Kava? He Wants Kava?
Wednesday, October 27th – Continuing our way south through the Kingdom of Tonga, the Ha’apai Group is our next stop. We have decided to anchor off the island of Vaka’eitu to position ourselves to exit the pass out of the Vava’u Group later the next day for the overnight passage to Ha’apai. Pulling into the bay at Vaka’eitu, we start to drop the anchor. NO! We do not drop anchor. The windlass will not work, and, at this particular moment, rain starts pelting down. There are 4 mooring balls in the bay. Two are free. We motor over and tie ourselves to the nearest one. We hope that it is strong enough to hold Avante, but the wind in the bay is light. Rain continues for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. Cooped up inside a boat anchored off a Pacific Island ….. this is the pits!
Thursday, October 28th – The Captain spends the morning working on the windlass, but to no avail. He, frankly, is surprised that the windlass lasted this long after it conked out on us last September in Cook’s Bay. He had managed to get it working then, but he sure wasn’t going to take bets on how long his fix would hold. The problem is inside the motor and gearbox, and this assembly is so corroded that The Captain cannot pry it apart.
No motor to raise the anchor! We are going to have to manually deploy and retrieve the anchor from now on until we get to New Zealand. Since there is no way The Captain can do that with our 60 lb. anchor and the 200 feet of heavy chain he presently has on the anchor, he switches to 25 feet of chain and 175 feet of nylon rode. Even that is going to be back-breaking work for the poor man!
1620 – We release ourselves from the mooring ball and motor out of the bay. Heading through the pass into deep ocean, the 20 – 25 knot winds drive the rain into us. We decide to sail with just the jib, and when the winds increase to 30 knots, we reef the jib. Into the night we sail, gusting wind, reefed jib and intermittent rain. Yuck!
2400 – For The Captain’s midnight report, the good news is that we are only 35 miles from our first stop in the Ha’apai Group. Winds are steadier, rain has stopped, and the moon is even occasionally visible through the clouds. Our charts for this area are not very accurate, and we have no desire to approach these islands in the dark, the jib remains reefed to slow our speed.
Friday, October 29th – At dawn, we can see the islands that we have been following on the chart plotter and radar. Most of the islands of Ha’apai are low lying, but off to the west, we can pick out the volcanic cone of Kao Island. Soon the flat-topped volcano island of Tofua shows itself. This is turning into one of the nicest days we have had in a while. It is only partly cloudy
0925 – Motoring through the pass and skirting a reef that is difficult to see in the middle of the bay, we anchor in a luxurious 26 feet with 3 other boats off the island of Ha’afeva. Our anchor did not grab at first bite. Observing the swing of the boat as we usually do when we first set anchor, we are not pleased with how close we have ended up to another boat. As much as The Captain’s back and arms are going to protest, he knows we have to move. Slowly he hauls up the heavy anchor and chain. The anchor is only down 26 feet, but it is still hard work. Finding a nice sandy spot with no coral heads to cut our nylon rode, we re-anchor and are comfortably away from everyone this time.
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The day becomes one of the sunniest we have seen in ages. A few more boats show up to anchor. While The First Mate catches up on some much-needed laundry, The Captain equalizes the new batteries. Bought a mere 6 weeks ago in Papeete, their performance has already notably deteriorated.
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Another item on The Captain’s to-do list for the afternoon is to trace the disconcerting smell of diesel fuel that has begun wafting out at us. He eventually finds that fuel is leaking from a drain on the sediment bowl on the generator Racor filter. He tries to fix the leak by tightening the drain plug, but finds that it is already tightly closed. As happens so very frequently on a sailboat, what should be a relatively easy fix becomes a task requiring ingenuity, creativity and more time than anyone could have ever imagined. The Captain tries to remove the sediment bowl from the filter, but finds that it too is tightly attached. The entire filter will have to come off. This whole process is complicated by the barely accessible location of the filter.
Saturday, October 30th – The work on the fuel leak continues this morning. The Captain gets the filter off and finds that the drain plug had been overtightened. Over time, this stress had eventually cracked the threads in the sediment bowl and fuel began leaking. We do not want to bypass the filter, because we still have plenty of dirty fuel from the Galapagos in our tanks. He comes up with a solution. Just fill the bottom of the sediment bowl with epoxy and permanently seal the drain plug. We can get a new filter in New Zealand. Done! We are ready for time ashore and a good hike.
