Oneata, Lau Group

[Kyle]We had a longish day planned for the sail from Vulaga to Oneata, nearly fifty miles to the north-northeast. Winds in the mid-to-upper twenties was forecast, which seemed to be keeping all the other boats in the area tucked in somewhere safe to ride out the day.

Departing Vulaga - Beautiful sunrise and then rainbows to send us off

Our exit of Vulaga's pass was uneventful against a flood current of about a third of a knot. When we got into deep water, I couldn't help but notice that the sea temperature climbed three degrees Celsius, which is backward from usual, since shallow lagoons generally allow water within to heat up faster in the sun.

With the strong wind on our starboard quarter, Begonia ate up the miles easily, even with an extra reef tucked into each sail. Even better, the gloomy drizzle of the last few days had gone, leaving bright sunshine on a sparkling sea.

Our fun ended when we reached the lagoon at Oneata. The pass entrance is on the far, northern side, about four miles from the island. Conditions weren't too bad in the lee outside the reef, but once we reached the pass, we had to turn directly into the wind and bash into steep chop that had been heaping up since the island. Our nice, dry decks and windows, which had so recently been rinsed of their accumulated salt by the rains during our last few nights in Vulaga, were now being completely recoated with flying spray being driven over the boat by thirty-knot headwinds.

The rough seas and our headwind-hindered speed improved ever so slowly as we crept up into the protection of the island. When we dropped anchor, we were down to eighteen knots of wind on a slightly annoying swell that was still somehow managing to wrap its way around the island. Still, it was way better than what it had been like on the way in, and we were more than grateful to let out a big sigh that our day was now over. Those last four miles from the pass took more out of us than the forty before them.

A welcome view on arrival in Oneata, and a beautiful beach ashore

In the morning, we gathered up our things and rowed the dinghy ashore for the walk to Oneata's main village, Waiqori. The route there requires a bit of what the Kiwis call a Tiki Tour. From the beach where Begonia was anchored, we had to blaze a trail through the jungle to the adjacent beach. At the far end of that beach, there is a proper trail to the village of Dakuiloa, Oneata's original settlement. From Dakuiloa, we could join the island's main artery to Waiqori.

The trail was difficult for us to follow, and we managed to find ourselves in a swamp at one point (but those buttress roots of the swamp trees were just so enthraling to look at so we didn't mind too much, even if we nearly lost our shoes)

The thing is, the trail between Dakuiloa and the beach isn't heavily travelled, particularly on the beach end, which is far beyond the village's garden plots on the village side. With vague directions, we managed to find the trailhead, but lost it several times in the thick undergrowth. We squished our way through boggy swamps, filling our shoes with greasy mud. Ewww! The place did at least have the most interesting trees with the most delicate buttress roots that looked like fine filigree.

After several minutes of collecting mud for our legs and getting increasingly annoyed with each other's navigational prowess, we stepped right into the middle of what was very obviously a somewhat well-trodden trail that was leading in the direction of Dakuiloa. We considered backtracking all the way to the beach to see where we had gone wrong, but we had a long day ahead of us, so we decided to hope it would be obvious on the way back.

In Dakuiloa, we arrived as we had in Vulaga, by ducking under a line of drying laundry. The first woman we met greeted us like returning family, with a smile and handshakes that turned into hugs. When we explained that we were needing to get to Waiqori for sevusevu, she assigned her four young sons to show us to the path.

We have been to Oneata before. The path between the villages is wide and obvious, but the boys insisted on showing us the way. Once we were out of the village, the eldest, Seko, explained that he was going to accompany us for the whole journey. His next younger brother, Solo, was also keen to go, but they weren't so sure about the youngest two, Joni and Cama, who they kept trying without success to send back home to mom. Eventually, it became clear that it was going to be the six of us the whole way.

Local kids from the village of Dakuiloa were assigned to help us find the main village of Waiqori (an obvious path, but their company was delightful, AND they sourced refreshments on route for us) - maybe you can spot Solo up in the coconut tree?

The kids were actually a lot of fun. Cama was trailing a long piece of polypropylene line and seemed to think there was nothing more fun in the world than the game of keeping us from stepping on it as we chased him. Give a kid anything and they will figure out how to make it into a toy.

