Shootout at the O.K. Corral
Neither The First Mate nor The Captain are excited about a visit to Misima, the one and only town in the Louisiades. They have seen enough island towns across the Pacific to know that they are mostly dusty, hot and crowded. This one is supposed to have a market and a couple of shops – the island kind that sell a little of everything from food to hardware. There are no restaurants and no public internet access in Misima. But to town we must go. Why? Fuel is needed, and customs clearance out of Papua New Guinea must be obtained. Another round of island gifting, entertainment and feasting must be partaken, and trading supplies such as sugar, rice, flour, soap and detergent have to be restocked. Oh, and don’t forgot the Lollies!
Friday, October 4th – We are 18 boats all planning to anchor in narrow Misima harbor. No way! We must raft up 3 to 4 across, for the harbor is narrow and shallow. All of us anchored singly would end up a nautical version of bumper cars. The plan for us on Avante is that we will raft up with Salacia who, arriving the previous day, will hold a spot for us, but when we arrive, we find them already rafted up with 3 other boats. Their timely arrival allowed them to help s/v Yantara into the harbor with an engine pump failure, and they are now rafted up with her. Typical of any Rally, our little group of boats has had its share of problems with electrical issues, generator failures and water making malfunctions, but Yantara’s is now the worst. A part must be delivered if they ever hope to get the engine running, and having dealt with shipping companies and timetables two years ago in Tonga, all we can do is hope all will go smoothly for them. Being stuck here in Misima for an indefinitely extending time will be not add to their cruising dreams.
Back on Avante, where (hold your breath) we have had no problems, we make a slow circle through the unfamiliar and shallow harbor keeping a sharp lookout for anchor lines running fore and aft from Rally boats already in position. Rob on s/v Eclipse calls out and tells us to raft up to them. He is already rafted with Buddy and Helen on s/v Desire. One more will make them a group of 3. We slowly line up and motor past them to drop our bow anchor. Backing down onto the side of Eclipse, we put fenders in place and secure the lines. A stern anchor is next dinghied out and dropped.
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Our little group of 3 is positioned up from and to the side of Salacia’s group and a good way in front of a line of cats. We should be just fine, we hope.
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Delighted with our rafting companions, we invite both boats over for Sundowners in an hour, and as often happens, we move on into dinner aboard Eclipse where Rob and his crew from Jackson Hole, Laurie and Dan, chef up a wonderful Malaysian/Indonesian dinner. The First Mate, who has been experimenting with Vietnamese and Thai cooking, is intrigued and pumps them for hints and ideas.
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Saturday, October 5th – Restocking the trading locker and some fresh veggies and fruit are first on our list of today’s activities. We had been told that the outdoor fresh market opens early so get there early for the best produce. Not so. Very little other than beetle nuts and sweet potatoes is offered when we arrive.
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We head over instead to tour the 3 small Asian-run grocery stores to see what they have. The First Mate, not for the first time, wonders how a Vegan, a glucose intolerant or other dietary restricted person could cruise the Pacific. They could not! She, however, has no problem restocking her trading supplies of sugar, rice, flour, detergent and Lollies. Thankfully, she does not need anything more exotic.
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They return to the outdoor market. Puzzling over a variety of sweet potatoes, a local woman offers her some suggestions in fluent English. The First Mate does a double-take. The woman laughs. Her name is Ginny. Her father was Australian, and she grew up with the two languages. Her two grandchildren are with her, and she speaks to them in a combination of English and the local dialect. This is a rarity here in these islands. Seizing the opportunity, The First Mate plies her with questions about the produce she sees and about life in general here in Misima. Wanting to continue the conversation, The First Mate invites her for tea on Avante later that afternoon and is pleased when Ginny accepts with enthusiasm. With Ginny’s help, a variety of potatoes and fruit are purchased.
Refueling is scheduled for the afternoon. Before the Rally left OZ, we had pre-ordered and paid for the amount of fuel we expected to need. This had to be a careful calculation because any unused fuel would not be reimbursed. We ordered 200 liters diesel for the engine and 20 liters Zoom as the gas/oil combination for the outboard motor is called here.
