Ventura’s friendly and convenient surf scene made getting Trent and Bryce into the sport a natural endeavor. We had previously provided them the “Waikiki” experience when they were very young, surfing in Hawaii on long foam boards with push-offs from the instructor. Twice they had a week of summer camp surf lessons in Ventura, but nothing compares to the surfing experience they’ve had over this past year. It’s made a significant difference in their abilities and in developing their passion for the sport. They currently surf a couple times a week, and frequently more. They have two surfboards and a Boogie board each. Although Leslie and I do not surf (yet?), we’re making surfing a priority on this trip. We’re getting great tips on where to surf in Baja and the Galapagos. At Wood Shop at Cabrillo Middle School, Bryce laminated strips of wood and fashioned them into a beautiful hand-planer. I never saw one before. They are a micro wooden Boogie board that you hold on the hand, extends in front of yourself as you catch a wave, which creates a longer water line, making you go faster with greater accuracy. As you glide through the water with accelerated speed, you take body surfing to another level.
Bryce monitors surf conditions in front of the Ventura Yacht Club.
Months since I last posted, having just past our anniversary, a recap of the past 2 years seems fitting. The start of the trip’s impact was great and still resonates strongly within my recollection. Much like recalling the bear in the woods at the cost of the forest’s wonder. Although much wonder is to be told of our experiences in the Marquesas, Tuamotus and Society Islands, of New Zealand and Sydney, and of Easter Island, looking back I seem drawn to reflect on the stress of the journey’s start, perhaps in an effort to derive some benefit against the ledger of anguish expended, perhaps as a cautionary tale to those eager to push themselves in a likewise fashion, or maybe like a survivor of any struggle may do. But this, as with most American movies, is developing into a happy circumstance. I had faith that the experience would eventually pay off, but my faith was and is often tested, just as it is for entrepreneurs, parents, and anyone else with a goal to make something worthy happen.
Apologies for those who feel I repeat too often a “woe-is-me” theme. Leslie worries so. I don’t do so to provoke a response, to get readers to encourage me. I’m just inviting readers into my head as I look back on the past two years. This is, I know, a repeat of what I’ve written before, but see it as a summary, a reduction of my thoughts. Know this: I am at this time pleased and more self-aware than I can recall in recent memory. “Much to learn have I,” as Yoda might phrase it. “Learn I have. Learn I will. But never so much as is to learn.”
Two years ago, on Leslie’s birthday, we left Ventura, California aboard Kandu, our 42-foot expedition type single mast sailboat, now almost 30 years old herself. Motor-sailing out from the marina and into the Pacific Ocean, light haze over an otherwise clear winter sky, friends waved us on from ashore. We slipped eagerly toward the calm harbor entrance, a gentle swell heightened as we neared the breakwaters’ opening, flanked by boulders of rock on either side, then passed the detached breakwater covered in a thick overcoat of seabird guano.
Cast-off and sailing into the Big Blue Yonder with Bryce Rigney as the King-of-the-World – VIDEO.
The crew were excited. Bryce was standing on the forward pulpit pulling off his best Leonardo DiCaprio imitation of “I’m on top of the world!” Trent was below deck, scrambling to find and play the theme song to Titanic crackling over the loudspeaker. Did they not recall how the movie ended? Leslie was glad to be finally moving, having struggled for eighteen months prior to this day, buttoning up our lives as they had been, still frustrated from having walked away from beloved careers, family/friends, and a cozy home. But she was glad to be following through with the dream. After 25 years of talking about it, planning for it, saving for it, we were gliding out of the starting gate. No more having to hear, “You haven’t left yet?” from marina neighbors, yacht club members, and friends: a welcome relief for Leslie. I was more anxious than excited. Having worked full time on the boat for nearly a year and half, I didn’t think Kandu was yet ready for the demands of the first two, possibly four, long distance crossings that would comprise our first and longest passages. We hadn’t yet put Kandu through a significant shakedown; between extended preparations and a closing weather window (May 1st is the first official day of hurricane season for the northern hemisphere), we hadn’t had the time.
Kandu arrived at Marina del Rey, California on February 10th, 2015.
Rather than head directly to Mexico from Ventura, we slipped in and out of Southern California marinas, stopping at reciprocal yacht clubs where we could stay free for 3-5 days at a time. West Marine, the nation’s largest purveyor of marine hardware, mans a store in nearly every Southern California port. I was through their doors like church and everyday was Sunday. Haunted by the knowledge that once we left California, cost and time would be added to each and every project, handicapped by the lack of convenience generously supported by US’s well-oiled consumer culture. The mental stress was heavy. With the safety and comfort of family on the line, “failure was not an option.”
Mexico’s would be our first international border to cross. It’s a day sail from San Diego to Ensenada. Having worked frenetically in marinas between Ventura and San Diego, with no more “free-slip” days left having spent our allotted time in 6 different yacht clubs, and that ever present favorable seasonal weather window closing, my hand was forced again. March 21, the spring equinox, would be our last day in the USA.
From Left: Uncle Bill, Bryce Rigney, Jose Houska, Trent Rigney, Eric Rigney in Ensenada, Mexico.
Ensenada was a mini-vacation with no major known boat projects left to tackle. Uncle Bill and our mutual friend, Joe Houska, joined us for the border crossing. They returned to California after a few days of helping us out with tasks. As a family treat, we attended what would be for the next two years our last feature film screening in a movie theater. The coves and bays between Ensenada and Banderas Bay ranged from beautiful and remote, to dirty and corrupt. The crew handled well their watches. I was impressed by their desire to hold up their end. Bryce and Trent found ways to have fun at every place we stopped. I could find no desire within myself to have fun; knowing important tasks needed all my available energy. My humbug attitude frustrated me and the crew.
Banderos Bay, Mexico: Harbors La Cruz and Puerto Vallarta
Coming into Banderas Bay, port La Cruz, two significant problems arose: the newly factory rebuilt hydraulic cylinder that allows the automatic pilot to steer the boat failed due to my improper installation, and the masthead VHF antenna connection failed, severely limiting our radio’s reception and transmission performance to just a mile instead of 8-12. After many stressful days of research and measurements, a replacement hydraulic system was identified, expensive, purchased, delivered, and installed. The delay meant that Easter Island would likely have to come off the list. It was maybe 10 days since San Diego and I was missing West Marine like a crack addict. Time prevented repairing the VHF masthead antenna connection properly so we installed a new one behind the cockpit until I had time and a steady place where I could tackle the masthead solution. We picked up Uncle Bill at the Puerto Vallarta airport with all the parts I’d ordered, an action in which all future visitors to Kandu would engage. “Hardware mules” is what cruising sailors refer to friends and family who visit, laden with ordered parts and supplies, cheaply freighted and easily passed by customs. With the ticking weather window to sail to the Galapagos rapidly closing (“You should have left 4-6 weeks ago.”), we buttoned up Kandu, and on May 1, left Puerto Nuevo bound for Isla Isabela in the Galapagos with Uncle Bill aboard. Kandu was as ready as I could make her and I was satisfied enough, all things considered.The eighteen-day passage was extremely hot and muggy, seas from several directions, confused and varied winds, and nightly attacks by incessant squalls. Rain forced us to close all hatches and portlights, converting our living space into a tropical sauna.
Far from land, boobie takes a break. Trent investigates.
