Just Us and the Birds at Chesterfield Reef
Just when we think we have seen it all, we learn about Chesterfield Reef. We had not planned to go there. It’s a bit off the track if one draws a straight line between Nouméa, New Caledonia and Mackay, Australia, but we keep hearing how special it is. We must not miss it! We decide that we will not — provided, as always, that the weather cooperates.
From what The First Mate has learned of the rise and fall of Pacific Islands, Chesterfield Reef is all that remains of a massive island that once was here and gradually over millennium sank into the ocean bed leaving only its outlying reef to mark its passing.
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The squiggly green areas on this chart are parts of the reef at or near the surface of the ocean. Further study of the chart will show that many protrusions are noted simply as “Obstn”. Obstructions. How many more are there projecting up just below the surface that are not marked? We do not know. The black arrow on the lower right corner is Avante about 50nm from the pass into the reef. The white cross ahead of Avante is our waypoint marker to make sure that we stay well north of a reef called Banc du Dumont D’Urville. Further waypoints in yellow can be seen in the lower left. The Captain has marked these to help us as we wend our way to our proposed anchorage off Ilôt Loop. But The First Mate is getting ahead of herself. First we have to get there!
Friday, October 26th – In the wee hours of the morning of our first night offshore, the lower part of the mainsail secured by the reef line begins flapping wildly in the stiff wind. The reef line has chafed through meaning that all hands are called up on deck to fix the thing. The First Mate turns on the engine and motors into the wind while The Captain pulls out the sheared line and reties a new length. None of this is a big deal except that, in the unwritten rule of mishaps on sailboats at sea, it is the middle of a dark night when the scramble to assess and repair happens.
Night cycles into a day of part sun/part cloud with winds mostly in the teens. “Not bad,” thinks The First Mate, “though a bit less roll to the seas would be nice.”
Saturday, October 27th – We’re running out of wind! During the second night, the wind drops off, and there isn’t enough to hold the sails out. The booml is swinging back and forth as the boat slowly rolls. That is not good for the sails or the rigging, so the sails come down, and we turn on the engine. At dawn, The Captain calculates our distance to Chesterfield Reef and determines that if we continue to motor at 6 knots, we will arrive in darkness. We need to slow down. The engine is turned off, and just the jib is raised. With the help of a current going our way, we are able to speed along at 4 knots. That’s not breaking any records, but it works. With conditions fairly calm, The First Mate makes The Captain his favorite eggs and rashers for breakfast. He then heads off for a morning nap. By noon, the current has disappeared, and we are down to a pitiful 2 knots. Chesterfield Reef is looking a long, long way away. We furl the jib and turn on the motor. The First Mate retires for a nap to catch up on lost sleep.
1715 – Fish On! The line is zinging out so fast that The Captain cannot stop it. What is this thing? It’s got to be huge. In the distance, The First Mate sees it jump. She cannot tell what kind of fish it is, but it looks big and grey with a shape like a swordfish. This is not a nice, polite eatable fish like a tuna or a Mahi-mahi. This is a fighting mad gamefish. What are we going to do with it? Fortunately, that worry proves to be fleeting, for just before it pulled out all our line, it slipped the irritating hook and swam away. With relief, The Captain reels in the line and then sets it out again hoping for a fish more to our liking and size the next time.
Sunday, October 28th – 0830 – After her 0200 to 0600 watch last night, The First Mate is blissfully asleep when she is awakend by the Zing! of the fishing line. Another fish! That’s nice, but a little later in the morning would have been nicer. Groggily, she climbs out of bed and heads on deck to help The Captain. He had already set the hook and increased the drag on the reel, but the fish just kept going, unwinding the reel at a frightening rate. Finally, it turned and ran up the port side of the boat allowing him to get some line back on the reel. To our dismay, it is another big one. It jumps twice, beautiful, but all too quick and too far away to discern what type of fish it is. What little we can see is impressive! 5 to 6 feet of muscle-bound fish! A long Mexican standoff begins with the fish taking out line, then being slowly reeled back toward the boat.
