Of the Drinking Kind you understand
Around the year 1870 there were many ships here in Baie de Carenage being loaded with chromium and cobalt. The chromium was washed upstream and brought down to the waiting ships at the quay on a little Decauville railway. While scrambling ashore at this old quay for one of our many walks in the area we spotted one of the few remaining little four wheeled open carriages rusting away in the water just off the rocky wall. Through Polaroid sunglasses we could see it clearly without the glare, but I’m afraid you will just have to take my word for it from the picture, unless you can spot the four wheels. It’s a little like one of those gimmicky pictures where some people could see patterns and pictures within what was obvious. Try half closing your eyes.
As recently as 1949 the Le Tayo moored at the quay to load 7000 tons of ore bound for Australia and even more recently, as you can see in the pictures, the partially overgrown flat area of the quay has been used as a temporary camp. Metalwork gives away the location of the jetty where now there are overhanging branches for securing the tender. The fresh spring water has been channelled down a pipe into the camp and then allowed to pass over the crinkly tin sheet to act as a shower where one can sit and wash clothes while taking a wash; a nice bit of rustic innovation.
Judging by the smooth wide nature of the road, that is where the carriages loaded with washed chromium used to trundle to the quayside and it looks as if the white-washed wall was the original quayside behind the loading area.
Back on board the cleaning continued and we discussed using the watermaker in the estuary. The present day mining was around the other side and inland from the coast so there shouldn’t be any residue from there in ‘our’ water. Although my ‘Oeil’ tells me in 2014 there was an accidental leakage of sulphuric acid, used in processing the nickel, into the little stream near the Port of Prony, killing all marine life at the time which is now fortunately recovering, there was no such disturbance near us and hasn’t been for many years. The water we are in is a mix of seawater, Blue River water (nickel, cobalt), and Carenage River and at the time was very clear, so we took the risk and topped up the tank with 100lts. I was checking in my COD to see how blue cobalt is when I read that cobalamin is a Vitamin B12 group of cobalt containing substances a deficiency of which can cause pernicious anaemia, so maybe the water has medicinal qualities!
A Canoe with a View
One particularly still and pleasant morning we decided to inflate the canoe and go for a potter. We followed the shoreline closely past healthy mangrove forests, pandanus plants so useful to the weavers of the South West Pacific and came across this thatch and plastic sheet roofed hut that we were to stumble upon later on a walk in the woods. The canoe is facing the end of the rocky cascade in the Blue River, again an area approached by well-worn hiking tracks. That was as far as we could go for now so we turned around and I showed Rob the remains of the brick thermal bath; later we were to see further up the cascade by foot with the canoe safely lashed down on the fore-deck.
There is something magical about peering into the water from our comfy inflated seats and seeing the fish and oysters close to, doing a slalom between rocky reefs and smoothed river rocks and letting the tide and if we were lucky the wind as well gently push us along. Then there was a wind on the nose as we came back towards Zoonie and some concerted upper body effort was required to make progress. After two hours of pottering we felt well exercised and visually satisfied. The last photo is of a Houp tree, a hard rot proof tree, as you know used in Kanak house building.
A Walk on the Mine Side
Our walking shoes now tied firmly on we were ready for a planned one and a half hour out and the same time back trek along one of the many excellent walking tracks in the area. It started with a shady welcome where the thermal spring has been tamed within a recently restored square concrete poole with wooden slatted seats in it and picnic tables around, a perfect spot to cool off and relax in the warm waters before returning to one’s boat or vehicle. Two friendly lads from Lifou in a beat up old un-named cruising boat on their way to Noumea for a lift out and stopping briefly in our anchorage would disappear up this was in their tender and I hope it was to enjoy these welcoming waters. For us, we didn’t have a towel.
The trail is part of the Sentier de grand Randonee, Long Distance Hike Path and soon we came to a river, one of two that combined and flowed into the Bay and from there we started our ascent through the scrubland, a geologists dream. The camera hardly does justice to the range of bold and pastel colours that abounded at our feet. Hard dark rocks and soft green/white putty like seams (Alumina or Bauxite Maybe) that we could not understand. Dots of blue algae polka dots against the red rust of the rock and the odd black rock in weird wind eroded shapes. The most obvious places for mines were on top of the hills where after the de-forestation of earlier times, the soil layer would have eroded away, as you can see in the panoramic (504) which shows the extent of the damaging mining practices, leaving the rock ready to be extracted. Some notice boards emphasise that the erosion one can see over the countryside, gulleys and on the paths is natural as well as human made, but you can clearly see where it was helped to a great extent by the human activity.
