Latitude 16:31.75S Longitude so close to Greenwich 179:59.5W
At the present moment (Tuesday 7th August) we are sitting in sheltered Shoal Pass on Vanua Balavu Island, beyond where I have reached in the log and I will tell you why I am taking this little aside route. At 6.00am, three hours ago, I could see Alison and Randall preparing to leave for Suva, ahead of schedule because one of Randall’s front upper teeth broke yesterday and through their limited internet with Digicel they were able to arrange a dental appointment for Thursday morning.
We had already planned a supper for six on Zoonie, to include Mark and his recently enlisted sailing companion Teri on Wavelength and so it became our farewell supper and a fun one it was too. I created a spag bol using onions and garlic, tinned tomatoes and mushrooms, peppers and spices, wine and sugar and TVP (Textured Vegetable Protein – dry vegemince) with egg free spaghetti. Alison had made an upside down chocolate pineapple cake (she has a delightful habit of leaving most of what is uneaten behind) and Teri brought an assortment of cheese, stuffed vine leaves, ploughman’s pickle and crackers for hors d’oeuvres.
Teri is an alternative medicine doctor from Mexico and certainly knows how to ‘treat’ an English couple with a classic ploughman’s snack. Mark was an anaesthetist in Vancouver, Washington State, USA before he retired, so they have a lot to chat about on the medical side of life. We first met Mark and his wife Eileen from Wavelength in Tonga back in 2016.
Somewhere in the early conversation it came out that we used up our last morsel of cheddar yesterday so the team were confronted with a vegan alternative of yeast extract flakes. Alison broke the dumbfounded silence with, “We’ve got plenty of cheese and you can have it as we’ll be in Suva in two days with all the supermarkets.” Such kindness. They had also brought their remaining kava (A gift for the local chiefs), an essential component of the required practice of sevusevu to access the shore in the more outlying Lau Islands that they would not now need.
So she and Rob hastened across the dark waters back to Tregoning to retrieve the valued packets and we had real cheese on our spag bol.
Now there is a physical and metaphoric hole where Tregoning had been anchored that we must fill with new activities soon. I remember when Jeannie mentioned how she became weary of having to say goodbye to new found friends so many times on their 18 year Odyssey around the Pacific, but in this instance we already have tentative plans to meet up with them again soon. For now though we are soaking up the intense peace of this area which reminds us of Newtown Creek on the Isle of Wight, far from the madding crowd. So now back to the blog.
Leaving Viani after our colourful visit we did some lagoon navigation inside the reef towards the dateline. The anchor came straight up without a hitch to the relief of our anxious minds. The previous night we had a struggle extricating it from around a coral head, I used the bow thruster in the end, first to one side and then the other, which worked but I regretted any damage to the delicate coral. We thought we might move to a spot opposite the Dive Academy for ease of getting ashore to their restaurant for our arranged meal.
Sensibly Tregoning stayed put to await our outcome but as the only sizeable sandy areas appeared to be too close to shore we returned close to where we had been before.
Time Travellers – Tregoning and Zoonie
Once crossing this invisible dateline from 180’E, eastwards to 180’W in the length of Zoonie’s hull we would travel from being eleven hours ahead of you all to being 13 hours behind. It turned out to be quite painless. Tregoning was with us but decided by way of comparison to travel along the other side of Kioa Island and make use of the SE Trades. We took the sheltered inshore route past a pearl farm and through mirror like water until we reached the far end and there, just ahead of us, emerged Tregoning. They were on the other side of a reef we had to pass through at one of two possible places.
Suddenly, in the far distance I saw a whale breach, its white underbelly facing us as it splashed back into the water. Fortunately it obliged once more so Rob saw it too.
We approached the western most gap which involved a dogleg back down the other side of the island until we saw some green channel marker posts and so decided to carefully follow them and save at least four miles. The depths never reduced below 24 metres so we knew we could trust the markers that are surviving after Cyclone Winston’s passage in 2106.