Sea temperature and air temperature were the same: 89 degrees F. Sweat and grime were immediate. Tempers shortened and mechanical problems continued to develop. This time, the engine’s charging system wasn’t functioning properly and I couldn’t figure out why. The off-again/on-again shifting winds exhausted my patience.The awkward motion of the boat in the three-way swell was annoying. I wondered if we could make it to landfall before running out of diesel fuel. But this wasn’t a weekend trip in some campground. I was in the middle of a remote part of the Pacific with my precious family. Like a scene out of Apollo 13, I must work from the parts and pieces I have on the boat.
Crossing the equator on our way to the Galapagos
Digging deep within my soul, I get hit by the life lesson I’ve discussed before: I can only sail the wind I have, not the wind I want. Somehow the sentiment comforts me. Do with what I’ve got, as best I can, adapting with demands of the moment. Throw shoulda, woulda, coulda out the door; and open myself to what’s possible, and then do that. That’s all I can do, that’s all anyone can do, so do it and move on to the next thing. Leave perfection to the saints.
Galapagos Marine Iguana basking in the Isla Isabella sun.
My experience at Isla Isabela, the largest island in the Columbus Archipelago aka the Galapagos, questioned for me what was becoming the theme of our trip. Should it be about spending time together as a family exploring new lands and cultures, or would it be about me getting the boat ready for the next crossing while the family begged me to join to them on one of their snorkels, bike rides, or other excursions?
Excursion to volcanic park and its beauty help to set aside frustrations of boat challenges.
Turns out, of the fifteen days spent in Puerto Villamil, five were rain-drenched workdays, eight were sunny workdays, and three were amazing excursions. Twenty-percent fun, eighty-percent stress and work. I did not like this version of the 80-20 rule. But what could I do?
Ready to make the passage from Galapagos to the Marquesas.
The conditions of the Mexico to Galapagos crossing proved too much for Uncle Bill, who celebrated his 84th birthday on our Galapagos arrival. He did not join us for the crossing to the Marquesas. Unlike the Galapagos crossing, the 24-day crossing to the Marquesas was swift and dryer. The seas were larger and still a bit confused. In brief, the conditions were not comfortable, but the ride was a bit more pleasant, not as hot and less rain, no squalls. We arrived in Nuku Hiva with a couple more boat issues for me to resolve before heading on.
Nuku Hiva, Marquesas landfall 24 days later.
A late June arrival in the Marquesas meant we were about three months off from the ideal seasonal weather window based on our planned itinerary. In order to catch up and be in New Zealand by November, we would have to cut our French Polynesia stay by several months. Considering that we had pre-established deep relations with many Marquesans friends, leaving so soon would have robbed us from an opportunity too valuable to lose. Our Marquesan friends said we had arrived during a grand Matava’a year, an inter-island cultural event staged in December once every four years. A French sailor familiar with the area and all of French Polynesia advised that an El Nino year was expected and that the Marquesas Islands were the safest place in French Polynesia to avoid hurricanes, also the least expensive and most authentic in terms of Polynesian culture. Another Marquesan friend advised us that they could enroll our boys in the French public school. And two different American cruisers, both with at least one circumnavigation under their belts advised that the elements of French Polynesia combine to create a superior cruising experience: tropical beauty, warm and friendly people, access to French food, and all essential services. Add to the mix that Leslie and I speak French and this all made for a compelling argument set aside the original itinerary and, instead, rest.
Our Marquesan family, the Falchettos, welcome us with an extraordinary feast the day of our arrival.Polynesian roasted pig, captured and slaughtered that morning.Denis whips up a batch of fresh roasted breadfruit paste and coconut cream (poi or mako in Marquesan)
Staying in the Marquesas until next season would reset the weather window clock, allow me to catch up with most of the boat projects while having some fun, give us a cultural immersion experience few families can experience in the Marquesas, save some money, and the boys would learn French. On the other hand, to try and catch up with the planned itinerary would have entailed nearly non-stop boat maintenance, missing many of the cultural gifts of each port, just a quick dash through the South Pacific. Sure, sticking to the five-year plan we’d be able to chalk up more countries visited, spreading the time and cultural exchanges over multiple countries around the world instead of concentrating on French Polynesia. But if I’m working all the time, what I’m getting out of it? The scale tipped heavily in favor of staying, so stay we did . . . not just for one year, but two.
Kandu anchored in Anaho Bay, Nuku Hiva!Nuku Hiva communal shower, one of several.Trent stands before unusual tree trunk roots found along the way to a breathtaking waterfall.Cultural Heritage Day on Nuku Hiva offers “haka,” dance as well as traditional crafts, foods, and activities.Hiva Oa is where the Matava’a was held that year. Here’s a northern Hiva Oa bay, typical of the Marquesas.Northern Hiva Oa means the bay of Pua Mau (flower shade) and its world renowned stone tikis.The Matava’a opens with great fanfare.Cyril, sculpture and dance master of Tauhata regally enters the arena.And of course much dancing.Back at home in Taiohae, Nuku Hiva, the Petit Quai’s favorite hang out: Chez Henri’s Snack VaeakiHenri, like a brother to me, shows off a plate of his poisson cru, lime-marinated raw yellow fin tuna.A secluded beach cove in Eaio, where friends spearfish and hunt for our meals.Boys with a Tahitian acquaintance spy over the cliffs of uninhabited Eiao Island in the Marquesas.Wild mutton, killed, slaughtered, and air-dried before our overnight sail back to Nuku Hiva.
The Marquesas long-stay experience proved so wonderful that we decided to extend our stay in French Polynesia a second year, this time in the Society Islands, in Raiatea and in a marina.
Marina d’Uturoa, in Raiatea, and island 20 miles from honeymoon famous Bora Bora.
It is from here that I write. To help make things even easier and more fun, we bought a very used car.
Our beater car purchased in Tahiti, Leslie affectionate named, “la marquisenne.”
From here, we calculate we can get a jump on the weather window in our bid to finish a circumnavigation, but now within a much quicker two years. We hope to leave this May. To shorten the distance and save time, we plan to sail up the Red Sea instead of around Africa. Pirate circumstances have dramatically changed around the horn of Africa in favor of passing through this previously perilous region. From Raiatea, I can calmly finish the last big boat projects, having Kandu ready for the two-year push while the boys complete a second year in French public school and play in a beautiful part of the world in a familiar culture. Through it all, Leslie keeps the family fed, tidy, healthy, and the bills paid, along with other boat projects. We have a nice routine. The municipal marina provides electricity, water, and easy access to land, while fending off swells generated from seasonal storms. From Raiatea, we can affordably fly to bucket-list locations missed due to our delayed start or to be missed by our new itinerary.
Kandu Tahiti tied in Marina d’Uturoa, Raiatea.
First in line, we flew to New Zealand for a two-week drive-about.
New Zealand jet boat ride!
This important region was removed from our new sailing itinerary as was most of Australia. So from NZ we flew to nearby Sydney for another two weeks.
Iconic Sydney Bridge, had to do it.
After a week in Tahiti, we returned to Raiatea for 10 days, then back to Tahiti for a flight to Easter Island, removed from our itinerary due to boat preparation delays and additional repairs in Mexico. We stayed two weeks and experienced most of the Tapati Festival.
Moai of Easter IslandTapait traditional dance contest in full swing.