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None of the sailboats need much fuel, but the one motor boat in our group, Quintessa, certainly does. They are the only boat able to tie up to the rustic, rusting fuel dock, for their refueling will be a slow, laborious process, fuel drum by fuel drum.
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The rest of us will have to ferry and hand carry our auxiliary fuel cans to the dock, fill them there and then lug them back to our boats. After lunch, The Captain sets off with 2 of our 4 50-liter jugs. Getting them there is not an issue. Returning with them full certainly will be.
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The fuel shed is up from the dock and across the road. A parade of brightly colored yellow and red cans starts up from the dock. Thrilled by the activity and a chance to help, local kids lend a hand.
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All seems to be running efficiently until we get to the fuel shed where a one-man, one-pump operation stalls everyone in their tracks. What are the closing hours? This could run well into the evening, and with the Customs Officials supposed to be showing up this afternoon to clear us out of Papua New Guinea, the timing is not looking good.
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First the fuel is pumped into a measuring cylinder. We look at all the foam and wonder how an accurate measurement is obtained. It doesn’t look like any of us will have to worry about having ordered too much fuel. The concern now is whether we are actually going to be getting enough of the amount we ordered to get home!
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Once the foam subsides to a level acceptable to the technician, the fuel is syphoned into a waiting fuel jug. Liter by liter, our jugs are slowly filled.
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This is not the first time The Captain has found himself hauling fuel jugs around the Pacific. After the first such endeavor, a small trolly was added to our boat inventory. With the first 2 of his 50-liter jugs finally filled after almost 2 hours of waiting, he trolleys them one by one back to the dock where, fortunately, a few of the stronger local men are eager to help lift the heavy jugs down into the floating dinghy.
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It is now 3:00 and with The Captain and dinghy tied up with the refueling, The First Mate’s Tea Date with Ginny isn’t going to happen. If only there was a cute, little cafe in the area, but alas, there is not. The First Mate hurries off to the meeting spot down by the harbor. Outside the small grocery stores and the open market, the square is a bustle of activity.
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She pauses to watch several women in colorful dress walking home from the market with baskets full of produce.
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A local bus is ready to depart to an inland village. The driver is calling people to get on board. “Where?” she wonders. It is already filled to bursting. That bus, these rutted, muddy mountainous roads? That is a leap of faith she would not be willing to take.
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The bus is not the only overloaded mode of transportation. Down by the harbor, sailaus from distant islands are being filled with items and produce purchased on their infrequent trip to the big town. Recalling the overloaded sailau that sailed into Jimmy’s in Kamatal on its way to Misima, The First Mate wonders how it will ever make the return trip when everyone has made their purchases.
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She meets Ginny who understands the reason for the canceled tea. News travels fast around here, and The First Mate is sure she has probably heard about the DimDims and their refueling operation. We agree to look for each other at the parade and festivities planned tomorrow in honor of the DimDims’ visit. It later proves to be a good thing that our plans were canceled, for no sooner are we back on the boat with our 4 filled jugs than a storm rolls in with pelting rain and heavy winds. In the very soft mud, Avante’s bow anchor is not holding very well. Our line of 3 boats moves backward toward the line behind us. When the storm passes, we all get out to pull up the anchor and reset it further out in front of us. This time it holds. By this time, it is apparent that the visit by the Customs Officials will not be happening today. These guys do not work past closing. We wonder if our departure from Misima on Monday will be delayed by the Custom officers and all their paperwork.
