavens. Not only was it quite chilly but the ground was really hard and there was no gentle rolling motion to accompany the display. And honestly, the display of stars at the ranch, depite being out in the country away from lights, does not compare to a moon-less night on the ocean. Words do not do it justice.

I walk out of the bathroom in the dark and head to the companionway and look up to see the helm glowing from the light of the compass dancing in front of a back drop of incredible glory. There is no way to capture the raw beauty in a photo. I will have to make a mental picture and remind myself of it often to keep it sharp.

Hello moon, hello stars, thanks for the notice that it was going to be a glorious night.

P.S. (From Bob) We just want to say “Happy Birthday” to my daughter, Kelly, who is 23 on the 31st AND is graduating from college in a couple weeks. Yay, Kelly!

Position: 21 degrees, 50 minutes south; 179 degrees, 07 minutes west

I was startled awake to the shout of; “FISH ON!” coming from somewhere in my dreams. As I shook myself into semi-consciousness I was vaguely aware that I was on a boat somewhere and someone was shouting about fish. As I became more fully awake it occurred to me it was us that were about to catch a fish! OK, time to get some shoes on and get out there.

Now I’m awake and heading up the companionway where Ann, with a grin from ear to ear is pulling the handline in. “I set the hook and it’s a Mahi!” Ann takes her fish and fishing seriously. Anyway, she pulled it in and we successfully boated it. A nice but not too big Mahi. All trimmed out it made four meals for the two of us, three of which are now in the refrigerator and one of which made a great dinner. Lightly marinated in some soy sauce, seared with Lemon Pepper and a tablespoon of olive oil, then steamed in it’s own juices.

Last night we motored for a while. We haven’t started the engine in eight days, but the wind completely quit so it was either just bounce around – the waves didn’t lay down – or make some distance. We ended up motoring from about 0130 until 0630 when the wind filled in again. Except it didn’t. I hoisted the sails and we sailed for a while, then a squall hit and we shortened sail, then the wind quit and I shook out the reefs. Back and forth, back and forth. The afternoon has been pleasant though with 18-20 on a close reach with jib, stays’l and double reefed main. In SF Bay I wouldn’t have a double reef with such relatively modest wind, but out here the winds are unpredictable from moment to moment and every cloud has the potential to kick the wind suddenly up to 30 knots for 10 or 20 minutes. So, we sacrifice a little speed for a lot of comfort by leaving the two reefs in for the gusts.

We’re 300 miles out of Savusavu today. We expect landfall on Monday as long as we can keep our speed up. The forecast is fairly good, but shows some convergence zone activity on Sunday – meaning rainy and possibly squally weather. As if we haven’t had enough of that already. Oh well, it’s all part of the adventure (I guess).

Position: 23 degrees, 44 minutes south; 178 degrees, 56 minutes west

Amazing sight, but I’ll tell you what I saw in a moment. To set this up – it’s getting warmer (finally) and the waves and wind have gone down, so this morning at sunrise I decided it would be a good day to start fishing. Out goes the handline with a squid-like lure.

Not 15 minutes from when I dropped it the indicator (a used clothspin) snapped off the lifeline indicating a fish on. Pulling in the handline I found a lovely looking but small Mahi. Too small I felt (about 2 feet) so I shook him off the hook and back he went. I held the hook out for about five minutes to make sure he was long gone – I’ve caught the same fish before.

OK, the amazing part. About fifteen minutes (around 0700) after I caught the first Mahi I’m just sitting enjoying the morning without lightning, rough seas and high winds and I’m just staring out at the water in the vicinity of the lure when I saw something that in 20,000 more miles of sailing I’ll probably will never see again. We were doing about six knots sliding down 6 foot waves and as I’m looking out at the water I saw a three to four foot Mahi come completely out of the water surfing toward the squid (my lure). He popped out about ten feet behind it zooming down at probably 20 knots. The rational side of my brain couldn’t even process what was happening, it was taking place so fast, but the emotional side was enthralled. “Big fish. Mahi. Dorsal fin fully extended. Irridescent blue and green glinting in the warm morning sunlight. Cavernous, gaping mouth fully open (in appearance, not unlike the front grill of a 1950’s Buick)”. Just before he hit the lure I remember the rational side of my brain catching up and thinking. “He can’t be on the line, it didn’t click!” Just then the clip snapped and the line slapped to the deck (later I found the hit had even bent the steel spring on the clip). Yes we had a fish most definitely on the hook.

