The Gift of Selective Memory
Saturday, April 23 – The Captain returns from the Copra Shed Marina office fuming. He had gone there to pay our bill prior to departure and was asked, quite nonchalantly, if he had gotten his Coastal Permit. Yes, he has his Cruising Permit. No, your Coastal Permit. Once one receives one’s Cruising Permit, one returns to the Customs Office with the Cruising Permit, fills out the paperwork and receives a Coastal Permit. Today is Saturday. All offices are closed. Show up Monday. The Captain is beside himself with anger and frustration. A week we have been sitting here because of the rain. Though he had asked repeatedly if there were any more paperwork requirements, he was told that all was completed. Now, this!
The First Mate murmurs words of empathy. What else can she do? That, and wait until he calms down so us two adults can talk. This is the first decent day we have had since we arrived. “We are not going to sit in this harbor surrounded by all these boats for another weekend!” he declares. He says we will anchor off the Cousteau Resort at the entrance to the bay. There, at least, we can go swimming, and it will feel somewhat like we are cruising, being anchored and not tied to a mooring ball like all these other stagnating boats.
We let loose the mooring ball, motor around and through a flotilla of moored boats and out into the bay where we raise sail.
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While enjoying a nice sail downwind to the resort, The Captain has been cogitating. “Screw it!” he suddenly declares. “We are going to proceed with our plans. We are not wasting another two days.” We had planned to spend 3 weeks cruising in Eastern Fiji, heading along the coast, across Somosomo Strait to Taveuni Island and then down to the Lau Group of islands to which we had not been able to go 5 years ago. We are already several days behind The Captain’s schedule because of the miserable weather. “Since we will have to return to Savusavu to fuel and restock, then we will obtain this Coastal Permit,” continues The Captain. “Are you sure?” queries the normally rule complying First Mate. “Yes,” he emphatically asserts, but these plans, too, are eventually changed.
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We round the light that is located out there somewhere near the end of the reef and, turning generally northeast, head up the coast.
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Those balmy winds which had given us a gentle downwind sail out the bay, hit us head on at 17 – 19 knots. Unable to sail, we are laboring into them, bashing through heavy waves as we do. It is 15 nm to the first possible anchorage. Every time the boat builds up speed, a series of waves hits us causing the poor prop to seemingly falter and the boat’s speed to drop to under 4 knots. At this rate, it will be a good 4 hours before we get to this anchorage. Do we want this pounding for 4 hours! No, we do not! We turn around, raise sail and the half hour of torture we had endured into the wind takes us less than 15 minutes of quick, relatively gentle downwind sailing to get back around the reef. We anchor below the Cousteau Resort. We will leave tomorrow if winds allow.
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Anchored on this more exposed end of the bay, we are shocked to see how much more destructive Cyclone Winston was here. Large trees are uprooted. Palms trees are ghosts of themselves with brown broken fronds. Work is being done on a mountain top house whose roof had been torn off.
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On shore, the Cousteau Resort shows significant damage with a concrete wall running along its shoreline broken and bashed. Pilings show where the wharf once stood. A launch lies smashed on shore. Tarp covers the roofs of most of the bures, and several buildings look ready to collapse. It is a sobering sight. We had been told that they plan to open in September. To us, that appears to be wishful thinking.
Philip, an Australian cruiser, who arrived in Fiji the same evening that we did, is anchored a short way from us. He dinghies over in the afternoon. Discussion of this Coastal Permit comes up. Philip was in Fiji last year, and he says that he does not remember a Coastal Permit. However, he was lucky enough to learn about this Coastal Permit from the same person who told The Captain about it. Forewarned, he headed over to Customs to see about getting one. Philip described the new permit as a “big deal” with lots of pages and stamps. “Damn” mutters The Captain. Our cruising plan is revised again: Remain here for the weekend and head back into Savusavu Monday morning to get this additional permit.