At about the halfway point, Seko decided we must be getting thirsty, despite our obvious, hot-pink water bottle, and ordered Solo up a tree to collect us all a few drinking coconuts. He opened them deftly with his machete, which of course he had, because he's eight. Fresh Coconut water is sweet and delicious, although I have yet to master drinking out of the little hole without dribbling a third of it down my shirt.

Further down the road, we met a man who introduced himself as Uraia. He was the same Uraia we had met in 2019, when he was delivering hot lunches to the school for Dakiuloa's children. I thought we had taken a picture of him, but the one we had was of a different man. When we showed him that picture, he pointed out that it was taken right in front of the tree where we were all now standing. How funny. It looked like a lot of the others, but on closer examination, it was the same tree, only a little older. There is a man who knows his island!

In Waiqori, every person we met, including his wife, told us the Chief was out fishing and wouldn't be back until later to do sevusevu. Then we started meeting others who said they had heard he was in Suva. In the meantime, it was determined we would wait at the school until someone figured out what should be done with us.

There, we met Saukula, the kindergarten teacher, who invited us to wait at the house she has at the school. Inside, a man was laboriously pounding casava into flour, occasionally taking breaks to diligently pick out any unwanted pulp. Saukula introduced him as Ledua, and explained he was one of the Chief's sons. He was soft spoken, but kind and funny. He apologized for not being able to offer us any clarity on his father's whereabouts. Apparently, the coconut telegraph also suffers from occasional outages.

As the hour was getting late for us to make it back to Begonia by dark, it was eventually determined that it would be acceptable in a pinch for us to do our sevusevu with Asaeli, the village pastor. He ran through the ceremony efficiently and Maryanne and I were soon bid a good journey home.

In Waiqori, it took a while for us to find someone who could perform the sevusevu (permission/welcome) ceremony - and while we waited we were again enthralled watching locals land with their fresh fish catch, or grind flour from cooked/dried cassava roots; once again we were in a living museum (where we had plenty to learn)

After completing our sevusevu, we found Solo, Joni, and Cama, but Seko was apparently off somewhere with friends. His brothers wanted us to wait for him. When Maryanne and I explained that we had no time for that (we needed to get back to the boat before dark), but that we *could* easily find our own way back, they opted to go with us instead. Solo said Seko could find his way back in the dark, no problem.

But Seko has the machete. What if we get thirsty?

At Dakuiloa, we dropped the kids off and said a quick hello/goodbye to their mother, promising to return in a couple of days to spend more time.

Just after joining the beach trail, we noticed a pig that had somehow escaped from the adjacent pen. I went back into Dakuiloa to report it. After some consultation by an ad hoc committee, it was determined that a boy of about fourteen years would accompany us back to the pen, where he would corral the animal while Maryanne and I continued on our way.

Back to the dinghy on the beach "just in time" for Sunset

Back at the beach end of the trail, we quickly found our error from the morning. After taking two steps off the beach, the trail bends sharply in the direction opposite of Dakuiloa. Then there are about twenty paces to get around the edge of the swamp, before the trail starts heading directly at the village again. Now that we knew where to go, our next trip ashore should go much more smoothly.

We spent the next day at home, which we learned the day before is called Lawaki Bay by the locals. As it was Sunday, no fishing boats came around and we had the whole uninhabited side of Oneata to ourselves.

Time for a snorkel. We were pleased to find that the water was noticeably warmer than it was back in Vulaga. That small difference allowed us to stay out for hours, exploring the reef adjacent Begonia, plus the fringes of the nearest three bays. The coral was not amazing, but good, with a few fish left that hadn't been taken for bait or dinner. The most interesting spot was in the next bay to our east, where a craggy islet with two lonely palm trees serves as the centerpiece of the bay.

As promised, we left Begonia early the next morning so that we could spend all day on the island. At Dakuiloa, we met several people, including a woman called Wati, who took us to see the cave where the locals like to go to cool off. It probably would have made sense to have a dip ourselves, as we would undoubtedly be completely dry after an hour of walking, but we elected to give it a miss today.

A little further on, we were invited in by three other ladies, who were each at different stages of stencilling some Masi (tapa) cloth for a big event coming up at the church to commemorate the arrival of the first missionaries to Oneata. The most senior of these (Wati's mother: Ulamila) was so efficient at the task that she practically completed her entire Masi as Maryanne and I watched on.

The cave off the beach in Dakuiloa

The local women stencilling their masi (tapa) cloth ready for the church anniversary in Dakuiloa village

At the far edge of the village, no children were following us, but we were joined by an enthusiastic dog who seemed to be glad to have someone to join him on a long walk to Waiqori.

