For Want of a Loaf of Bread
Friday, July 5th – A study of our weather charts has shown us that not only is today a good day to sail back to the mainland, it just may be the best day to do so for quite a while. Rain and heavy winds are in the forecast, but right now, we could not ask for better conditions to make this 60 nm passage back to the mainland. Blue skies, puffy white clouds and a good wind. By 0730, Avante is heading out, leaving the limestone cliffs of Ouvea in the distance. Sails are raised, and at 0830, we sail through the Passe de Coetlogon into the wider ocean.x
.
Once through the pass, we turn south on a hard port tack to get as far south down the coast of Grand Terre as we can. The Passe de Thio is where we are aiming to cross the reef area around Grand Terre. It’s partly cloudy with 15 – 18 knots from ESE. The sea is slightly rougher than we expected with 1 ½ to 2 meter waves that are slowing our speed. Part of the way across, the wind clocks, forcing us to turn right, and for a while, it looks like we may have to head for a pass further north. Fortunately, things improve. The wind backs a little, the waves become smaller, and our boat speed increases. By 1530 we are going through Passe de Thio as planned and heading for the nearest well sheltered anchorage, a peninsula called Presqu’ile Neumeni.
.
Saturday, July 6th – The bad weather came in just as forecast. Rain started up in the night, and as expected, it was nasty all day with pelting rain. Into the afternoon, heavy winds blow down on us as grey clouds descend, decreasing visibility across our anchorage.
.
Throughout the morning, The Captain works on maintenance projects including replacing the failed impeller on the generator water pump while The First Mate wonders what to do on a such miserable day? “Make bread!” she exclaims. This making of bread is being done out of dire necessity, not bored whimsy. We have no bread! Something must be done. The First Mate grew up with a grandmother who made bread. On a wooden kitchen table, she poured flour, mounded it up like a volcano, added in salt, eggs and yeast. Mixed it all together and kneaded. Did she measure anything? Not at all. It was all done by feel. How well The First Mate remembers the smell of freshly baked bread! As a young bride, she decided that she, too, was going to fill her home with that yeasty, just-baked smell of homemade bread, but trouble awaited. First, she did not have a big, wooden table. It all had to be done in a large bowl. Second, she had no “feel” so she found a recipe and followed it. Measuring, mixing, kneading, rising, punching down to rise again, molding and baking. What a lot of work! Grandmother made it look so easy. What a mess! There was flour all over the place, and her hands were gooey and gummed up with drying dough. What a disaster! Her bread baked into such a brick not even the birds would eat it! Obviously, she had not been given Grandmother’s Bread Baking Genes. Never again she vows.
And so that vow remained until these changed circumstances called for a re-think. The larder has grown barer and barer. There are no fresh veggies to make luncheon salads and no bread to make sandwiches. She can’t grow the needed vegetables anytime soon, but if she were to bake bread, we could at least put together sandwiches with the cans of crab, shrimp and tuna she has on board. Cruising friend Jan had given her a recipe for “Cruiser’s Bread”. It requires no kneading. Just mix it all together and let it sit for 18 hours. That sounds easy, and she has been told it’s foolproof. She’s even tasted it at dinner at Jan and Kevin’s home. It was good. She has the ingredients so off she goes.
.
Sitting in its bowl to mellow and rise for 18 hours, it doesn’t look quite like one of Grandma’s creations, but she remains optimistic. Eighteen hours is a long time after all! Anything can happen.
.
We are back on the east coast of Grand Terre, about 15 nm south of where we were two weeks ago when we sailed out to the Loyalty Islands. Once again we are making our way southeast directly into the prevailing wind as we continue around Grand Terre Although it is fairly calm in our anchorage, leaving the shelter of the anchorage in the morning and rounding the protective corner, the predicted strong winds hit us accompanied by heavy seas. The only saving grace is there is no rain. As expected, the motor trip down to our next anchorage in Port Bouquet is a slog.
.
Things quiet down as we enter the bay, and finally anchored off Ile Nemou in Port Bouquet, all is benign, sunny and cheerful. With a sandy beach beckoning us, we head ashore to explore.
.
We have heard of and occasionally seen areas on remote bays or small islands where the locals have staked out plots to grow yams, taro and other vegetables. During the growing season, they then make excursions out to their plots to tend and harvest. That is exactly what we find on shore, but the effort put into this garden area is much more substantial.
