Flower Pots and Toadstools
Our world is a very noisy place! So used to its constant hum, that fact had never entered The First Mate’s consciousness until we moved to Telluride in 1999. For three months, we lived in the quiet of Telluride and then went to California to visit friends. Sitting in a private yard high in the hills of Orange County with the lights of city and the din of freeway in the distance, the vibrating hum of California accosted her. She had not been truly aware of it when she lived there, but after a few months in Telluride, her senses were attuned.
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Shortly after returning to Telluride, she hiked up Jud Wiebe trail. Quiet as Telluride felt at ground level, from on high, it too hummed. She was astounded. How to get away from that hum? Becoming aware of the noise is one thing, but once aware, finding a way to get away from it can be a challenge. One has to distance oneself and be willing to leave one’s comfort zone of security. Hike way up into the mountains, far out into the deserts, seek remote and uninhabited landscapes — One must purposely go wherever it is needed to get oneself miles and miles away from the commotion of civilization. On Avante, we have been blessed with finding places where the silence of our world as it once was still exists, and we treasure those moments when we find them.
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Saturday, May 7th – Fiji, like New Zealand, has its Bay of Islands. Not covering as large an area and certainly not as cruiser friendly, it is definitely as interesting and picturesque. There are several anchorages in the area, but our charts give us little of the information mariners seek. What is the depth? How close to shore does it shallow? Are there rocks and coral heads lying just below the surface? We know there are, but where are they precisely? The Captain has added a new visual to his battery of navigational aids. Accessing Goggle Earth, he has pulled down photos of areas we plan to visit. These photos are not totally dependable, for their accuracy is determined by the resolution used and the amount of cloud cover at the time of shooting, but the photos do show coastlines and some degree of water depth and of what might lie beneath. Changing shades of watery blue give a good idea of where one can and cannot venture. “One cannot navigate by Goggle Earth alone”, cautions The Captain, for he quickly discovered that such anomalies as a small island and several notable reefs did not show up at all! As a general guideline to depth and reef placement, however, they are a welcome assistance.
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A Google Earth photo: The track of Avante is that red line. We are slowly motoring between 2 reef areas shown in varying relief on the photo. Avante’s track is real time. The photo is not.
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At 1100, when the sun is high enough to offer us good visibility, we retrace our path out of Bavatu Harbour around the island and past the leads we had earlier lined up upon to get through the outer reef. Carefully skirting an extensive reef just off Qilaqula Island, we motor forward into new territory. In the distance, across from the Bay of Islands, we can pick out the small village of Daliconi. Technically, these islands belong to the village, and we should go there first to do Sevusevu. We definitely plan to do so, but it fits better with our planned route if we do so when we leave the area.
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We have a good idea of what we are getting into from our charts and from the view of the islands from the plantation at Bavatu Harbour. We will enter the bay using the wide passage on its southwest side, the opening on the top left of the photo. We will end up anchoring in the middle lobe on the left, and our voyages of discovery aboard the dinghy will have us covering this entire area.
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A landscape of heavily shrub-covered, jaggedly incised rocky mounds unfolds as we enter through the passage into the Bay of Islands. Proceeding down the channel, depths are over 100 feet which, though reassuring, leave us little doubt that we are in for another deep anchorage. Just before the channel curves to the north, narrowing down and becoming shallower, there is a nice cove which looks inviting. We motor toward land hoping that depths will shallow. Still at 70 feet, we find ourselves an easy “stone’s throw” from a rocky coast. This will never do. We motor out from shore to drop the anchor in 90 feet.
Our windlass, the anchor raising/lowering motor, has never been a robust thing, and we find that with the constant use of 300 feet of chain each time we anchor, it has started to run slower and slower. The First Mate cannot blame it. If she had to, day in/day out, lift 500 pounds, she’d be slowing down, too. It takes 6 minutes to lower the anchor and chain only to discover, as we swing out on all the chain, that Avante is a little too close to the rocky land for our comfort. We can hear the chain scraping against coral and rock down there and, though the anchor set well, we just don’t feel as secure as we would like. Up comes the anchor. Over 6 minutes to raise it! Move a little further away from the shore. Down it goes again. The wind has shifted and we end up swinging differently this time. We plan to stay here for several days, and there is the possibility of strong winds gusting off the nearby hills. The Captain is not happy. He wants a good safety margin in all directions. We raise the anchor again, but this time, upon seeing sand on the chain, he realizes that we had set into a good holding bottom, not just among rocks and coral. Discovering that, he knows that we would have been secure. Too late now. We move further out from shore, down it goes again. The half hour ordeal is over. We are set well, in sand and once again in 90 feet with all that chain out upon which we swing.
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We are in an indent or lobe off the main channel. A smaller bay or lagoon, as we come to call them, opens up a short way off which looks inviting to explore. We will do that, but for now, we take in our surroundings and are delighted to see that we are totally alone. We would not have been surprised to see a fishing boat from the village several miles away, but there is nothing and no one. Just us.
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Eagerly, the dinghy is launched. Following the channel, we head toward the second entry point into the Bay of Islands. That’s the lower one as seen on the aerial photo. A narrow opening leading into another lagoon is seen. That, too, we will explore later. First, we want to do a general reconnoiter of the area.