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Once on shore, we are met by a couple of cruisers returning to their boat accompanied by Pita, a young local fellow. They tell us that his family had cooked a fine feast for them last night. We are not interested in another feast, but Pita offers to accompany us, show us his island and give us some fresh fruit and vegetables. The First Mate is not totally comfortable with this young man. There is something about his eyes that she does not like, but unable to come up with a reason to refuse his offer on his island, we follow along as he leads us inland. So much for our energetic hike of exploration!
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Subsistence living is what the Ha’apai Group is about for the most part. The nearest city is the capital of Nuku’alofa 100 km across open ocean. A very infrequent inter-island delivery boat is its only contact with the outside world meaning that services, supplies and stores of any kind are mere figments of the imagination to these very poor islanders.
We are taken to this young man’s home where we meet his mother and father. Pita goes off to collect some mangoes for us leaving us to converse with his parents as best we can. Mother is eager to talk and enjoys asking me about my family and children. Father never rises from the bed/couch upon which he is lying with a boom-box resting on his belly. This strikes both of us as rather strange, for it is not typical of what we have seen of the Polynesian sense of decorum. Pita returns with bags of mangoes and limes. The First Mate is now more than ready to return to Avante, but questioning The Captain about what he does or is, Pita learns that he was an engineer. (That occupation seemed easier to explain than his running aerospace companies.) An Engineer! Pita has an engine that will not work. Maybe The Captain can fix it. His engine turns out to be a small outboard for his fishing boat. Nylon fishing line has gotten tangled in the prop and motor shaft. What is needed is a pair of needle-nose pliers to pull out and free the line, but a simple pair of pliers, he does not have. Back to Avante we go to get the pliers. While there, The First Mate fills a “thank you” bag to take back to the family. Mother had told her that such items as popcorn, candy, pencils and paper and a few cans of goods would be greatly appreciated.
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Back with the pliers, the two men work at freeing the line. It proves to be an easy fix with the pliers.
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Amidst a cloud of smoke and a lot of sputtering, the motor starts. The Captain has saved the day and helped put fish on this family’s table. All for the want of a pair of pliers! If we could spare these pliers, we would have happily handed them over, but unfortunately, we cannot. We just never know when next or for what we may need them nor when we could possibly replace them between this little island and the shores of New Zealand.
Pita asks if we would like to see his garden and leads us to a field of very large leafy plants. The First Mate feels like Alice after she ate the cookie that made her small. Pita tells us that the young leaves can be cooked and eaten. The First Mate is intrigued. We pick some, and he offers to show us how to cook them on Avante. The First Mate does not want him on Avante, but she does not want to be rude. What is this feeling about this young man that she does not like? Caught between not wanting to be the rude foreigner on his island and this uneasiness, she does not know what to do.
On the walk back to Avante, Pita shows another side of himself. He begins to talk about kava and how much he likes to drink kava with his friends. Have we ever had kava? No, we have not, which is not to say we will not, but it has to be the right place and right time.
What is kava? It is a drink and a tradition. Made from the ground up dried root of a pepper plant, mixed with water, it is a drink that tastes vile (we have been told) and numbs the tongue and the lips. Excessive drinking of Kava not only dulls the mind, but causes a condition called kanikani where the skin turns scaly and tough. That said, there is, however, an ancient tradition built around the preparation, serving and drinking of kava that is ceremonial, serious and deeply rooted across many Polynesian societies. Traditionally, too, it is solely a male preoccupation. That and the ceremony itself, The First Mate can respect, and if she were ever to be invited to a formal kava ceremony, she would like to attend for the experience. Sharing a glass of kava on this impoverished island with this young man is not what she has in mind.
Pita is not really interested in sharing kava with us. What he would like is $5.00 so he can go and share kava with his friends. These days, unfortunately, the widespread abuse of kava, especially among the young, has become problematic. A mere $5.00 his request may be, but we firmly tell him no. There is no way we are going to contribute to that problem. The end.
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We continue to the boat so Pita can show us how to cook this spinach-type plant, and he cooks it just like spinach only much longer. The First Mate could have done that on her own! While we eat our spinach which turns out to be quite good, Pita enjoys hot tea with honey and cookies.
