Passage to Fiji

[Kyle]Since the wind had shifted the day before for the passage from South Minerva Reef to Fiji, all the boats, except us and one other, left one by one and disappeared over the horizon. I thought our remaining neighbor might be up early the next day to do the same, but there was no sign of activity aboard by the time we weighed anchor, caught the wind and had a fast run to the pass on the other side of the reef. I had really been hoping we would get at least one day with the place to ourselves, like on our previous visits, but this year it was not to be.

Rainbow on the passage

Since our southerlies were forecast to gradually bend into the usual easterly trade winds, rather than shape a direct course, we hedged to the east of the rhumb line to keep from ending up close-hauled at the finish. The plan worked great, with our apparent wind being fifteen to twenty knots on the beam the whole way. Since we were trying to avoid weekend overtime charges to clear Customs, we sailed the significantly over-reefed. That allowed us to react to the occasional squall with shrugs, rather than the need to madly rush on deck and start clawing in sail. Apart from the occasional rain shower or smack from a bigger than average wave, the passage was pleasantly uneventful.

The day before our arrival, as our course bent from north to north-northeast, and then finally northeast, we saw the first birds – gannets and boobies, as they checked us out on our approach.

When Maryanne handed Begonia over to me on my last night watch, the lights of Fiji's big island of Vitu Levu were just starting to break the horizon, blinking as we rose and fell with the waves. They were still a long way off though, and for the rest of the night, as far as I could tell, Begonia was the only vessel closing on Suva Harbour. It wasn't until the very end that another boat, Midnight Sun. popped up on the AIS display, converging along the rhum line course. They had been one of the boats that left South Minerva the day before we did.

This is where I always get a little melancholy. I was looking forward to completing the passage, but I was also just starting to enjoy the solitude and routine of the open-water passage. The lights of Suva, the biggest city in the tropical South Pacific, were not just signaling a new destination to explore. There was also going to be jobs, lots of jobs, and waves of officialdom, right when our sea bodies are shutting down for our day off-watch naps.

This is where we were somewhat fortunate to be in Suva. Different regions interpret Customs regulations with their own flavor. In Suva, it is permissible, if arriving on a weekend, to wait up to twenty-four hours before clearing in, as long as you fly the Q flag and don't leave the boat. With that in mind, we had targeted our speed on the passage to get us into the harbor late on Sunday morning. When we called to check in, we were told to expect officials to board us for clearance tomorrow morning. That was exactly the right answer. We had time to tidy up, take the dinghy out of lifeboat mode, share a wee dram (so we don't have to declare it, of course), and then get a good night's sleep, so we can both be alert and helpful to the officials when their boat arrives.

Suva is the capital of Fiji, and an important hub for ALL the south pacific islands - so the harbour can be quite busy with an industrial feel

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Passage to South Minerva Reef

[Kyle]By the time we finally left New Zealand, we were in the company of LOTS of other boats. Staying in one location within the marina grounds, it never took long to overhear passersby talking about the weather and when they were planning on leaving. This sounds collaborative, but that is somewhat misleading. Most of the boats leaving were part of a big rally going to either Tonga or Fiji, so "When are you going?" was really more like, "What do you think about being told we're all going on Saturday?" Many of the remaining non-rally boats had also hired the same weather router, and were thus getting the same answers. I even overheard one briefing where the boaters were told which headings to steer when and which sails to use.

Looking at the forecasts, I could see why everybody was being steered toward Saturday. After a couple of weeks of gale-force direct headwinds, a five-day period of almost gale-force winds, mostly to one side, seemed to be solidifying.

The thing is, the previous big group of departures had departed with winds that were basically from the same direction (ESE), but about five knots less. Their reports of conditions on passage were anything from miserable to downright frightening. Some even gave up their initial destinations and diverted further downwind. In my opinion, going out into even stronger conditions did not seem like it would be any fun.

Most of the big, comfortable catamarans are not particularly good at going to weather and I have yet to meet the owner of one who makes that claim. Apparent winds in the thirties, particularly when going upwind, is not generally considered fine sailing. Begonia can do it, but it is definitely not pleasant. I would say that is probably about where Maryanne and I change modes from normal sailing towards our destination to a much more conservative heavy-weather mode, where our primary goal shifts toward keeping us and the boat safe until the end of the storm, hopefully without being blown too far off course. Since it would probably not be sensible to be flying any sail in such conditions, it was apparent from the number of boats with dozens of jerry cans of fuel strapped on deck, in addition to their already large tanks, that many of the boats were planning to motor most or even all the way.

Uh, no.

The same weather window looked like it would be the best one for us, but my plan was to deal with it in a completely different way. Rather than depart on Saturday to the NE, with strong winds and waves coming over our starboard bow, we left on Thursday in the northerlies before the front. With fifteen-knot winds on our port beam, we sailed just slightly south of east until we were three hundred and fifty miles east of New Zealand. When Saturday's winds finally caught up to us, we were able to turn NNW and sail with the strong winds and waves aft of the beam for the rest of the passage. Our ten-day passage was undoubtedly longer than the Saturday crowds were expecting for theirs, but conditions aboard Begonia were moderate at worst, with easy speed, despite having half the sail we could have flown, just to keep the loads on the rig down. Only one of our two 'bad' days was due to the strong winds and big seas (the other was a day of getting soaked in heavy rain). Even with that, we knew how much worse it would be if we were trying to sail sixty degrees closer to the wind in this. The bummer thing was that we were still probably going to arrive behind a bunch of boats that left three days after we did and 'only' burned a few hundred gallons of fuel.

After departing NZ, we had mixed Weather on the passage; we headed quite a way east at the start to avoid headwinds or having to pound into big seas.
The last picture is of us rounding the reef to get to the entrance, and seeing a couple of boats within the calmer waters of the reef itself.

About a day and a half before we got to South Minerva, it became apparent that tomorrow wasn't going to happen without flogging the hell out of our poor boat. That was fine. Instead, halfway through Maryanne's last night watch, she sheeted in the scrap of sail she had been flying, lashed the helm over, and hove-to. All I had to do for my night watch was make sure we stayed away from the reef and check the horizon for new vessels.