There, we spent some time hanging out over lemon leaf tea with the Chief's wife and sister, and also his brother. Then we meandered through the village. A characteristic pounding sound drew us to a sheltered area, where a woman was pounding Mulberry bark into Masi cloth. She invited us to her house to see the finished product. Her latest creation was enormous, requiring almost all of the floor area in the room to display. She explained that it was going to be for a wedding (not hers) and that it was going to be hung on the wall as a backdrop.

The stencils are all hand made by each woman (not shared between them). At one time the stencil material would have been banana leaves, but nowadays it is repurposed sheets of old x-ray film used for the task (making the patterns reusable longer-term). This giant masi, once finished, will be a centerpiece at an upcoming wedding (mounted on the wall)

Waiqori is the larger of the two villages, and also has its own beach for the local fishing boats, etc

We excused ourselves a bit early because Maryanne wanted to head to the school. The school uses traditional drums, played by a specially chosen child, in place of the school bell for a subset of a day's events. Maryanne was hoping to get to witness it.

Each day, one of the senior local school kids is assigned to "sound the school bell" which in this case is a traditional Lali (drum). All the kids seem to totally disregard the call to class so we had to excuse ourselves to remove the distraction we'd caused.

In doing so, we managed to inadvertently hijack the event, which in this case was the end of lunch. As soon as the kids saw us coming, we were mobbed by smiling faces practicing various English greetings and barraging us with questions. The poor kid tasked with the important duty of being the day's drummer had lost his limelight. He got it back later when everyone realized his performance was why Maryanne and I had detoured to the school in the first place.

Since my phone had the better camera, Maryanne had designated me to be the one to video the drumming. I was all ready to go at the end of the question-and-answer period, when someone asked if I had any pictures from our 2019 visit. I pulled the phone out of my sulu and was immediately crushed by several layers of warm bodies pushing to get a view of my screen. The feeling was not unlike being in the first couple of rows at a rock concert when the lights come up and the crowd rushes forward to the barriers. There was no way I could move my arms, much less raise my phone to record a video. Maryanne had to hastily make her own.

When the kids recognized one of the girls in a 2019 photo, they all cheered as if she had one a big prize. The double-aged version was standing right in front of me with what was obviously the same shy smile. The current young lady looked like a one-and-a-half scale model of her younger self.

With the drums now officially beaten, it was once again time for classes to resume. The teacher gave them a little slack, giving a chance for everyone to shake our hands and bid us goodbye before heading back to their desks.

Maryanne and I then walked over to Saukula's house, where we were hoping to catch her, and even possibly Ledua, one last time. Neither were there, but we did meet the Lunch Lady (each day the village of Dakuiloa assigns one of the parents to trek to the school in Waiqori and take/prepare their school meal), who has a lovely Fijian name that dropped unfairly out of our heads almost as soon as we heard it. She offered to accompany us on the walk back to Dakuiloa. With her were four children who were young enough to only be doing half-days at school and were thus finished with lessons for the day. Two were hers and two were her sister's. The youngest, we were told, is only two years old. That kid walks the four-kilometer round trip between Dakuiloa and Waiqori at least five times a week.

Wait, that's not right. That kid RAN the whole way. She ran ahead, then turned around to run back to us before running ahead again, putting in three times the overall distance. An Olympic sprinting coach couldn't design a better workout. The other three kids were the same. They spent the whole journey chasing each other, playing tag and hide-and-seek in the tall grass. The whole time, they were giggling the giggles of pure joy that only young children possess, as if commuting with strangers was the most fun game in the whole wide world to play.

When we all sat down in the shade under a tree at for a brief rest at the halfway mark, all four kids slept deeply for the ten minutes before it was time to go again. Then they were good as new. Oh, how I miss being able to do that.

The locals and the kids make every village visit some form of memorable fund

At some point on this part of the journey, I must've grabbed one of the children and lobbed them ahead a bit. That was it – now I was Kyle, the Human Merry-Go-Round. For the next good long while, I strode the path while swinging a kid from each arm. Sometimes, Maryanne joined in, with a third child swinging between us. That, like the interval training earlier, is also fantastic exercise. I wonder if CrossFit knows about it? I was finally spared when Mom/Auntie told them to leave the nice old man alone for a while. Wait, who are you calling nice?

