Sixty Sixth Siganisucu
I was wondering what to call this auspicious blog. A little assonance or alliteration would be nice, but what goes with the ‘B’ in Birthday I thought. Then I looked up the Fijian word for Birthday, perfect, siganisucu.
I re-used Zu’s palm leaf basket to carry the plastic oval plate of sliced chocolate cake oozing (unintentionally) with melting chocolate icing and dotted with squares of flapjack up to the village. Three young boys, one on a kamikaze bicycle mission, greeted us and looked into the basket. I had laid two 6 shaped candles on the top ready to be planted and lit at the right time.
“Am I 66 today,” then turning the basket around, “or 99 do you think?” They didn’t understand or didn’t want to risk insulting an elder maybe. Then three young men came forward and I did the same. Poor woman they probably thought and hedged their bets with “66 definitely”.
We walked on to Mere’s house, casting “Bulas” all around to all ages of villagers. Some of the villagers who we had met the day before came to us, “Barbara Happy Birthday” they followed with big hugs.
Mere had baked some coconut bread first thing, placing the dough directly into a dish of fresh coconut milk which helps the bread stay moist as it cooks, a kind of steaming method. “Doesn’t it soak into the dough?”
“Noooo” she replied.
Mark and Teri arrived and joined us and so did Peter and Martina. Bill took us for a stroll to see the school. We passed where the matai woodcarvers were at work next to the crafts shop. A group of super yacht passengers were being entertained for a couple of hours and would no doubt buy up some of the items which sell for much less here than in Suva.
“Do you ever host superyacht passengers?” I asked Mere.
“No, they are not so willing to share our way of life as you” she replied tactfully. How lucky we were to have much more time than they have too, being retired, independent travellers.
Suva used to set the theme and curriculum for the island schools but now they just send a theme and it is up to the teachers to design the curriculum, or it might be the other way around. The government provides $50 per child for their annual education. Children from off lying islands come here for their start in education and parents take it in turn to come with them to lessen homesickness and support them. They sleep in pretty dormitories with ocean views. I chatted with the headmaster’s wife while Mark, Teri and Rob went to the beach to watch three of the children, presently on school holiday, make a fun game out of scrubbing dishes for mum by using sand and seawater and spinning the pots in the water as hard as they could.
Numerous posters hanging outside the classrooms gave us a clue as to what they had recently been studying and many were statements of how children should be treated or rather not treated. One dramatic hand drawn picture showed a child with an adult’s hand around his throat stating that child abuse is unacceptable and how can people not only hurt children but know it is happening and do nothing about it. I asked Mere about this later and she said the theme was preparing children for life in Suva when they go there. In her village the old adage applied, ‘It takes a village to raise a child’ and everyone plays their part to guide the young, who are loved and cared for and well disciplined.
At some stage in our visit we took some gifts to Mere including two lighters, some lighter refill gas, matches and some kitchen scritchers I thought might be of use. “Thank you Barbara so much for the lighters and matches.” Mere said with a glint in her eye, not wishing to be reminded of the mundanity of washing up.
As we wandered back from the school Rob bought a nawanawa wood bowl carved by Jone and we asked him to carve his name in the base, so he took the bowl and disappeared.
Next we met Tui, a tall young man who is the children’s choirmaster. He and Bill walked with us to the next village as Bill wanted to show us the shop.
On the right of the pretty path Tui pointed out areas where root crops including kumara and kawau were growing. On the left was the cemetery where colourful banners flew from the old chief Taniela Bese’s grave. The closing of the grave will take place later in the year. Every chief’s grave is marked with a cast concrete conch shell to show their high status and we saw graves of three generations of past chiefs in this way.
Nearer to the path was a small grave that really stood out being covered with white tiles with blue grout and a polished black headstone.
“He was very popular in the village. When other children shied away from strangers he would run up to them in greeting. He died in February, just collapsed suddenly as he was running along. When a cruiser friend of ours heard he was very upset and paid for the headstone, making all the arrangements for its carving and delivery himself.” Bill told us.