.
Rustic shelters have been built for sleeping and cooking. A bit of landscaping has been undertaken. Inland, there is an extensive wire fenced-in garden. It looks like some family group has built this place up to be more than an off-site garden. It is a comfortable retreat.
.
Two things surprise us. Set off at a distance from the sleeping/cooking sheds is a small outhouse. A shiny ceramic toilet stares boldly out at us. There’s no running water, but at least one can go about one’s activity there in comfort. “Whoever owns this spot has a sense of humor,” thinks The First Mate.
.
Our next surprise comes in the form of ducks. A whole flock of curious, friendly ducks waddle out of the woods and soon surround us. Pretty they are not, but friendly they are.
.
Not at all put off by our presence, they follow us from one end of the area to the other. We’re the Pied Pipers!
.
Obviously, these fellows and gals are used to handouts. We have to keep our hands out of range of their eager beaks. Kneeling down to see what they would do if offered a shell (for that is all she had at hand), The First Mate makes a hasty retreat as they all quickly swarm around her with agitated beaks snapping.
.
Who brought these ducks here? Where did they come from? They are the first of their kind that we have seen in New Caledonia. We wonder if their wing feathers are clipped. Are they pets or the occasional dinner? We are left with another group of questions with no answers. Traveling like we do, remote and by ourselves, with no one to ask and probable communication issues if there were, it is frustrating to want so much explained and to have no way of obtaining the knowledge and understanding we seek. Oh, for a guide when we need one!
Back on board Avante, it is time to bake her bread. Uncovered, it scarily does not look like it has risen at all over its 18 hours of being left alone to do so. It is as heavy and lacking in gaseous volume as it was when she left it. Hoping that maybe the heat of the oven will improve matters, she sets it in there to bake. 25 minutes at 225°C.
.
Done, and it’s another disaster in her bread making attempts. Not only did the thing not rise, it did not even have the courtesy to brown! There’s no crusty top. She coats it with butter and sets it back in the oven to bake some more. No joy! Is it edible? Not for sandwich bread which was the whole reason for this undertaking, but sliced, toasted and liberally smeared with butter and honey, it becomes a surprisingly welcome change from dry muesli and milk in the morning. She can just imagine Grandma shaking her head in dismal resignation.
.
Port Bouquet is long and huge. In the morning, we set off for an anchorage further down the coast of Grand Terre. Anse Toupeti is a pretty spot where another sandy beach beckons us ashore. Here, too, surprises await us. A large sign tells us that we are at “Camping Toupeti”. For 1000cpf (currently about $10.00 USD) per person and half that for a child under 6, we can spend the night. How one would pay, we see not, but for answers, there is a mobile phone number listed. The only problem is that there is no cell service here. We applaud the entrepreneurial effort, but wonder how successful it has been.
.
A rustic shelter has been built. A large drum with a grill on top of it offers the ambience of outdoor cooking while, inside a 3-sided shed a distance away, a similar drum topped with a flat piece of wood covered with several layers of newspaper and a hole centrally cut into it serves as La Toilette. A camping experience like this is not what The First Mate could or would endure, but she understands how some might call this their slice of heaven — well, maybe.
.
An extensive garden has been fenced off, and though there are no friendly ducks to greet us, a scarecrow stands sentinel over the place. Mounded rows with deep canals to collect water have been built and are planted with taro, yam, and other green edibles. Banana fronds wave in the breeze. How someone must enjoy the bounty of this garden! We, instead, enjoy our stroll through this bright vegetation.
.
Tuesday, July 9th – It is a beautiful, sunny, blue sky morning. We head off for our final stop along the east coast of Grand Terre. It’s a great morning for this southbound trip with wind below 5 kts and fairly calm seas. We motor along nicely, enjoying the day and the view of the shoreline slipping past.
.
Having gone below, The First Mate hears a sudden loud squeal emanating from the engine department. Just as she is about to call The Captain, it stops. The Captain comes down to inspect but sees nothing wayward. The engine is running smoothly. Nothing seems remiss. We continue on.
Another, much louder squeal is heard. Looking up, The First Mate sees smoke coming from the engine area. Up on deck, The Captain quickly stops the engine and races below to remove the stairs to access the engine compartment. Smoke billows out. Fire extinguisher is at the ready. What is going on?