When nearly through I spotted a roundish brown shape to the right of Zoonie and for one tummy churning moment thought we had just missed a coral head and could therefore be moving towards more, but then it raised its head for a look around, the first and only turtle of the day.
The massive church to the right of the entrance to Catharine Bay at the western tip of Rabi Island (pronounced Rambi) gave us a landmark from miles off but much closer we were astonished to find a reef stretching out from beneath the church with a mysterious concrete tank on it and a black warning post at the end. It was not shown on the chartplotter and the waypoint was sending us right across it. Constant vigilance and a questioning trust is needed in these waters and preferably only a daytime entry. The black markers are so useful, especially as I mentioned our electronic charts are inaccurate from this area onwards.
We had been invited to Tregoning in the evening for drinks and met three other cruisers. The lady, whom I shall call Mary, possessed the range and colour of words that our friend Barry of NautiBuoy refers to as ‘offshore language’ and she entertained and alarmed us in equal measure. Alison’s globe artichokes baked in cheese and mayonnaise on crackers were to seriously die for.
The next morning we rowed ashore early to the neat little hamlet of Buakonikai, the name is almost longer than the village and may refer to the area, but it’s all we could find, for what turned out to be one of the most delightful and culturally engrossing days of our shared journey yet.
The Good People of Rabi Island
As Alison and I bounced along in the front cab of a 13 seater minivan, sitting next to a very serious young man whose eyes were only for the earth road ahead and not for any of the numerous villagers who looked at him expectantly for a wave, I pondered the short history of these inhabitants on this island.
Originally known as Banabans from Banaba Island in the Kiribati Group just west of the Micronesian Gilbert Islands, their recent ancestors were brought here by the British after their home, also known by its European name of Ocean Island, was rendered uninhabitable by the extensive British phosphate mines. To compensate them the British bought this island and they have been here eversince and retained their identity and traditional ways by having little to do with the rest of Fiji and preferring to speak to eachother in their Gilbertese tongue.
Awarded Fiji citizenship by the British in 1945, (Fiji itself became independent from Britain in 1970) these friendly people teach English in their schools and are welcoming and generous towards visitors.
After 50 bouncy minutes up and over two steep hills and with numerous stops to scoop up passengers we arrived at the capital of the island, Tabwewa where up until recently, when Fiji asserted government dominance over the island, the inhabitants enjoyed relative autonomy and independence with their own council building and court house. I wondered what the general feeling is about that!
We moseyed around for a while, noted the Post Office, chatted with a couple of ladies, one of them breast feeding in the shade of the stoop or wooden veranda outside the Fisheries Office. Alison discovered a decorative purple flowered plant she had researched back in Florida and wondered how it got here. Then we headed for what is often the hive of activity in these places, aside from the daily market, the pre-school. Then the fun began.
The Head Teacher told me the pre-school was on the last day, Friday, of its celebration of pre-school education week and celebrations were about to start.
The furniture of the single classroom had been put away so we had a good look at the colourful wall displays of how things were run and what the children were taught. All in English and very similar to the curriculum back home. I mentioned that I had taught for a few years and was given the visitors book to fill in. I felt privileged as the book was started back in 1986 and was usually completed by educational officials and distinguished guests. We gave this lovely lady our bag of school items and proceeded to play with some of the children using one of the little plastic cars we brought. Outside ladies were sitting on mats under a canopy making paper and grass skirts and garlands ready for the dancing later.
The AV side of things was looked after by a serious gentleman who introduced himself and welcomed us warmly. Throughout the event he filmed every detail on a tiny camera and had videos running on a TV in the corner for anyone with the time to watch. We watched sitting on the floor leaning against a wall. Music was playing the same songs repeatedly to add to the growing buzz of anticipation.
The lady we met at first, afraid I did not get her name, told me how they were waiting for a brass band to arrive from the other side of the island. The cost of their transport was costing the school $140fj plus there was their snack and lunch to prepare, so there had been much fund raising in the weeks leading up to this day. Between us we put together a few notes “to help with the school funds” I said as I gave them to the School Manager, a tall lady with presence.