The mine we found showed the working in to the rock from the outer edges of the hilltop leaving a level, smooth area of ground with some initials carved for posterity. Maybe just those of a visitor or of the claim owner perhaps. Imagine the sound of pickaxes, adzes and crowbars, metal coming down onto metallic rock, some wielded by older boys helping their parents while the younger ones cleared the rubble into bags ready for transporting to the crushers. The lines on the rock face are so precise they suggest a degree of skill and experience of the miner. You can see where, one day, the activity stopped while there was still more usable rock left. What happened and why and where did they go?
The views from the top were amazing, the distant trail way wending through the scrub, first built for the wooden log sledges then the mining products and now enabling visitors explore area. In the panoramic view of the estuary you can see why this waterway would make a good hurricane hold to hide from one of nature’s most dynamic phenomena; a swell would be broken by countless headlands before reaching the innermost parts of Prony Bay. We were soon to sit out a persistent gale there ourselves.
Rob chipped away at one brittle stone and a razor edged lump broke off the colour of jade, a thousand little pieces squeezed together. Jade is found in this area and it is a very similar colour and opacity to my mauri fish hook pendant made of Hokitika jade known as green stone or pounamu in New Zealand. That’s one for Cousin Greg, a retired geologist, he‘d love it here.
Five Coins on a Counter
The picture where the dinghy is nosing into an apparently empty bay, the bay of the lonesome pine, is a perfect hurricane hole for small and shallow draft vessels like cats. With lines into the mangroves and a dog leg where we came up from Somme Bay no sea swell could possibly reach this area. Where we are anchored is reckoned to be a better hurricane hole than Noumea but this little spot is even more protected.
We soon found evidence of a camp used certainly in mining times with a rusty boiler and familiar precise stonework with smooth faced rocks providing an elevation from the ground for buildings. The site has also been used since judging by the crude shelter with a tent and man’s clothing in it. But we had not yet put two and two together, Rob was to do that a little later.
Off came our shoes and socks so we could paddle across the slippery rocks of the shallow Carenage River. A Frenchman strolled across at the same time in his flip flops and we shared a greeting as we dried our feet on our hankies.
We walked on savouring the shade and forever in awe of the diversity of plants and birdsong. We found the Blue River that I have mentioned numerous times before from our day with Francois and here in our anchorage and you can see why it gets its name can’t you, the colour made by the nickel laden rocks as well as other chemical elements no doubt . There was a nice spot on the high bank where we could sit and relax and have a drink of water. Opposite was a vaguely familiar copse of lovely trees including a straight trunked kaori in the middle. There was a good sized house in the centre with neat walls around it and outside seating and two enthusiastic dogs. The bigger of the two barked his question incessantly, “Who are you and what do you want?” while his little friend just stood and looked inquiringly at us. “Well are you going to come and make a fuss of me?”
There was no vehicle on the well-worn track outside the house and nobody responded to the dog’s enthusiasm. “That’s where we came up to in the dinghy,” Rob suddenly twigged. To cross the river at that point would have been difficult. In times past there was a suspension bridge as you can see from the remnants of the iron channels for the cables in the bark of the tree.
Someone had told us that a French chef lives there who has worked in various prestigious places around the world and he is willing to cook a meal for punters with prior notice. He also had a tinny and two canoes moored downriver, so I guess he was into the opportunistic tourist business too. Pity he wasn’t there, he sounded very interesting.
We wandered back a slightly different way and came across the hut we had seen on our canoe trip. It all made sense now, well some of it. The camp was interesting. Neat one stone high walls wound around the site encouraging people to stay on the paths. In the centre was a circle of stones looking very old. That lead me to wonder if the site was originally a Kanak village and this the base to the chief’s house. Fronting the river was the hut, its original thatch looked Melanesian but it was well built a long time ago using dressed whole log timbers within what was once a concrete and stone half-walled house.