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For 4 hours, Man and Fish battle, and the only one getting exhausted is Man. Fish shows no signs of wearying. It is big and strong and can still take the line out whenever it wants. If it feels it is being reeled in too close, it zings off in a deep dive. What a fish!
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At long last, The Captain is able to reel the fish in closer to the boat. Maybe the end is in sight. Eager to set things up to bring the fish aboard, he offers that it is The First Mate’s turn. Gamely, she steps up and discovers that there is not as much pull on the rod as she expected. She can easily hold it while the fish keeps itself at a distance from the boat, and she can even reel in some when a wave puts some slack in the line. We can get it close enough to see it under the water, but we can’t identify it yet. The fish is at least 5 feet long and has some iridescence like a Mahi-mahi. It is bigger and stronger than anything we have ever caught. This guy must be tiring. How could it not?
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For 2 hours, Woman and Fish battle, and the only one getting exhausted is Woman. Fish still shows plenty of fight, though it does appear to not be diving as deeply, but maybe that’s just our hopeful imagination. What are we going to do? The First Mate recalls a story about a cruiser single-handing his boat across the Pacific. He wakes up one morning to find that his small boat is no longer slowly sailing west. It is slowly being pulled back east! He had left his line trolling behind the boat where some great whale of a fish had snagged it. This fish was big enough to pull his small boat! The First Mate is beginning to think we may have found that fish’s big brother.
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It is now 2:30 in the afternoon. We have been fighting this behemoth since 8:30 in the morning. Meanwhile, we are not making any progress toward our destination. The Captain decides that he has had enough. It is time to show this guy who’s in charge. Earlier, we had furled the jib, leaving just a little bit out to maintain steerage. The Captain decides to stop the boat and haul this fish in by force. The jib is fully furled and the engine is turned on. With no way on, the autopilot cannot function, so The First Mate is put to steering while The Captain works the fish. His first act is to try to pull the line in by hand, but the line just slips through his gloved hands. What about employing the heavy-duty strength of an electric winch? Slowly, he wraps the line around the primary winch and presses the button. The line slips into a narrow groove in the winch where the winch has no grip on it. We are 0 for 2 in our attempts. Further inventiveness is spared when upon setting the line loose from the winch, the fish breaks free. Reeling in the line, we find it broken. How? Well, considering how long there had been tension on the line, a weak point finally must have given. We look at each other in disbelief. The frustration! The wasted effort and the relief! Yes, the relief.
Who wanted that fish anyway? Not only was this probably not a good eating fish to begin with, it was the biggest fish we had ever encountered. Even if all we wanted to do was get our lure back and let the fish go free, how were we going to do that? And if The Captain had decided he wanted to sample the fruits of his labors, how were we ever going to get it aboard? The First Mate recalls another fish story of cruisers hauling a truly big fish aboard. The beast refused to give up the ghost, and as it thrashed around the cockpit, it managed to destroy the helm and all electronics. Blood, guts, gore and parts of the boat were all over the place before they put it out of its misery. Would we have faced such a demon if The Captain had wrestled this thing aboard? Thankfully, we will never know the answer to that question.
What then did our daylong battle get us? It would be nice to say it that we discovered an ingenious way to exhaust and bring in the big ones or that we discovered a way to ensure that only good eating fish of a manageable size would bite our lure. We did nothing of the kind. All we got for our efforts all that long day were 2 very sun-burned faces. At 8:30 that morning, it was overcast and cool. It continued cool all day. We forgot totally about sunscreen. How could we be so forgetful after all these months in the Pacific sun? Don’t know how, but we did. Talk about adding insult to injury!
The timing of our arrival at Chesterfield Reef is critical. There’s no way we can enter the passage into the reef at night or even in the early hours of the morning. The sun must be high enough in the sky to highlight the coral heads just below the surface as we motor across the lagoon. We have some waypoints to help us, but they are just guidelines.