Word had spread to the next village that it was my birthday and the lady who ran the shop greeted me with good wishes. She opened her shop with its pretty garden and we were surprised to see a stacked column of black shoe polish cans, here in villages where people wore flip flops at most. “They are for the woodcarvers to decorate the rims of their dishes.” She told us.
It is hard to choose a highlight to this wonderful day but I think it has to be the climb to the cave of skulls and bones.
Bill and Tui led the way through the vegetable garden again, teasing eachother, “Tui is from the Solomons, so he knows nothing.” Bit like the Irish/Anglo banter, but Tui gave as good as he got with “And Bill comes from the city, poor thing”. I thought it interesting he was named after the New Zealand bird but then Tui is also Fijian for chief.
We came to where the climb began and the lads offered us ladies helping hands up to what was once a lookout area when the old village was built in a cleft in the hills, no doubt in times when the villagers were under constant threat of invasion from Tongan warriors in their war canoes coming from the east.
We scrambled through thin undergrowth to the two cave entrances that were at window height, so it would have been difficult to enter over the sharp uneven limestone rock. And then, ‘whoah’, was a pile of around thirty skeletons, bones piled up underneath with skulls on the top. Some skulls looked out at us accusingly from ledges on the far wall. The skulls were whitish with some pale green algae on them in the dry airy cave.
“Even my grandfather had no idea of the origin of the bones, so they go back many generations.” Bill said.
“Could they be Tongan warriors defeated in battle Bill?” I wondered. “You could send a sample away for analysis and that would give their age and probably their origin too.” Maybe I crossed the mark there because I think the cave is sacred, Tabu and entry is forbidden, or maybe they are comfortable with the mystery and it is a western trait to want to solve all mysteries. I wondered also if they were cannibalised remains as is likely if these bones belonged to invaders. Bill smiled a lot but is none the wiser than us.
The next part of the climb was up the vertical limestone cliff to a tiny lookout 4’ x 4’ where the 7 of them stood taking in the 360’ views over the islands and lagoon. Not wanting to do a Shakespeare and die on my birthday I waited below. I was wearing flip flops and my feet were sweaty, that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. Rob took these photos.
Back past the spotted pigs in their pen, my birthday party was next.
Mere’s grandmother made me a beautifully fragrant garland of wild rose blossoms and frangipani flowers and Mere tied it carefully around my neck.
We feasted on pumpkin curry with onions and fried spices, rice, Chinese cabbage in coconut milk with noodles, taro leaves done the way I mentioned before and we drank fresh coconut water, straight from the nut.
Next everyone sang ‘Happy Birthday’ while Mere struggled to get the candles to stand upright in the cake slices, I blew them out and made a short speech before the chocolate cake, flapjacks and Teri’s wonderful brownies all vanished in a flash.
The boys disappeared to have showers while the kava session, which I was to lead (!!) was set up. Mere’s husband Jone is on the right in the foreground.
Between each round of kava we join in a discussion and tell stories and anecdotes and this exchange is called a Talanoa. When I sensed there was a lull I would say “Taki” and the kava master would pour another round into the bilo and hand it to each of us in turn. Before taking the cup we clapped once with cupped hands to make a resonant sound (cobo) and then again three times as we hand back the cup.
I have no idea how many rounds we shared but when Rob and I saw the light was fading we said our farewells and with Peter and Martina made our way back to the dinghies in the finest most refreshing rain that only became heavy after we were on the beach and able to shelter in the shed.
Their heavy dinghy with its big motor was sitting on the beach so Rob ferried them back to Havachat before returning for me. No way could we lift the combo to the water.
While I waited, standing on a little hump of sand calf deep in the water so Rob could reach me in the tender, I noted four of the ugly bumpy snake like creatures very slowly closing in on me. They have feelers instead of heads and eyes and I just hoped they were blind vegetarians.
I was relieved to see Rob on his way I can tell you.