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It looks like the afternoon is ending well until Pita starts talking again about his need for $5.00 for kava. As we continue to stand firm, his requests becomes more and more like a whine. Both of us become irritated. The young man should have been exceedingly grateful that the motor for his fishing boat, a source of sustenance for his family, was fixed and working. Instead, he is whining about kava. We could not get him off the boat soon enough, and finally The Captain does just that. What lesson from this has The First Mate learned? She is not too sure, for she is still a stranger on strange soil out here, but maybe she should pay more respect to her own warning signals. They have served her quite well so far all these years. May they continue to do so!
Sunday, October 31st – The Racor filter is reassembled. The epoxy fix worked. The First Mate is not feeling up to par and sleeps in for a while, but by 10:30, we are motoring out the reef pass. It is the usual partly cloudy day. Winds are in the 20 – 25 knot range. To keep things light and easy for crew who is still not feeling up to par, we sail with just the jib. The fishing line is run out at 11:30.
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Our next stop is Kelefesia Island whose approach is a bit tricky with several reefs to avoid. We can see the waves crashing on the reef defining the narrow pass into the anchorage. The Captain has plotted several waypoints where turns will be necessary to stay in deep water.
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Approaching our first waypoint — zing, fish on! As we can go hours, nay days, without catching a fish on that line dragging behind us, we sometimes forget to reel it in when we should — as when heavy weather hits, approaching shallow water or when dodging reefs as we are now doing. We are delighted with our fish, though maybe half an hour earlier would have been better timing. Quickly slowing the boat, The First Mate changes direction back toward the open sea while The Captain reels in the fish. It’s a nice Yellowfin Tuna. The First Mate takes over the rod while The Captain leans out and over the transom to gaff the fish. The gaff hook strikes the fish. The Captain pulls up sharply and nearly tumbles back into the boat. What happened?
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To his amazement, he is standing there holding just the plastic handle of the gaff hook in his hand. The gaff itself slides back out of the fish and starts bobbing away from the boat, held up, we guess, by air still in the tube. It’s a weird sight. Our wounded fish, amazingly, is still on the line. We manage to haul the fish in by hand and tie it quickly to the stern. We really do need to get out of this area, away from the reefs, and get safely inside the pass and anchored.
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1800 – Anchored in a small bay with several other boats, not a lot of swing room and a nasty reef running just behind us, we are not totally comfortable. The Captain does a quick dive to make sure that there is no coral near our nylon anchor line that could sever it.
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Monday, November 1st – Not a bad day. It is partly sunny. The Captain snorkels a bit around the boat and over to the reef behind Avante. Back aboard, he describes the wreck of a sailboat that he saw on the reef. The startling thing about the wreck is that it looks fairly recent.
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Later, we launch the dinghy to explore the island. Kelefesia Island is a rugged place which no one now calls home. Uninhabited, we read that Tongans from a near-by island use it as a fishing camp. Where wide swaths of beach have not found a hold, rock walls descend steeply into the ocean. Our aim is to walk around the perimeter of the island. At low tide, it is supposed to be possible to do.
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Not far from where we pull the dinghy ashore, we find the mast of a sailboat. Like the wreck on the reef, it does not look like it has been here long. Lying in the sand, it is an eery and sobering sight.
Gazing up to the the top of an escarpment, we are surprised to see that another mast has been “planted” on the summit. From the same sailboat or a different one?
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We continue around the corner along the beach and soon come upon the fishing camp. Like so many ghosts flying around, the tentacled skins of drying octopus are stretched and tethered above us. For what does one use dried octopus skin? No one is around to ask.
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Further on, we pass the translucent bodies of drying fish hung on racks.
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Not far from the octopus and the fish, another sailboat’s mast has been planted. What is it about this island? We know that wrecks scatter the reefs all across the Pacific. We know that each season sees its share of unfortunate cruisers meeting disaster out here. It is a fact of which we are well aware, do our utmost to avoid and then like all such negatives, push out of our minds to think instead of the positives. To have these bold-faced reminders thrust at us around every corner is disquieting!
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The beach ends as we come to the eastern end of the island. For a while, we make our way along the water’s edge weaving around interesting limestone shapes.
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With low tide conditions, we are able to hike along exposed ridges where steep cliffs drop into the ocean. It is a fun trek until we get to a point where the only direction open to us is …..