When we reached the outskirts of Dakuiloa, the children all peeled off to resume their play with dogs or uncles or grandparents or even Dakuiloa's stalwart climbing trees. Theirs seems like a pretty perfect childhood.

The day was waning and the next thing we knew, it was already time for Maryanne and I to be hitting the trail back to the beach one over from Lawaki Bay. At the end of the day, we would each end up walking 19.5 kilometers. We were bid farewell with smiles, handshakes and hugs, and told to come back the next time we were this way again.

Maryanne and I really like Oneata. Vulaga's lagoon is indisputably prettier, and with no annoying wrap-around swell issues, but I think the actual island of Oneata is just lovely, with its rolling hills and central grasslands. The people are also so warm and friendly. Oneata has also been (so far) able to avoid the cruising boat invasion fleets of some of the more over-loved islands. The irony of that is not lost on us, but Oneata does hold a special place in both our hearts.

We weren't actually leaving just yet. Before the next good weather window for us to continue, we had a couple of days to explore the unpopulated northern side of Oneata with the dinghy and to have a last snorkel. Again, like at Vulaga, we got to where we could almost wade to Waiqori from the terminal beach before we turning and heading back to Begonia for the night.

Exploring the coastline near the anchorage

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Vulaga

[Kyle]After a good night's rest, we rowed the Pudgy ashore and then joined the footpath to Vulaga's main village of Muana-i-cake (Vulaga is pronounced Fu-lang-ah, and the village is pronounced Muana-ee-thak'e). Compared to the wide, grassy path from the main anchorage to the village, the path from Begonia's more remote location, which we later learned was called Malakuia by the locals, was much more of a proper jungle hike. It started off steeply as it rose to the height of the central plateau (about 40m). This required lots of knee-high steps on sharp, sole-chewing rock, while using trees and vines for assistance. Then there was a long, central bit in the deep shade of thick foliage, before the path takes a somewhat shallower descent down to the village clearing. The trail ends at the back of someone's house, which required us to duck under a line full of fresh laundry before alighting on the main road, which is, of course, just a narrow grassy footpath. Apart from boats, the only means of transportation on Vulaga is on foot.

Once we were on the path, the disorientation we had from approaching the village from an unfamiliar direction vanished. The whole village layout snapped into alignment with our memories from our last visit.

Seeing that Maryanne and I were new, possibly because we were carrying a gift-wrapped bunch of kava for sevusevu, one of the village men intercepted us and made sure we found our way to the correct house for the Chief. That we were struggling with, because almost all the houses in the village are the same shape and size.

We arrived just as a large group from at least two other boats were finishing their sevusevu. The chief must have to do this all day each time the weather allows the next wave of visitors to arrive.

For our sevusevu, it was just me and Maryanne. We recognized the Chief, Simon, from our last visit. When he was done with the ceremony, we talked with him for a bit. He clarified to us that he had not in fact been Chief in 2019, merely Acting Chief. He's the real deal now, though. We congratulated him on his promotion and he welcomed us warmly to his island with a smile.

A trip ashore with a walk through the jungle to the village for Sevusevu (the permission/welcome ceremony) - followed by refreshments at 'Qele's house as we reaquiant ourselves with the village of Moana-i-cake

In Vulaga, visitors are assigned a host family. This arrangement is not per visit, but for life. Our 2019 hosts, Jone and Mareh, were off in Suva at the moment, so Mereh could take exams to increase her teaching qualifications. We were given a new, temporary host for this visit named 'Qele (Pronounced something close to Gail).

'Qele was nice, as all the villagers are. Over pancakes and tea made from freshly plucked lemon leaves, we learned that she was Jone's mother, so our reassignment kept us in the family. 'Qele's friend, Salote was there as well as her son, Noah and his wife, Uni. We invited them to visit Begonia the next afternoon. In the meantime, we were keen to get back home and to start reacquainting ourselves with our anchorage.

Since the trip from Begonia to the trailhead was a short one, and since the dinghy is easier to beach without it, we had opted not to install the electric outboard and instead go for the simplicity of rowing. Despite this, when we got back, rather than head straight back to Begonia to get the motor, we couldn't help but make a few detours on the way to see one cool thing or another. In the end, we stayed out for a few hours and rowed miles and miles in the process. It wasn't difficult – think rented rowboat on a pond with a date, with lots and lots of stopping to take photos or to stretch our legs on a beach. It wasn't until we were back to our anchorage that we realized how far our wanderings had taken us.