Monday, October 29th – 0900 – At only 2nm east of the reef entrance, there is nothing in sight except a line of rainy clouds over where the reef should be. Depth still exceeds our depth sounder’s capability, and without GPS, we would really be wondering if we were in the right place. Finally, our depth meter comes to life at about 350 feet, right about where we expected it. As we proceed through the reef entrance, The First Mate spots a small island to our south that had been hidden by the rain showers. Visibility is not as good as we had hoped for, so we slow down. When well inside the reef, we turn southeast and go down the inside of the reef. Another rain shower barrels down on us. Fortunately, it expended most of its fury when it crossed over the reef, and we do not get too wet. We have miles to go across the lagoon to our anchorage, and from a distance, the islands are so low-lying that they only show up as vague shadows on the horizon. We have to get closer before we can fully identify them as islands. It is easy to imagine the peril this reef was to early explorers, especially those sailing near on a dark night or in a storm. Like Minerva Reef, Chesterfield Reef has its share of oceanic misfortunes.
1115 – Weather improves as we cross the lagoon to become a gorgeous day with a bright sun turning the waters of the lagoon a gorgeous aquamarine. The shadowy outlines of the coral bombes below us are visible as we weave our way across the final bit of the lagoon to our intended anchorage.
We drop anchor quite a distance from the island because of the number of bombes we see ahead of us. With the low-lying island offering no protection in the 25-knot wind, we want to make sure we have plenty of swing room in case the wind shifts.
We are the only boat in a vast lagoon. What a magical place!
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Standing on the roof of the cabin, The First Mate does a slow 360° circle. She sees nothing but ocean around her except for a sweep of sand-ringed islands in front of us. She hopes conditions stay relatively calm, for these low-lying islands and reefs are all the protection we would have from the waves of an angry ocean.
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A short while later, sitting quietly on the deck eating our late breakfast, we listen to the faint surging of the ocean out there against the reef, but inside the lagoon, it is as calm except for the 25-knot winds churning up the water. These islands belong to New Caledonia. Of course, we would have 25-knot winds at anchor! The winds of New Caledonia blow here, too
We had heard about all the birds at Chesterfield Reef and are a bit surprised at how few birds we see flying around and over Avante. This observation we later modify. True, there are not great flocks of birds flying around above us, but there is constant activity overhead. Single birds are flying determinately to and from the islands. There is no lazy flying in circles. These birds appear to each be on a mission.
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The dinghy launched, we head ashore. White sand, coral and smooth lava rock line the shore of these low-lying islands. Scrubby vegetation runs along the crest.
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As we close in on the island, birds seem to appear out of nowhere. The closer we get, the more we see. The more we see, the more we hear. A cacophony of bird chatter fills the air.
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Which one of us said earlier, “where are the birds”? Birds are everywhere.
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In the air…..
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On the sand ….
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Squatting in the dry grasses …..
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or perched in the bushes.
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It is spring out on these islands. We have missed the mating season, but the season of chicks is in full swing. No wonder the birds flying overhead while we relaxed on the boat appeared to be on a mission. Those that are not still waiting for eggs to hatch have chicks to feed!
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With no predators to worry about, these island birds have evolved a pretty lax system of nest building and egg care. We intruders have to be very careful where we walk or we could accidentally stomp out the next generation.
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Accustomed as we are to the nests of robins, eagles, even tiny hummingbirds, we are amazed that any self-respecting bird would build such a nest, but we have seen this before in the Galapagos Islands and the island of Isla Isabella in Mexico. Boobies and frigates are casual nest builders. In need of little protection and with the warmth of the tropical sun, an egg does not seem to require constant parental nuturing either.
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Here, at least, Mom or Dad is in attendance. The slight depression in the sand will soon be home to this future chick.
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Walking
from one end of an island to the other is like observing a biology
class in action. Chicks in all stages of development are everywhere we
look.