After showering on Zoonie we went to Havachat, to ‘have a chat’ about how we as couples met and about families and life in Australia etc over cheese and biscuits and Peter’s wonderful cocktails of Vodka, lemonade and pineapple juice complete with paper umbrellas and a slice of lemon.
Last thing, when the tide was much further up the beach, Rob whizzed Peter in to collect his tender and that, my friends was how we spent my Birthday.
A Grey Day in Paradise
Yes, it’s not all blue skies and as it was the day after my birthday we decided a quiet day on board was called for. But we were not idle. The next event on our social calendar was the school bring and buy sale, so we whiled away some happy hours rummaging around on Zoonie for items that were no longer of use to us but might raise a few dollars for the school.
I wondered what the villagers would bring as they have little in their homes which is surplus to requirement apart from what they make and cook. My list included T-shirts, a sundress (would look much better on a young girl than me in my advancing years), sun tops, (ditto the sundress), a fly swat, (they don’t kill flies here unlike us cruisers, they just brush them away), travel games, a pack of RNLI playing cards and a book on patience games and some Spiderman Wrapping paper with tags! Back on Rabi Island remember the boy dressed up as Spiderman at the school celebration we went to, well as the superhero is known in these parts I thought a young boy might like the wrapping paper as a wall poster.
Seeing the sign in the beach shed that asked for glass bottles and jars with lids and plastic punnets we then filled 15 empty wine bottles with water and put a note on one to say they contained drinking water (it hadn’t rained for months).
The next day we struggled to the village with our load and deposited the bottles on Mere’s floor labels facing forward just to be provocative, there were also whisky and rum bottles amongst them. Bill’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, “Is that wine?” He asked with the acute awareness of someone whose glass has long since been wrestled from his hand.
“No Bill, it’s sea water” he wasn’t sure what to believe, “Mere needs some wine” was his conclusion.
Martina had cut her banana cake in half before wrapping it in film for the sale. Ladies and children were already seated on the tarpaulins laid on the ground in the shade of some trees infront of the temporarily empty village chief’s house.
The sole village dog, Max (should be Maxine) is a pretty golden lurcher type mutt, in good condition. She loosely owns Joseph whom we first came across as kava meister at one of our growing number of sessions. A young good-looking lad with big eyes and a ready smile. Max knew she should not go onto the tarpaulin where we were all sitting in two rows facing eachother with the sale items in between, but thereon lay the most wonderful smelling snacks and so she had this risk/reward dilemma. Engrossed in our chat Martina and I winced at the sound of poor Max yelping as she flew through the air having been grabbed by one leg by a boy who I deemed needed to be watched if he was prepared to be so rough with a gentle dog. “I don’t care what she had done,” Martina appealed, “She did not deserve that!”
In answer to my previous question about what villagers brought it was mostly cakes like Mere’s custard topped sponge squares, pancakes stuffed with savoury food and curios cubes of pale brown transparent sweetened starch, very popular with the locals. There were a few pretty small pandanus shoulder bags and purses.
Ma was sitting nearly opposite Martina and me with her daughter next to her and her young son buzzing around as little boys do. Her pretty daughter took a fancy to the tops and sundress and Ma let her buy them. I was glad, she would look lovely in them and the little boy grabbed the Spiderman paper. I could see his mind picturing it hanging on the tin wall beside his bed, I bet it is there right now, swinging in the breeze that passes through their home.
As for Martina’s banana cake, well on Peter’s recommendation half of it was now securely trapped in our basket. Max had been given the odd titbit as the sale progressed and when the event was winding down she had managed to sneak onto the tarpaulin, ostensibly asleep but with one eye half open with a view to the main chance, ready and willing to clear up the crumbs.
As we wandered back through the village to the anchorage Joe introduced himself first and then invited us to meet a couple at work on the floor of their home. The husband was sewing floats around the edge of a new fishing net while his wife was completing a small mat with a fringe of thin pandanus leaves. “She wanted to give it to the Bring and Buy sale but couldn’t finish it in time.”
Mere told us later that she had sold it to another cruiser and no doubt gave some if not all the money to the school.