It is just about impossible, with a boat, to say there is absolutely nothing to do. Do we twiddle our thumbs the next day in boredom? Of course not! The Captain changes out 2 fans which, as with all things “boat”, takes far longer than he anticipated with ceiling coverings being removed to access electric wires. He also re-caulks the galley sink. The First Mate, now that the inside of the boat is no longer damp, sets about giving the place a thorough cleaning. An afternoon swim ends our efforts.
Later that evening, sipping the last of our wine with satisfaction, we watch a full moon rising above the hills making even the scruffy palms look beautiful.
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Monday, April 25th – 0715 – We return to Savusavu where The Captain marches straight to the Customs Office. In record time, he gets this Coastal Permit, finds The First Mate wandering the outdoor market, and heads us back to Avante. As we motor out the bay, winds are head on giving us hope that we might have a beam sail up the coast, but as we turn the corner, winds diabolically turn with us so that we are continuing to head into them. No sailing today.
Destination: Fawn Harbour. The entrance through the reef, which involves several turns around shallow coral areas, is well marked with poles, and the good visibility enables us to see these unwelcoming areas. We weave our way in and anchor in the lagoon well away from a small cluster of homes. There’s not a breath of wind, and in the evening with the lights on, a swarm of flying bugs descends on The First Mate preparing dinner in her galley. Fortunately, they are not the biting kind. Normally, anchored off, there is enough breeze so that we are not bothered by bugs of any kind. Eating dinner on deck softly lit by our battery-operated candles, we listen to fish surfacing for those bugs. “Go get ‘em!” The First Mate encourages the fish.
Tuesday, April 26th – Destination: Viani Bay. RaInbow Reef, famous for its colorful corals and fish, is located just outside this bay, and we are hoping to do some snorkeling here.
We motor up Somosomo Strait which runs between Vanua Levu and the island of Taveuni. Nearing the passage through the Rainbow Reef into the bay, The Captain goes forward for a better view. We will not go through the reef until we are sure of our position. There are no poles or markers, but we can see the reef just to our north. That plus a waypoint The Captain has set on our charts gives us confidence in our position. We proceed, but with caution.
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Viani Bay is big, wide and pretty. Though there are clusters of small homes sporadically scattered along the shoreline, we can denote nothing that looks like a village. A local by the name of Jack Fisher runs a business taking yachties out to Rainbow Reef for snorkeling or diving. We are told that he will come out to your boat. We spend the afternoon on the boat dodging intermittent rain showers. A boat load of children being “bussed” home enthusiastically waves to us, but no Jack Fisher shows.
The
next morning, there is still no sign of Jack Fisher. Well, we can get
out to the reef by ourselves in our dinghy. Off we go. The reef covers
a long section. Where to go? We don’t know. The Captain chooses a
spot, secures the dinghy, dons his snorkel gear and in he plunges. The
First Mate, never comfortable in the ocean, takes a while longer. She’s
in. Swimming with The Captain, we head out to discover. We see lots
of colorful fish, but very little colorful coral. Maybe a wrong spot
chosen, though it must be said that we have read that much of this coral
is dying and therefore has lost its color.
Returning to Avante, we follow the curving coastline. Though there is no evidence of Winston’s damage deep in the bay where we are anchored, out near the end, we are amazed at the defoliation. From a distance, one sees an undulating wave of brown. Getting closer, one can see that the brown comes from the broken and dead palm fronds still clinging to the trunks. Closer inspection shows evidence of new green palm fronds shooting upward assertively. Mother Nature at work! Over time, those brown palms fronds will drop off, and the view will be a verdant green again.
Across Somosomo Strait at the southern end of Taveuni Island is Paradise Resort which welcomes yachties. Not many resorts do. They can organize trips inland to various waterfalls and snorkeling trips out to the reef. The First Mate’s attempts to phone fail, as the island must still be having phone problems from Winston. She emails, and they respond. Unfortunately, they are closed with damage from Winston, but we are welcomed to come use their mooring balls. As Taveuni has few secure anchorages, we decide to go there, and if conditions are right, stay for a few days to explore.
Thursday, April 28th – The island of Taveuni runs generally from southwest to northeast, and like so many volcanic islands, a steep mountain range rises quickly from the coast. The mountain range decreases in elevation toward the southern end of the island leaving this area much more exposed to winds. Crossing Somosomo Strait, we are at first sheltered by the higher mountains and, with the jib out, enjoy a leisurely sail south.