The aftermath. The one problem is that it’s been six months since we’ve been fishing off Charisma with a handline. I forgot that I have to give the handline a “tug” to set the hook, so while I was busy furling the jib to slow the boat down and waking up Ann to help land Mr. Mahi…he jumped the hook. Oh well. We’ll keep fishing and hope for another one. In the meantime, hey, we have rice, dried peas and canned chicken for dinner.

The second “natural” event of the day was later in the afternoon. We’re 500 miles from any sort of land whatsoever (OK, there’s a reef that we’re passing right now – Minerva – but that doesn’t count) when a large bee comes flying in and lands in the cockpit. I’m thinking, “Hmmm, not many flowers out here, this guy’s a long way from home”. Anyway, he looks around a bit and then flies off. That was it. Nature messing with my head today.

Position: 26 degrees, 06 minutes south; 179 degrees, 07 minutes west (did 131 NM yesterday)

The wind has finally steadied and calmed down. Last night was still 25-30+, 9-12 foot waves, breaking and rain (at least there was no lightning). Not fun and it lasted until noon today, but at about that point it settled down to the current 15-18 with still impressive but long period waves and the sky is clear for now. Much nicer. We were able to set the jib on the pole opposite the 3rd reefed main and have been doing sixes and sevens and the knotmeter. Not bad.

We’re about 100 miles from Minerva Reef, but are not planning to stop as the weather doesn’t look that promising, so we’ll pass it close by – probably to the south and look to then head up a bit towards Savusavu as the waves moderate. Right now, our course is somewhat dictated by the size of the waves. If we angle too much across them the ride gets uncomfortable as the wind vane doesn’t “know” that it needs to compensate for angling across a 12 foot wave. So the waves are coming from the southeast, thus we’re going more or less northwest. By tomorrow they should diminish and let us head up 20 or so degrees and still have a comfortable ride.

So that’s it for now. Ann and I are tired and need a good night sleep. Last night the boat was throwing us around so much in the bunk we had to wedge ourselves between two seat back bolsters to try and keep our bodies from going airborne. Tonight the motion is much gentler.

P.S. Thanks to everyone who has been commenting on the blog. Your comments are getting to us and are fun to read. I know that I have to “approve” a few of them for you to see them on the blog, but I can’t do that until we’re in Savusavu and have an internet connection. So know that they are all making it to us and look for your comment to show up sometime early next week.

Position: 28 degrees, 11 minutes south; 179 degrees, 24 minutes west

It’s dark in the woods, but off in the dense darkness beyond where you’re standing you hear a low, menacing growl and see the flash of white teeth. Then you hear movement, huge paws on the forest floor coming your way. You see another glint of white teeth, this time much closer, then all of a sudden the teeth shine right in your face and at the same time a deafening roar fills you head and you smell its hot breath on your cheek.

Yup, we had lightning last night and that’s what it feels like. I can deal with the squalls– wind, waves, rain – but the lightning is so random it scares me. You can never tell when a billion electron volt bolt of energy is going to find its way to the only thing rising above the surface for a thousand square miles. Your boat’s mast. 54 feet of aluminum. One of the flashes was right above our heads with the thunderclap rattling our teeth at the same time the flash blinded our vision for about 15 seconds.

So…when I saw the huge, black cloud with lightning inside it bearing down on us I decided the best way to “outrun” it was to sit still. We hove-to. I think it was the right thing to do since we were going the same way as the squall front. If we had run with it we would have been in it for a long time as it slowly passed us. On the other hand, sitting still meant it would run past us and we would spend a shorter amount of time exposed to the lightning. We ended up being in the lightning for about an hour – seemed much, much longer. We stayed hove-to about four hours to let the worst of the squall line go past and give me some much needed rest (Ann was off watch having been on earlier in the evening).