As such, overall, we had an extraordinary (and much needed) 7-week family vacation exploring New Zealand’s north island, visiting friends old and new; Sydney with my brother Curtis and his partner, Joel; Easter Island and the Tapati Festival with Marquesan and American friends; and more excitement in Tahiti with great Tahitian and American friends. The result: a full decompression from the grueling post-departure months, living on the boat, and the upcoming pre-departure boat preparations. I couldn’t recall when I had last felt so unburdened.
Between the Marquesas and Tahiti, we spent 3 weeks on gorgeous Fakarava atoll in the Tuamotus. Here’s a sunrise from our cockpit.Even lunch in Fakarava can be transformed into a scenic adventure, a tropical paradise to be sure.
So, the experience up to the Marquesas was unpleasant. The effect: the shadow of the difficult start permeated my being. I didn’t realize how much of it I still shouldered even after we decided to hit the pause button, how the weight of the burden had left an impression and thus continued to shape my perspective and my day-to-day attitude towards the future. After the recent “vacation,” for the first time in too many years, I felt I was in the right place, at the right time, with the right people, and doing it all for the right reasons at the right pace.
Ahu Tongariki at Sunrise, Rapa Nui on February 2, 2017.
In summary, we left our homeport twenty-four months ago. The first four months were frustrating and pressure-filled. The following 20 months have been rewarding, very much so, yet tainted by an overshadowing stress established by the first four months, and the year and half leading up to the departure. Still, that was closer to the 80/20 equation for which I was looking when I originally planned this trip. Unfortunately I allowed the 20 percent pain to blur the 80 percent pleasure. After the vacation, I knew more than ever that this habit needed to end. Better to take a page from Bryce and Trent’s playbook and find ways to have fun wherever we are, whenever we can, not looking for the closest hardware store. What would be the point of all this if I were to allow the emotional turmoil of the past to continue to spoil our adventure any futher?
All smiles near a new Rapa Nui petroglyph
Okay, so the focus now, for me, is to schedule time off from boat projects to have guilt-free fun, especially during the week, even just an hour. This is not easy for me to do. Another goal is to source an air of joy from within myself, draw out the “vacation” me, especially when I’m working with Leslie and the boys. I want to be less critical, less gruff. This too does not come naturally to me. To help me with this goal, I picture in my mind the on camera, off stage demeanor of Chris Martin, lead singer of the rock band Coldplay. I want to be more like that, confident, quick to smile, ready for something fun. This will not be easy for me, not by a long shot, but it’s important . . . to me and my family. I want develop joy and happiness more so than even my elusive washboard abs. In other words, wake up and smell the moai. In a strange way, I feel like the trip I envisioned 40+ years ago is just beginning, and I’m exited about it, and about doing it with Leslie, Bryce, and Trent aboard Kandu. In short, two years after leaving California, I find myself loving to sail the wind I have, . . . although missing a wee bit the convenience of a West Marine.
Kaoha Mom and Dad: So nice to hear from you. I enjoyed very much reading your email to Michel. Your news touched on some great things about your visit here, already three weeks ago. I loved reading your point of view.
[Dear Michel, we have been back from the Marquesas for over a week. We spent 3 weeks with Leslie, Eric, Bryce and Trent. The island is isolated so not many tourists, mostly boaters coming from the Galapagos. The boys are going to school there, French spoken, so it has been a big challenge for them.
Taiohae college from outside.
They plan on staying on the island until May, when sailing season will have good projections. Leslie/Eric have many friends there as this is the third time Eric has sailed to the Marquesas. We stayed in one of their friends’ home for the 1st week we were there. It was up a hill with a lovely view of the harbor where the boat is anchored. While the island is not a 3rd world type of living environment, it is a way of life that is simple, void of many of our typical comforts. The first home we stayed in had a full kitchen, hot and cold water, where most of the homes we experienced had no hot water. We had boar meat for some of our meals, and our favorite, fresh raw tuna very often. Trent turned 12 and Bryce 14 while we were there. We had perfect weather, with humidity of course as it is tropical. People who have cars usually have large 4 door, 4 wheel drive diesel trucks as the roads are quite primitive and full of rocks and potholes.
Aakapa & Attitoka as seen looking down from way above on the ridge.
There is only one road to the other side of the island, where we travelled about three times. We rented one of those trucks for a week while we were there. Eric drove, of course. We loved the green green scenery and hikes and the sailing. All of us snorkeled one day, and accumulated lots of lovely shells to bring back. Beach combing for shells was a favorite thing for us, but we had to cover up as there are a lot of biting insects on the beach. There is no laying on the beach to get a tan!
Denis feeding his semi-wild semi-domesticated pigs.
The two highlights that we remember most were feeding semi-wild pigs coconuts and our incredible hike to the waterfall at the end of Hakaoui Bay, next to Daniel’s Bay where Survivor Marquesas was filmed. Of course, time with the family was golden. We were treated like royals. We miss our Kandu family very much, and feel the long trip that we made was very very worth it. Sending you all our love from Oakland, Rosie and Ron.]
Last week was very busy. We got our US income taxes submitted on Tuesday: two days before our October 15th deadline! Gee, that felt good to get that off our shoulders. A friend from Tahiti happened to be in town on Sunday and Monday – so we spent some quality time with her and her bank boss who had come to Nuku Hiva to check-up on various bank investments. It was interesting to learn about Marquesan start-up businesses and how entrepreneurs here qualify for loans.
Friday I helped Raymonde teach children how to make yogurt in a couple elementary school classes (I first spent a separate morning with 5 other volunteers learning how to make yogurt in a rice cooker). We will make yogurt again tomorrow morning, Monday, with three more classes. It is actually quite simple to make. You heat a liter of skimmed milk stirring it continuously until it’s hot but never boiling, you add and mix together ½ cup live yogurt, 4 heaping tablespoons of whole powdered milk, 10 teaspoons of sugar or less and wait for the mixture to steam. Remove from heat, divide into portions and place in a warm environment for 6-8 hours or overnight. Then transfer to the refrigerator and consume. Yum yum! Since it’s so easy, I plan to make some on the boat. I already bought special yogurt containers before we left on our trip.
Homemade yogurt. Mmmmgood! Not too sweet.
We have been helping Bryce and Trent more with their homework as they are becoming more capable of comprehending the French in their classes. Eric was involved in recording an ad for breast cancer for Raymonde who is putting on a big cancer awareness event this Friday – which I will be helping with all day.
Nuku Hiva drum battery
We also went again to watch/hear the dance rehearsal Friday night that Nuku Hiva residents are preparing for the December festival on Hiva Oa. Watching and listening to their songs and drum battery is always an exciting cultural experience.
Leslie sporting new outrigger paddle.
Two weeks ago we ordered an outrigger paddle for me, fashioned by a local paddler. I received the paddle earlier this week and admire it’s beautiful workmanship. It feels like I can paddle faster and more efficiently. Ha ha! Bryce is now paddling two times a week through his school.
See Bryce in the first seat. This is the fahoro, or cadence position. He maintains the paddling rhythm.
Unfortunately, Trent is too young to paddle through the school. Last week, I paddled three times with our mixed group of French residents, cruisers and Marquesan club members. Eric and the boys actually went out twice in the three-man outrigger. Also, I’m really enjoying aqua gym in the ocean with the ladies on Tuesday and Thursday mornings . . . great exercise and enjoyable company.