Exploring the crazy teetering rock formations in the main lagoon, and visiting our neighbours aboard Vision

We stopped to introduce ourselves to our neighbors Jan and Ina, on Vision, their 17m Moody 54DS monohull. Their boat is beautiful, clean and roomy, and looks like the glossy magazine dream of yachting in style. When Jan offered us cappuccinos, it seemed in keeping with the theme. We loved it.

Jan and Ina had arrived in Vulaga earlier the same day we had, only theirs was after a three-hundred-mile round-trip to Savu Savu from Vulaga to collect parts. Jan admitted that he was looking forward to the 'yachting in style' part, which he and Ina were hoping would arrive any day now. Jan's tales of his journey since collecting his new boat in his home country of Germany do have a few nice cruising moments, but they are also generously peppered with frustrations about equipment failures and delays for repairs. Their 2022 boat, for example, is already on its fourth engine, after three warranty replacements, which the engine company fought against each time.

The cappuccinos were lovely, but I think after hearing Jan's story, that Maryanne and I felt a little better about Begonia's obvious lack of complex, expensive systems, even if it does mean we drink instant coffee.

The next day, we were visited by Noah and Uni. I was a little relieved by this, since the Pudgy can't generally carry more than three people, particularly when allowing enough room for oar swing. This way, picking up our guests would only require one trip. Since I beat them to the beach, I rounded out the time by walking the village trail until I intercepted them to join them for the walk. Poor Noah had broken a flip-flop and was trying to navigate the sharper parts of the trail with a shoe that was constantly falling off.

When we finally broke out of the jungle to the waiting Pudgy, they did well to not break out into guffaws at the sight of a plastic rowboat, rather than the more typical roomy inflatable with a big motor. Imagine ordering a car to pick you up at the airport and instead being met by a clown on a tricycle with a big basket.

They were gracious guests who did not appear to suffer as we peppered them with questions about their lives and gave answers about ours. We even discovered that Noah was in some of the pictures we had taken on our last visit. He was the cool guy doling out kava then. Now he has a wife and three kids and a beard, but he's still one of those guys that looks cool, just when he is sitting there listening to us ramble.

Noah and Uni visit with us aboard Begonia

We had a few days at the anchorage after that. We did a few minor repairs of things that had started to wear since our haulout. Since none was as serious as cutting an engine out of a boat that had been built around it, we felt like we were getting away with something. We weren't really; a lot of that stuff was concentrated into the haulout, but it's a lot easier to deal with big jobs all at once in a boatyard than piecemeal while trying to keep cruising in remote places.

We rowed around some more and did as much snorkeling as we could bear. The water in the lagoon at Vulaga has been unusually cool - so much so that every single villager we met remarked on it. They do a lot of night fishing, when there is no sun to warm them up afterwards. I found I could manage about twenty-five minutes with no wetsuit and another twenty with one on before I stopped caring about the view and just wanted to get home to warm up. Maryanne could tolerate a little more, which allowed us to not have to fight over the shower nozzle on Begonia at the end.

Snorkelling the mini-islands around Begonia at our first anchorage

Noah had given us vague directions about a cave somewhere to the left of the trail on the hill behind the beach. Maryanne and I climbed over boulders and pushed our way through snarls of branches in the jungle for an hour or so without any luck. We were just about to give up and try to find our way back down the steep slope when it just appeared before us.

It was much better than we had expected. We thought it would be little more than a big indentation in the hillside, but in fact it was large enough for us to need our headlamps, with several connected chambers and lots of cool cave features like stalagmites, stalactites, columns and curtains. Afterward, we were able to reverse-engineer much more sensible directions for subsequent visitors. We also, via the dinghy, managed to visit another more easily accessible cave, which was basically a hollowed-out version of one of the lagoon's crazy little mushroom-shaped islets.

Cave on the main island

Cave on a tiny islet (with view from one of the openings)

We were just finishing breakfast one morning when an orange RIB full of men in tactical gear came into the anchorage and started heading right at Begonia. When it got closer, we could clearly see the lettering on the side: U.S. Coast Guard.

What!? That is some next-level getting lost! Fiji is nowhere near any part of the U.S, which was kinda the point for us. What on Earth were they doing here?