Once we were done with breakfast, we turned downwind and unfurled some more sail. Within an hour or so, we could see the breakers on the eastern rim of the reef, as well as two monohulls anchored inside the lagoon at the northeastern end. We sailed along the outside of the reef past them, then started our engines for the pass transit and the two-mile upwind bash to the sandy shelf at the southeast edge of the lagoon. It took more time than we thought to tidy up after being thrown around for ten days, but soon, we were able to relax and enjoy the view, while bug-free trade winds kept the interior temperature in check. I like that way better than using the heat...

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Passage to New Zealand (Post # 1500!)

[Kyle]As we tend to do for passages, we left our anchorage at South Minerva Reef's pass just as soon as it was light enough out for us to be confident that we could spot any hazards in the southern channel of the exit, through which we had never been.

It went fine, with only a couple of easily avoided coral heads that were probably deep enough to not present an actual hazard to us. Once we were clear and in water too deep for our sounder to measure, we deployed our spinnaker and headed south, following the western edge of the south lagoon. There, we enjoyed the flat water in the lee of the reef for what we expected may be the last time for days.

Departing South Minerva Island we were soon able to get the spinnaker up. Take a look at the colours in the spinnaker, it's relevant for later.

Once we reached the southern corner and turned away for New Zealand, conditions remained pretty nice. We were going just under two knots, with a long one-meter to one-and-a-half-meter swell rolling under us from our port stern, making for a nice, gentle motion. We left behind four other boats, whose occupants likely didn't even realize we had left until well after we were completely over the horizon.

In the middle of our second day, a predicted wind shift arrived by dying completely for a couple of hours, and then returning in earnest from the east-southeast. With the wind now from the side, and predicted to be so for the rest of the passage, we doused our spinnaker, packed it up, and returned it to its somewhat hard-to-get-to hidey hole down below. The new wind was strong enough to double our speed, but not enough for us to need to worry about full sail being too much canvas. For the next two days, all the sails needed from us was a little tweaking to keep them pulling optimally, plus one easy gybe in the middle, when the southeast trades inexplicably started coming from the northwest quarter.

This was when our Iridium GO! stopped working. After not being able to receive any new weather data at all, I spent a whole frustrating watch troubleshooting the problem and rebooting each device several times in different orders, all to no avail. We were less than halfway to the zone of westerlies, with its frontal systems and harder to predict weather, where all we were going to be left with was all of that meteorology stuff in my head, plus a very careful study of the needle on our barometer. Great!

When Maryanne came on watch, I mentioned my frustrations while explaining why I had no updated sailing plan for her watch, other than, "Keep trying to head in the general direction of New Zealand for now".

To this, she casually guessed that my problems may have been because she had changed all the passwords on our devices in a sudden bout of mid-ocean security-mindedness. You need the passwords to change the passwords, which is why my attempts at that had failed as well. She asked why I didn't wake her up to ask about it.

"Because the purpose of the off-watch is for you to get some sleep, not keep yourself awake the whole time trying to troubleshoot my computer problems."

"But I could have solved your problem really quickly."

I suppose that's true, but who changes passwords on wifi that peters out fifty miles before it can get to anybody else? Just sayin' {Maryanne:Oops!}

Anyway, on the beginning of the fifth day, the wind backed around the compass until reaching its regular east-southeast direction and then started getting stronger. Since I was now entrusted with the new passwords, we totally knew this was coming. We reduced sail over and over until, thirty hours later, we were making nine knots in thirty knots of wind and three-meter seas while being pulled by minimum storm canvas. That day was not particularly comfortable, but it was at least a fast one, logging over two hundred miles. The heavy associated overcast had been previously making charging our batteries with the solar panels a real struggle. With the new wind, our wind turbine took up the slack and had them fully charged by morning. It doesn't put out as much charge as the solar panels, generally, but in conditions like these, it will put in a slow, steady charge twenty-four hours a day. That really adds up.

The odd storm and the odd visitor on passage

The next day, Day Seven, the wind and seas finally started to abate. As we got slower and slower on my night watch, I looked at our ten-knot tailwind and decided it would be worth it after all for me to go to the trouble of retrieving and then deploying our spinnaker. I just had to do it quietly so as not to disturb Maryanne during the last few minutes of her night off-watch.

My plan worked great! I awoke her for her watch to the background hiss of the water zinging by the other side of the hull from our bunk. As I was climbing the steps back to the helm, the noise changed. It didn't decrease, just changed. I popped my head out from under the bimini to find us slowing down and a sky full of multi-colored string where the spinnaker was supposed to be, gently streaming in the building breeze. Damn! That's not going to be repairable…

The spinnaker failed on us... Later research/realization showed that the yellow in the original spinnaker was not intended for cruising conditions (too much sun exposure) and had faded, weakened, and eventually disintergrated; missed by the sailmaker (and us), selecting the wrong colour options. Pictures are from our first sail (May 6 2014), and later (April 19 2015). By October it completely failed on us on our passage to New Zealand; one more thing for the to-do list.

After switching to our boring, but much beefier jib, we had ninety percent of our speed back. That would still be enough to get us safely tied to the dock in Marsden Cove before the next blast of headwinds arrive tomorrow.

On route to Minerva we reached 99,999 nm on our log (which we'd installed when we initally refit Begonia after our purchase). It can't be reset and now perpetually shows 99,999!

Before arriving we converted our almonds into sliced almonds so they wouldn't need to be confiscated. We use sliced almonds on our morning oatmeal so they would be put to good use.

At 3am, we transited the narrow channel and entered the perfect flat calm of the marina basin. The Customs dock was full. We would encroach too much on the fairway if we rafted up to one of the boats there, so we were sent instead to the overflow dock for super yachts. It was empty, apart from a temporary chain-link fence covered liberally with signs warning of the consequences of trying to get to the opposite side without authorization. No worries, what we most wanted was a little nap before all the officials start arriving after sunrise.

