4 men travel to Vanuatu and back by the power of the wind
The childhood dream! Sailing around the world with the wind in my sails, a wooden leg (or two good ones) and a parrot on my shoulder. In possession not only of my own boat, but more importantly my own freedom and my own destiny; circumnavigating the globe in search of anything worth finding. Telling stories that only a salty old sea dog could have gathered. A face full of beard and a skinful of tattoos and rum! This is a tale of a modern adventure akin to the old days of exploration. The ocean in front of us and nothing but time and tide to see us through the next few weeks. This is a journey to visit remote tropical islands and trading with tribes! A voyage home enduring high seas and hallucinations!
At the forefront of today’s social media buzz we are bombarded with images of turtles eating bags, rivers of rubbish, whales with stomachs full of trash, birds dying from eating pieces of plastic and sea horses carrying straws in their tails. It’s a depressing image but also a rhetoric that carries some clout.
As a culture we are not only progressing at an unimaginable pace, but at the same time becoming more aware of the human impact on our environment. These two things wouldn’t seem to be cohesive, but I think they can be harmonious.
As long as we keep caring and as individuals keep doing our little piece hopefully, we can become a team, a united force. Then we can make a difference. This was the start of my "little piece".
Over a decade of adventure travel has taken me to all four corners of the globe. The purpose of this perpetual travel has always been selfish. Focussing purely on my own need to experience culture and quench my craving for adrenaline.
This last year my focus shifted. A personally fulfilling but also very selfish lifestyle slowly felt like it was all for no reason. So when the opportunity to relocate a yacht across the Pacific came up, I jumped at the chance and decided to try and give back a little. The trip became a vehicle to raise awareness and donations for two charities who are leading the way in protection and preservation on our marine environment;
Firstly, Sea Shepherd NZ, who are currently amidst "Operation Pahu" aimed at protecting NZ’s endangered Hectors Dolphin. Secondly, The Ocean Clean Up who use technology and ocean power to clean up and recycle the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.
The boat we will be relocating is a 10m sloop - a small sailboat capable of big things. With an open transom and tiller steered rudder we would have to be at the helm and really sail this thing. Harnesses on, geared up and hands on the controls. Travelling around the small archipelago nestled between Fiji and New Caledonia and onto NZ over 3000 km later.
Vanuatu, meaning "Our land Forever" is a nation steeped in tradition of black magic and contemporary beliefs of Christianity. Like most Pacific island cultures, the Ni’van are friendly, humble, beautifully happy, house proud people fizzing with good nature and hospitality. Also, being the first country in the world to totally ban the use and import of single use plastic bags and polystyrene food containers, for such a small nation, Vanuatu is certainly a progressive thinker. PART 1. TROPICAL ISLANDS AND TRIBES.
The first part of this story is set amongst the green island and small villages. Starting at the main island of Efate, the journey will take us north around, Moso, Lelepa, Nguna, Mataso and then south, through Erromango, Tanna and Aneityum before finally heading home to Aotearoa.
Initially arriving into the country solo, I make a stop in Port Vila to meander around the vibrant food markets and beach bars and listen to bouncing street music to give myself an easy introduction to an unfamiliar destination. The markets are the first place I’ll go - to me they tell a story of where you are. The produce, the stalls, the people, the public kitchens and the souvenir shops really give you an idea of what a place is all about and are a great way to dust off the cultural cobwebs.
A few days later it’s time to find the boat and get stuck in. The first two weeks or so were spent exploring - initially with just Ross and myself on board we would have enough space to be comfortable and enough time to enjoy the sailing. Cruising through paradise in search of good times, big smiles, welcoming people and the chance to immerse ourselves not only into the way of the ocean but into island life.
The feeling of climbing aboard for the first time in a trip can be compared to that first day of school or a new job. The melting pot of emotions and the butterflies as you leave the sandy shore, shake the skippers rough hand and climb on deck.
Warm weather, soft sounds and smells of the ocean and the familiar hazy sky that characterises tropical islands quickly dispel any anxiety and I prepare to settle in for life at sea. Gratefully, I accept the captain’s bunk so the Skipper can be closer to the cockpit in case of an emergency. Ross, a ski instructor and landscaper from Queenstown, has been on board for a couple of months by now so it was easy for him to sail somewhere familiar and let me take it all in for the first day. Choosing to spend the nights at the most picturesque and boat friendly anchorages on the charts we set off!
The tangle of Amazonian like mangroves bordering the coral reefs surrounding Mosa Island provide some wonderful kayaking and snorkelling on the first evening. Followed by the manicured white sand beaches and reef laden lagoons of Lelepa.
As we approach, the most magnificent green turtle the size of an old English Oak tree stump follows the boat. Like the lady in red it draws my attention with its undeniable elegance and beauty, stealing the show and amazing anyone who has the pleasure of laying eyes on her before disappearing into the depths to regain her solitude, leaving me wondering if she’ll ever return for another encounter.