Today, there was an historical tour of Taiohae bay that started at 9:30 til 12:30. It was quite interesting. One tidbit we learned about the history of Nuku Hiva was that it was first discovered by an American merchant ship captain, Joseph Ingrams in 1791. Later in 1813 during the war of 1812 while harassing British flag ships in the Pacific, the bay was claimed for America by Navy Captain David Porter and named Madison Island. Taiohae was named Madisonville and the bay, Massachusetts Bay. It’s a convoluted story, but suffice it to say that he arrived with 8 ships, commandeered from the British, with many mouths to feed.
United States Navy Commodore David Porter’s fleet off Nuku Hiva in October 1813.
The Marquesan chief and residents of Taiohae valley agreed to let them build a fort and lay claim to the eastern part of the bay (the least desirable section because there was no river) and to provide them pigs as long as they fought and defeated the neighboring valley Taipi Vai, whose residents had been harassing Taiohae. In order to feed his men, Captain Porter reluctantly waged war on Taipi Vai, firing canons, shooting guns and lighting aflame magnificently carved structures that covered the valley. Reportedly the day after, the Taipi Vai people showed up with 300 pigs. Months later Captain Porter had to leave and shortly thereafter the American claim went with him. Congress never ratified the annex. The French took over control in 1846.
My English classes are three times a week now because I have an advanced group and a beginner group. My students are advancing steadily. I spent Friday morning learning some teaching tips at Linda and Chuck’s boat, Jacaranda. Previously watching me teach English, she got very excited and wanted to share some technics that she used when she taught ‘English as a Second Language.’ She had great ideas like throwing an ‘un-birthday’ party and wrapping up some gag gifts…everything to be spoken in English, of course. I plan to prepare that particular idea sooner than later. Sadly, Jacaranda is supposed to leave for Anaho today, but looking out into the bay – they are still here, so they will probably depart tomorrow morning. We will likely not see them again until December during the Marquesan Matava’a festival in Hiva Oa. I will miss our fun conversations and her artistic input. Did you ever check out her website? She is constantly adding great articles about the islands and the interesting things they learn: s/v Jacaranda blog
Un-Birthday party during “English Class.” Since Laeticia is a doctor and it was October, I gave her a Halloween skeleton for her Un-birthday.
The boys have been spending quality time Boogie boarding. They cannot get enough time on their Boogie boards, taking advantage of the large southern swell, which will change to a northern pattern in December. They headed out again today and had a great time…who wouldn’t considering how wonderful and clear the water is on these hot-humid days with little rain. Academically, Trent is really enjoying reading his “dragon” books on the new Kindle. He just loves them. His comprehension is improving in English and French.
You also have been very busy. Congrats on selling your little red car. Yahoo! Thanks for sending the school package of pen-pal letters from here off to Allison Maires at Cabrillo Middle School. I will write her to make sure she knows to look for a package in the mail. I appreciate you purchasing the items for us for when Shannon and Charlie come to visit.
Well all that is probably a bit more than you were expecting to read. I will sign-off here. Just know that I am thinking of you….
We left the Galapagos the 2nd of June 2015 and arrived in Nuku Hiva, Marquesas June 25th. Since arriving, our lives have been full to the brim with amazing local experiences, but before I blog about these more recent experiences, I want to recount a couple more special things that we enjoyed while we were on Isla Isabella before I forget.
Marina Iguana Yoga
The marine iguanas were the absolute favorite wild creatures that we saw, perhaps because they were literally laying around everywhere we traversed: on paths, on docks, in streets, on rocks, etc. They are wild and prehistoric looking, and yet it turns out are incredibly vulnerable. From what we learned, these cold-blooded creatures eat algae off marine rocks, but swimming in the tepid water lowers their body temperature significantly, so they must spend a great deal of time out of the water sunning themselves. And if they expend too much energy moving about, the effort could actually kill them, especially if they are chased.
Marine Iguana (photo by Leslie)
We spent a lot of time observing these interesting reptiles and taking pictures of them sporting various yoga positions. If you got too close, they’d warn you to stay back by snorting projectile saltwater spray. Yuck! Once while snorkeling, I witnessed an iguana swimming through a group of unsuspecting snorkelers. Its movement was similar to a snake, using only its tail to slither through the water. Its head stayed above water, its feet did not paddle but limped alongside its scaly body. Yet when it ran, its legs propelled him rapidly over the land; its long, wiggly toes gripped the sharp lava along the waterside and along the wall with surprising agility. We found the iguanas to be excellent climbers and often witnessed them sunning on rooftops.
Landside, we spent a day bicycling 5 miles to the wall of tears (Muro de las lagrimas), to the tortoise-breeding center, and to the flamingo habitat. We rented three extra bikes so that all five of us could ride together, including Uncle Bill. The bicycle ride was partially carved along the beach. A couple miles along the path, the setting turned into wetlands with a coastal group of lagoons and mangroves scattered about.
Three miles in, the path headed uphill changing into a wild semi-arid landscape with the addition of cactus and succulents. Along the way, we came upon a medium-sized wild tortoise trying to cross the road. We accosted it with cameras and it immediately hissed exhausted air by pulling its head back deep into its shell. Wild! Arriving at the wall of tears was a bit anticlimactic. Yet considering the sad story of its construction, it was worthy of seeing for historical perspective. During the late 1940’s when a penal colony was established on Isabela, prisoners built the wall out of chiseled black lava bricks as forced labor. Tragically, many suffered and died while building that non-essential wall; work created out of spite by the sadistic warden. When the truth came out, the entire colony was disbanded.
After our insightful visit, the ride back was all downhill and enjoyable. The tortoise long gone, had disappeared into the brushland. Before entering town we biked a side street leading to the Arnaldo Tupiza Tortoise Breeding Center, reported by fellow yachters to be superior to Darwin’s tortoise exhibit located at the more popular Puerto Ayora on Isla Santa Cruz. At the Tortoise Center, we found ourselves completely alone among the tortoises of all sizes. Bryce and Trent had a blast tempting the larger tortoises to come alive by offering them green vegetation to nibble. These large clumsy creatures clambered over each other like World War II tanks, trying to get at the proffered leaves.
Trent at the Galapagos Tortoise Breeding Center
It was amusing to watch them stretch out their long necks and waddle in their odd fashion on four wide-stretched legs. The exhibit offered sights from the smallest newborns to the largest active breeders. We were later told that a female lays about 160 eggs in one batch, and when protected at the Breeding Center, all 160 typically survive to be reintegrated into the wild near the remote volcanoes. Nice odds! After our tortoise visit, the flamingo habitat located nearby was, in comparison, not heavily inhabited. Those flamingos present were an exquisitely bright salmon color…healthy and prospering. It was an altogether great day of sightseeing!
For the surfers aboard Kandu, Bryce and Trent found the only local surf site just east of La Playita by the lighthouse. Before attempting to surf, they consulted with Puerto Villamil’s local surf instructor and bike rental owner nicknamed “Junior” who spoke English well and confirmed that La Playita was indeed the only nearby surf location and was generally safe. Very beautiful, the site sported an all-sand beach and a surfer’s shack.