Turns out we have just “clipped” the corner of a subtropical depression that is just to the southeast of us. It’s quite a ways away, but throwing some nasty weather anyway. Most of today has been in continuing squalls with rain and 25-30 knot winds. The only good part is the wind is finally coming from the south so we have “turned the corner” and are now heading toward Fiji. The GRIBS are showing winds from the south at 15-20. Hopefully this system we’re in will moderate tonight and we’ll get the better weather. We expect about five more days for arrival maybe Sunday.

Also hopefully no more bears.

Position: 29 degrees, 37 minutes south; 179 degrees, 21 minutes west (over the date line)

Being out here on the vast ocean between New Zealand and Fiji gives you a lot of time to think. Today I was thinking about Bob and his self-proclaimed Charlie Brown comparison. It is a good fit. We really do start out that bundled up and slowly as the weather warms up we lose a layer. Today I spent my watches without my foul weather jacket on. That’s big. (Bob, however got the watch with the major rain and squalls so had to still wear his). One day soon I may even change out of my long johns. But I don’t want to tempt fate so I am still in them.

The other item of warmth that relates to this blog that I have yet to abandon is my sea boots. These boots are easy to jump into when called to help. They keep my feet warm and dry. Only one problem….they seem to make my feet even bigger! Yes, I have big feet. When you put sea boots on them a whole different dance ensues…of course all choreographed to the song of Charisma that Bob shared the other night.

Well I wish it was that graceful but the truth is that it is not graceful at all. I am on watch, warm and cozy, tethered in. I get up to check for any traffic around us. As I step back down off of the bench and into the cockpit the tether wraps around my legs. Remember I just did a 360 degree traffic check. And then here comes the really graceful part….i try to descend the companionway steps to use the facilities.

It becomes comical watching me try to untangle these big feet from the tether and descend the stairs. No putting two feet on one step, they just won’t fit. So I shuffle to the side and hang onto the hatchway to free myself. Mind you, I would never give up the boots because of the great support that they provide when bracing myself in the bathroom. NEVER use the head on a boat in stocking feet when the boat is underway. It is just not safe and quite frustrating. Sea boots with non-skid soles. Essential.

So Big Foot reigns supreme until the weather is warm enough to change to my Teva sandals. Oh the little things that amuse me on passages.

Position: 30 degrees, 40 minutes south; 179 degrees, 19 minutes east

Those old enough to remember the comic strip; “Peanuts” will recall that when Charlie Brown went out ice skating in the winter, his mother would make him wear so many layers he couldn’t move. Inevitably he’d just tip over on the ice and lay there unable to right himself, trapped by all his layers.

Well that’s how we feel leaving New Zealand’s winter and heading north to the promise of warm tropical waters. Well, it hasn’t warmed much yet so we’re still wearing almost all the layers we have in order to keep warm at night when on watch.

Right now I’m sitting in the cockpit on “dawn patrol” and like Charlie Brown I’m afraid to move lest I tip over. Sea boots with wool socks, pants, bib overalls (heavy Gore-Tex with Cordura), a thermal long sleeve undershirt with zip neck, heavy pile parka with zip neck, Gore-Tex foul weather jacket (with a collar that goes over my head and contains the hood), a heavy pile neck gaiter, wool watchcap and all topped by my PFD (inflatable life-jacket), with built in harness and a six foot long tether that I hook in while working outside the cockpit. Ann wears the equivalent plus she’s been adding long johns. (The scary part is other than our socks, we haven’t changed since leaving New Zealand as these layers are the ONLY cold weather layers we have. Let’s hope for warmer weather soon. Very soon.)

Now, let’s see, did I miss anything? Oh yeah, don’t forget the lightweight wool glove liners I have on (my heavy Gore-Tex gloves are under the dodger but not yet needed) and a headlamp.

Whew! Just getting up to make a cup of tea expends about 500 calories trying to move with all that stuff on. Fortunately it’s a bit warmer during the day, but we’re both looking forward to the part of the trip where we switch to shorts, tee-shirts and flip flops.