[Maryanne]It turns out this blog post is number 1500! We've been posting about our adventures and travels since Feb 2008 (when was at my last week of my job at AutoTrader Magazine in Norfolk, and we were ready to start our serious cruising adventures). The blog is really for a handful of family and close friends, but it works as a wonderful diary for our own memory-banks and I'm so glad we have this record of our time with Footprint and Begonia.

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Passage to Tonga

[Kyle]One of the great things about being on a mooring at Niue is that they are in deep water, with no hazards to leeward for hundreds of miles. There are no channels to navigate and no shallow bars to cross. All we had to do to make an engineless, early morning departure that was sure not to awaken anyone was to throw off the mooring pendant. Begonia drifted to leeward, where we had the luxury of all the time we wanted to tidy up, unroll the jib, and then turn on course, leaving a gently gurgling wake. By the time we were moving fast enough for the speed transducer to start registering, the depth of the seabed below was beyond the limits of our sounder.

As we left the wind shadow of the island, the trade winds filled in and we slowly accelerated away. When the first rays of the rising sun fell upon our sail, all that any of the other boats back in the mooring field would have seen of us is the top half of a pink/orange triangle disappearing over the horizon.

We had good tailwinds, with a large, three to three-and-a-half-meter swell rolling across our beam. When the wind decreased slightly, I switched to the spinnaker and our speed shot up to more than it had been before. The general trend was forecast to be decreasing, but we had a small spike in intensity the next afternoon. I held on for a while, but the boat was starting to be overpowered as we surfed down the waves. When it looked like conditions were not as temporary as hoped, I want forward and changed back to the jib for a while so that Maryanne would not have to be gritting her teeth through her watch.

By the time I came back on, the wind really was slowing down. We had been trying to get to Tonga early on Friday in order to have time to complete our entry formalities without having to pay the extra weekend fees. It was starting to look like our ETA was now going to be mid-afternoon. Once again, I switched back to the spinnaker, which put us back to arriving comfortably in the wee hours of Friday morning. As I was tidying up the lines, I looked up and saw a big split in one of the upper panels. Damn! I stood there for a few minutes, willing it not to be true, and then, dejected, undid all of the work I had just done.

We've had a few spinnakers now. I think this one is our fifth. We use them a lot, mind you, but of all the ones we have had, I think this one has been the most disappointing. Almost as soon as we unpacked it from the sailmaker, a year and a half ago, the color started to fade rapidly. By the end of summer, five months later, it looked like a ten-year-old sail. The bright yellow panels in the middle are now indistinguishable from the white. The fabric seems to have aged equally quickly and it has not held up well to the stress of normal handling. I don't know if this is our sailmaker's fault or if they are using a subcontractor in Asia that is using inferior materials but, honestly, it seems like we have been sold not a sail, but a sail-like awning for use in indoor lobbies and atriums only. So far, our other sails look just fine. The stitching is in good shape and well-done, and the material is showing no signs of stretching or sun damage. Let's hope that stays that way for a while.

With our jib now being our best option for our point of sail, we were now back to worrying about not being able to complete our clearance in Tonga before the end of Friday business.

Then a squall came through, and then another, and then another. It turned out to be a good thing the spinnaker was safely down below in the Recovery Room after all. That kept our speed up for long enough that we finally made it into the lee of Vava'u in the last hours of darkness. By the time we pulled into Port of Refuge at Neiafu, we had just enough time to tie to the Customs wharf and tidy up from our passage before they opened for the day.

Sunrise at sea, and before long we find ourselves at another customs dock (this time Nieafu in the Vava'u group of Tonga

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Niue - our third visit

[Kyle]After our last storm at Beveridge Reef, the wind died down, swung all the way around the compass, and then finally settled in from the southeast at fifteen knots, with gusts to twenty. Perfect! Time to go.

I was getting nervous because we were getting pretty low on water. We have a watermaker (desalinator), just in case, but it's currently pickled for the long term and I was loathe to set it up and get it back in commission just to stretch our supply for a couple more days. In the end, we didn't need it. We left Beveridge Reef for the twenty-six-hour sail to Niue with a two-day supply remaining. As long as we didn't get dismasted or some other calamity that slows us way down, we were going to make it.

The sail itself was pretty uneventful. We started off on a downwind run, using only the jib. Conditions improved as we went along. By the time I was into the third hour of my midnight to six watch, I was able to switch to the spinnaker for the rest of the ride.

An early morning approach to Niue

When we came around the headland to the south of the main town of Alofi, we were surprised to find all the moorings unoccupied. We have never been the only sailboat in Niue before. This is great! We can pick up the mooring closest to the wharf so that we have less far to row. As we were making a beeline for it, we ended up having to slow down and divert around a whale and calf in our path. Brilliant! That's one of the main reasons we came back.

{Maryanne:Niue "The Rock of Polynesia" is a single island, with a small/declining population; they speak English (as a 2nd language to the local Niuean), and the currency is the New Zealand Dollar. There are two flights a week from New Zealand, and a monthly supply ship. It is remote, but well serviced. This is our 3rd visit and we love it for so many reasons. Mostly it is the many beautiful landscapes that the coral island with its limestone cliffs and features gives. The island has a main ring road (only about 37 miles in total), and a few cross country roads (some fine, others more like bush tracks), and each village has access to the ocean to launch their traditionl vakas - these access points are known as "sea tracks", and each is a little different, but all are beautiful. Some tracks you can find stunning caves, and beautiful swimming pools (but need to be aware of the tide state for safety), many have large coral flats which you can walk out on at low tide. While we've been before, we planned to visit as many of the sights as we could, all over again}

After de-lifeboating the dinghy, we rowed ashore and went through the familiar process of using the big crane to haul it out of the water to a parking spot on dry land. Customs and Immigration arrived a few minutes later. Since most of the clearance paperwork is done online, they had everything ready to go. Once they verified that the two people standing before them matched the forms, they declared the process complete. It had only been five minutes.

Afterward, remembering that their offices were in the middle of the island, near the main grocery store, Maryanne asked if it would be okay for us to get a ride back with them. When they pulled over three blocks and twenty seconds later, that's when we learned that their new headquarters was in the government building overlooking Begonia. Well, at least we didn't have to climb the pesky little hill between.