Back on Zoonie I made a plateful of vegan burghers ready for the Sand Spit beach party the next day then Peter and Martina came by and collected us complete with snorkel gear to see where we could explore near the entrance passage. Mark and Teri came along too.
I made a mental note that the tide was still pouring out at this time and the disturbed water Zoonie had to motor through was mounting up in white wavecrests in the distance so we settled on a benign coral head tucked just inside the reef where the current was barely noticeable and the corals were a colourful taste of what was to come, plus we saw one shark.
Four very sleepy people enjoyed drinks on Zoonie that evening.
A Picnic on the Sand spit Beach
Mere, Jone, Bula and Joseph, (Max’s pet human) joined us on Zoonie. I showed them around below and came to the fridge, “So we need one Mere because our food is not growing just outside our homes!” She nodded sagely. We motored around to the Sand spit and anchored just off amongst the other yachts between Wavelength and Havachat.
Tui was up a palm tree securing one of the lines for the tarpaulin shades, Bill was helping so I joined in before playing catch ball with some of the village children. This was a great day out for them as they were on holiday and the cruisers had brought ashore paddle boards, kayaks and balls for them to play with. As soon as there are a group of cruisers together the village organises these picnics.
They are not only for fun though. There is work to be done. Tables to be made and plates woven from fresh, bright green leaves.
So while Rob, Peter and Teri played frisby with some of the village youngsters Martina and I sat for a long time with Bill teaching Martina and Tui showing me how to make the table tops and then our own plates. Tui was so patient, keeping up the banter with Bill while carefully watching my clumsy progress. The clever thing about these lengths we made for the long buffet table was that we wove together the fronds from the opposite sides of the coconut palm leaf stem until a tube was completed and tied off. Then Tui took his machete and cut right down the stem thus opening up the tube to form a strong flattish surface.
It was lovely to see the fusion of cruisers and villagers laughing and chatting together, children all playing together and then the lovely array of village dishes and cruisers contributions to make this a wonderful party sans frontiers.
The bon viveur atmosphere just went on rising and some of us went off for a stroll around the beach to the other side and had a riotous photoshoot with our friends from the village, as you will see from the photos.
We found a natural swimming pool beyond the beach which had a wonderful colour of deep blue and made a mental note for another occasion.
Zoonie took our happy crew back to the anchorage after we cleared up the camp then Rob dropped our friends back on to the beach, well some of them. “There’s a party on Havachat” he said so we motored over in the tender and joined in. Most of the village ladies were on coffee but some of the lads nursed ‘stumpies’ of beer. The less inhibited of us danced around their spacious stern deck and then formed a snake, Bill at one and me at the other taking turns to lead this human anaconda around a loop between the rib suspended in its davits and the steps and back into the deck saloon to the beat of the music.
Once everyone was gone, laughing their way back up the path to the village in the dark, we wound down over a quiet drink with Peter and Martina, reminiscing over our good fortune.
Decline of the Three Muses
For a day us three boats, Wavelength, Havachat and Zoonie chilled together back in the anchorage at Sandspit. Teri invited us all aboard Wavelength, Mark’s beautifully classic Cherubini 44, built in New Jersey in 1982, for some of her wonderful soup and home-made bread and then we all snorkelled around the corner and into the beautiful natural swimming pool we had discovered during the beach party.
The tide was on the rise from low tide so to begin with we were gliding along in just a few inches of water. A moray eel poked his snooty nose out at Rob and I from his coral cave as we flippered past. Concerned that because it was so shallow in places I might catch the coral with my knees if I used my flippers in the normal way which was not good for the coral or me, I used only my hands for propulsion until the creek bed before me dipped away into the beautiful white sand bowl shaped pool filled with refreshing blue water.
A leisurely circuit of the pool then I followed the others as we made an interesting detour through a gap between two islets which led out to the lagoon on the outer side with the ocean beyond. We all kept raising our heads like seals taking a breath to make sure we stayed close.