Sunday, October 6th – 0700 – Stephen from Salacia radios the anchored fleet calmly advising us all to stay on our boats. Do not go ashore. There are men with black masks and rifles walking around on the dock. Laying in bed with her morning cappuccino, The First Mate thinks this must be some kind of joke. April 1st? But it isn’t, and Stephen is not one to joke like this. Suddenly, gun shots resound through the still morning air. This is not a joke. Both of us race to the companionway to sneak peak over the roof to see what is going on. Dumb, you say? Yes, that was a good way to get our heads shot off. A member of our group, an ex-military police man, next radios the fleet. “Keep your heads down. Keep out of sight. Do not use binoculars and do not take flash pictures.” Do nothing to attract attention to our line of boats so neatly located so close to the dock. From inside the boat, we stand on the sofas to look out the windows. We see several men with rifles, some with black masks, others without any head covering. They are waving around rifles mostly pointing in the air but sometimes into a crowd of local men who are yelling at them. Stones are being thrown at them from the roofs. We then see 3 adults and 2 young children being herded toward the dock where a large new-looking open fishing boat with an equally large and new-looking outboard motor are tied. These hostages are white, not locals. They must be from one of the Asian families who owns one of the grocery stores. We have unwanted ring-side seats to a robbery and hostage situation! Guns are waving, people on both sides are yelling, the children are clinging and have to be carried. Where are the police? Finally, the hostages are pushed and shoved onto the boat. Then from the fueling end of the dock, more gun waving and shouting as several rascals, which we learn later is what the locals call such villains, roll a large fuel drum down the road to the waiting boat. Into the boat it goes, and off they roar.
For a moment, the rascals head straight toward Salacia, the nearest boat to them in the harbor. They could not possibly want to board Salacia, could they? No, at the last moment, they veer away to head out the harbor. They roar past Avante as we quickly duck below our window. Suddenly, there is a burst of smoke, and the boat is stopped dead in the water. What happened? We can see them trying to start the engine. It will not start. Our fear now goes to Quintessa, our one motor boat anchored by herself just off the fueling dock. With their guns, the rascals could seize her to make their getaway. As this is running through our minds, and more so Andy’s and Kellie’s on Quintessa, the rascal’s outboard starts. The boat guns up and races unhindered out the harbor and up the coast. Stunned, we watch locals climb aboard another larger motor boat and head on out the harbor after the thieves.
Shock, dismay, fear — what just happened? This kind of stuff happens in Port Moresby on the mainland. Not here on this isolated, subsistence town out in the middle of Nowhere, Pacific Ocean. Who were these people? Where did they come from? What do we do now? All manner of questions run through our minds. Guy radios all of us to stay on our boats. He is going into town to find out what happened and what our reaction should be. The town has a variety of special events planned for us, but do we now want to venture into town? What is the mood of the townspeople? Maybe we should just pull anchor and go to a distant, quiet island.
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Guy returns and calls a Skippers’ Meeting on one of the cats. A long meeting evolves with facts and opinions going back and forth.
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Guy was assured by local officials that, though robberies have occurred from time to time as evidenced by the barred windows seen on the stores, this was the very first armed robbery. None of the perpetrators were recognized, and it was felt they came over from the mainland. We learn that police had been there on the scene but had not acted because there were so many local people in the vicinity. The last thing they wanted was a real shootout. The local men were the heroes of the day. Though they could do nothing to stop the robbers, they yelled at them and threw rocks. The motor that sputtered and quit as they raced out of the harbor? That was caused by a rope quickly strung across the harbor by a group of local men in a rowboat while the robbers were occupied on land. How ingenious! It almost worked, too! The knowledge that police had been there on the scene and the actions of the local men made us feel a bit better, but few of us are totally reassured.
The big question on everyone’s mind is would the activities planned for the DimDims go on as scheduled, and did we want to leave the relative safety of our boats to attend? Months of meetings, planning and workshops had gone into the events. Monies and time had been spent. Food had already been gathered and prepared. The townspeople are fearful we Dimdims will pick up anchor and leave. Aboard our boats, none of us want to over react, but we still feel uneasy. Rafted together in this narrow harbor, we feel like sitting ducks. Maybe someone will get the idea that with all us yachties on shore for a day full of activities, our boats are prime targets. A group of local men offer to guard our dinghies and watch our boats while we are on shore. The local officials offer to shorten the activities and conclude them in time for us to return to our boats in daylight. Not wanting to disappoint them, we agree. The show will go on!
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The show? A parade up Main Street of dancers in traditional costume is first on the agenda. We follow the drum beat up the street to a club house and take our seats around a large lawn.