After reacquainting ourselves with the lay of the town, noting which establishments were changed and which remained, we dropped by the tourist office on a brochure hunt, and then walked slightly out of town to rent a car.

One of the requirements for renting a car in Niue is that you need to have a Niue Driver's License. They're not hard to get. You just need to go to the Police Station, show them a valid international driving license, and pay a modest fee. This one is my third. It's my favorite ID, partly because it's the only one that has my actual correct address, "Yacht Begonia" and also because Niue is a relatively obscure country. I am just dying, DYING, to present it as my official government identification to some sour-faced TSA yutz, but alas, airports are no longer on my Rota.

The police station, which used to be right across the street from the main government building overlooking the harbor, has moved to the center of the island, near the big grocery store. Groan.

As the next customers were leaving the car rental place, Maryanne asked if they happened to be on their way to the Police Station. Alas, they were not. They were both locals who already had the correct license. Oh, well. Thanks, anyway (can't hurt to ask).

At the next building, that same couple pulled over and said they would take us there anyway. Maria is a schoolteacher and Eric is a Police Officer. That was very nice of them. Five minutes in a car sure beats a thirty-minute uphill walk in tropical heat.

The police were out on their lunch break when we arrived. We decided to kill some time with a visit to the stores and have lunch at a well-regarded café,

Fana Café, while looking pretty much like any other café in the world, was amazing. It wasn't the atmosphere or the décor. It was the food. After Maryanne asked if they might be able to do any vegan options, the woman behind the counter, Roz, was extremely helpful in walking us through our various choices. We ordered a couple of sandwiches, but when the guy brought us our food, we each ended up with this giant THING. A giant, fantastic, gourmet THING that was way too big to squish together and eat as a sandwich. He then walked us through each of the components, which all turned out to be made lovingly and painstakingly from local ingredients, like Tekihi, made from taro, to mimic local delicacies like coconut crab, which Niueans call Uga. This guy's creations would not have been out of place in a hundred-dollar-a-plate New York restaurant and yet they were coming out of the kitchen at the café next to the grocery store in Niue. It occurs to me that the next time we go, and we definitely will, we will have to make a point of actually trying their coffee as well. As we ate, Roz kept appearing at our table with new pieces of information she just thought of to help make not just our meal, but our entire visit to the island better. She's a better Tourist Office than the actual Tourist Office.

Once we had my new Driver's License in hand, we again had only a short walk before being picked up and given a ride to the wharf. When Maryanne asked the woman her name, she said it was Fia Fia.

My eyes got big and my head did one of those slow-motion turns to face her. "Wait a minute," I said, "we KNOW you!"

She was in fact, the same Fia Fia that invited us to join her for a daysail on Doña Katarina for some whale watching in 2018. I guess Niue is literally a small world…

After a few minor chores of officialdom, we were soon in holiday mode (with a delicious lunch) and then returned to the boat to hoist our Niuean courtesy flag

Back at the wharf, we had a problem. I mentioned earlier that we were down to one day's supply of water when we arrived. This didn't worry me because Niue has good, clean potable water that is piped right down to the boarding stairs by the dinghy crane. Well, that's not technically true today. Due to some break in the pipe, the water has been shut off significantly upstream. When we asked a few locals about this, they told us not to worry, there's a purified water tap at the town square. The best answer we got was that the fisheries building at the top of the hill might have a tap. They said it in a cheery, helpful way, like they were pleased they could help us find a place to refill the water bottles we take on our little ambles about the village. They didn't seem to understand that we would be needing to transport six-hundred kilos of the stuff, twenty kilos at a time, from said tap down to the wharf, all of it on foot. The fact that it was only two blocks away and up a hill that was only thirty meters high did not strike us as particularly good news. Where is a fruit race team when you need it? Eventually, after a long reconnaissance, we determined the fisheries building was indeed our nearest option. There was nothing more for us to do than accept what was coming and start lugging water. On our second outing, we made room in the dinghy for a little wheelie cart. That helped tremendously, since we could now roll our water instead of carrying it. Maryanne said she was especially glad the heavy part was at least downhill.

Our third day ashore was one Maryanne has been bugging me about for a while. She had a long list of things she wanted to do. Ordinarily, I would pipe up and beg for a little bit of moderation, please. Maybe we could spread everything out over two or three days, perhaps? The problem with this is that we have a rule. Since we already have pretty much everything that we need or want that can also fit on the boat, the biggest one-day-a-year perk of having a birthday is being able to answer any counter arguments or calls for compromise with, "But it's my Birthday!" She keeps trying to slowly normalize the idea of a birthday week for her, but I'm not having it.

Maryanne initially had a pretty reasonable wish list for the day. Unfortunately for my desire to at least be able to get a good night's sleep before the festivities, as soon as we stepped foot on Niue, most of the people we met said we just have to go to Show Day at the nearby village of Tuapo. That was fine, but then they would also say the best time to get there was right when it starts, at six a.m. The good stuff goes quickly, and you have to be there early to see it. At six a.m. it was almost light out. Getting in the dinghy at five-thirty, it was definitely still dark. The Show Day add-on was going to make for a very long day, indeed.

I was worried there would be no traffic for our six-kilometer walk from Alofi to Tuapo, but no sooner had we taken three steps on the road and stuck out our thumbs, than we were picked up by Fili, a man from Avatele who was also going to Show Day. Sure enough, when we got to Tuapo, traffic slowed to a crawl as most of the cars on the island selected their parking spots for the morning.

Niue has twelve villages, plus Alofi, the Capital, which we later learned is further separated into North and South Alofi for administrative purposes, giving the island fourteen districts. Each village has a Show Day in different months as an opportunity to show off their local produce, crafts, food, and talent. Tuapo is the largest village in the country, so we were told it has the best Show Day.

Maryanne and I did get a breakfast snack of some tasty Tahiki. As we were wandering the stalls, we recognized Inez and Jeremiah at theirs, selling yogurt. They were the couple we had aboard for a visit in 2018. The giant smiles that came over their faces when they recognized us made us choke up a little.