.
The belts that turn the large Balmar alternator which is mounted on the side of our Yanmar diesel engine are in shreds and smoking hot. The Captain reaches down and tries to turn the alternator but cannot rotate the shaft. It had suddenly seized up. This large alternator charges our main batteries when the engine is running. Fortunately, it is driven by its own set of belts, and the engine, independent of the alternator, runs just fine without it. The Captain disconnects the failed alternator and in place of the alternator charging the batteries, he deploys our hydro generator to do that work while we motor. We then restart the engine and continue on our way. We do carry a spare alternator, but now is not the time to dig it out and install it. The Captain will do that in the next day or so in a nice quiet anchorage.
.
Six hours later we reach our next anchorage in the Yate River. What a strange anchorage, and from The First Mate’s perspective, it is an uncomfortable one. This is no easy-going, slow moving river, for there is enough water coming down from the steep mountains above that a huge hydroelectric plant has been built to harness the energy of its flow. The current running past us is strong! With 15 knots of afternoon wind blowing right into the mouth of the river, Avante is riding the waves at anchor. The recommended anchoring spot has us placed with reefs seemingly a stone’s throw behind us and about equally distant in front of us. The river mud below is sticky, and the holding is firm. We are secure, but The First Mate is still uneasy. A pretty, cozy bay out of harms way this is not!
.
Launching the dinghy, we motor up the river under a bridge. The hydroelectric plant is impressive. The output supplies electricity for Nouméa and surrounding mines, but it is unsettling to look at this massive undertaking and then to think back on the primitive villages we saw not that very far up this very coast. Many small villages still have no constant running water or electricity. One sees this throughout all the island nations out here. No wonder that the disparity breeds discontent and that trouble often erupts.
.
The Yate River anchorage was our last stop on our trip down the east side of Grand Terre. The next day, we continued down the coast, sailed through the Canal de la Havannah and continued through familiar waters, around the southern end of Grand Terre to Nouméa. Since the distance to Nouméa was still more than could be done in one day, we anchored for the night in Bonne Anse in the Baie de Prony.
.
Thursday, July 11th – By early afternoon, we are anchored in the harbour off Nouméa. Civilization, as we know it, at last! Though we still have 13 days before our flight home to the States, a quick stop here is mandatory. Not only does Avante need fuel, her crew needs the larder refilled. Meat we still have aplenty, but fresh vegetables and fruit are compulsory. Bread, too, as the reader knows, as well as tonic, beer and soda water. We hit the ground running!
.
Our circuit of Grand Terre, with a side trip to the Loyalty Islands, is complete. In total, we covered 850 nautical miles. What a voyage it was! Grand Terre, New Caledonia’s main and largest island, is a study in contrasts in land and people. An ever-changing terrain parades across this island. Rugged mountains interspersed with sheer cliffs give way to vast rolling flat lands. Multiple waterfalls delight the eye in the southeast while parched, rocky earth begs for water in the north. Wherever there are highlands, red earth is visible through the green where it has been either gashed by mining exploration or exposed by natural land slides. Twenty miles away from the fairly cosmopolitan city of Nouméa, the country becomes a sparsely populated area. Modern complexes have been built around the mines. Lights blaze all night. Huge mining vehicles lumber the roads or stand stockpiled, slumbering until the next mining boom. Yet, around the corner, primitive villages eek out an existence with limited resources and near subsistence survival. No wonder there is discord on this island nation. The contrasts are striking and well worth some thought – not just for this nation, but for all the nations of this world who turn a blind eye to these inequalities. Sadly, only trouble down the road is the outcome of such thinking.
Comment (1)
Georgiann Carroll
I do love and enjoy the area where you are. It has been so many years ago that we spent two months in New Zealand and Australia, Wine Glass Bay, Tasmania.
Did I ever tell you I grew up on a farm outside of Phoenix where we first had no indoor plumbing, drank unpasteurized milk and a goat that thought it was a dog and chased cars!!!
I am so enjoying my bridge here in Tucson. Many from Chicago play with the group. I say it is my group as many of us learned to play bridge through a Pima College Course – some 20 plus years ago and we are still the closest of friends. I have been the organizer of the group since then. So nice to play bridge with pleasant people at the same ability level.
My love to you and your “captain”!!!!
Georgiann