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More dancing follows on the lawn. Hunting, capturing and killing a wild pig is the topic portrayed in most of the scenarios.
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After seeing the elaborate costumes and the choreography of the parade and dances, we are all so happy that we did not disappoint their efforts by not attending out of fear. We are amazed at how many are involved in this performance. Every age is represented. They must have planned this for months.
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A strange sort of contest is next held to which 3 of our members are asked to be the judges. Young girls in traditional dress are the contestants. Each girl walks across the grass stage and, from the loudspeaker, introduces herself. “My name is So and So, and I am proud to be here in my traditional costume”.
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Traditional Costume is a grass skirt the girl herself had made, a few beaded or woven necklaces and nothing else. Now The First Mate is not a prude, but she failed to grasp the sense of all this parading around of semi-nude young girls. And why not young boys? Don’t they have Traditional Costumes, too? Why don’t they get their chance in the spotlight? The girls do not appear to be offering up anything to be judged. Some do sing a song or say a few more words. A few hold traditional items of clay or wood that they had made, but most simply strut across the grass and introduce themselves. What are our judges to judge? That is never explained to us. At least 30 young women parade out for us. One by one.
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Finally, it is over. Who do our judges choose? A young girl with brightly painted face, another one who had sung and another who had made a selection of clay pots.
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Next on the agenda is a traditional exchange of gifts as is formally done between visiting island or village groups. We were told to each bring a bag of items to exchange with an island woman. This gifting is a big event. The First Mate takes care and fills our 2 bags with such useful items as a set of mixing bowls with lids, 3 stainless steel kitchen knives, a nail brush, toothbrushes, clothespins and a can of chicken.
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We line up, greet each other and exchange our gifts. It is a delightful ceremony, but it turns out that there are more island women than there are yachties. We cannot disappoint. What to do? A call goes out to use kina for the exchange. The First Mate “exchanges” 20 kina for 2 more giftings. On Avante, as on all the other yachts, we are now loaded with more bananas, papayas, sweet potatoes, grapefruit and limes than we will ever use, and tomorrow, as we head to other island anchorages, we know the “Trick or Treating” will start up again. Whatever are we going to do!
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Ginny, whose grandson had been one of the young dancers, finds us after the exchange ceremony. I tell her how impressive the ceremonies have been, but our talk soon turns to the robbery, as it is foremost in all our minds. She confirms that this was Misima’s first armed robbery. It had to be men from the mainland and shakes her head in sadness and dismay. It is distressing that here on this remote, isolated island so far removed from what might be called the modern world that the violence and nastiness of the modern world finds them long before the good things like electricity, clean running water, and medical care.
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The day concludes inside the guest house with a Rally auction followed by dinner prepared by the village women. Our instructions were to bring something of value and something totally useless. After much deliberation, we decide upon a bottle of rum and 2 plastic laundry balls. What do we buy? Well, pride mandates we buy a carved “Avante” wood sign. It is a pretty thing which The First Mate will take home to varnish. To her delight, The Captain bids on and wins a small, collapsible fishing pole. Her dream! Her heart’s desire! Does The Captain know how lucky he is to have a woman of such simple needs? Now she can fish when we are at anchor. Oh, she cannot wait to use it!
While waiting for dinner to be set up, the Customs Officials appear as if out of nowhere. It may be late, but they will see us one by one to clear us out of Papua New Guinea. We will be free to leave Misima tomorrow morning. Good! Dinner is served. It is a fancy dinner, and, as is the custom, it is just for us DimDims. One cannot help put be impressed by the time and effort that went into it. Lobster tails, fish and pork in a variety of dishes, roasted vegetables and pastries for dessert. There is even beer to buy as well as water, tea and coffee. We sit at long tables, eating away, while local folk squeeze around the periphery watching the strange doings of us DimDims.
So ends an eventful day. Gunshots, robbery, kidnapping and a get-away race through the harbor. That’s enough to stop most any day, but neither we nor the townspeople let either those rascals or the rain ruin a day well-planned and togetherness shared.