The next few days turn out to be what sailor’s dream of; steady 15-20 knot winds, calm seas and total freedom to sail, snorkel, explore and enjoy the warm breeze of the trade winds effortlessly propelling us to Nguna and beyond.
We had heard about Chief Shem of Nguna Island from other sailors and thought we’d pay him a visit as we passed by on our tack North.
Safely anchored between bombies and lathered in suncream we grab our box of trading items in preparation of meeting with the local leader: Reading glasses, books, pencils, matches, rope, coffee, sugar, footballs, fishing lines and hooks are all valuable and can be traded with the village chiefs; for anchoring permissions, fresh fruit, meals, tours, snorkelling and whatever else we may need. This is something that I found fascinating and really made me feel like I was an explorer from times past.
There’s something that feels so real and comforting about not using money. My wallet rarely made an appearance. Mutual respect, good will, smiles, communication and useful goods or favours became our currency. Nguna greeted us with bellowing music, energetic dancing and smoke from the fires of the Ni’van equivalent of a Hangi - a celebratory underground oven called a "Punia" or "Umu".
By chance, we had stumbled into the national holiday of the village, "UTG Day". A celebration of Utanlangi that only happens one day a year. Chief Shem invited us to join in for a while. Intoxicated on imported wine, cigarettes and local kava, the island partied like there was no tomorrow. We made it until moonrise and were politely asked to leave the revellers to enjoy their evening and the two of us pottered over to the yacht to climb into our bunks.
With our heads still beating to the sounds of the drum and feeling lazy from the kava, sunrise came, we hoisted sail and set a course to the rarely visited island of Mataso, by our estimations a 7 hour sail north(ish). Frequently hit by hurricanes and with a poor, rolling anchorage this tiny island maybe the least visited of all and rarely receives any boats or tourists. A crowd of smiling yet intrigued faces start to form, the gaggle is lead by the kind and mild tempered Chief John William. The men wearing the usual shorts and t-shirt and the women wearing colourful, broad shouldered summer dresses.
Ross and myself were invited ashore for a tour of their small but dramatic island and fragile homes. Along with Pete and Eddy; two kayakers we had met on Moso, who just so happened to arrive at the exact time we did and were planning on staying the night.
Everything but the the few permanent buildings here are regularly rebuilt when the weather takes a turn for the worse and destroys the simple structures. With the genuine desire to simply interact and meet new people the local Chief John William and a gaggle of ‘pikinini’ (children) on lunch break from school, all dressed in bright orange, show us around the island. First taking us to a permanent building supplied by the UN as a community centre and then into the ramshackle village of tiny corrugated tin homes nestled amongst coconut trees and vegetable patches.
Chief John, being the leader of the community and deeply caring for his tribe, is very proud to show us the communities hand pumped water well. Supplying fresh, clean water all year round. We are fed coconuts and talk outside the church, being told tales of black magic and Christianity on the island.
With the afternoon getting late, the sea breeze building and a poor anchorage in the back of our minds it’s time to say goodbye. A gesture of reading glasses, school books and a couple of footballs is left with the Chief and we fill our sails and return to sea.
Our arrangement to pick up our two remaining crew members and our delivery of OSM Bars for the trip is rapidly approaching so it’s time to make our way south east, back to Port Vila. An initial course is set to Nguna and we make the journey over two days of the most marvellous sailing.
When sailing big ocean crossings the yacht is vastly different to when cruising the relative safety of the islands. Two days in Vila are spent doing the main preparations; reinforcing the mast, sewing sails, devising a meal plan, shopping for supplies and rotating food stocks. Fueling, filling water tanks, checking the boat for damages and making repairs, ensuring safety equipment is in order, closing off the transom, emergency rudder, blah blah blah…... the list goes on.
Volunteering to do the fun job, I sit in the bosun’s chair and get hoisted 12m up the mast to change a light bulb and take an obligatory "up the mast selfie". A day into the hard work, the final two crew members arrive. Andrew the music teacher and Sam the ski instructor are welcomed aboard the ship and find their bunks. The two become four. From now on the conversation, the bad jokes, the cooking duties but also the privacy and space will be shared a little more sparsely between the the crew of the Elite.
For Sam and Andrew, it's straight into the action! A good amount of time is spent checking charts, reading weather forecasts and running simulations. It's decided we will sail south to the cannibalistic island of Erromango. At an estimated 20 hours to Dillons Bay, it’s quite a big a trip to be thrown into after flying in the night before. But sometimes the weather dictates the plans. Luckily we were full of beans and bunch eager to get on with it.
The sail was as beautiful as it could have been. The weather Gods were shining on us! A steady 15-20 knots of warm wind filling the sheets. Blue skies and even bluer plastic free ocean. All we needed was a fish for dinner and the perfect sail would have been complete! Unfortunately the fish weren’t biting.