Well, it turns out that Fiji, like a lot of places these days, is having a bit of a problem with drug trafficking. The U.S. Coast Guard is helping to train the authorities here and is also lending them equipment and manpower. Our RIB today was operated by the U.S. Coast Guard at the request of the Fijian Navy and thus contained men from each service.

Officialdom can find us even in a remote anchorage in Fiji

They told us they were coming aboard – it wasn't optional – to do what they called a “Safety Check”. We have been boarded before while in the U.S., so we were expecting them to ask to see our fire extinguishers, flares, life jackets, etc. They explained that they were not really interested in any of that today. Today, they wanted to see inside our engine compartments.

Groan. The engines are under the beds, which have to be dismantled and removed for access. Our spare bed also had an accumulation of items on top of it that we had been too lazy to put away properly in recent days. I dismantled everything and when the officer was satisfied with our engine compartments, he told me he needed to see our bilges as well. The covers for those were loaded with all the bedding I had just removed. To get them off, I had to put everything back in its original place so he could see the bilges.

Up in the cockpit, on Maryanne's end, the focus seemed to be on verifying our big sheaf of paperwork. It's not uncommon for some boats to try to sneak in a visit to the Lau group before formally clearing in, as the island group is so far from official arrival ports, but has to be practically sailed through along the way.

All of the guys were really nice – like Fijian Nice. They had a job to do, but they were nothing but patient and courteous with us the whole time, and never seemed the least bit threatening in any way. That is no easy job if you are literally covered in lethal weaponry. When they all left, I was almost glad we had them onboard, because it calmed down the scarier what-if worries I had before. We weren't breaking any laws, but these days, you can never be sure that they know that.

Then it was time for a day ashore. We hiked the trail into Mauna-i-cake, waved to and chatted with a few people we recognized, and then continued down the path to the village of Muana-i-ra. Along the way, we met lots of people headed the opposite direction for a day in Muana-i-cake. We promised to meet up with them again later. Our plan was to head to the beach at Muana-i-ra and then walk along it back to Muana-i-cake.

We hacked ashore looking for access to a pond we could see in a satellite photo (we gave up as the terrain prooved a little dangerous and we feared if we did injure ourselves we might never be found!).
At the main village (Muana-i-cake), we collected a made-to-order hair band holder from Tui, one of the the local craftsmen; the island is famed for their carving skills

And visiting the village of Muana-i-ra (there is a nice grassy connecting trail between the it and the main village)

As we were walking through the last clear area between the houses and the beach at Muana-i-ra, the first person we encountered was Tagi!

Tagi, which is pronounced “Tangi”, but with such a subtle g that it almost sounds like “Tiny”, was one of our favorite people from our 2019 visit. I remember her always having a big smile on her face. We were secretly hoping we might see her by going to her village, but it's been a while and we knew she might be off island at the moment, or even have moved away entirely. We were trying to figure out if the woman we were approaching might be her when she recognized us and let out a big laugh that carried out across the whole village. That was Tagi alright! You couldn't help but smile at the joy of her beautiful laugh. We caught up pretty quickly after determining that we had all been doing the same thing as last time, only more of it. Then she gifted us a lunch of casava for some walking around food.

The beach

We joined the beach, walked the wrong way as far as we could, for the views, and then turned for the long walk to Muana-i-cake. We arrived in the middle of some incomprehensible sporting match that was being played. We took seats on a mat behind some protective netting and then were immediately piled on by children who had been let out of school to watch the game, which, based on the jerseys, was between Nasavu and Muaninuku. These seemed to be factions from villages with even different names, which only added to the confusion for us. Mostly, the children cheered at what seemed to be random times to me, but they were very enthusiastic when doing so. Maryanne studied the game for a while, decided she knew it, and then started explaining the rules to the rest of us. This was funny because, as I said before, the game is incomprehensible. The only thing I was able to figure out for sure was that when the guy they call the bowler hits a stick they call a wicket, the whole crowd goes nuts with loud cheers and dancing. {Maryanne:Yes, it was cricket}.

The village has a large green space, but isn't quite large enough to match a regulation cricket field. So the boundary included a few houses. If the ball went under a house, the game continued as the fielders scrambled under the structure for the ball.

We wiled away the afternoon spectating at cricket, and supping on kava

With most of the area around the Malakuia anchorage explored, Maryanne suggested we move further west, deeper into the less well-known side of the lagoon, away from our edge of the crowds, to have a look there (and making a shorter dinghy ride to the 3rd village of the island).