Snorkelling is good exercise for the old legs when there is a little current against one. If I go on like this I thought I will become a shadow of my former self, paddling away with my legs. No gain without pain. The waves were bigger on the outside but it was all a nice challenge and nothing too scary. The current that took us back in through the next gap was fun as it spat us into the warm water on the inside of the lagoon again.
Always there is something different at every single site we have snorkelled and here it was chitons within the holes and crevices in the limestone. We last saw them in Tonga and at the end of the concrete ramp in Marsden Cove. Our circuit completed we collected shoes and towels and wandered, well satisfied, back along the beach to our dinghies and on to our floating homes.
That evening we took our ‘Allo Allo’ DVDs and some popcorn to Havachat with the intention of enjoying a film night but we all had so much to chat about the prospect of sitting silent for at least 30 minutes at a time was well beyond our capability. Peter kept us plied with alcoholic lubricant, we even polished off a whole bottle of ‘Jägermeister’ just to help him out with his abundance of liquid ballast to get through customs.
At one stage I was in a tight group hug with fellow Muses, Teri and Martina standing on the steps at the stern of Havachat, admiring the starry sky and identifying various constellations, sharing our knowledge you understand just like our Greek ancestors, when, with a “humph” and an “oops” we fell over in a serene pile, inboard fortunately. The resulting graze on my elbow is healing well!
“So what time did we get back last night?” I asked Rob,
“Just after one,” was the reply.
A fun day (we know how to play, us cruisers) was rightly followed by a day of much more sobriety. Zoonie and Havachat took us early around to the anchorage so we could attend the 10.00 o’clock Methodist church service with Mere. In front of us were three rows of children of all ages and I was impressed with their good behaviour. Then I saw why. An elderly gentleman walked up and down the aisle in a relaxed manner carrying a stick, not quite long enough for a walking stick, he had no limp either. Then I saw what it was for. A pokey stick to gently remind the odd child of his need to behave. He was the church Watchman and Bill’s stepdad and he kept respectful control over the potential monkeys for one and a half hours, sitting behind them and leaning forward for the odd prod.
It wasn’t until the service that we learned Tui was the childrens’ choirmaster. He gathered his little brood of fledgling voices around him and the sound they made was delightful, their only accompaniment was a single triangle tapping out the beat. There were no songbooks. The children start to learn the words of the hymns and psalms at a very early age at the Sunday school held after the service. So by the time they grow up and their voices break they sing with power and gusto and without the drowning out of organ music.
Two sermons were given, one by the pastor from the next village and each were loud and passionate and in Fijian. Later Mere explained that one of them explained to the children all the nasty things that can happen to the uninitiated in Suva and warned the young generation in no uncertain terms to return to the island after they have completed their education in Suva. He himself had gone to Suva with his sick wife and shortly after she died there he spent two and a half months in jail. Mere never did find out why. But I thought what he said would be like a red rag to a bull for some boys who would venture forth out of sheer curiosity.
He seems to be right. The village population is increasing with most youngsters returning home to where earning money is not the priority in life. Like in other parts of the world, poor discipline in the mainland schools is undermining the quality of education and making it harder for talented children to achieve.
So although the children with career ambition might be naturally led away from their home this gentleman’s philosophy seemed to ignore the fact that talented villagers deserve the opportunity to reach their potential away from their island, for example into the professions, again where earning money is not necessarily the sole motivation, as in medicine and law.
Back at Mere’s we tucked into a feast of a lunch. Vegetables and fish cooked in a communal lovo (earth) oven were delivered still hot in the banana leaf basket and when Mere had taken her needs the basket was delivered to the next home. We drank fresh coconut water straight from the nut and were treated to a luxury of orange squash with our pumpkin curry, Chinese leaves in coconut milk and roasted lovo food.
Home doors are always open in the daytime so passers-by can exchange pleasantries, and any breeze can circulate, even fly screens would be a barrier to neighbourliness and ventilation. It was all so comfortable and friendly and we were experiencing a typical Sunday. Nothing was laid on especially for us and I wondered what I would miss if I were to live here for any length of time. Apart from our family of course, the internet and walking around my home naked in the lovely hot weather, I think. I can do that on Zoonie but not here.