Staying in such close proximity to people demands good rapport and easy going attitudes. As I hadn’t met Sam and Andrew before I was looking forward to having some conversation with them. These conditions allowed plenty of time to get to know each other and equally as importantly, for the boys to get to know the boat, the rigging, the handling and the well organised way of life that is all so important whilst at sea. It couldn’t have gone much better that day, plain sailing as they say.
Erromango Island didn’t spoil the run of good things, the lush green forest full of giant mango trees spilled onto the white sand beaches. Divided by a freshwater creek and a network of caves that pierced holes in the cliffs like a swiss cheese.
We had all heard about these caves, The Caves of Skulls. Home to the bones and spirits of the ancestors. I for one was nervously excited to get to this island due to its history of black magic, cannibalism and the relentless fight against the sandalwood hungry missionaries.
Josef, the chief's son, was chosen to show us around. After a short boat ride and a few jokes about eating us for supper, Josef takes us ashore and with permission form the ancestors, leads us up the cliff and through the banyan tree to show us the resting place of a past Chief and his family. It’s a powerful, humbling experience being surrounded by not just the remains but also the energy of those people who were laid to rest here. A quick evening swim in the creek and we hit the hay.
Tanna, The Island of Fire. Home to great coffee
and rumbling volcanoes! Rising before the sun is normal when at sea, so by 5am we were already well under way. Through other sailors we had a met and some local knowledge we had heard of the most incredible place. On the north of the island, if you approach by sea and know where to look, you may see a small opening in the rock under a tiny hut. Swimming under water and through a tunnel leads to a magnificent swimming hole at the base of a cathedral sized sinkhole. Light beaming in from the top like stained glass windows and crystal clear water filled with boulders to climb on. After a long sail it was exactly what we needed before finding anchorage further south in Lenakel.
It’s difficult to know if your looking at clouds covering the island or grey smoke billowing out when first laying eyes on one of the worlds most active volcanoes! I guess it was mix of both, either way we wanted to get closer to the action. Finding a driver with a 4x4 was easy enough and suddenly were bouncing around in the rear tray of a truck, through the mountains and torrential rain to reach the Mars like ash fields at the base of the constantly erupting natural wonder! The only way to get really close and look into the lava filled crater is to hire a guide. Unfortunately, we arrive too late and missed out. As the sun went down the 4x4 takes us back, the red glow of the earth’s core starts to rise from the mountain as if to say farewell. Aneityum is the southernmost island in the chain and is where we will stop for a few days. Firstly to rest and prepare the boat, body and mind for the long ocean crossing. Secondly, to wait out an approaching storm.
A predicted 7.5 hour journey to Aneityum became a 17 hour slog. For a day and a night we were tested by high winds and rough seas. For Andrew and Sam it was a baptism of fire. What was forecast to be pleasant sailing was in fact an exhausting roller coaster with no rest and constant course and sail adjustments as we try to work the boat through changing winds, tidal movements and building swells. The only saving grace is that it wasn’t raining.
17 hours later we arrive at the entrance to the lagoon. A safe haven surrounded by atolls, shallow reef, raging surf and shipwrecks. With only a tiny safe entrance to the western side. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be an issue. The trained eye of a sailor can easily spot these dangers from a distance and it’s easy enough to simply sail in and lay the anchor if you’re paying attention.
Unfortunately for us, it was pitch black and blowing at 30 knots. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife as we got closer to the danger zone. For this we would have to go back to the old school ways. The charts come out, the calipers and compass are at the ready and we start using coordinates to cross reference our exact position and be sure what bearing we need to come in on to avoid disaster. After a short debate about magnetic variation we made a decision and took our posts. Ross at the helm, me tethered to the bow with a headlamp and Sam and Andrew inside with the charts relaying our position. Some tense moments, some accidental boom swings and a near broach later it all goes calm and we are inside. Handshakes and highfives after that one! Good work team! Time for a well earned sleep. The next three days are spent having a bit of RnR time. Lessons on how to open coconuts with a machete and how to use the leaves to make toys.
At the primary schooll I was amazed at how interested the kids were in learning, they gave us a quick wave and went straight back to the maths class we had interrupted. After leaving the remainder of our stationery, books and glasses for the school, we had some fun snorkelling the shallow reefs of Mystery Island.
Continuously running simulations on our software helps us to decide exactly when to leave. Too early and we get hammered at the start of the passage. Too late and we hammered as we approach New Zealand. A decision is made.
During the time here we had become friends with a young school teacher, we invite him and his family over for dinner, play the ukulele and say our goodbyes. The next 10 days will be open ocean. To be continued... Thanks to OSM for supporting the trip and thanks to Sea Shepherd NZ and The Ocean Clean Up for their important work. To find out more or support the cause please visit their websites.
"For a day and a night we were tested by high winds and rough seas. For Andrew and Sam it was a baptism of fire. What was forecast to be pleasant sailing was in fact an exhausting roller coaster with no rest."