At last the band arrived, fell out of the back of a covered truck carrying their prized and well used instruments. They disappeared into the ‘staffroom’ at the back to change and then started up the road towards the Primary School in readiness to bring up the rear of the planned procession, led by the children back down to their own school.
It was a grand affair once the children were in their allotted positions and Randall and Rob were the jam in the sandwich with the band belting out the music at the rear. Alison and I dashed around taking photos and then joined in the relaxed marching for the few delightful minutes it took to return to the classroom.
Parents peered in through the glass-louvered windows while we had been given front row floor area inside. The band, sitting cross legged to one side of the room played a few pieces and then plates of snack food were brought through for everyone. A young lady in a tunic and long skirt that matched those of the other staff ladies brought in a big white plastic pale full with a bright pink drink and gave each of us a plastic beaker full. The words ‘bubble gum drink’ were to be heard in passing but I don’t know if they were serious. Anyway it tasted as you might think a bubble gum drink would taste! We were thirsty and uncritical and it was all part of this great experience. Also it helped wash down the quarter fish paste sandwich, biscuits (including an OREO!) and curious cube of cake with custard icing.
Next on the list of cultural ingredients was the School Manager placing garlands around the heads of special visitors, Alison and myself included and then a long speech in Gilbertese by a lady we presumed was a school patron as we later saw her walking into the primary school up the road. Her language a throw-back to more independent times.
Then one by one, with the Head Teacher sitting next to each child holding the mic and prompting them to say their name and what they were going to become when they grew up, which was also written on a banner around their neck and ranged from doctor, to engineer through teacher and included, of course, Spiderman. I asked her later and she confirmed the careers were the choice of the children but I wondered how they had learned about some of the careers through their education at such a young age.
The band then exercised their hands and lungs once more before falling apart into tired heaps needing rest and sustenance. We were dumbfounded when the latter arrived in the form of a big oval plate loaded high with food for each and every one of us. When out of earshot of the kind ladies Randall commented “Holy cow this has got to weigh 3 pounds at least.”
There was roasted chicken drumsticks, a big sausage, lamb and potato curry, a slab of boiled rice and lengths of cooked cassava. Just by picking over what I could eat I soon filled up and we asked if it would be ok to take the rest with us. I think they were relieved they wouldn’t have to deal with leftovers. The band tucked in heartily and then collapsed for various attempts at siestas before the grand dance finale.
Which reminded us of the French Polynesian dancing in more ways than one. Understandably because their cultural traditions are from their old home which has closer connections to French Poly than these islands.
The costumes that teachers and mum’s dressed the children in were beautiful and obviously treasured. Some of the headdresses were like crowns but instead of precious stones they had precise shapes cut from Masi matting, white identical shells were threaded around their arms and legs and necklaces of woven and intricately folded pandanus leaves showed a skill and precision to be admired. Just as in French Poly their skin shone with coconut oil and some of the girls wore eyeshadow and lipstick. Stunningly beautiful, mischievous little gems.
They loved to sing and dance, well most of them did, and they were very good at remembering the routines without any guidance, just following the recorded music. They were telling stories with their dancing, just the same as in Nuku Hiva at the July dance festival and in fact in Vavau, Tonga.
Not to be outdone ladies from the other end of the age spectrum stood up and danced and the formal atmosphere of the occasion was gone forever as they girated seemingly undanceable moves for their age, to the delight of the audience. In a brief lull Alison stood and started to gig to the rhythm of the music, then the compere came over and joined her and they were partnered in a wonderful improvised dance style which included an impressively low twist. They mirrored eachother for a few riotous moments with the seated ladies opposite literally crying streaming rivulets of tears, while laughing their lungs out. Well done Alison.