Our new anchorage, like our first time in our last one, required sighting our way in, while ignoring sections of the chart that indicated our chosen route would be too shallow for a surfboard. We found our anchorage, then very gingerly checked our intended singing circle for hazards, before dropping the anchor in the middle. Then we made a note not to jump off the boat willy-nilly, especially at low tide, as the water was not deep enough to not hit bottom.

Our new anchorage, called Vatumulomulo by the locals, was reminiscent of the last one. We were surrounded by crazy-shaped islets, only this time with an unobstructed view of the sunset. As the only boat that would fit, Begonia was also the only cruising boat within a mile or so. At most states of wind or tide, the nearest other boats were blocked by intervening islets, making our own anchor light and the dim lights of the distant village of Naividamu the only artificial lights we could see at night.

We had intended to save our first exploring here for the day after relocating, but the place was too pretty to resist, so we deployed the dinghy for a quick reconnaissance. Like the last place, we ended up rowing all over the place, chasing views.

Exploring our 2nd anchorage

As we rounded our last islet homeward, we detoured slightly to visit some locals who were fishing in a takia (a smaller version of a Camakau, the Fijian name for the traditional outrigger canoe) . As we approached, we couldn't believe what we saw. Up on the bow was Tagi! With her was her husband, 'Pele, and their dog, Ranger. We had never met either and she had never seen either of our boats, so she had no idea it was us aboard when she waved at our arrival earlier.

Meeting up again with Tagi

Of course, a big smile came over her face now. We gave them a few treats we had squirreled away for just such an occasion, and spent a little time chatting with them before leaving them to their fishing. We were aware that we might be inadvertently scaring away their fish, and that the real reason they were out here was to feed themselves, not yuk it up with a couple of clueless vegan cruisers.

Exploring and snorkelling around our 2nd anchorage

The next day, we had an exploratory snorkel. The lagoon is definitely still cold, but we found a couple of interesting seamounts to poke around. Since the lagoon to our southwest is expansive and also dries at low tide, we decided the best thing was to go to the trouble to dig out the kayak and inflate it for extended paddling.

On the next morning's high tide, we paddled two miles to Naividamu. This village rarely gets visitors due to its remoteness in the very shallow part of the western side of the lagoon.

We did our sevusevu with Moses, Naividamu's Chief. Then another man, whose name we didn't quite get, took us to the trailhead for the cross-island trail to the big beach opposite. We were a bit confused when he was still with us well past the halfway point. Perhaps we had misunderstood and he was planning to guide us the whole way?

He was not. At about the three-quarter mark, which was also the highest elevation, the trail made a precipitous descent into the jungle. Our guide pointed out the correct path, bid us a good afternoon, and said he would see us later when we got back to the village.

We could see why he left us to our own navigating at that point. What up until then had been a shady stroll was about to change into hands-and-feet climbing. It didn't look too treacherous, but at the very least, the trip back up was going to be very tiring and ruinous to any lingering feeling of refreshment from previously splashing around in the sea.

While the trail was steep, it was also short. In no time at all, Maryanne and I were back at sea level stepping over palm fronds and banana leaves for the short transit to the blinding white sand. This beach is the longest on Vulaga, and also the most remote. Of course, we understood how it came to be, but Maryanne and I never cease to be amazed every time we are the only two people occupying miles of gorgeous tropical beach. Being who we are, we walked as far as we could to the near, northern end, and then did an about-face to see how far to the south we could get. When we got to what looked like the end, we dove into the trees and managed to pick our way through to the next big stretch of sand.

In this manner, we made it all the way to Vulaga's southwest corner before deciding to turn back. With a bit of wading, we probably could have continued all the way around the corner into Muana-i-ra, then Muana-i-cake, and then along the path to our last anchorage. While that would have given a nice sense of satisfaction for completing the loop, it also would have left us stranded, with no dinghy and no way to get back to Naividamu until the next low tide at midnight.

The beaultiful long beach - all to ourselves (and the wildlife)

Still, the long walk back gave us more than enough to see. One of our favorite spots was a shallow lip in the lagoon where the whole outgoing tide flows to make a shallow but wide section of rapids/waterfall.

After a short sit down for a snack and to marvel again at our good fortune, we dove back into the jungle for the climb/walk back to Naividamu.