As the mountains lower, the winds increase. Nearing the resort, we are in 25-knot winds and rough seas. It takes little to imagine what Winston’s winds must have been like as they blasted this land. A ravaged coastline lies before us. Surveying the resort with our binoculars, it is a dismal sight. What heartbreak for the couple who own this place! We do not feel they need our presence which not long ago would have meant business for them, and not being comfortable with the exposed anchorage, we turn around to head north to the small coastal town of Somosomo.
At Somosomo, we have trouble finding a good spot to anchor, as it is quite deep close to shore and then shallows rapidly. Added to the depth challenge is the rock and coral bottom over which our anchor skips. We try twice in 70 feet of depth off the town, but the anchor does not hold on the hard bottom. Heading south to where it is over 100 feet deep, the anchor bites and holds, and then, to our disgust, the rains hit and stay with us into the evening. Stuck on the boat again! Rain, 25-knot winds, rocking boat – it was a miserable night! By now, both of us are disgruntled. We are not happy anchored here. We have not really found a great spot, and the rain is driving us crazy!
Looking at the sky around us in the morning, it is anybody’s guess what the weather is going to be. In one direction, grey clouds are building up. In another, grey streaks heading downward indicate rain. In still another, a bright blue sky heralds a beautiful day, one would hope. Over our heads, blue sky and puffy white clouds prevail. Hoping the current weather will hold, we decide to tour Somosomo and the little village located across the stream and up the hill.
We are impressed with Somosomo. Houses are brightly painted. Yards have been landscaped and are well-maintained. People are handsomely dressed and appear to be going and doing things with a sense of purpose. Civic pride runs deep in this community.
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Here and there, as we follow the road which parallels the stream, we see women doing their laundry.
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At the bridge over the stream, a group of boys are having a grand time jumping into the water. Hot and sticky in the humid air, The First Mate longs to join them. Even to put her feet in that cool water would be a joy.
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We trudge on up the hill to the little village. Not as well-kept as Somosomo, it is, however, a more bustling place. Shops line the streets with people milling about the doors. We purchase spring onions and bananas from a row of vendors. The First Mate is on the lookout for lemon grass. One friendly woman tells her that she will have some tomorrow, but unfortunately, we will be on our way by then.
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Upon returning to the boat, we find a group of boys who have been sitting and waiting our return. The First Mate asks them their names and learns that today is a holiday. She also mentally kicks herself for forgetting to bring some of the candy she has on board Avante just for this purpose. She will not do that again!
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The mountains running steeply up from the narrow strip of coast prevented any wind from being felt on shore. Motoring back to Avante, the winds sweeping down from those mountains hit us. On board, it remains a rocking world. The Captain had planned on taking the dinghy out to an island and snorkeling on the reefs, but these strong winds would make that a very uncomfortable and potentially unsafe ride.
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Deciding that there is nothing else we want to do here, we weigh anchor to head up the coast to a much prettier and, hopefully, quieter spot where we had anchored 5 years ago. Located below the airport at Naselesele Point and with several nice resorts running across the hills, it is an interesting spot.
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A
nice sail up the coast with the jib ends as we approach the area where
we will anchor. We motor slowly in with The Captain on the bow scanning
ahead for shallow areas, as there are several coral reefs and bombes
around. Anchored at a much more reassuring 26 feet in sand and in much
calmer waters, we are pleased with our decision to move. The First
Mate, reading the guide books, discovers that there are several nearby
resorts and a restaurant just a little way down the coast. “We are
going out to dinner tonight!” she announces. Land lines on the island
are out, but she finds that one of the resorts, which she knows for sure
does not cater to yachties, has a mobile phone listed. She decides to
call anyway. To her surprise, she is told that, with a day’s notice, we
would be welcome there for dinner. Maybe that’s the key to dining at
some of these resorts. Call ahead and nicely ask. For right now,
though, she learns that her restaurant of interest, Tramonto, is open.