After farewells to those we had met we climbed into the back of Patrick’s ancient covered red truck and got a lift part the way back. Then we had to get out and wait so he could do the school run. Sitting in the shade of an accommodating tree we chatted with Rosy, a beautiful young lady holding her one year old son Peter. She told us about her life and education, at the local school at first and then to High School on Taveuni before returning home to live here. So a brief encounter with Fijian life did not tempt her to leave her home.
Patrick returned to pick us up, then with the canned diesel fuel delivery completed we soon found ourselves, bum weary, tired and very happy back near the boats. Some local children came with us for a curious peak at the Methodist church, which was more like a mosque inside, no furniture just a shiny tiled floor and decorated beams and pillars. With different races around the islands it is likely religious buildings can be, or have been used by different faiths in the past, their holy days don’t coincide after all, Muslim, Christian and Hindu are all present in Fiji although perhaps not on this island.
The lively group of youngsters were enjoying their evening together and readily posed for us before insisting they help us launch the dinghy, all we had to do was watch!
16:26.70S 179:56.32W
In Tregoning’s Wake to Albert Cove
The new day dawned hazy and Zoonie’s topsides were covered with red/black gritty dust. I was relieved I hadn’t hung the washing out overnight. Vanuatu’s volcano had once again erupted and filled the atmosphere with harmful burnt particles and the fresh wind brought it our way. Fishermen in their plank constructed outrigger canoes slowly wandered shoreward after a night of fishing, each to his own gap in the mangroves leading to his home.
We wandered along behind Tregoning keeping a good lookout for the reefs to starboard. Pale green water extending towards us from both sides of the entrance pointed towards the dark blue channel between and soon Zoonie was festooned with towels, Tshirts and underwear while I baked an upside down pineapple cake with the last fresh pineapple.
Next day we snorkelled both sides of the reef with Alison and Randall who towed the dinghy behind him. Yet more diversity of fish life amazed us and there was plenty of undamaged coral.
By the next morning both my ears were completely blocked, as sometimes happens. The seawater had probably loosened whatever stalactites of wax were hanging around so I took one of Rob’s syringes left from when I was his acting Nurse Emanuel feeding him Antibiotics through his pic line all those months ago. In the kettle was some boiled and cooled water from the day before and within minutes I had my hearing back. But I felt as if I had a cold so gave snorkelling a miss that day and while the others were away I buried my nose in ‘Farther Than Any Man’, a version of the story of Captain James Cook written in 2001 by Martin Dugard, that Alison and Randall had kindly given me since they understood my interest in the great man.
The next day we went ashore as a foursome to meet Monica and her partner Sim who live temporarily in the thatched huts while they are doing some farming. There was no need for sevusevu as there was no village or chief so we chatted and handed them our gifts of fish hooks and dried food. Slim Sim shimmied up a nearby coconut palm and chopped down and shucked four coconuts for us, then we wandered along the paradise shore watching three of their friends walking into the water one of them carrying a fishing net over his shoulder. They spread out and slowly walked the net toward the shore, gathering it up to see if they had been lucky. A safer more relaxed method of fishing is hard to imagine except perhaps sitting on the bank of a slow moving river on a warm summer’s day in England.
Back on board Tregoning we firmed up our plans to leave for Budd Reef two days later.
On our final morning in this pretty bay we scrambled ashore at first light to do some bird watching. Mindful that a falling coconut can terminally rearrange one’s brain I was careful to stand out of the drop range of the palms while looking at a striking multi-coloured Fruit Dove with a crimson head. We saw and heard Barking Pigeons calling to eachother, maybe a warning about us and little swiftlets zipped about between the palm fronds.
Along the shore there was more plastic than we had seen recently and even then it wasn’t much, a ubiquitous flip flop and a toothbrush. Inland this was a true wilderness, as Monica explained there is no road or trails and the only access is by boat.
“Well are you coming snorkelling this afternoon Barb?” Randall asked.
“If I don’t I know I will regret it.” So we were a team of four again.