Maryanne and I took a short break to walk two of the local sea tracks town to the beautiful caves and coral below. We returned to Tuapo just in time for the school dancing demonstrations to start. It was as you would expect. The young kids were clumsy and off-tempo, the older kids were surprisingly refined. The thing that was strange about it, to us anyway, was that, halfway through the dances, people would start walking up to the dancers and stuffing money in their outfits, strip-club-style. The dancing seemed to be some sort of school fundraising event. The donors seemed to be family members or grandmotherly types, which made the thing much more heart-warming than cringy. Those of us strangers who wanted to show our support without groping a child could drop our contribution in a nearby basket.

The most adorable, if not polished, performer was a little two-year-old who LOVES to dance. So much so that every time a new group would start dancing, he would toddle over right into the middle of them and start copying the same moves in his stumbly, toddler way. Making allowances for his age and under-developed coordination, he was actually pretty good. I have no doubt he will be the pride of the village in ten years.

Tuapo Show Day - crafts and produce

Tuapo Show Day - sampling the Niue National dish of Takihi (a cassarole of layered taro and papaya in coconut cream), and bumping into people we know!

Tuapo Village Show perormances by local school and groups

We had a whale swim scheduled for the afternoon, so Maryanne and I had to leave the second the dancing was over. Again, before we even cleared the parking area, we were picked up for a ride back to Alofi. This time, the woman in the front passenger seat, who introduced herself as Olove, turned out to be one of the Ministers of Parliament. She was the one who explained to us about the Show Days and Niue's fourteen districts. Since her village is small, with only six residents, three of whom are her family members, she chose instead to be elected by an open constituency closer to a hundred (Niue's current population is about 1,600). When we reached Alofi, we were in the middle of a discussion about some of the island's history, so we drove right past the wharf. Olove then took us to see the new Parliament building before giving us a flying tour of the town on the way back.

Maryanne and I made it back to Begonia with a little time to spare before we were picked up for our whale tour. The seas were really up by then and we had a miserable bash to the south side of the island through pyramidal chop. Once there, we found four whales: a mother, her calf, and two males vying to be her escort. They were all quite active, which was good, but it also meant that they moved around a lot. We did three different dives where we all (six guests, plus the guide) had to swim like crazy just to stay in view of them.

Afterward, we were loitering around as the whales stared to calm down. Our guides decided we could go in one more time, but first, we would give them a little break from us. In the meantime, we were free to snorkel over the reef below. It was fairly deep, but good. Our guide, Dani, told me that, unlike the rule when swimming with the whales, I could feel free to dive down to see it.

I had just taken a big breath and was about to start down when I got stung. Suddenly my face felt like someone had thrown a hot pot of coffee on it, and then touched me with bare electric wires. Maryanne and I have probably snorkeled over a hundred miles together, and I have even been stung a few times, but I have NEVER felt anything close to this. I raised my arms in distress and Sean, the boat's skipper, came over to see what was up.

When he got to me, he carefully helped me out of the water in stages. I was trailing tentacles, which were continuing to sting me. He needed to don gloves and pick them off me before they could touch more skin or contaminate the boat. I then got a good dousing of vinegar to stop any more barbs from firing more venom and scalding hot water to help with the pain. I was really glad I had been wearing a full-length wetsuit.

Even after the first aid, the pain was next-level. I felt like I had accidentally washed the affected areas not with soap, but with one of my crazy-strength hot sauces. In that event, I could have taken solace in knowing the agony would be over in fifteen minutes. This pain was easing, but much more slowly, and instead of being on the surface of the skin, it went all the way through. I felt like I had burned my face, broken my jaw, and had four awful tooth aches, all at the same time. Add to this that I was not just a little freaked out by the whole experience. I consider myself to be an experienced and adept ocean swimmer, but that kind of instant pain is debilitating and scary.

After putting in a call to their marine medicine expert with a full report, Sean told me he had good news: I appear to have almost certainly been stung by a Blue Bottle, not a box jelly or an Irukandji. "It'll hurt like hell for a while," he explained, "but you won't die."

Indeed, the pain did subside, although agonizingly slowly. By the time we made it back to Alofi, I was woozy, but insistent we continue the tour so as not to ruin the others' day. We headed north, where our guides found a mother and calf who were resting and staying in one place. I didn't really feel up to it, but I went into the water with the others when we arrived. I was glad I did. The mother and calf were slowly caressing each other and occasionally surfacing for air in the same general area. That meant us humans could stay in one spot and calmly observe them for several minutes, instead of swimming hard in a fruitless attempt to try to keep up. It was a perfect end to the tour.

By the time Maryanne and I were dropped off at Begonia, I still had swelling at the sting sites, but my pain was being rapidly replaced by a much preferable numbness, as if I had seen a dentist about that toothache and been given injections to shut down all the nerves in my face.

Swimming with humpback whales in Niue for Maryanne's birthday (the last 4 of these photos were taken by our guide Dani Spencer)

We weren't done yet. Maryanne wanted a fancy dinner out (so did I) AND we had to pick up our rental car from the long-closed agency office, THEN we still had to get another load of water to shuttle to the boat, but at least we didn't have to carry it to the wharf.

Birthday dinner at the Vaiolama Cafe, a great finish to a wonderful day

Since we now had a car, our plan was to use it to visit all the parts of Niue that aren't easily accessible on foot from Alofi.

We started with several stops on route to the main goal of the day:Matapa Chasm. Most coastal attractions in Niue are best seen at low tide, when it is possible to walk on the dead parts of the fringing reef to nearby beaches and coves, as well as deep pools in the reef itself. At this particular part of the lunar cycle, morning low tide was right before sunrise and afternoon low tide was right at sunset. After a late night, that just wasn't going to happen.

Palaha Cave

Namukulu Boat Ramp/Track - from where the local village launch their Vaka (traditional outrigger canoe)

Limu Pools is a really beautiful spot to spend several hours, but we just managed a quick visit (no swimming this time)

Hikutavake Viwepoint and sea track

Matapa Chasm

Matapa Chasm is a lovely swimming hole that can be enjoyed at any state of the tide. It was a bit chilly and drizzly when we first set off, so we weren't sure we were up to it, but by the time we got to the parking area, the sun was climbing quickly and it was starting to get hot.