The
Captain is skeptical, not sure we will be able to find this place, but
The First Mate is positive we can’t miss it. It is high on the coast
with a sweeping covered porch that captures beautiful sunsets. At 1700,
we venture forth.
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“There!” she points. That has to be it. It’s on a hill with a porch, and nothing else out here fits that description.
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Getting
to the beach is another matter, for it is going on low tide, and the
shallows are lava rock covered. After several attempts, we find a
promising location and weave our way in through rocks that are just
below the surface. We make it to shore lugging the dinghy the last few
feet over the rocks. We better find this restaurant and sit a while,
for we will never get this boat back in the water in the pitch dark
until the tide gets a lot higher.
A
young Fijian couple greets us as we tie the dinghy to a tree. Yes,
that green roofed building is the Tramonto. The First Mate smiles with
satisfaction.
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It’s a delightfully welcoming place which shows a lot of pride and care. It is also a place that caters to tourists and the local ex-pat community with a menu that features pizzas and fish and chips.
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The sunset view is as advertised, but we prefer the sight of tiny Avante through the palms. Looking closer, one can see the rock-bound shore being exposed as the tide recedes.
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As we sit there watching the sunset, customers begin to arrive. They know each other. They sidle up to the bar and greet the owners who know them well. This is the Friday night gathering of the local ex-pats. At first we are ignored. Just two tourists, you know. Eavesdropping on a conversation, The First Mate pops in with a related question, and the ice is broken. We query them. They query us, but in the end, we all really don’t have much in common. The ex-pat world here is very narrow. We are left to our pizzas. Just tourists after all.
Saturday, April 30th – Off the north end of Taveuni are several small islands, the largest of which is Qamea. The First Mate has not forgotten the “u” after “q”, for that is the way it is spelled. Qamea (Ga-mai-a) offers interesting bays to explore, isolated beaches and a few small villages at which the ceremony, sevusevu, is expected. Leaving our anchorage, we head out and around the reefs off the end of Taveuni and through the reef passage into the waters around Qamea. We motor toward a bay at the northeastern end passing the island of Matagi on our left. Reaching the bay, we again have to deal with a deep anchorage that shallows too quickly and too close to shore. We anchor out in 80 feet where we have enough swing room. Under a somber grey sky, our initial impression of Qamea is not positive. The landscape is not particularly pretty with heavy vegetation down to the shoreline. We see few beaches and with the land rising steeply from shore, there isn’t room for much of anything. We are both a bit disappointed, but there’s a village on the shore to which we should go to do the traditional Sevusevu ceremony. That will be interesting.
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Sevusevu is a Fijian ceremony of welcome and acceptance to which the newcomer brings a gift of a dried bundle of roots and stems from a particular kind of pepper tree. Kava is the drink made from this bundle which is pulverized, mixed with water and drunk. Its affect is numbing rather than alcoholic; yet it has the same place in those Pacific Island societies where it is drunk that alcohol has elsewhere.
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Fiji is the only island nation we know of where Sevusevu is performed, and it remains a part of the traditional way of life in rural villages. Upon entering a village, the newcomer seeks out the chief who will gather a group of villagers together. Sometimes there is a special hut for this ceremony. Often just a woven mat is placed under a tree. Dress is conservative. No bathing suits, short shorts or skimpy tops here! Hats and sunglasses are removed, for not doing so would be considered an affront. Women sit with their legs to the side, never crossed or underneath them, and nobody sits rudely with their legs pointing straight into the circle. Upon sitting, the root bundle is placed in front of the chief, and a brief explanation of why one is here or what one would like to do is offered. Then the ceremony itself begins. A kind of chant in Fijian follows punctuated with clapping. Upon completion, one is officially welcomed into the village and, in our case, to the bay where we are anchored. One is free now to walk through the village and talk to the people. If one is interested in seeing a certain area, a guide is often offered. Swimming along the reefs is allowed, but one must ask permission to fish. Fishing in the reefs is something we on Avante never do, for we feel that in these subsistence societies, we should not be honing in on their food. If we have caught a mahimahi, wahoo or tuna at sea, we will often donate portions of the fish or seek to trade for local vegetables and fruits.