Even from the canoe I felt there was a presence there as if the place is still occasionally visited. Rob found a patch of young kava growing in ground that had been cleared recently, maybe by the French Chef. I stepped cautiously towards the hut and found its contents were dry and clean, as if left yesterday for a short while, but more because the climate is so gentle and the camp hidden within protective trees. There was a little outside area and a covered lean-to where fuel in plastic cans and timber was neatly stacked. Inside behind a bar was a table and a diary from 2005, you can see the entry, a booking made by a Japanese couple, for a meal or to stay in one of the temporary shelters. Anyway they cancelled. Was that the final straw? Did the people running the place lose heart? The clean pots and dishes, including a fine blue glass dish were all clean and laid down upside down, but there was no dust or mildew on them. And on the bar counter five low denomination coins had been left dating from 2011 and 2015.
Rob thinks I am reading too much in to this and that the camp is recent, a kind of commune, used still once in a while and he might well be right. A little toilet block was nicely built with a modern loo and shower and a cesspit sunk into the ground behind it. But the loo had been smashed and the shower ripped apart. Vandalism?
Perhaps most mysterious was the wooden platform built on stilts that was once roofed with black plastic now lying to one side. A brand new generator, its manual still in its plastic cover, power points, computer leads, a cable tv dish and remote controls and items of clothing suggested someone came to live rough for a while. But here is where Miss Marple ducks out and we returned to Zoonie to do some baking ready to celebrate our 10th Wedding Anniversary. Another mystery; during the night a ship from the Port Prony jetty sounded its ships horn five times, that means there was a near incident within North Bay.
A Chelsea Garden Designers Dream
Our last walk in the Baie de Carenage was really special. All the others were interesting and different but this one took the biscuit. Its spring time here, the equivalent of a British March but sub tropical and so warmer than in the temperate climate at home. A thousand different shaped and hues of green leaves, the freshest at the ends of the branches and some new leaves of rich fuchsia, their UV protection greeted us as we scrambled up an old quay front wall leaving the tender tied to an overhanging branch again.
The path was overgrown in places, with new growth impinging on our progress. Grooves had been cut and initials carved along the more open track, the former to give better grip when the path is slippery after rain for modern shoes and the sleds of the past. We descended a small hill where the track was ripped apart with a jagged erosion gorge and through some more bush at the bottom came to a small level opening above a beautiful natural water garden. Upstream water rippled and gurgled over some rocks and tumbled, as you can see into the little pond formed behind a rise of rocks where we could cross. Plants leaned over the water as if watching, protecting the few fish that lived there. I have yet to identify them but we have seen them in all the waterways around the area.
This little area would be perfect for a picnic and would grace an exhibit at Chelsea or in a sheltered garden in the warmer parts of Britain like Cornwall and Western Ireland. Man at his most creative could not have done better.
The next picture is a spot the dinghy for you.
We imagined the little white half flower is so designed to help bees take the pollen and nectar and when we spotted the one orchid we found it was amongst many. The pale lichen reminded us of our walk around the Brunston golf course in Scotland, just how universal and ancient are lichen, a simple marriage of fungus and algae, though we were avoiding Scotch mist at this time. Cook was right even in the finer details, how like Scotland is New Caledonia.
Another simple harmony is the next photo showing two young specimens of different species growing from exactly the same spot of earth, I wonder if there is a symbiotic mutually beneficial reason for this. Another question for Randall and Alison!
We discovered we were walking up the bank opposite where we had landed at the thermal water bath, looking across to the well maintained jetty. Onward towards our one and a half hour outward target brought us along pathways that were clearly watercourses when it rained and to a rocky area where it is possible to scramble across the river, slippery rock to slippery rock. But instead we sat, sipped our water and soaked up the serene surroundings, little bonsai trees growing out of the rock crevices included.
Back on board Zoonie’s spring-clean was almost done and we were entering our third week away from civilisation. Supplies were holding up and I had added to them with bread, cake and flapjacks and numerous one pot stew type suppers. Rob will be looking forward to some meat again I mused as I soaked another batch of TVP in a hot, tasty solution.