The waves, however, were generally large, blown out, and arrived one after another with little time in between to get prepared. Bryce and Trent felt safer and enjoyed themselves more when locals showed up, including Junior, who was the only local who surfed in a wetsuit, possibly for jellyfish protection. With no jellyfish present, the water temperature for Bryce and Trent was perfect: no wetsuits required having hailed from the much colder waters of Ventura. One day in particular was especially exciting. There were several local surfers out bobbing in the waves when Bryce spotted a shark near the surface. He waved at a nearby local surfer and pointed to the shark. The local surfer hailed the other surfers then instantly paddled over to Bryce and propelled him from his own board into a wave toward shore, then paddled over to Trent and likewise thrust him out of harms way. All the surfers immediately made their way back to shore and quickly exited the water. Bryce and Trent went out to surf the morning after, but due to another shark sighting, swiftly returned to shore. When local surfers race out of the water, it’s wise to follow suit.
During the short 15 days that we were visiting Isla Isabela, in between making necessary repairs for Kandu’s upcoming 3000-mile voyage to the Marquesas, Eric worked additionally to arrange a Skype exchange between their local middle school and Ventura’s Cabrillo middle school. Arranging for a dependable wifi connection at the school site was a challenge. But with the help and dedication of the staff and our beloved friend and yacht agent, JC DeSoto, they succeeded and tested the connection before the event. With a torrential rain pouring outside and off the large roof, the English teacher situated her English students for two half-hour sessions to take place in an open-air classroom. The young teenagers enjoyed asking questions of one another about life and free-time. Being quite modern, we discovered: that the Galapagos students enjoy access to mp3 players, smart phones, and video games just like their Ventura counterparts, and that the two groups share a love of surfing, water sports, and soccer or “football” as it’s called in the rest of the world. The Skype session ended with the middle schoolers playing ‘rock, paper, scissors’ together – evidently a universal game.
JC DeSoto
I got a chance to sing at the local Catholic Church one Sunday morning. Their lovely folkloric Ecuadorian-style music and choir were simply accompanied by a drum and other percussion instruments; the singers seemingly found their pitch out of thin air. I, on the other hand, carried my pitch pipe to be sure that I sang on the correct pitch when I sang Schubert’s ‘Ave Maria’ during communion. The acoustics were terrific. My voice carried beautifully through the grand hall and after the service, the priest and parishioners enthusiastically thanked me for being a part of their worship. I wished that I could have participated with the choir too, but the choir members performed everything from memory, not even reading their lyrics from a score. Since I don’t speak Spanish well, I couldn’t easily join in, except on the universal ‘Alleluia.’ The church itself was relatively new and modern looking with great tall beams supporting a wide, lofty roof. One side of the church was beautified by large stained glass windows, each displaying an image of one of the special animals that glorify the Galapagos: penguin, marine iguana, blue-footed boobie, giant tortoise, and seal. The opposite side of the church displayed the images of Christ during his persecution, exquisitely carved in wood. The alter was equally impressive. An enormous and beautifully rendered carving of the same animals as represented within the stained glass, now depicted together, supported a large, exquisitely finished, wooden tabletop. I felt privileged to be able to sing in such a lovely and holy setting within this world-renowned archipelago.
It was difficult for Kandu and Uncle Bill to arrive in the Galapagos. The passage from Mexico to Galapagos was unpleasant and challenging, battling shifting winds, mixed seas, and constant thundershowers, as well as boat issues. Eric indicated beforehand that the crossing would be a challenge, but we both felt we’d already given up too many bucket-list destinations to give up this one too. That said, the challenge in getting here made it easy to cross off Easter and Pitcairn Islands in favor of the simpler Marquesas-direct crossing. I’d still like to see the moai on Easter Island someday. Who knows . . . maybe we’ll fly to Easter Island from Tahiti? The sour memory of the Mexico to Galapagos crossing will certainly fade. What will remain will be the wonderfully amazing experiences on Isla Isabela and in Puerto Villamil, etched in our collective memories, having provided our family a direct relationship with this unique and diverse part of the world. Documentaries and movies do the earth and animal sciences justice, but these modern story-telling tools overlook what it’s like to live among these wonders. Experiencing such things as a normal part of life is an extraordinary circumstance we hope the boys will forever appreciate.
Self-reliance helped catch several MahiMahi between Galapagos and Marquesas.
Sailing between Galapagos and the Marquesas, an uncomfortable 24-day crossing for us, I reflect on features missed of my life recently left behind. Departing California for Mexico and the South Pacific on a 42-foot sailboat, life significantly changes as one would expect, but exactly what changes and how these changes affect a person one cannot know until engulfed in the new circumstance. In the cost-benefit analysis, we would only leave if, by leaving, we calculate a better overall outcome for ourselves, ultimately gaining more than we forfeit. But I find one particular adjustment difficult to make: “Convenience,” specifically the lack thereof.
Convenience is seductive. I miss her. She gets me what I want, when I want. All I have to do is figure out what I want, something I’m exceedingly good at, and she comes through for me. Dressed in Amazon Prime, 24hr grocery stores, next day parts from West Marine, Jack’n the Box drive thru, the big box stores, Costco, Walmart, Target, or the mall; she gives me what I want, when I want . . . and I am capable of wanting so much.
Car is great too; a cozy cocoon, it entertains, it comforts, and it takes me where I want. It asks little of me. Entertainment, I miss too: movies, television, theater, art galleries, music, opera, dining out, etc. It, too, asks little. I merely have to decide what it is I wish to see . . . Car takes me there.
Convenience has a bathroom near your bedroom, a large shower, washing machine, dryer and dishwasher. She’s water, power, gas, phone, sanitation, and Internet. She’s so there, so ready to serve. I miss Convenience.
I left Convenience for a more challenging relationship with Self-reliance. This new one taps me for everything I’ve got: brain, heart, body, and soul. I don’t demand of her . . . she demands of me. Convenience never asked for anything. Each day with Self-reliance, I’m spent. I bed and rise early. I’m uncomfortable, and yet somehow I no longer seem to need to work out or visit medical specialists. I no longer ache. I’m thinner. I’m fit. With Self-reliance, I don’t get to buy things. I must watch what I spend, and try not to. She requires that I wait to get the things I want, and/or do without. Entertainment under Self-reliance is simple too; cards and board games with wife and sons, watching together a video on a 9” screen, meeting new and fascinating people from around the world of all walks of life, walking or swimming by exotic animals and plants, hiking active volcanoes, picking unusual produce from a local farmer’s field, but mostly, just solving problems. I chose this new relationship because she’s supposed to offer my family and me more substantive rewards, but who knows? It’s too soon to tell. Still, the other relationship was pretty good. Learning to live with less is not as much fun as learning to live with more. I miss Convenience. Fortunately for me, she harbors another easy-going quality: Convenience never gets jealous. No matter how long I’m away from her, she’s always willing to take me back.
Trent’s class’s Kodak moment captures the student at the front left corner sporting the playground’s ubiquitous “bird” on his righthand.
Leslie and I dreamed of Bryce and Trent learning to some day speak fluent French. Although it was not our original intention when setting off to sail around the world, the new emphasis toward cultural immersion in lieu of sailing around the world affords us this opportunity. It is one of the main reasons for our extended stay in French Polynesia, allowing us to enroll Bryce and Trent in a French public school; first in Nuku Hiva, Marquesas, then maybe in Raiatea, Society.