The steep climb didn't turn out to be as bad as we had expected. Searching for hand-and-footholds kept us slow enough to keep us from breaking a sweat, and in no time, we were both surprised to find ourselves standing at the top, with nothing but the downhill stroll to the village ahead of us.

The village seemed surprisingly quiet to us. Our guide earlier had said that over sixty people live in Naividamu. It wasn't until now that I remembered that he also said that over forty of them were children. It was a weekday, so almost all of them were at school in Mauna-i-cake. One notable exception was a young boy (Anthony) who deftly opened a couple of young coconuts for Maryanne and I to enjoy as post-expedition refreshment. The world is a funny place. I distinctly remember getting in trouble with the authorities when I gave my kids machetes to celebrate their first day at school...

After crossing the island from the beach, we were back at Naividamu (and a welcome gift of fruit and veggies)

Visiting the 3rd village: Naividamu

The tide, while coming in now, was still much lower than it had been when we first arrived in the morning. Getting even the kayak out to a navigable depth required a long, squishy walk through shoe-sucking tidal mud. No wonder we have only seen local boats coming and going at high tide, even if it has to be in the middle of the night.

Since we were tired, we decided to pass up on the scenic shore route back to Begonia, opting for the direct, open water route. Along the way, our route was going to pass close enough to a takia that it would have been an obvious snub if we didn't divert a little to say hi. The occupant, like us, was turned away from the blinding rays of the low sun. We approached from behind and hailed with a big “Bula!”

She turned and we immediately recognized Tagi's smile, followed by giggles all around. She seemed surprised that we were so far from Begonia, but then she was even farther from shore in a boat whose only means of propulsion were a big sculling oar and a punting pole. Also, she lives in Muana-i-ra. Most of her trip home tonight was going to be in new moon darkness.

The next day, the morning high tide was late enough that we could take advantage of it if we got up really early to be off of Begonia at first light. Our goal was a paddling exploration of the two big tidal lagoons to our west, Vuata and Mataniwaqa. The lagoons are peppered with little islets, which are separated by mangrove-filled channels; the water is barely ankle depth (or non-existent) at low tide.

We explored another cave on our kayak adenture

Kayaking the inner (shallow) lagoons at high tide

We traced a sinuous path through Vuata, then took the back way through the mangroves to Mataniwaqa for more of the same on that side. At the farthest point, the tide had still not fallen too far, so we made a point of getting back to Begonia via the longest route we could think of that would still maximize new territory. Along the way, we spotted a cave that looked like it could be easily reached at higher tides. One we got inside, it turned out to be much grander than its appearance suggested on our approach. That gave us a sense of really finding a new gem.

After our long day of exploring, we got back to Begonia, hoisted the dinghy, and flopped down on our cabin settee for some food and a rest. It was then that we were amused to discover that it wasn't quite noon yet. This made it feel like we had practically a whole day off ahead of us. That was until we caught each other nodding off after an early dinner.

We gave up and went to bed just after sunset. That allowed us to get up even earlier the next morning for a snorkel of the reefs at the entrance to Vuata lagoon.

Our little expedition had little appeal in the drizzle following un unseasonably cool night. As I mentioned before, the water in Vulaga's lagoon has been much cooler than normal as of late. Going into it without the prospect of bright sunshine for rewarming afterwards took a big gulp, followed by little screams as the water slowly filled our wetsuits.

snorkelling around the pass to the innner lagoons

At the pass, we did find lots of coral, but it didn't turn out to be nearly as impressive as our previous above-water reconnaissance in the kayak had suggested. The main problem was too much silt from the lagoons as they drain on the falling tide. This covered the coral fields and reduced the visibility dramatically to only a couple of meters, which meant Maryanne and I had to keep surfacing to find each other.

We did a lap around the islet bisecting the gap into two channels, which gave us a look not just at the coral in the deeper part of the main Vulaga lagoon, but also the shallow sea grasses in Vuata. Once we finally broke down and admitted to each other that the cold was getting to be too much for each of us, we made a hasty retreat to Begonia, where we shivered our way through our respective deck rinses, and then an hour or so of gripping warm mugs of tea. It is such a strange feeling to be cold in the tropics. Our cabin thermometer read 27C. I guess we had better enjoy it while we can...

A wonderful, relaxing time in Vulaga

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Anchorage location - Malakuia/La Escondita Anchorage >> On google maps

Anchorage location - Mid-South Lagoon edge >> On google maps