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….. UP! What is the fun in retracing one’s steps? We want to see what’s ahead, not what we just left! So up we go!
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We had read that the islands in the Ha’apai Group were low lying except for the 2 volcanic ones we had passed in the distance on our way to our first anchorage. The First Mate decides that somebody needs to define “low lying” to her. This little mound they cut inland to avoid walking around is not what she would define as “low lying.” Impressive, steep and jutting quite skyward is what she would call it.
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We wind our way across the island grateful that it is sloping gently toward the beach rather than offering us a precipitous descent. We are coming up on our anchorage and can see the surf breaking in the distance where the opening into our bay is located.
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Coming up on the last corner before the anchorage, Avante is nestled in the small bay. One can see how shallow and reef-filled the bay is for a long ways out from shore, and there’s no mistaking how formidable the barely submerged reef is that encircles the island. The narrow pass through the reef can be seen just behind Avante. It’s no wonder a few sailboats have come to grief on these shores.
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One last corner to round before our bay, and we just make it before the rising tide would have forced us to swim.
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Shortly after we return, a neighbor drops by while we are sitting outside on deck. From him, we learn the sad story of the wreck sunk on the reef behind us. It is one of this year’s losses. Her engine had failed, and the owner was on his way back to New Zealand for repair. He chose this bay to anchor in for the night. Without an engine, he was unable to back down on the anchor to get a good set. Winds came up at night. His anchor did not hold, and he was blown back onto the reef and sunk. No one was hurt except a much-loved boat. And, yes, one of those masts we saw came from this boat.
Catamarans and smaller sailboats can anchor closer to the island and further from the entrance reef. With our 9-foot draft, we cannot, and with several nasty coral heads that we could hit at low tide or that could saw right through the rope we now have down there instead of all our chain, we dare not. Avante has always tended to swing around at anchor more than we would like and more than other boats seem to be doing. (The Captain explains to The First Mate that it is because she is light for her length allowing her to move easier and quicker through the water.) Now with far less heavy chain down there to stifle her movements, she is swinging around at anchor even more. We are both thinking it will be good to leave this anchorage tomorrow.
In the late afternoon, a large cat arrives and anchors directly in front of us, much nearer than we would like. The French speaking captain of the catamaran dives on his anchor and then swims over to tell us that his anchor is well set. We decide to keep an eye on the swing of both boats. Catamarans and sailboats swing very differently at anchor. We appear to be fine except when both swing so that we are parallel to each other, but each boat seems to be holding its distance in the slight breeze.
During the night, The First Mate is uneasy and is not sleeping soundly when a low thunk jars her. It isn’t so much a thunk as a gentle nudge or jog in the boat’s slight rocking movement. Imagined? Real? She lays there listening, feeling. There it is again. She wakes The Captain. This time there is a real clunk. We race on deck to find ourselves kissing cousins with that large cat These things do happen. The problem here was that the wind had died. Both boats were swinging around their anchor chain, and this time had swung too close. The couple on the other boat were also up and placing fenders. To their credit, they started their engine and re-anchored as they should. Still uneasy, The First Mate remains on deck. Through the gloom, she dimly sees 2 other boats ahead of hers with flashlights beaming. There is no satisfaction in knowing that we are not the only ones having swing problems this night.
Tuesday, November 2nd – We wake up to rain and bluster. We really are becoming disheartened by this weather. The Pacific Northwest, renown for its rain, was never this bad for us! Neither one of us is feeling great. Ahead of us is a 60 nm trip to Nuku’alofa, the capitol of the most southern group of Tongan islands. Do we head on out in this weather or do we stay? The First Mate knows the answer to that simple question, but her opinion is not sought! Some boats have already left, and we know others are planning to leave. The anchorage might clear out. We could be one of just 1 or 2 boats here. Plenty of room for Avante to swing to her heart’s content. We could stay — snug, warm and dry inside the boat listening to rain pelt the roof and wind blow over head. Who needs to be out in that? In true cruiser fashion, The First Mate thinks, “What’s the hurry?” Will she ever get The Captain to think that way?
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Epilogue – The First Mate does get her extra day here. Now that we are not meeting friends in Fiji, our schedule is no longer tight, and even The Captain is tired of sailing in the rain.