16:24.07S 179:52.39W
Lightly Through Texas Pass
Much head scratching and many waypoint comparisons took place over the start of our track from Albert Bay on Rabi Island because a long reef stretched a few miles across the direction we needed to travel with very few passes through it. Tregoning led the way and we followed with me helming as usual but with the need now to hold a tissue over my running nose, in this sense I was single-handed and I seemed to have a cold.
It was a cloudy day so no help would be forthcoming from the sun. As we had found before it is quite possible to see reefs without it but then every little natural help is welcome.
We were heading for Budd Reef with its promise of excellent snorkelling, located in the prettily named Ringgold Islands. We headed north east towards the narrow gap with its estimated 10 metres depth.
Simultaneously we slowed right down on approach to the first of the three waypoints we would use to make the transit where the water is still a nice safe 45 metres deep, then softly softly catchee monkey we moved gently forward.
Rob was on the foredeck with a better view of any heads we might need to avoid while I was watching Tregoning’s wake, the passage of Zoonie along toward the next waypoint and the depth display. I didn’t quite hold my breath but the concentration was acute. 15 metres, 11 metres, 9 metres, 7 metres (hey that’s supposed to be the minimum after adding on Zoonie’s 2 metre draft), the adrenalling was running and I asked myself if I had left Tregoning enough room to abort and turn around if necessary. 5.1 metres showed on the display but Tregoning was carrying on. My trouble was I wasn’t sure if the echo would increase or decrease from here, still at barely 3 knots hopefully we would bounce off if needs be.
10 metres, 12 metres, on the depth sounder then three dashes to say we were off soundings, in fact instantly we had 347 metres beneath us. Rob returned to the cockpit and we did a high five.
There was another reef passage on the other side of the Rabi Channel but it was straightforward and deep, unlike the anchorage. We hovered outside as Tregoning, with their cunning seabed display on their plotter, scanned the possible area for two boats. There were no other yachts there.
It didn’t look promising, coral over rock, and not wanting to risk dragging if the wind got up in the night, as it usually does, we decided on Plan B. Rob soon came up with the suggestion we moved on southwards to the tiny horse-shoe shaped Matagi Island (pron. Matangi) and relayed waypoints to Tregoning who would follow us.
Privately owned by Noel and Flo Douglas who run a boutique resort on the south of their perfect haven, they don’t mind visiting yachts anchoring in the pretty little bay on the north provided their permission is sought before landing ashore.
It proved cosy and comfortable with room for around four yachts so that is where we spent the next day.
16:43.82S 179:44.66W – Silver Fish and a White Tipped Shark
Zoonie’s chain grumbled over the sea bed as she swung gently doing her synchronised dance with Tregoning and Wavelength, who had just arrived and a solitary goat bleated from the steep rocky shore nearby.
We had a short strategy meeting with Alison and Randall and then went snorkelling with Rob towing the dinghy, not only because the distance to Zoonie in deep water might have been further than we wanted to swim but also so we could beat a hasty retreat if necessary.
A panga arrived from the resort with a couple who were dropped off to enjoy a few hours with their own little hut and private beach on this paradise island. How lucky we are to just sail in, put the hook down and snorkel to our hearts content for free when they are no doubt paying a king’s ransom for the privilege.
They weren’t exactly in solitude either with three yachts and numerous little tubes and goggles floating about in the water infront of them! Hope they weren’t honeymooners!
Rob bobbed up and called, “White tipped reef shark passed under me and a turtle. Wanted to tell you but you were too far away.” I wasn’t too sorry either to miss his first find.
I was drifting along with the current when ahead in the water I saw what looked like lots of pieces of aluminium foil floating just beneath the surface, catching the sun.
The distance between us shortened until I could see they were an inverted teardrop shaped shoal of hundreds of fish with bright silver heads and more modestly silver bodies. As they swam upwards in one carefully spaced entity so their jaws were wide open feeding, then they would all turn in unison and with mouths closed descend a few metres before turning once more for a feeding glide towards the surface. I watched gob smacked at this beautiful spectacle, like something David Attenborough would gently and soothingly explain to us.