As we were walking from our car to the trailhead, past the house at the entrance, we recognized Inez, pottering around on her porch. It was her house! Jeremiah was off running errands, but her youngest child was there, along with her gregarious cat, Tomassi. We had a good, long catch-up, which allowed even more time for the heat of the day to build. When we parted, Tomassi ran alongside us as we hiked to the chasm.

Our dip was, ah, refreshing. Matapa Chasm is mostly in the shade. There was a cold lens of fresh water atop warmer seawater below. When we got chilly, we could dive down, but we couldn't hold our breaths long enough to warm up. The chasm isn't large. After a couple of laps, we had met all of the fish and seen all there was to see. Tomassi sat waiting for us on a concrete picnic table, being warmed by the sun. We took the hint.

We dropped Tomassi off at Inez's, and then headed out on a circuit of the island's ring road, making a point of stopping at almost all the sea tracks along the way. One we hadn't seen before, because it was a 4WD road then, was Tio Track. Now, it's just a nice, wide trail that isn't too steep. It was perfect for walking abreast to a couple of viewpoints on the north coast.

Toi Sea Track, a 2.5km walk through woodland and local garden plots, to the cliffs with a view - watch out for the spider webs!

After several more stops, we eventually washed up at the Washaway Café for an early dinner. Washaway Café sits above the lovely beach at Avatele. It's only open on Sundays, which makes it the only restaurant open on the whole island on Sunday. As such, it's usually full. The other unusual thing about Washaway Café is its peculiar system of operation. They have staff to make the food, bring it to your table, and then ring up your bill at the end. As the customer, however, it is your responsibility to write down your food order in a memo book for the cooks, making sure to take your yellow carbon copy for use in totaling up your bill later. At the bar, the procedure is to go behind the counter to get what you want and then be honest about writing down what you took in a notebook on the counter.

Different people use different recording methods for this. The simplest one is to put a hash mark for every item taken, crossing out each five in a group – i.e |, ||, |||, ||||, ||||. This is much more efficient than writing out Arabic numerals, and then crossing out and replacing them each time a new round is taken. The problem with the first system, Maryanne and I quickly discovered, is when someone only takes two beers. At the Washaway Café, with most tables being larger groups, it is probably more common for a drink total to come to eleven than to two. Maryanne's simple solution to this was to ask me to go fetch her another beer.

Uluvehi Sea Track (and caves)

A shaded walk to the site of Taipei Fupiu "Fort, where in 1846 a returning Niuean Nukai Peniamina (who brought Christianity to Niue) was protected as he "Spread the gospel" by over 60 warriors from the locals who shunned him.

Liku Sea Track, where, like most at low tide, you can walk out onto the exposed coral shelf and enjoy a spot of tidepooling

The Hikulagi Sculputre Park, not really our kind of art (beach trash nailed to a structure), but on the ring road of the island so easy to stop by.

Avatale Beach (we didn't snap any pictures of the Washaway Cafe, so here is one from last time)

Tamakautoga Sea Track where surf is known to crash into the cliffs and send up large water sprays to the top

Our next day was simpler. We went to the one sea track on the west coast that we thought might be just out of range for getting to on foot from Alofi, then we crossed the island to Togo and Anapala Chasms. We were lucky to be the only visitors each time.

Avaiki Cave/SeaTrack where we fitted in a swim

Amanau Sea Track

Togo is reached by a thin concrete track through what must be just about the most impassable terrain on Earth – thick spires of razor-sharp coral. At the end, you descend a ladder to an improbable patch of sand interspersed with palm trees.

Togo Chasm is hidden from view at first. A woodland walk opens to the coast and a field of dramatic and daunting coral spires to traverse (thankfully they have laid a basic concrete trail), and then the secret chasm is reached (via a long ladder), and amazing oasis. We've no idea how it was first discovered, nestled and hidden in this difficult terrain)

Anapala is in a chasm so deep and narrow that it looks from the inside like a very dimly-lit cave. The best part about it is that the cold water at the bottom is fresh, not salty, so a dip within leaves one feeling even more refreshed than usual. Also, waiting to start the stair climb back up to the surface until the cold is starting to get uncomfortable allows you to use the heat generated to warm back up, instead of getting all sweaty.

Anapala Chasm (fresh water pool in a cave/chasm) found after descending 155 steps

Tuhia Sea Track & Coral flats

For our last day with the car, we started the day with a hike to Talava Arches. Between the drive and the longish walk, it takes a couple hours to get there, so we were stalling until the last day so that the morning low tide would be at a respectable hour.

As we got out of the car at the trailhead, we were once again able to chat for a bit with Inez. Tomassi bounded out of the trees to join us. When the Matapa/Talava trail split into the much longer Talava branch, we weren't sure Tomassi would continue with us, but he stayed the whole way. Occasionally, after getting distracted by something, he would lose us and start meowing loudly. I would go back and as soon as he saw me come into view, he would bound over to catch back up.

At the far end of the Talava Arches track, the trail goes through a big cave as it descends to the sea. Tomassi didn't seem to like this. He stopped at the entrance, meowing and pleading at me with his eyes to either carry him or stay behind. Carrying was okay until I got to the part where I needed to use at least one hand for ropes and started ducking and leaning a lot. He headed back to his old spot and resumed pleading. On about the third try, when he realized I wasn't going to wait for him, he finally entered the cave and found out the whole thing was over practically before it started, particularly for someone with the dexterity of a young cat. He then continued with us down to the water, being sure to stop well out of reach of any crashing waves or spray.

While Maryanne and I bounded all over the site, taking pictures, Tomassi sat on a high perch by the trail, watching over us like a little Sphynx.

As Maryanne and I were finishing up, two more small groups of people arrived. We decided to leave the site to them. As they approached, Tomassi hid from them in the adjacent bushes, then came out to join us for the walk back to Inez's house. Again, at the part where he would have to transit the cave, Tomassi balked and started the whole carry me/stay behind routine. I thought that going through the first time would give him the confidence to do it again, but he did not seem to like the idea. When I approached to carry him through the easy initial bit, to where he would be able to see the other side, he hid from me in thick undergrowth. We went back and forth in this manner until I eventually went through, figuring he would follow me like the last time. He didn't, but also refused to be found or caught, so eventually, I decided that whenever he was ready, he would follow somebody back to the house. I'm sure he's been here dozens of times, so I was probably worrying over nothing.