My other issue of the moment is a big, fat lip from whacking myself in the face with the winch handle! I was up at the mast putting in a double reef, as the wind had jumped up. This requires (among other steps) winching the reef line tight to stretch the bottom of the sail. Well, the piece of stinking excrement West Marine winch handle didn’t lock as it should and as I pulled with all my might on the winch, it slipped out and whacked me good. I could easily have broken a tooth or worse, so I grudgingly consider a swollen and abraded lip “lucky”.

By the way, on another subject – for anyone who might actually be plotting our course and wondering; “what the hell are they thinking” as you look at our course take a look at the GRIB files as well. We’re going quite a bit east of the rhumb line for two reasons. One – the winds where we are at present only allow us to go that direction (or on the other tack, maybe head for New Caledonia) and Two – southeast trades winds are forecast to fill in in a day or two and we don’t want to be too far to the west when they kick in or we have a very hard time getting to Fiji. Our hope is in a day or so we make a (approx.) 30 degree left turn, catch the trades and ride blissfully downwind all the way. At least that’s the plan. Mother Nature usually throws a curve so keep a watch to see if it works!

Position: 32 degrees, 20 minutes south; 177 degrees, 42 minutes east

We did 120 miles in the past 24 hours with just the jib up. But, the wind has changed. It’s coming around to the west and we need the mainsail to keep our northerly(ish) heading so put up the main with two reefs and the stays’l. We’ve been alternating between furling the jib and just leaving the double reefed main and stays’l. We’re maintaining speed above 6 knots.

Last night was grey. Just dark and grey. No stars, no moon, nothing but shades of grey. In fact the lack of visual cues made my hearing all the more acute and it got me thinking about all the sounds of Charisma at sea as a type of symphony.

So, here are my thoughts on the “Tayana Variations On A South Pacific Theme” by Charisma.

First off, I think Debussy or Grieg would have been good composers for this symphony because each is exceptional at evoking the lyrical beauty and magic that is present here. However, the emotion goes deeper. If Gustav Mahler had ever come this way he would be the one who could capture the essence of what we’re doing and feeling. Depth, mystery and beauty.

Mahler would have understood the enormity of the ocean, invisible below the surface reflections yet teeming with life just under the surface that occasionally and quite suddenly explodes out into the daylight. And he would have played with the feelings of the infinite reach of the stars and sky – tonight hidden behind the clouds – but there waiting nonetheless to burst forth and delight.

Charisma’s symphony at night is a cacophony of sounds in the greyness of a cloudy night. Some, familiar and comforting. Others, new and disturbing.

The first movement is set at 15 knots of wind. Strings, mostly cellos move to the fore. Pianissimo as Charisma slides through the waves, a constant ebb and flow against the hull as we crest a wave, then coast down, water rushing past and then slice into the one in front, water gurgling around the hull as Charisma gathers herself for the uphill climb and then yet another slide down the next one.

While the strings describe the motion, percussion in the background drives the constant beat of the journey (in ¾ time) with a syncopated rhythm as counterpoint to the lyrical rise and fall of the strings. Tick, Tick, Tick – Tick, Tick, Tick – Clang…Clang.

Suddenly a cymbal crashes out of nowhere, reverberating violently in your ears. A rogue wave, 90 degrees out of phase just crashed against the hull, slamming the boat sideways, water bursting into the air and then falling back on itself sizzling like bacon on a hot griddle.

In the background you can hear the timpani announce a gust of wind, swirling across the water, reaching the deck then searching out voids and finding every opening with a dull relentless hum.

Just a little off the beat, we can hear a few comical notes from an oboe. Ahh, the cockpit drains burbling little giggles as the water passing under the hull tickles Charisma’s toes.

Right now it’s about 0300. In a couple hours, we’ll get to the second movement. A piano playfully foreshadows sunrise. Then if the clouds part a bit and make way for morning light – the horns. First a lone trumpet as the sun searches for a hold on the new day. Then as it pushes aside the grey of night, the bright triumphant chorus of horns pushes the quiet strings aside and proclaims a new day full of promise. Warmer, brighter, because we’ve moving north – leaving winter behind and seeing hints of the tropics ahead.