Before we left we had both stared at the thousands of packs of toothpaste on the supermarket shelves and agreed we had plenty on board. Well we rationed the last quarter of the only tube we found we actually had to a pea-sized dollop once a day, relying on the residue on the brush for the bedtime ritual, until along came Carol and Darryl from Auckland who very kindly donated a tube to our dental cause. Bless them.
Time is moving on, our minds are turning towards our next passage and having established we only have to keep in touch with the ‘Go West Rally’ we are now free to return to Noumea, complete final preps in the way of buying food and toothpaste (!), watch for a weather window, clear out and set off for Aussie. Our membership of the Rally and advance payment of the entry fees will smooth our way in to Aussie as will the fact that now Zoonie is a very clean ship.
The entry forms we filled in and the email to the Border Control is saved in Word and ready to send back in Noumea. We did all that bureaucracy during a recent windy spell that delayed our leaving Carenage Baie, well there’s no point leaving safety and shelter into a force 7 is there?
I write this as we languish on a mooring buoy at our last port of call in Prony Bay, Isle de Casy. Rob is hull cleaning, I can hear him as I type, gradually swishing his way around and when he gets a little further towards his start point I will put on the kettle for a well-deserved coffee. He is not alone as there are numerous parrot fish watching his progress with an eye out for titbits from the meagre scrapings. A period upstream in largely fresh water does wonders for getting rid of salt water growth.
There are enticing reefs around this bay on our own Isle des pins so despite the cool water, I think a snorkel this afternoon is on the cards.
Islet Casy – Our Very Own Isle des Pins
22:21.40S 166:50.51E
We had spent twelve days in Baie de Carenage when Zoonie poked her nose out into Prony Bay once more. We were on route to a mooring buoy off the West coast of Isle Casy (A governor in the French Empire). We had spotted them when we were approaching Somme Bay in what seemed many moons ago and thought an exploration would be fun. Where the water bed is mud and sand it is fine to anchor because no harm is being done to the habitat, but where there is coral, rock and sea grass these must be protected, so the government has laid free and regularly maintained mooring buoys, ideal for us because the holding in rock and coral was not good anyway.
Sitting in the cockpit planning our stay over a glass of wine, a long streak of pale green in an otherwise denser green water to Zoonie’s side caught my eye and I thought nothing of it, a patch of sand maybe.
The next morning dawned bright and warm so we set off on our first walk around the island, a two hour exercise of ups and downs, verdant coast and pristine little beaches and fabulous all round views from the high and heavily worked by human hands interior.
Starting off to the right on an anti-clockwise route we passed some coconut palms and papaya trees and made a mental note to take at least a couple of coconuts back to Zoonie, now we had Ken’s grater to make easy work of extracting the flesh. Rob used his new expertise to select a couple of nuts and we left them in the tender.
Some French campers were just striking camp and I noticed they had found a couple of ripe papayas from trees in the area and that fact and the open areas of level ground showing where the huts had been when some locals tried to make a go of a resort. The huts were removed 14 years ago so and since then the island has been uninhabited by ‘man’ except for campers. I will explain why I said ‘man’ at the end of our island trek.
We climbed the few metres to the fenced graveyard still carefully tended judging by the cut grass. All the robust wooden fence posts had rotted through and were lying on the ground. Imagine the scene aboard the French Corvette on 15th February 1859 when the visitor aboard, British pilot Captain Oliver, the first pilot in New Caledonia commissioned by the French to work with the sandalwood traders, married with three sons, suddenly died, whether from a health condition or accident we do not know. In such different circumstances to us his family climbed the same path to see him buried in the graveyard.
Ten years later some of the prisoners from the Prony Penitentiary moved to the island to farm sheep and grow beans and peas for the prison kitchen and right up to 1911 the kaoris and oaks were taken from the island for housebuilding in Noumea. Jean Alric ran the prison at prony for a number of years while living on the little island haven with his partner, Marie Marechal and their five children and they are the only other permanent residents of the cemetery.
Down we wandered to one of the many pretty beaches through the Arau Caria Circular Pines and cycad palms that pre-dated flowering plants and are still thriving here and all over the globe providing food, decorative leaves and medicine. This particular beach looked over to the Vale Nickel Mine with its numerous mining areas, processing plant emitting the smoke, residue piles and down by the shore in amongst the green foliage the residential area of the employees near the port. You can clearly see the concrete roofed conveyor belt weaving over the terrain with its load of precious ore for loading and exportation.