Over supper, with the six of us enjoying some of Alison’s fine boat cooking, she explained they are Acute Jawed Mackerel and we were to see them frequently in various places from then on.
From the Sumptious by the Religious and into the supremely Beautiful
17:10.62S 179:01W
Zoonie’s anchor came home at 4.45 the next morning and we waited outside Matagi Bay to make sure Tregoning had no problem with hers. Wavelength had already left.
We motored gently across Closeluff Pass and Winds Eye Passage that separates Qamea Island from Laucala Island where we are forbidden to even anchor as it is the exclusive 7 star haven of the head of the Red Bull drinks company. The island is magnificent and the facilities amazing, but that is a second hand report you understand. It is one of the world’s most exclusive retreats, frequented by the affluent and famous, happy to pay the $30,000 per night. We could barely afford to admire the blaze of street lights!
Soon we saw Wavelengths white sails making nice progress on an alternative course to us. It was going to be a long day, 56 miles to go, so as we chose to stay on course, but on a tighter angle to the wind and we had to motor sail.
Well across the Nanuku Passage we left Naitauba Island to port, we wouldn’t have been welcome there either as the islanders are members of an American religious sect as yet to be investigated by the writer care of Mr Google. On the other side a green hulled vessel was wedged askew on a reef, a salutary reminder to keep the eyes peeled and the ears listening for the giveaway sound of surf. John and Wendy on Midnight Sun who we were soon to meet told us about how John and two others pulled an American sloop off a reef and towed it virtually unscathed back to port while the owners got their brains back into gear.
Qilaqila Pass led us into the curvy island of Vanua Balavu, through the outer barrier reef and over the lagoon then into some curvy gaps between little mushroom islets with overhangs where the waves have dissolved the limestone over millennia.
You may remember I have already mentioned that our Navionics charts are miss-aligned for the area, well we were motoring slowly towards a series of possible left turns, but there was only one that was deep enough for us and this led into Shoal Pass where we planned to anchor.
Rob was at the bow keeping coral lookout and I briefly dismissed one likely passage as it appeared to be a dead end, until I saw the reef ahead, clearly near the surface and right across the next gap where we were heading.
Wavelength was a safe distance behind so I was able to put Zoonie into reverse as quickly as was safe for the gear box and we groaned to a halt and then started creeping back a few metres to give us room to turn. Then with the wheel hard to port I gave the engine a burst and the bow spun left into what we now knew was Shoal Passage.
We anchored in 7 metres and Wavelength motored on past us and around the corner to drop her hook where Zoonie had been heading before her emergency stop. Tregoning anchored just behind us. The only other vessel there was Midnight Sun and Wendy and John paddle boarded over to see us and have a chat.
A few minutes later while sitting in the cockpit we were absorbed into the peace of the area and feeling the need to whisper. All around and close by were limestone cliffs and these charming little round islets with their own decoration of green foliage and trees. The water was the most vivid turquoise and the Woofing pigeons woofed across the water.
This wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last that we reflected on how lucky we were to be here, with time on our hands, hooked to the seabed and able to enjoy such natural beauty to our hearts content. The only commercial tourism here is on a few sailing and motor charter yachts. After safely negotiating the reef and lagoon to a safe anchorage the rewards are all before our eyes.
Zoonie turns so slowly on the still water surface, one moment influenced by the tide and then by the halcyon breeze, nature’s own breath. The modest name ‘Shoal Pass’ appears not to do the location justice, but then maybe it is intended to keep this unique place a well-kept secret.
Acute Jawed Mackerel (I’m going to flog this name, you can tell can’t you) fed open mouthed on the surface in their big social group and a cunning heron standing on a patch of sloping beach a foot square ate well on the little fish that a large predator was herding infront of itself.
The next morning on Mark and Teri’s kind invitation we joined them on Wavelength for the short trip to Daliconi Village to do sevusevu with the chief, our two dinghies plopping along behind us.