Telava Arches

Maryanne's and my only other task for the day was to top up some of our provisions, particularly the fresh produce. Niue is one of those places where every store and farm sells something different, so you have to go to each one, sometimes multiple times at different parts of the day, to find what's available. It can be disproportionately frustrating, but all made much easier with a car.

Before we got into all of that, Maryanne suggested we take a short walk along the Vini Vini Track. It's on the other side of the island, kind of next to Togo Chasm. To get there, rather than taking the familiar coastal road around the perimeter, I elected to take a shortcut via some of the roads that traverse the island. Most were on proper paved roads, with only one short section labelled "Bush Rd", which I did not notice until later.

Well, the car made it. We got our deposit back and everything, but that road is probably not suitable for rental cars. It was pretty in the island's interior, but we had to go so slowly over the many bumpy bits that we would have saved more time by taking the much longer coastal road after all.

Vini Vini Track is a nature trail through the old-growth forests of Niue's interior. Maryanne's plan to walk it was a reasonable one. The trail on the ubiquitous map handed out to all of us tourists is depicted as a rectangle, with some of the legs along nearby roads. In the description, it says, "Vini Vini Track: 7.7km".

It wasn't until we were well past a sensible turn-around point that we figured out the 7.7km mentioned was the one-way distance between the two roads, not the length of the circuit, nor the out and back through the forest. We decided to continue in the hopes that we could find a ride for at least part of the road. When our feet hit the tarmac, my map app had measured the distance as 8.3km.

The ViniVini Bush Trail, local garden plots (with the distinctive taro leaves), and old growth forest with camera avoiding Blue-Crowned Lory

We walked for a long while, maybe half an hour, in increasingly heavy rain before we encountered our first car. In Niue, there only 1,600 residents, plus maybe a hundred or so tourists. It doesn't take long to start recognizing people and their license plates. As we were just starting to get pretty wet, a car with a lone occupant veered past us at speed and then just kept on driving as we had our thumbs out and smiles on our faces, hoping to make up for the mud on our legs. It was 8106. 8106 is a rental car. Bloody tourists!

Next, a Niuean man stopped in his van. He was going the opposite direction and stopped to offer two minutes of apologies for not being able to be more helpful to us.

After an hour of walking, as we were approaching the next village, another Niuean man who was going the same direction as the first stopped. He explained that he was actually going the other way, our way, saw us as tiny specks in his rearview mirror as he entered the road, decided we could probably use a ride, and then turned around at the next opportunity to collect us. He figured that since he didn't know us, we weren't Niueans. Therefore, the rental car he had seen parked on the side of the Alofi-Liku Road must be ours. It was still a long way away and he couldn't leave us to walk that far in this weather. Minutes later, he dropped us off, wished us well, and then turned around to go back in the direction from which we had come. He wasn't even going anywhere on that road! We now measured the length of the whole loop as depicted on the tourist map as 14km.

I think that little episode pretty well encapsulates the difference between the lovely Niueans and the city-folk tourists who pop in for their week of tropical self-indulgence.

At the end of our longer-than-planned day, we loaded our water jugs and our provisions into the dinghy. We were fortunate that Begonia's water tanks were now almost full, so we only needed a half-load of that, replacing the weight with our groceries. Even though we have never seen any sign of strain or imminent failure on our dinghy's lifting eyes, I always remember the section of the Owner's Manual that explain that the lifting eyes are to be used for supporting the weight of the dinghy only, and only for short periods. Stowing the dinghy in davits, like we do, requires its weight to be supported from underneath with a securing harness. Thus, I always cringe a bit when Maryanne pushes the button on Niue's crane and our dinghy, now weighing about two-and-a-half dinghies, lifts up from the wharf with a creak. I'm really looking forward to future trips where the dinghy crane really does only have to lift the dinghy, plus maybe a bag of apples.

With our car now returned, we focused the rest of our tourism on the area within and adjacent to Alofi. We visited the museum (no photos permitted), and explored all of the local sea tracks along with their associated attractions, and then topped it off with pizza and beer at the local sushi place.

I know that sounds funny, but the sushi place is the only restaurant in Alofi where one can get a pizza without pre-ordering it the day before. Lots of businesses in Niue do more than one thing. In this case, the guy who runs it does three things: makes sushi, pizza, and operates the island's only brewery. We figured we were doing our bit for the economy by giving our beer money to someone who wasn't going to send most of the proceeds off to New Zealand. This is probably false, as I'm sure most of his supplies come from New Zealand anyway but, hey, we're trying.

We can't speak to the quality of the sushi. The pizza was mediocre, but is still being correctly billed as "The Best New York Style Pizza on the Island". We shared a taster flight of the beer selection and they were all very good. We had expected at least one of the varieties to be sour and in need of further tweaking, but they were all very nice. They don't export, so if you find yourself in Niue, we recommend you stop in and have a taste.

Views from Niue Yacht Club may be the only yacht club that doesn't have any boats, but it has a great view from the deck!

Kalaone Sea Track and the separate Utuko Reef

Omahi Sea track, Tomb Point, Togalupo Sea Track, Opaahi Sea Track (all within Alofi), followed by a trip to the Kai Ika restaurant for a flight of local Niue Craft beer (from Inu Hake Brewery)

Indeed we had a few days of just exploring the sea tracks within Alofi itself.

Ashore at last we first visited Vaila Cave (and sea track), a short walk from the wharf

And then Houme Sea track and walk out onto the reef

Togalahi Sea Track, right by the moored boats is very popular at low tide (but like all the others, never seems busy)

Our simple plan for the Saturday was to do one thing: Hitchhike to Hio and have lunch at the Hio Café. The first sign of trouble with that plan came as we approached the wharf. A local dive boat came over and told us to turn around, the crane was out of order.