At first, we were all excited to start school, all of us except Trent. He was, and remains, less convinced of the benefits surrounding the acquisition of a new language. For Leslie and I, learning to speak French has become a requirement of them. In August of this year, Bryce and Trent made Nuku Hiva history, perhaps even Marquesas history, becoming the first Americans ever to attend school here. At first, Bryce welcomed the attention his unique circumstances offered. Everyone watched his every move. Girls flocked to him, requesting instant girlfriend status (being a small island of limited population, many kids are related, making it difficult to date, so new blood represents new possibilities). He was instantly popular. Trent on the other hand did not welcome the global attention. No matter where he went, on campus or off, he felt the inquisitive gaze of locals. When at the store, what products would he buy, what items interested him? At school, kids stared to see what clothes he wore, what technology he brought, what skills and attitudes he might introduce. He did not welcome the unsolicited attention that being a blond-haired, blue-eyed, white-skinned American brought him in a school 98% brown-haired, brown-eyed, brown-skinned Polynesian. Conspicuous simply for his differences was an uncomfortable circumstance for Trent. I tell the boys to remember how it feels to be different in appearance from the general population and to be treated like a freak, so that when they find themselves in a circumstance where they see someone different being introduced into their cultural, that they reach out to them to help them feel at ease, to welcome them in a more constructive and caring manner than their current classmates are.
Another challenge for the boys is entering a scholastic social structure unable to communicate. Not understanding what kids are saying to you or each other, not understanding what the teachers are saying when they are teaching, describing the assignments, the homework, and handing out the tests is akin to living a nightmare for an honor roll student like Bryce, or a student like Trent who likes to please others, especially his teachers. “They think because we don’t speak French that we’re idiots. They can’t believe we’re so dumb, coming from America. It’s not fair. We know more about most of these subjects then they do. Just because we don’t speak their language, doesn’t mean we’re dumb. Even little kids think they’re smarter than us just because we can’t answer even simple questions,” they protest. Again, I ask that they always remember this injustice so that when they meet someone learning English, or even a new skill, that they accord them the same allowances that they feel the Marquesan students, and even some of the French teachers, should extend them. For the first 6 weeks, most all the teachers were sympathetic to their circumstance. After the first school break, a one-week vacation, patience ran out. Nearly all of their teachers began treating them as if the grace period for learning to speak French were over. Apparently for many, six weeks is all it should take to be able to speak French.
The boys were learning. And as in when learning any language, they were beginning to understand what was being said, more than they could speak, especially when others made the effort to speak very slowly and deliberately. When a debutant linguist asks a native speaker to speak slowly, he or she slows down from 70 mph to 55 mph, but still freeway speed. What a very beginning student of a language wants is for a person to speak at 5-10 mph, crowded parking lot speed. You want each word clearly spoken and separated from each other with a fair pause in between. Only someone in the process of learning a new language seems to appreciate this requirement. Others soon tire of the effort and slowly ramp back up to freeway speeds. As parents introducing non-speaking students to their class, it’s not fair to ask teachers to teach their class in a manner necessary for Bryce and Trent to understand, either by translating in English or by slowing speech to a snail’s pace. So, to assist their learning, we hired a professional French-as-a-second-language teacher, experienced in teaching French to Americans. Bryce and Trent meet with him outside of school, 3 times a week. In a constructive environment, he instructs them in basic French, addresses their language questions related to any recent experiences, and helps them with their homework.
Language is not the only challenge confronting Bryce and Trent’s introduction to school in the Marquesas. Cultural differences make for difficult and unpleasant social lessons. Petty theft, lying, vulgar acts and language, and threats of violence are commonplace behaviors in Taiohae’s secondary school. The boys’ backpacks are pilfered through when they’re not looking, during recess, lunch, or physical ed. Bryce and Trent’s stationary supplies are taken from their desk when the walk away to approach the teacher with a question. Locker locks are picked open and items removed. Those whom Bryce thought were his frie
Trent starts French public secondary school in Taiohae, Marquesas
Moving from one school to the next is hard. Every school is different. You have new kids to deal with; new teachers and you have to start the friend making business all over again. All that is a pain in the butt, yet eventually it all turns out fine. Starting up at the school in Taiohae was a little different for my brother and me. It’s all French and we don’t speak French.
School entrance with guardian monitoring comings and goings
Our parents brought us to this island out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and threw us in school. We had no clue about the Marquesan culture, what the kids would be like, and the hardest part was we had no idea how to communicate. In a nutshell our parents enrolled us in a school, on a remote island, without us knowing the culture, the language or other kids, then told us how long we were going to attend – one year! That’s what I call a little bit of a challenge.
Eastside of campus reveals open-air cafeteria
On our first day of school we woke up at 6 in the morning since school starts at 7 a.m. We quickly got dressed and ate breakfast, drove our 8’ inflatable dinghy to shore then started our 20-minute walk to school. We walked up to meet the principal and to check out the school: where the restrooms were, lunch would be, basketball courts were, etc. The bell rang so it was time to find my first class. The vice principal told this random girl to lead me to my class. We arrived in a classroom. The teacher looked at my schedule book and pointed to the class I had to go to. It was math class with Monsieur Evain. He spoke to me in English, telling me to sit next to a boy across the room whose English was okay. His name, I learned, was Phillip. He was really nice.
Bryce’s class, Bryce center. Phillip is on the end, to Bryce’s right, Mr. Evian, to his left.
We were the first Americans to ever attend this school. Everything you did or said they thought was what all American kids did or said. In a way, we represented all American kids. It was like we were celebrities and everything we did they thought was cool. The reaction I would normally get arriving at a new school in America would have been much different: no one would have noticed me or cared to know my name or try to make me feel comfortable. But in the Marquesas, it seemed to be the opposite. It was, “Oh, you need help? Let me help you.” Practically on our first day of school everyone knew our names. After math was Physics and then History/Geography and following that was Physical Ed. We played basketball. The kids here are terrible at basketball. I am probably the best player in 7-9th grade! At home, I was just passable.
Bryce’s English teacher, standing in the back of the class, by chance visited Ventura this past summer, during the 4th of July.
After P.E. we had lunch. Phillip led me over to the lunch line. For lunch there is a different protocol than the schools attended in Southern California. You grab a metal tray; slide it on the rails in front of the kitchen while servers place fresh food on your tray. That first day we had rice, lentils, grapefruit and a piece of French baguette. When I saw the spread I thought, “Geeze, this is so good, and it didn’t come out of a bag!” When I was done there was not a crumb left on my plate. It was so delicious – like rich kids’ food. After lunch, surprisingly, I was finished with school. That’s when I started thinking, “Man, this is the best school ever. Fantastic lunch, school finishes at twelve most days, and I’m treated like a celebrity.” This school was really turning out to be a great experience for the both of us.
The cafeteria serving station before lunch
By the time this week was finished, my brother, Trent, and I were top news for most of the island. Everyone was giving us greetings when we biked down the street. Random people saying, “Bonjour,” “Salut,” “Hi!” In sum it was looking really good for us. People we had never seen before knew us.
Students before the first bell
The next week was even better. During our morning breaks, we had pretty girls asking if they could be our girlfriends. But after awhile it got a little annoying having people pulling you over into their group and examining you, asking the same silly questions. At the same time, I liked the attention. For the first month, this was the normal day. Then the attention started cooling off. People were getting used to us, which was a bad thing.
Students in the courtyard before the first bell
Now during school I have to watch my back because everyone wants to fight us, putting up their arm saying, “I’m gonna fight you!” I never know if someone is going to pounce on me, and every time I turn around there’s at least one person giving me the finger or shouting, “F-you, Bryce!” On top of that, everything got harder. Now I’m expected to understand everything being said in class and I have to do homework in French. Fortunately, after school I go to a tutor for help with my French.