Also such thoughts might well be based on knowing I will eventually return to an English way of life, variable weather and all.
We made our way out of the village watching the children playing ball games outside the church after their hours of Sunday discipline at the service and then Sunday school. Once again we were reminded of the strength of the community. All ages were occupied, every person had value and no one was neglected or lonely. I was impressed beyond measure with this communal way of life.
Peter the Big Australian and his warm hearted wife Martina
It was time for another farewell, this time as Peter and Martina prepared to sail to Suva and greet the first group of guests they were expecting to have visit them in a few days.
I am pretty sure that Peter will not mind my describing him as ‘big’ as in many senses that is just what he is. In stature he stands tall and slim, in business he used cranes to make a living, he and Martina have four children, by today’s standards quite a big family. Havachat is 51 foot long, 102 foot when you add both of her hulls lengthwise, and her size was key to the family of six having fun sailing passages and holidays together.
Not only does he think big through his mind but also through his heart. He and Martina, as we found out to our pleasure, frequently host great parties on their lovely yacht and given any opportunity to assist others he is ready and willing. From their anecdotes of family life it is obvious their children had an upbringing filled with the love and adventurous spirit of their parents. We constantly felt fortunate to have met them.
So we were a little sad when the day came for their moce (farewell) party.
Firstly Rob and I snorkelled around the beach landing anchorage. Two enticing corals heads had been tempting us since our first arrival so we wanted to explore them while we could.
Then the four of us walked once more to the village, clutching baskets of food as our contribution. The occasion started with the usual rounds of Kava as we chatted for a couple of hours with Bill and Simon, who is Bill’s Uncle and the deceased chief’s nephew. Others popped in and out for a few minutes each and then word came that the feast was ready, but no hurry.
Tara, Bill’s mum, had been working all morning with Zula to prepare the feast.
“Come and look at this,” Bill took two mighty blocks of concrete weights off a thick plastic lid that sat on a barrel containing a coconut crab (Latin Birgus latro, Fijian Ugavule) the biggest crab I have ever seen. That is one of their problems, they are very slow growing so their numbers take many years to grow too. This one was not happy at being held hostage despite his prison being full with coconuts.
They are the world’s largest arthropod and can weigh in at 4Kg and have a leg spread of one metre, but it was the two front claws that attracted my attention, they were massive!
Imagine, these beauties are active day and night, roaming the shores and woods for fallen coconuts which they open with these two powerful claws, achieving what it takes a skilled native to do with a machete. They can also climb palms and suck the flesh from inside ripe papaya. These were a very special addition to the party spread in honour of Peter and Martina and the high esteem in which the hosts held them. A second one had already been cooked and its flesh half-filled a large bowl. Peter was given the bright red shell as a memento to take with him and was deeply moved by the gesture.
The spread was their typical fare as I have described before with the addition of Martina’s roast pork and potatoes and my veggie burgers and of course the crabmeat which was tender and tasty. Although we were all aware we were eating a rare animal and given the choice would likely have asked the villagers to leave them alone.
Over fishing has resulted in the drastic decline of these terrestrial crabs that can live to 60 years old and they are endangered and protected. Export of them is illegal and they only survive on outlying islands and in protected areas. I am sure the villagers know all this and are well aware of the need to harvest them sparingly. Which means it was a real delicacy they were sharing with us.
Our hosts didn’t eat with us straightaway as it is the custom for guests to eat first and to our surprise we actually sat at a table on chairs, the first time we had done so in the village.
Simon’s sister Cilla was sitting in the corner by a cool doorway weaving bangles with strips of thin black and natural coloured pandanus leaf. To start with she cut a strip less than 1 centimetre wide from the rim of a round margarine punnet and then wove the pattern around it.
As she finished one she gave it to Martina and another one to me. They fit perfectly on the upper arm and Cilla uses a bigger diameter punnet rim for anklets.