At
1500, we set out for the village. We have some reservations, for this
does not look like a typical hut and thatched-roof village. Instead, it
looks like a grouping of pre-fab structures, and that is very untypical
of a small island village. There is even a dock. Something about the
place just doesn’t feel right. Suddenly, a large motor launch steams in
from around the corner. What is this and where did it come from? It
pulls up to the dock and discourages about 16 adults. We steer away
from the village as another heavily-laden launch arrives. Both launches
soon leave and head back around the end of the island. We follow.
Around the corner lies the island of Laucala which is a very private
island with a very exclusive high-end resort, and it is to and from this
island that the launches are running. The village is not a real
village. Think of it as dormitory living for Laucala’s hired help.
Throughout the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, boats of all
sizes run to and from the dock sometimes to drop off people and other
times to pick up people to ferry them home to their villages located
somewhere along the Qamea coast. We will not do sevusevu here!
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Instead we explore around the island. It is supposed to be a great place to snorkel, and with several small, private beaches, we talk of a picnic and swim off one of them tomorrow.
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Those hopes are dashed when we wake up to a grey drizzly day. The First Mate is reading a boater’s blog about the Mitchell family who live in Namata Bay on Qamea Island. Forefather Mitchell came to Fiji from Scotland, fell in love with a Fijian princess, married and set up home on Namata Bay where he made a living selling copra and where his descendants still live. They love to welcome yachties. Not at all enthralled with our present anchorage, we decide to pay them a visit.
It is mid-morning when we arrive in Namata Bay, and being Sunday, a day of church and quiet time in Fiji, we think it best to wait until later in the afternoon to go ashore. Small houses are tucked into the trees, but we see not a soul. All is very, very quiet.
The Captain decides to trouble shoot why the wash down pump is not working properly. The pump lives in a salt water environment in the bow of the boat and is often a problem. The Captain thinks it is a switch, but in the end, a new pump has to be installed.
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Scrunched into the bow of the boat, he drills new mounts for the replacement pump, for as with all things “boat”, even though this new pump is from the same manufacturer as the old, it irritatingly has a different footprint than its predecessor.
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Other than one motor boat which came in with some children from what we later learn was a church program, we have seen no activity on shore. At 1500, we decide to venture forth, and as we near the shore, a small group of children materializes from the interior. English is one of the official languages of Fiji, and though everyone speaks their native tongue, English is taught in school.
We have no problem communicating with the kids. The Captain gives them each a bottle of bubbles, and we head down the beach. We meet a young man named Andrew and stop to talk to him. Continuing to the end of the beach, we turn around to head back to Avante.
Passing a house tucked back from the beach, a woman comes out to greet us. Her name is Maria. She invites us to come sit, talk, and have some tea. We are introduced to her daughter, Bibi, who makes the tea. It is delightful sitting there talking to these two women with the soft tropical breeze blowing through the shade.
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Monday, May 2nd – Rain fell and heavy winds blew all last night. Neither of us slept well as the boat swung and rocked. Though securely anchored, again we are in deep water with shallow coral not that far away. No one would ever call that totally reassuring. It continues to rain and blow all morning. The end of the rainy season is not for another few weeks, and Mother Nature is sure getting in her last say. The good news for the islanders is that it is filling all the water tanks, but on Avante with our water maker, we are eager for a dryer season with more consistent sunshine.
Our
next destination is a group of islands about 50 nm roughly southeast
from where we are now. Collectively, they are known as the Lau Group.
We have been looking for a good weather window that will allow us to
sail east into the prevailing Easterlies. Despite today’s miserable
weather, tomorrow is looking good. If we were to move to another bay
around the end of the island, that would cut off a few miles tomorrow
and give us a better wind angle.