Getting flipped off (face blurred) is a regularly occurrence.
A few times now I have had trouble with a couple kids. One day before my English class, this kid named London all of a sudden came at me and said, “Shut up, be quiet!” then put his chest against mine and peered down at me like he was going to hit me. Then I said, “Go, go, come on. Allez, allez, viens!” In my head I was thinking if this guy hits me, he would have more pain than me once it’s all over. Since the village of Taiohae has a small population of 2,000, everyone would know he’s the one who struck the American who doesn’t even speak French, for no good reason. Plus his parents and the school would be very mad. As this was going on, a teacher came out and the kid cooled down. It was over and he apologized after class. Anyway, it’s happened a few times after that before it totally ended. It is now resolved without any physical confrontation.
Bryce goes toe-to-toe with a stone tiki
After that first month, the college turned into a bit of a wild school and hard to handle. You can’t even leave your backpack alone without fear of some kid rummaging through your stuff and picking out what he wants. The way I look at, it’s just a few more months before it will all be over. So, in the meantime, just toughen up and deal with the problems straight up. Attending this school has been a crazy new experience. At the moment it seems worth my while. Although I do have to say, I can’t wait until it’s all over and things go back to normal: homeschooling with mom and dad.
At Tahuata Island in Vaitahu Bay we used our boat swing. It was really fun, but it was difficult at first because Bryce, Mom and I had to set up the swing without Dad’s help. We first had to pull out the spinnaker pole that is attached to the mast, which is a bit challenging. Then we had to attach the thick swing rope to the end of it. Once that was secure, we had to raise the spinnaker pole as high as it could go and then tie it off. The last thing we had to do was set-up two “preventers” [guys] to make sure the pole would not sway from side to side. We needed the pole to stay in place hanging directly perpendicular to the boat, placing us, the swingers, out as far as possible from the boat.
Swing set up off Kandu in Vaitahu, Tahuata.
Once everything was ready we stepped up onto the kayak propped up on it’s side on the deck and jumped off. We got to swing as much as we wanted. Bryce and I first sat on the swing’s bottom knot. Then we stood on the knot and dove into the water jumping off the knot pushing off with our feet. That’s all I could do, but Bryce could also perform a back flip off the rope. The rope swing was set-up for three days. The day after the first day, I was terribly sore from swinging so much, but it didn’t matter. I was determined to swing as much as possible while the swing was set-up.
Kandu’s boat swing at sunset in Vaitahu, Tahuata, Marquesas.
The last day, a Marquesan dad we’d never met before motored over to our boat on a small fishing boat with his son and daughter. He explained that his children wanted to play with us on the swing while he went to check his fishing stuff. My dad said it was okay and that we would bring the kids back to shore at noon, about an hour and a half, when we had to leave for shore. The kids were very nice. The little boy was 7 and the girl was 9. They were curious about the boat so we gave them a tour. I thought they were brave to hang out with us, having never met us before. We played together on the swing until it was time to leave back to shore. The dad gave us some grapefruit as a thank you.
by Trent Rigney
Editor’s Note: Vaitahu (translation “water fire-igniter”) is historically significant for the Marquesas. The first documented European to visit the Marquesas, a Spanish explorer, landed here in 1595, naming the archipelago after his benefactor’s wife. The second European to visit, British Capt. Cook, made landfall here in 1774. The French admiral, Dupetit-Thouars, in 1842, after fighting a successful battle for the chief of Vaitahu, signed a treaty with the chief annexing all of the Marquesas to France. Vaitahu, as I understand correctly, is reportedly the only Marquesan valley owned by France, such that the inhabitants lease the land upon which the build their homes. In the other valleys, private parties own the land.
After 24 days at sea, Bryce arrives in the Marquesas.
Arriving in the Marquesas in late June, everything was different compared to other places we’d visited so far. I had no idea what the local people were saying. I still had the Spanish language in my head from being in Mexico and the Galapagos. I came here with no clue how to speak their languages, French and Marquesan (similar to Hawaiian), and I found out during our first couple weeks that Trent and I would be attending the local school for a year. Since I am an American with blue eyes, blond hair, whitish skin, and to top it off I rode a fold-up bike trailing a cart that made a great deal of noise, my first month before school started, was awkward. It was basically like having a sign over my head saying: “I’m here, I’m here, look at me, I’m here!” Everyone stared at me when I walked down the street.
On arrival we had a few Marquesan friends, so it wasn’t exactly that bad. Some of the activities that our friends take part in are very cool. One weekend before school we took a sail trip with another boat called Manatai (Guy, Marian, and Taeva (9 yrs.)) and the Falchetto family: Sebastien, Raymonde, Moana (22), Pahu (17), and cousin Teiki Poi (14). We all sailed to an island called Eiao, which is seldom visited by anybody, including Marquesans. Only a few families visit regularly and our friends were one of them. They even had a shed up at the top. We went there specifically to hunt for pigs and goats. I couldn’t wait to go hunting for the first time, but in order to get to where the animals were, we had to walk up a steep mountain slope carrying tools, sleeping supplies, food, water, and hunting gear.
Entering Eiao’s west bay. Note steep terrain behind beach. Manatai is already anchored.
It was an over-night sail from Nuku Hiva to there. We left just after sunset and arrive around 10 a.m. There’s really only one bay where boats can anchor. It’s on the west side of the island. Manatai arrived before us so they were settled in first. The trip was a bit rocky but nothing worse than what we’d seen before, but different than what our Marquesan friends were use to. Being stuck on the boat with three sick Marquesans made you want to get on land even more. So with everybody anxious to get off, the unloading went fast. Finished with the arrival part Trent, Taeva and I grabbed some sticks and played sword fights on the remote brown sand beach until nightfall. We slept on our boat while our Marquesan friends slept near the beach in a fragile shack-like structure, mostly a floor with a plastic tarp roof. The next day everyone woke up very early, before sunrise, to have breakfast on the beach and start the hike at sunrise.
Sebastien and Raymonde prepare pre-dawn breakfast before ascent.
The path was marked with stacked up rocks like pedestals and soon enough the path ended at a lonely tree on a plateau where we all took a decently long break.
On the plateau of Eiao, the “hunting” party takes a brief break at lone tree.
You could just see our boat down the edge of the cliff, we were so high up. Everyone arrived two or three pounds lighter with a soaking, sweaty T-shirt. At this point, we were only 1/3 the way to our destination: a hunting shack.
Lone tree in overlooking desolate terrain.
After break was over, we started on a new path heading south across the island with gravel-like terrain. On our walk, apart from some different colored rocks and weird scraggly looking trees, we didn’t see much. Even though the sightseeing wasn’t the best, the walk itself was interesting and a little tricky due to the fact that there were chasms everywhere.
Boulders along the path atop Eiao.
Take one wrong step and you could slip and fall into a deep chasm, stuck until someone in the group could lift you out. An hour later we made it two-thirds of the way. We stopped at a checkpoint and admired the extraordinary view and appreciated the breeze.
Bryce enjoys the breeze coming off the cliff tops
There happened to be a small group of goats that we spotted at the bottom of the cliff-side. Fifteen minutes passed quickly; it was time to move on.
Small wild goat scampers to safety.