Nature worked with man to provide root steps at the more challenging inclines and as we emerged at the top for the views we found a lunar landscape of scraped earth. First the trees and then the ore and now somewhere for visitors to reflect on the activities of history and the beauty that is present day Prony Bay.
A ketch was making its way in to pick up a mooring near Zoonie and as numerous other yachties and visitors had done before, Rob carved Zoonie’s name in the soft rock as a record of our passing.
Back on board Rob donned his wetsuit and snorkel gear and cleaned Zoonie’s hull ready for our entry to Australia. There was little growth on there; the 12 days in Carenage where the water would have been more fresh than salt would have helped kill off the marine growth and we keep her as clean as we can to give us the best speed through the water.
He mentioned seeing some metal bars and an old sinker near to ours but it wasn’t until I sat back into the water from Zoonie’s stern boarding ladder and turned my masked face through the surface into the depths that I discovered to my surprise a fifty foot yacht lying on the bottom right near to Zoonie’s stern. I couldn’t be sure then what length it was, that came out later when we discussed it with Darryl and Carol who have visited here over the years and who we met up with again in Noumea when they moored two pontoons down from us in the marina.
The mast and spars were laid along the deck making me think she was the victim of a disaster and being salvaged when she was left on the old mooring. She may then have fallen victim to a cyclone and sunk on the spot, beyond hope of being raised and restored and has lain there ever since. If you look at the Vous etes ici aerial photo, in the mid left area of water you can see that she originally sat upright on the bottom before giving up all hope of being rescued and thus laid herself down easy.
We had to keep moving briskly through the water as it was cold, even with wearing wet suits. There was a good diversity of species of fish but not many samples of each and the reef showed a lack of life, covered in a browny red ‘furry’ layer. There were clams and sea urchins, we kept our feet clear of those.
That evening other yachts came to take up the six buoys. Next to us the pink catamaran, matched the morning sunrise rather well I thought. The skipper keeps her moored in Port Sud Marina in Noumea and I had watched him single handedly sail her by and pick up his buoy with the ease of someone who has done it many times before. This time he was accompanied by a friend and each retired into their own hull for the night, where judging by the beam of the hulls they would barely have enough room to turn over. A man with a true passion for the art of sailing.
All the exercise and excitement led us both to have the best night’s sleep for a long while and the next morning we were ashore once again on a papaya hunt and another walk, the other way around the islet for our last South West Pacific Island jaunt.
We ‘ooed and aahd’ at the rock formations, admired the flowers and collected the shells and coral Rob is holding to place them on Mousse’s memorial at the shore end of the pontoon. Part of his story is there for you to read. Robert and Carolyn (surname Port – cool eh) from Gallivanta heard about Mousse and were among the cruisers who took food to him on the island when they were visiting. Carol and Darryl knew that when the resort was packing up its buildings to leave sixteen years ago Mousse refused to go. Each time they loaded a boat he would slink off into the bushes. So they left him knowing they could return regularly to visit him and a local vet agreed to check him over every now and then.
As soon as the likes of Carol and Darryl arrived Mousse would wander down the jetty and eyeball them until they came ashore when he would lead them on a conducted tour of his islet. Until 2017 when he died he showed hundreds of cruising yachtsmen and visitors around his terrain. What a dog!
You may be wondering why I have included a photo of a row of pines, well if you look closely at the centre one it has a flat leaf canopy. Believe me as it is hard to distinguish, but there is an osprey nest on top with a single chick in it, we saw the parents fetching food for the fledgling and making that familiar raucous cry.
Just a Few Things to do Before we Leave Noumea
Rob telephoned the marina at Port Sud to see if they had any spaces for Zoonie for the last few days before we departed those shores. Once again we got the peut etre response, “Maybe I will have a space, I am awaiting two other yachts, call me back at 2.00 oclock.” (After his lunch time) So far when we have enquired after marina berths in the two Noumea Marinas we have been told ‘maybe’ three times, this after giving them 3 weeks notice while still in Vanuatu, 3 days notice while underway and now a mornings notice. Their marinas are full with local boats so they have a steady all year income from them and scant provision is made at either marina for seasonal visitors. The Rally boats have to stay together at a little offshore island resort to be cleared in because the town marinas are full. The managements have no idea how inhospitable or frustrating this is to the likes of us.