This was inconvenient. Our tender is light enough that, particularly at higher tides, we could haul the thing straight up and over the steps using only muscle power. It wouldn't be easy, graceful, or fun, but it could be done. Our other option was to wait for really low tide and try to find somewhere on the beach to land, but that would probably require a long drag over big swathes of dead coral to complete.

The crane that transfers boats between the water and the wharf was out of action!

Back at Begonia, after discussing the situation with the yacht club on the radio, one of our neighboring boats (the mooring field now had ten others) called to tell us they were planning on doing work aboard all day that day and that they would be happy to ferry us back and forth to the wharf if we wanted to go ashore. After thinking about it for about a minute, we decided that was a mighty good deal for us; great news!.

Our neighbor, Chrissy from Far Out, told us as she took us ashore that she had been just leaving the wharf the previous evening when the crane broke. We had assumed the most likely malfunction would be an electrical failure, or possibly something mechanical with the motor. It turned out neither had happened. The cable failed with a boat in mid-lift and then the giant/heavy hook dropped onto the boat; amazingly nobody was injured. No mention was made of the final straw being a little yellow-orange dinghy with a bag of apples.

That didn't bode well for a quick repair like replacing a fuse. Also, apparently the guys who know how to service the crane are off-island until Monday. In the meantime, the dive operators had contracted to use the big crane they use for transferring shipping containers. They paid the operator to come down at set times for them. The visiting boaters needed to fend for themselves.

Our trip to Hio went relatively smoothly. We had decided to enjoy the first part of the walk as a pleasant stroll before resorting to the use of our thumbs for the remainder of the distance. We didn't get far, though. A local man saw us walking on the side of the road and decided we could probably use a ride. It turns out the Hio Café was only a little farther than he was going so, of course, he insisted on dropping us right out front.

The Hio Café is in a lovely location, with a balcony high on the cliffs above Hio Beach. They were fairly busy when we arrived because, at the time, they were the only eatery open on the island. The service wasn't great. The staff were all very friendly, but it took us four tries to finally get what we had originally ordered. The food was good, and I had a very tasty Virgin Tropicana, which I did not order. I saw the woman make it at the bar. I also couldn't help but notice that their bottle of Johnny Walker was a significantly lighter shade than the exact same product we have on the boat. The clear rum in my drink was probably especially clear, if you know what I mean.

Hio Cafe with another great Niuean view, and the nearby sea track leads to a beautiful beach at low tide

Our ride back to Alofi was with a friendly family of four, who doubled back to pick us up, and then rearranged their whole seating arrangement so that we could have space. Mom was from Makefu, between Alofi and Hio. Her sons grew up in New Zealand and were visiting, although all said they were looking forward to coming to Niue for good. They all seemed so content here.

At the wharf, as we were waiting for someone from Far Out to collect us, we got the full story about the crane from a Customs officer there: Apparently, one of the dive operators was hauling their boat onto the wharf. When they were halfway up – about a meter off the water, the cable snapped. The fall was bad, but not too bad. The real damage came when the big metal pulley/hook combination fell into the boat. That thing weighs at least 100kg. Fortunately, the employee in the boat was able to jump out of the way and no one was hurt. Yeesh!

The next day, like most of the other boats in the anchorage, we decided to occupy ourselves with non-shore activities. In our case, we spent most of the day snorkeling along the shore by the mooring field. Snorkelling on a Sunday in the highly religeous community comes with rules: Not in view of a church during service times! That was fine, we slept in and snorkelled in the afternoon.

Niue's corals and fishes are not particularly exceptional. It's much the same stuff we see in other parts of the South Pacific. The topography of the coast, however, is really interesting. Despite the fact that we were slowly getting cold and tired, neither of us could keep from continuing to the next corner, cave, or chasm. Also, Niue has plenty of sea snakes. They are supposedly the most venomous sea snakes in the world, but their mouths are too small to bite humans, so they are harmless to us. This makes it much less stressful to enjoy their antics up close.

Niue, of course, also has the whales. As I was tidying up Begonia's bottom paint before our coast snorkel in preparation for our upcoming departure, I had the sound of two nearby whales singing to each other as background music. We continued to hear them for hours as we made our way further from the mooring field.

Snorkelling around Alofi Bay

By the time we both agreed that it really was time for us to turn for home, this time without taking yet another quick trip to the next thing ahead, Begonia's cabin was over the horizon, more than two miles away. By the time we made it home, we had been in the water for six hours straight.

For our last day in Niue, we only had one thing we had to do: Get our outbound clearance. Since I wanted to get an early start, just in case, I arose while it was still dark outside. As I stepped into the cockpit, I was pleased to see three men over on the wharf, already working on the broken crane. By the time Maryanne and I finally made it through our morning routines, and then ambled over there in the dinghy, they looked to be just finishing up. Maryanne and I both needed to get ashore for our clearance, so we were prepared to haul our dinghy up by hand, but were very glad to be asked if they could test the crane out by lifting our dinghy. I'm not sure how much of a test it was, since three-quarters of the strain on the cable was from the hook under which the dinghy dangled, but everything moved in the right directions, and the dinghy was soon deposited in a nice, dry space on the wharf. We made a radio announcement about the crane being back in operation. We expected a stampede from the other boats in the mooring field, but no one seemed interested in getting an early jump on Monday in Niue.

Since we weren't quite ready to say goodbye, once Maryanne and I had our outbound clearance, we made a point of making one last, lingering pass through town.

We started with a long walk to the Fana Café for lunch, where the staff recognized us and treated us as old friends. Then we made a final trip to the yacht club to enjoty the view from their deck. A woman appeared out of nowhere to tell us they were closed, and then asked if we would like to order a drink. We had a beer each and then made a point of popping in here and there on our route back to the wharf. Soon, we were back at the dinghy and our time at Niue was almost over. The guys had been tweaking the crane repair since we left, which made ours still the only dinghy out of the water. They finished the job and we were the first boat back in, suspended beneath a shiny, new cable. Now all that was left was to put the dinghy into lifeboat mode, enjoy the sunset, and get one more night of sleep together before the passage.

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Alofi Bay moorings location >> On google maps