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Up ahead, The First Mate spots a bizarre formation. It is dazzling white in the bright sunlight. What is it? She imagines a gilded chariot being pulled across the waves by a line of dolphins? Look! There’s Salacia, King Neptune’s wife, at the helm!
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We motor up to it. Is it some kind of coral uprising? Large clam shells are imbedded in the mass. Their pearlescent insides shine in the sun. We round one side and are startled by the gaping clam shell jutting into space. Look at those teeth! Mother Nature certainly got creative here!
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The channel narrows, and it is here that it is called Ship’s Passage. The Captain has his portable depth finder with him. As we motor through the area, he repeatedly plunges the device in the water to read the depth. Could Avante make it through this passage? Yes, but perhaps not as easily at low tide which it is now with depths reading 12 feet.
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Motoring slowly, ahead of us, the most amazing islets come into view.
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Everywhere we look, one magical shape after another appears.
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“There’s a Flower Pot,” says The Captain.
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“A Toadstool,” says The First Mate.
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A Dreidel. — with Avante in the distance to the right!
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A tiered Wedding Cake!
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A centipede crawls across a watery expanse.
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Edging closer, we are surprised at the strange rock samples we see. What is all this different stuff? How we wish we had a geologist with us!
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Narrow openings lead us into quiet lagoons which, like a shamrock unfolding, open up to reveal silent pools. The serene beauty and absolute stillness mesmerize us.
We are reminded of anchorages we found on the west side of Vancouver Island, Canada, which we circumnavigated in 2008. Before us often lay a primeval wilderness seemingly untouched by man. The quiet and solitude bored into one’s senses leaving one loathe to break the spell with any sound above a whisper.
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We motor into a lagoon where several islets are connected by fragile-looking, though rock-solid arches.
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Of course, The Captain finds one that, with heads ducked, we can motor under to the other side!
An hour becomes two and more as we explore the area. The Captain says that we are going to spend 3 or 4 days here. The First Mate could not be happier. She may never want to leave!
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Back to Avante for a late afternoon swim and shower off the aft end of the boat. Still the only boat and the only sign of life around, we realize that no one could possibly climb over the nearby islands to see us unless they had on steel-toed, heavy rubber-soled hiking boots. The closest things to shoes most islanders wear are tongs. Additionally, any boat entering the bay would be heard and seen by us well in advance of them zeroing in on us. We are alone and, for the moment, will remain alone. What does that mean? Why, no need for bathing suits! There is nothing so delicious as a swim in the ocean buff naked. A bath tub does not come close. Nor does a Jacuzzi. Those who have so indulged in their back yard swimming pool are close, but just barely. The silky feel of the water. The uninhibited freedom. We are one with the fish!
The First Mate recalls a time 5 years ago anchored in a bay here in Fiji. It was a sultry, hot, sticky night. A swim was called for before retiring for the evening. In the darkness, she dove in the water. Surfacing, she was amazed at the phosphorescence around her. It is a common sight off the wake of a boat on a dark night at sea, but she herself had never been the source of it. She swept her arms through the water and a wake of bright lights followed. That luscious feel of the water and those magical sparkles of color — that was one of those special times she has had out here cruising the Big Blue.
Sunday, May 8th – We laze about on the boat all morning completely enthralled by the specialness of our surroundings. It feels untouched by man, and there’s a feeling that one must tread lightly here in one of Mother Nature’s unique spots. Later in the afternoon, we head off for more exploration and a snorkel in one of the hidden lagoons.
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Rusty red smears, seen on many of the grey rocks, puzzle us. This stuff appears to have oozed out of the grey rock back when the earth was young.
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It may once have been a molten ooze, but it is now as hard as the rock over which it once flowed. Again, we wish we had more knowledge or access to reading material that would explain what we are seeing.
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Entering a quiet lagoon, a pretty arrangement juts out from shore. What looks like ivy overflows a white coral-trimmed container.
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Somehow, over countless years, vegetation took root in minute depressions in the rocks. Roots grow, crevices are widened, decaying matter provides nutrients and seeds add more plants. We are amazed at the tenacity of the bigger specimens.
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One might think that with no natural predators, birds of all kinds would be abundant here, but we hear and see few birds. That, of course, adds to the extreme quiet of the place, but we do find it strange. Spotting one solitary avian, we drift silently below it hoping to get a picture.
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Entering one of the shamrock-faceted lagoons, we don our snorkel gear and explore from one lobe to another. The water is a bit cloudy from all the vegetation that has fallen into it, but we do see some fascinating coral and many colorful fish. The truly special part, however, is swimming in these hidden, ever so quiet pools.
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Later that evening while sitting out on deck in a velvety darkness, we cannot help but marvel again at our surroundings. There is not a sound but the occasional slap of water by the boat. There is no hazy glow of a city in the distance. The stars shine as brightly as possible above us. We are so off the beaten path that no airline flies a route above us. Civilization as we know it is a long, long way away.
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Our conversation turns to the many unique and special places our travels on Avante have taken us. We start listing them. Which are the top 10? The answer to that will one day be in a blog, but for now, we know that our days here in Fiji’s Bay of Islands will vie for position as top best of the best.
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Comments (2)
Pam Fugazzi
This sounds so magical. A time for reverence to nature.
Polly Leach-Lychee
Lovely sharing! I hope Bills eye is improving. (Every good pirate has an eyepatch!)! Hope we can make it next year….