Up at the bows Teri was on lookout and was concerned about dark areas in the water that could be corals heads, but they turned out to be harmless cloud shadows. Swimming children greeted us and led us to meet Isireli, a village elder who would introduce us to the acting chief. The actual chief was away in Savu.
Sitting cross legged on a pandanus mat in the cool shade of his hut he welcomed us and then Isireli presented him with our kava gifts. Anecdotes followed for a few minutes, including the one where at the age of 70 he climbed an impossibly steep hill nearby that would be too much for him now fifteen years on. He is a retired special policeman who worked in Suva. Now, with a proud career behind him, he enjoys an easy life back home with his lovely wife Elenor.
Back in 1893, when the as yet unnamed village was being established, sailors from a passing ship visited for sevusevu, the welcoming ceremony where the chief gives his permission and blessing for the visit. The village ladies had not had time to make a pandanus mat for the visitors to sit on during the ceremony, so the sailors brought rope and coiled it into what is known as a cheese and the guests all sat down. They not only provided the first mat but also the name of the village, Dali coni, rope mat.
Isireli and Elenor have 6 sons, 2 in Australia, 1 in New Zealand, 1 in the US and 2 in Hawaii. We teased him when he told us he married up in status as Elenor is a chief’s daughter.
The six of us used our new found freedom of the island and walked up and over the hill along the track towards the school. The school was closed for a two week holiday but we noticed they had just had a drug awareness week which included colourful posters hanging outside the classrooms on topics like the damage drugs such as cannabis, alcohol and kava can do to the human body. Kava, we thought, so health awareness is now head to head with retaining old cultural traditions.
Back on board I finished reading about Little House on The Prairie author Laura Ingalls Wilder’s adult life and delved back into my ‘Cook Book’, Farther Than Any Man, The Rise and Fall of Captain James Cook by Martin Dugard. The ‘Fall’ comes from the Author’s imagination as he takes steps beyond what is known into what he perceives as Cook’s mental decline. The book has no references and only a smattering of acknowledgments.
Our first snorkel in our new location was around an appealing coral head in the middle of a passage between two islets. It was quite lovely as the sun shone down onto it at an angle lighting the tips of a rust coloured fan coral with gold. We saw the biggest pipefish yet, a good metre long and a few others we had seen before, like sergeant fish, humbug fish and hump head bannerfish. We found a cave where some idiot had spray painted his name in green and live clams abounded.
Alison and Randall collected us for a very civilised evening motor around in their dinghy, binoculars in one hand and glass of rum and water in the other, before we clambered onto Wavelength and all watched the mass migrations of hundreds of fruit bats, from trees nearby, overhead and across to some other trees at precisely 6.04pm., same as the night before and the night after and so on!
Every night it seems the wind gets up, spinning the generator and helping keep the batteries healthy. Whether it is barometric pressure trying to equalise itself or the katabatic and anabatic winds, freed from their daytime activities, go together for a night out I am not sure but it can send us anchored boats in quite a spin, the trees and cliffs whizzing past the windows at an alarming speed.
I awoke one night to what I thought was heavy rain. “Good, that’ll wash the decks I thought” but no it was just the wind driven waves dashing themselves to smithereens under the limestone overhangs.
I prepared a veggy spaghetti Bolognese for six for supper the next day and in the afternoon Rob and I snorkelled in the next bay. We saw lots of what I now knew from Alison were Picasso Triggerfish, with their spectacular markings and in one corner a tree has long ago fallen into the water. Underneath it was lolling with the water movement and looked eerily like a rotting whale with lengths of putrid flesh hanging off it. There was a strange lack of fauna in the foliage of the steep cliffs, but then it was amazing that trees grew big while their roots gripped the razor sharp rock at such impossible angles. They must grow hydroponically on rainwater for there was no soil.
We found an empty five gallon plastic container bobbing under one cliff which we later gave to Mark.
Alison radioed later to say that they would be leaving for Suva the next morning as Randall needed some urgent dental treatment so we were about to enjoy our last social time together for a while as I have already described to you.