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Featherless, skin-and-bones, these newborns look pathetically uncomfortable on their beds of twigs and leaves.
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As we walk across the area, any parent bird, that happens to be around and feels its chick threatened by our presence, is quick to sit upon its youngster. Is the plan to hide it? That looks impossible. To shut it up? Well, that certainly was achievable.
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An adolescent chick here has begun to loose its soft down. Dark feathers are showing on its wings.
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The predominant birds on the islands are frigates and boobies. Here a frigate chick still partly cloaked in down perches near an adult.
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Red-footed boobies with their brilliant blue beaks look like caricatures from a child’s drawing board. Are they for real? Motionlessly, they follow us with their black, beady eyes.
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Sleek, brown boobies with yellow-green feet and beaks amaze us. What an interesting palate Mother Nature used on these guys!
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We spy a small fish lying on the sand. This must be someone’s dinner.
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The Captain pitches it toward a nearby chick who shows absolutely no interest. What and how do these chicks eat?
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With all these hungry chicks and all these adult birds flying around, one would think the answer to that question would be self-evident, but we see little in the way of feeding going on. Finally, we catch sight of a parent swooping in on a chick who greets its provider with aggressive jabs and pecks. The parent opens its mouth, and the chick pecks away at the food regurgitated up for it. Such a meal!
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Returning to Avante, she is afloat in a lagoon of gorgeous aquamarine water, though invitingly beautiful as it is, the wind and cool temperatures make it too cold for us to enjoy. The Captain does grab his snorkel gear to continue his attack on the marine growth on Avante’s hull. It proves more exhausting and challenging than he expected. The waves churned up by the stiff winds frequently engulf him as he comes up for air giving him a lung full of sea water instead of the expected gulp of air. We wonder if we are ever going to have temperatures warm enough to again enjoy getting in the water.
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For two fascinating days, it is just us and the birds on Chesterfield Reef. We stroll the beaches collecting sea shells marveling at the birds as we do so. Though watchful of us and certainly protective of their young, we are amazed at how close to these birds we are able to come.
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The true magic of this natural bird sanctuary out in the middle of the ocean is the sheer number of birds. Along parts of the beach, they congregate together blanketing the sand with their bodies.
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Walking along the beach, they take to the sky in clouds of flapping wings.
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Startled by our approach as we walk inland, they take off in great numbers. We have never seen so many birds in one place — ever!
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How many people have heard of Chesterfield Reef? Not many, we know. By its very isolated location, it is not on anyone’s tour plan. It is only us cruisers and an occasional scientific vessel or fishing boat that venture out here. Like the startling footprint of Friday that Robinson Crusoe happened upon, we do see occasional footprints in the sand. The first sighting gives us an eery feeling. We are not alone? Yes, we are all alone here now, but others have been here before us.
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We find a cruisers’ island sculpture gradually taking shape. Like a trailside cairn, each new visitor adds a piece of island riffraff to it. Shells, rocks, driftwood and flotsam washed up on shore adorn this work in progress. The First Mate adds a shell.
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We are well aware of how extraordinary this place is. Our time here feels so special — not just that we are here, but that we are the only ones here right now. Our journey across the Pacific has offered us extraordinary experiences, and our visit here to Chesterfield Reef ranks right up there with some of the best.
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Wednesday, October 31st – In the early hours of the morning, we hear chatter on the radio. What a strange, intruding noise after days of silence! At least 2 boats are just off the entrance into the lagoon discussing their various approaches across the pass. We look out for them, but as they are still several miles away, we cannot see them. It will be an hour or more before they are anywhere near, and we should be close to weighing anchor by then. We are continuing our passage to Australia this morning. Timing is everything, so they say, and we certainly had prime time here on Chesterfield Reef. Making radio contact with the new visitors, we exchange the usual cruiser chitchat of where we’ve been and where we’re going. We wish them well in this magical place, wave to them as we pass and turn our sights toward Australia.