We arrived back in the harbour before two oclock so we anchored on the very edge of the mooring field in Empress Eleanor’s Orphinage Bay near Port Sud and infront of another private marina.
Happy that Zoonie was secure we motored the tender in to the marina but as it was lunchtime decided to have a beer before going upstairs to the office. After a few minutes a familiar sun glassed man walked towards us, “That is your dinghy, isn’t it?” “Yes”, “You know you cannot just come into the marina and tie up your dinghy, it is not allowed,” his tone was aggressive, clearly to him us sitting here in the bar beneath the office, sipping a beer was a sure sign we were up to something illegitimate.
“You realise that three weeks ago we were clients of yours and this morning we telephoned you and Rob asked you if you had any berths and you told him to call back at 2.00pm, so here we are!” Always best to simply state the facts I think.
“Oh I had so much on this morning can you remind me what I said,” so we did and it suddenly became ok to leave the dinghy there, but as for the berth, well as we motored out of the marina neither of the two other yachts had taken up the spaces, ‘A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’ comes to mind.
From our pleasant spot on the edge of the mooring field we watched as dinghies disappeared into the private marina, so we went and took a look. A few dinghies were tied up at the fuelling jetty so we did the same and I went into the office there and spoke to a very nice young man who said we were welcome to leave it there for a small cost and the supermarket was just over the other side.
So we victualled up in an up market Casino store that supplied the many luxury apartments in that area of town and then had a delicious relaxing coffee where the café boss was happy to provide his internet password before returning to Zoonie. Rob then took the diesel cans across to fuel up and two major jobs were completed just a few yards from Zoonie.
The next day Marina Moselle confirmed that having given them three weeks notice of a berth request they could change the ‘maybe’ into a berth number and we made our way around there if nothing else to make the lengthy ‘clearing out’ walk via Immigration to Customs and then the Harbourmaster just a little shorter.
We went to the Maritime Museum on the Sunday, a choice little multi-lingual place with a slightly unnerving (for the cruising yachtsman) interest in wrecks, but well worth a visit if only it wasn’t located so far from the town. The walk would put lots of people off visiting which was a pity.
On the way back along the quayside and very near to the Bout du Monde (End of the World) restaurant by the marina office a little boat caught my eye. It was snug up near the quayside wall and appeared to be supported with a strop running underneath the bow and stern onto the quay one side and the pontoon piles the other side.
What I realised instantly was it was a Hillyard, a sistership of Autumn of Arun that I had owned with hubby number two, Peter. The classic lines and canoe stern and the familiar feel of the layout made me sure. She had no mast standing, if she had there might well have been a button on the top as there always were on the wooden Hillyard masts. She was older than Autumn, I guessed a 1950’s build at Littlehampton, West Sussex, near where I was born.
Rob suggested I go and ask in the chandlery, a little wooden building just opposite the quayside path and looking watchfully over her. Indeed it was, from his position sitting at his computer behind the counter the charming man could see her directly, “She has already sunk four times sitting there,” I had noticed a stream of water being pumped automatically by the bildge pump through the hull fitting. He confirmed she is a Hillyard, once called ‘Always’ and now renamed ‘Sinbad’ and her French mainland owners would love to have her restored but there is no-one left around to do the job in this world of plastic yachts and steel ships. I added her to my list of internet jobs, an email to the Hillyard Owners Association of which Peter and I were once members may shine further light on her provenance.
Next day we did virtually the same walk to clear out and all our contacts with the officials were a pleasure, the task was easy and good exercise into the bargain. That evening we spent with Marina and Diego from Mecce Troy whom we had on board in Bay de Carenage if you remember and had first moored alongside in the Town Basin Marina Whangarei. Diego had shaved Marina’s hair that morning to a short length so that when she visited her mum in Brazil for a month from the next day her mother, who is on chemo would feel a closer affinity with her daughter. Diego was flying out too, back home to Italy where he is selling a property to give him the funds to build a new home.
So as Zoonie set off at 7.05 the next morning Diego and Marina would have been sitting at the airport awaiting their separate flights and Sinbad will have pumped out a few more times.