As we walked a few pigs appeared along the path. I joked around and scared them off by running after them brandishing my little four-inch blade, (as if that could stop anything.) Almost at the destination, we came across a large patch of dead, rotting trees, but that didn’t discourage us. We tramped through the trees until finally we saw it: a little shack 10-foot by 10-foot, and 7 feet tall. When we opened the door we found two picnic tables and a mini stovetop. All the rest was bugs and moldy, rotten wood. The last time someone had been there was over a year, maybe two.
Once everyone arrived, the guys pulled out the tables from inside the shack and placed them into the shade so we could have lunch. We had brought bread, pate, peanut butter, crackers, banana donuts, fruit, and chocolate powder for hot chocolate. But most importantly: water. We all ate our fill and drank hot chocolate since the shed had mini propane stove-stop. After lunch the people who didn’t plan to stay, that is my mom and the Manatai family, started the walk back. Sebastien sent his son and nephew to partially lead them back to the lonely tree.
Pahu and Teiki Poi accompany three of our party to the ‘Lone Tree,’ where they returned to guard the boats.
Those who stayed included the Falchetto family, my father, brother and me. Towards nightfall, the first thing we did was start a fire to keep warm. We then spread a large white plastic tarp down for the ones sleeping on the ground and prepared dinner. The two picnic tables were butted up, side-by-side. Dinner included, hot chocolate with powdered milk, bread, fruit, and rice with leftover wild mutton meat from the evening before. Once dinner was finished, Sebastien told us to throw all the bones as far away as possible so that the centipedes wouldn’t be tempted to crawl on us at night. Then right before we went to bed, he told us all these wild stories about how the pigs sometimes came at night and bit people on the head. Because of the stories, everyone reset their alertness from a rate of 6 to 10.2. Despite not having a roof over our heads during our night in the wild, we happily had spoonfuls of Nutella and a ground tarp. Everyone dressed warmly. The Falchetto family slept on the ground huddled together. My dad and brother slept on tables high off the ground. The final thing said was, “there is a flashlight near the hut if anyone needs to use the bathroom.”
Hunting Party’s camp at sunrise.
Seven hours later the sun came up. The first noise I heard was a most irritating electric-like buzzing above my head. It was a combination of thousands of flies, mosquitos and no-no’s hovering like helicopters overhead. For breakfast, it was the same meal: bread with a choice of peanut butter, Nutella, jam or pate, and hot chocolate or powdered cappuccino. Yum! Before we left, we prepared everything for the hunt. We collected dry wood to feed the fire and readied our GoPros. Sebastien got his 22 rifle and hunting knives ready. Raymonde stayed at the campsite and Moana was sent off to carry one large load back down the mountain and to return for more. Heading off with all our materials, knives, gun and GoPros, the first type of animal we were looking for was wild pig. In my opinion, out in the wild, pigs are the most dangerous because even after being shot, they can still run at you, tusks and all. While walking around, all of a sudden, Sebastien told us all to crouch, be quiet and make as little movement as possible. Looking carefully in the shrubs was a pig. He pulled me over, handed me the gun, and said, “La tete,” and pointed to his head. So I turned my head-mounted camera on and grabbed the gun. I aimed at the head through the small site and pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed the leg, which didn’t stop it, only scared it off.
We moved on to look for more hunting opportunities. We then found a group of sheep and started moving very slowly into position. Sebastien pulled out his gun, aimed and fired twice shooting the shoulders of two male sheep, which stunned them in place. Then he handed us the gun and we tried to put them down. We missed so, before they ran off, Sebastien took back the gun and proceeded to kill both. He has had a lot of practice!
Immediately, Sebastien ran over to one and sliced its throat and had my brother hold steady its moving back legs, which were stretched skyward. Sebastien cut the testicles and the head off the animal and then did the same to the other. Even after all that, the animals were still twitching. The next step was to slit the abdomen open, and with that came a most terrible smell. After cleaning the insides out, I took a GoPro shot to capture what the inside of an animal looks like. The big men carried the bodies over to hang off a tree to finish the cleaning protocols, which included skinning and splitting the body in half. Next, they packed the meat in bags and carried the heavy load back to the hunter’s shed, where we had just spent the night.
Soon afterward, it was time to pack up the camp site and start the journey back to the boats. Once everything was good and ready, we began hiking back, carrying twice as much down as we came up with because we were packing back the meat and they cleaned out the hunting shack of various tools, supplies, and a stovetop. Along with my backpack, I was asked to carry the stovetop, adding to my weight 15 lbs. We walked the same path down, so it wasn’t as interesting the way back. With an aching body and swollen feet, the six-hour walk that felt like forever finally came to an end. On the beach, despite my sore feet, I couldn’t help myself. I just had to run. With the sand under my feet and the fantastic smell of lunch, I felt as if I had just finished the Tour de France and I was going to win a bunch of money.
Boats anchored off the shore, Bryce and friends enjoy a quick dip.Bryce walking over to get lunchPreparing lunch on the beachFresh spring water constantly flows on the beach of Eiao
Hiking, hunting and lunch being over, it was time to sail back to Taiohae. Once finished loading everything and everyone back onto the two sailboats, we raised anchor under a setting sun and headed southeast toward Nuku Hiva.
Manatai sailing along the south coast of Nuku Hiva, on our way to Taiohae.
During this trip there was a lot I learned, but most importantly it really opened my eyes in offering help, and not always complaining about it, to: “Just Do It!” It was an experience that changed me in a very big way. Our trip with the amazing Falchetto family was extremely memorable and I cannot wait to take part in more such experiences along our adventure!
Today we just got back to Taiohae, Nuku Hiva from our big adventure to the island, Eiao (pronounced Ay-EE-OW-oh). We were all very tired after unloading so we stayed on the boat for a bit to rest. Bryce and I watched the movie Footloose on our small portable BluRay player powered by a 12-volt car charger; the player can also take 110/220VAC. After awhile we got bored, since we had seen the movie before, so Bryce and I decided to take the dinghy to shore, to the petit quai (means “little wharf” in French). Mom came with us to drive the dingy back, but she was a very bad helmsman. When she left the wharf, after dropping us off, she bumped into another boat, tied to the wharf, two times before getting the hang of it. There was a bunch of Marquesan people watching. It was embarrassing.
Trent back in Taiohae aboard Kandu, after Eiao, ready to head ashore.
Bryce and I decided to walk to our friend’s house, Raymonde and Sebastien’s, because we were going to eat dinner there later. While walking, Bryce found a coconut tree that was small enough to climb to get a coconut. When he was climbing he pushed down a small branch that was full of dirt, and because I was looking up at him, the dirt fell into my eye. I rubbed my eye to get the dirt out, but instead I scratched my eye. It really hurt, so I was very mad at Bryce.
Bryce climbing coconut tree to bring down “drinking” nuts.
The walk to Raymonde and Sebastien’s house is about a mile and ½, so we were fortunate when other Marquesan friends drove by and gave us a ride in the back of their truck to the house. When we arrived, my eye was still bothering me a lot. Raymonde is a nurse. She rinsed my eye with a bunch of sterile water to try to clear the dirt, but my left eye still hurt a lot. Whenever I closed my sore eye, it felt a little better.
Our dear friend and nurse, Raymonde Ly-Falchetto, living on Nuku Hiva
My parents thought that we might have to go to the emergency, but I really didn’t want to because that evening after dinner, the family planned to go see some Marquesan dancing and I was worried that we wouldn’t be able to go. But after taking a nap, my eye was miraculously healed! We were able to go to watch the dance after all.