Then, to Martina’s surprise and delight Cilla presented her with two large placemats woven in the traditional style with Fulanga incorporated in the weave with black pandanus strips. Big hugs of gratitude, farewell and just because these Fijians are very huggable and then we wandered back to the landing beach in full moonlight.
There was just one more incident of note on that auspicious day. Rob and I lifted the tender, complete with heavy old motor on the back, down the beach to the water’s edge. Rob was looking a little like a Welsh miner wearing his head torch but I thank goodness for that because as he looked down into the water the torch beam showed us he was about to tread on a sea snake resting as they do in the shallows.
Pretty little black and white stripped thing it was with a wide black bandana but they are quite deadly, if they can bite the unwary with their tiny mouthparts, which is in doubt, but not something we wanted to put to the test because their venom is 20 times more poisonous than any land snake.
I remembered when my little Cocker Spaniel, Meggy was in the last year of her life, she was bitten by an adder while she was making enquiries in a hedgerow. As soon as she got home and as a result of natural instinct I am sure, she went to bed and stayed there for 24 hours, in effect comatose. She recovered fully and the halfpenny shaped bite wound under her skin gradually disappeared. The treatment for a sea snake bite is the same. Immobilisation of the victim, a pressure bandage over the bite and a person on hand ready to administer CPR.
Don’t worry dear reader, I was ready and willing! This was the first of Rob’s three incidents of a venomous kind and fortunately it ended well.
Better than the best Fairground Ride.
True to his generous nature, the next day Peter radioed us to ask if we’d like to join them in their big powerful dinghy to go and snorkel the main and side passages at the entrance to the lagoon, through which we had arrived. They were planning to leave in Havachat in the last hour of the rising tide later in the day, to give themselves plenty of water depth and a little tide to steer into.
We didn’t need to be asked twice. The turbulence caused by the water from the two passages clashing together as they emptied from the lagoon was still too rough, so we motored up to the top of the side channel to give the area at the outer end a chance to settle. We flopped into the water and swam seaward sensing the first of the rising tide as we approached the convergence.
The water was quite cloudy and the area outside was still a bit too busy for our liking so we clambered back into the dinghy and motored around to the entrance of the main passage. There were lots of smooth surfaced circling eddies but the waves were settling down nicely as we fell back into the water. Then the fun really started. We felt the new flood tide gently moving us into the safety of the lagoon. It was like flying in water and we had a quarter mile to go. Beneath us a world of vast, pristine corals supported their forest habitat. A pile of upturned beaten coppery cup corals, stacked one on top of another and at least 30 foot in diameter and olive green cabbage coral with its uplifted leaves more like 50 foot across, this really was a vast and colourful forest.
The current was building rapidly and I made a mental note of the timing to use when we would eventually plan our departure. There was no chance of us turning around and swimming against the force of water and it was not even possible to stop and stare. As we sped along above the submarine world, up to 30 feet below us, we moved our heads rapidly from side to side just to take in as much as we had time for and used our hands like paddles to stop us being shoved against the coral.
Kevin and May from Whistler HR were also enjoying the ride and cruising yachts passed us safely in the centre of the channel, waving as they went and no doubt looking forward to their turn.
All too soon Peter was back in the dinghy he had been towing by hand and that was a sign for us to join him. Then to our relief he suggested, beaming,
“Shall we do that all over again? The water will be clearer this time.” He wasn’t wrong, the water looked polished and in the perfect clarity we saw three sharks, giant fat potato cod and lots of other fishes we had seen before but this time in flowing shoals. No Acute Jawed Mackerel though!
We flew up the main passage again and then the side passage before climbing back in to the dinghy. What a gift. We would not have tried what we had just achieved in our dinghy and so we may well have missed the whole experience if it hadn’t been for our friends. Back on board we showered and had the hot chocolate we always enjoyed after a snorkel.
Later that afternoon Peter radioed from outside Fulanga to say he could do without the present north wind for getting to Suva and after we sympathised we made our way back to the Sandspit anchorage, with the shared hope we would visit them in Australia later in the year.