Rains stop in the afternoon and under brightening skies, we head ashore to say goodbye to Maria and family. Bibi comes out to greet us, and we give them several oranges and some preserved wahoo as a thank you for their hospitality. They offer us tea, but pointing to the sky, we tell them about our plans. They agree. Now is the time to go. Waving farewell from the dinghy, we note a grey cloud moving across our bright sky. Half way to Avante, drops are falling. By the time we reach Avante, it is torrential. We are drenched. The Captain, not to be deterred by a little rain, says we are going to lift the dinghy onto the bow where it is stored for departure. The First Mate, who normally goes along with anything “boat” requested by The Captain, emphatically says, “No way! If you want to stay up here, in this rain, go for it. Not me!” Without waiting for a reply, she heads below to change out of her dripping clothes. Shortly thereafter, The Captain yells down telling her to hurry up, get dressed, someone is coming out to the boat in a kayak. It’s Andrew, the young man we met on the beach yesterday. Soaked thoroughly, he smiles delightedly and hands a plastic-wrapped bundle up to The Captain. It’s warm and fragrant. We know not what it is, but through the wind and the rain , we show our surprise and shout words of thank you.
In the bundle are 7 large, just out-of-the-oven homemade rolls and 4 spinach fritters. Such a wonderful gift! How The First Mates wishes she could thank them in person! She does not even attempt to make bread in her tiny galley oven with no reliable temperature control, and by now our bread is stale and moldy. Like manna from Heaven, we will savor these rolls over the next three days.
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The downpour reduces to a drizzle. We set about getting ready for departure. (ie: securing the dinghy), weigh anchor and set off under a leaden sky. As we near the end of the island where we will be turning south along the coast, winds build up and the seas are rough. With less protection from the mass of the island, that is to be expected. What is not expected is the direction of the wind. It is totally opposite the direction forecast and completely wrong for the bay to which we are headed. We bounce along for a while hoping things will change with the passing of this cloudburst, but they do not. Back to Namata Bay, we turn. As we motor along, the winds and seas calm. Is this the effect of the island or have conditions reversed and calmed? The only way to find out is to about face again. We do so and quickly learn that nothing has changed out by the point. Our intended anchorage would not be good. Another about face and in the gathering gloom of early evening, we drop anchor in Namata Bay below Maria’s house. The First Mate sincerely hopes nobody was watching our antics out there!
Another miserable rocky night! Neither of us sleeps well, and we wake up with stiff backs.
The only good thing about the reversal of yesterday is that we can go ashore to see Maria, Bibi and the kids again. Packing a pound of sliced meat as our thank you for the rolls and fritters, we head ashore. Several youngsters follow us up to the house. The kids are sent off to get the Cruisers’ Book which they would like us to sign. Dating back to 2012, it is a large book full of photos, art work, poems and memories of the Mitchell family thoughtfully added by the many visiting yachts. They have three other books just like this one dating back years. What a beautiful history! We browse the pages hoping to see other boats that we know, and then we add our thoughts and that wonderful photo we have of Avante amongst the icebergs in Alaska which never fails to amaze.
Earlier in the day, The Captain had determined that winds were looking much better for us to leave tomorrow for the Lau Group. There is a pretty, secluded bay on the north side of Matagi Island. Located outside the reef, it will give us a good jumping off point for the 50nm trip. Following our path on the chart plotter, we retrace our way through the reef and sail around to anchor in this bay. What a beautiful anchorage! It is pretty and isolated. The sun is shining, and the forecast looks good.
The nearby snorkeling is delightful until the First Mate spots a shark cruising along the reef. It’s only a white-tipped reef shark. They don’t attack. Then two swim by, and it’s amazing how fast she can get into the dinghy when motivated. Say what you want. She doesn’t care. Shark is Shark in her book.
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Not another boat or sign of human life is nearby. We are by ourselves in this lovely spot. Sitting on deck in the evening, the only lights we see are those that twinkle above us. Now how perfect is that?
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Tomorrow we leave to explore a totally new and unknown area for us. Our first two weeks in Fiji have been fraught with dreary days, frequent rain and several unexciting and uncomfortable anchorages, but time will fade those uninspiring memories while the thoughts of Fijian people we have met and interesting things we have seen and done will remain first and foremost. Selective memory is truly a wonderful gift!